“Hi,” he says, voice low, raw from too many days unused.
“Hi.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. The silence stretches, thick with everything we didn’t say over break, everything we couldn’t. It doesn’t feel like absence anymore—it feels like the edge of something about to break open.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
I should hesitate. Instead, I open the door the rest of the way, a silent welcome.
Leo steps inside, careful, like he’s not sure he belongs here. He stands near the door, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking around the room like he needs a moment to find his footing.
I cross my arms, not defensive—just grounding myself. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a short laugh, more breath than sound. “Didn’t exactly plan it. Just… couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
His words hang there, fragile, and I realize he means it. He couldn’t wait.
I nod toward the couch. “Sit.”
He does, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, headbowed like he’s carrying something he hasn’t decided how to set down. I sink into the other side of the couch, my legs tucked under me, and wait.
When he finally lifts his gaze, it nearly undoes me. His eyes are raw, rimmed red like he hasn’t slept, but steady, searching.
“I need to say I’m sorry,” he starts. “For Stephanie. For the way that looked, for how it must’ve felt walking in on that. It wasn’t—” His jaw tightens.
“It was messy,” he admits, voice low but steady. “I was a wreck that night, and she was grieving too, and we leaned on each other in a way that didn’t look good from the outside. I should’ve stopped it before it even looked like something it wasn’t. Because it wasn’t, Tori.”
His eyes are pleading, earnest. “I swear I was not about to kiss her. I didn’t want her. Not then, not now, not ever again. Whatever we were, that ended a long time ago. We’re over. Truly over.”
I nod. “I know,” I whisper.
“But I should’ve known how it looked,” he continues. “I should’ve thought about how it would feel for you to walk in on that. But I wasn’t in my right mind. And that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. And I hate that I wasn’t thinking straight, because the last thing I would ever do is hurt you like that. Not on purpose. Not in any way that makes you question what you mean to me.”
I swallow hard, keeping my voice even.
“You both just lost your father. You were comforting her. I can understand that.”
Looking down at my lap, I say, “It doesn’t mean it didn’t sting.”
He nods, slowly. “I know. And then the copy room?—”
His eyes close for a second, like replaying it makes him flinch. “I was cruel. You went there to offer me comfort, and I… God… I just had to fuck everything up. You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve half the sharp edges I throw around when I get uncomfortable.”
“You mean when you feel vulnerable?” I say.
He nods. He knows.
His honesty pulls at me, and I hate how much I want to soften for him, how much I want to close the distance. But I don’t move.
“You’re right. I didn’t deserve it.”
Silence settles again, but it isn’t empty. It’s heavy with everything neither of us can undo.
Then he says, quietly, “I miss you.”
The words hit me in the chest.
Simple. Unadorned.
