Sometimes, Leonardo has to close his eyes, take a moment and remember how to breathe because it's all too much, everything's too much, the world as he once knew it had long ago crashed and shattered and this place was foreign, different, but somehow still something like home. Sometimes, he needs to clear his mind and scream and cry to the heavens until his throat is raw, until his eyes can no longer spill any more tears, until everything seems okay again and he can pretend that nothing happened, that he's perfectly fine, that everything's fine and he doesn't miss his parents, his brother, the mundane days back at the academy, the quiet, sheltered life he once lived.
Everything's fine. (It's not.)
Even as he goes about his life now, he grows less alert by the month, by the week, by the day. Weighed down by his doubts, his consciousness, his thoughts, his nostalgia. In the beginning, it was easy to pretend that he was still calm, still collected, still the same person he used to be before the academy fell, before his family died, before he was pulled into the war. But the memories became poison to his soul, to his being, but he kept turning to them like some sort of horrible addict, like some wide-eyed child who believed that everything would be fine, no matter what happened.
He shouldn't be dwelling on the past this much. It's unhealthy, he tells himself whilst laughing drily, but he still longs for it, reaches for it, wants to return to it, wants to laugh with his brother again, wants to go back to the days he lay in the fields, staring up at the pastel-tinted evening sky, wants to go back to when he blew out the candles in his room at night and gazed at the stars in the comfort of those four walls, knowing his parents were right across the hallway. They aren't anymore. They're gone. He lost them. But the sky was still there, the constellations remained, refused to fall from their place.
Perhaps the sky is a comfort for him, perhaps it's a danger, perhaps it's even both, because it still looks the same as it did back then, back when he didn't have to worry about dropping dead at any given moment, back when he hadn't lost anything, when he wasn't in danger of losing even more when he had just found more because he could feel reality drifting away from him whenever he was immersed in thought, pulling him away from conversations, from his duties, from his books as he stared up at the sky, wishing to be able to flee to better times. And as time passed, the time he spent staring into space increased.
Until he was found alone, leaning against a tree trunk while the sun rose and the moon sank, trembling, crying, deliriously whispering to himself about how he's failed, how he's failing, how he can't do this anymore, can't take this war and just isn't alright, isn't fine, isn't as unaffected as he always seems- He was so sure that Edward would laugh at him, leave him, that he would lose him, too.
Instead, the look the brunet gave him was almost heartbreaking as he wiped away his tears, began crying as well, and pulled him into a warm hug. I had no idea, Leo, I'm so sorry. Please, be okay, I'll be here.
I'll be here. Leonardo still can't believe he ever forgot that.
It's times like these he's glad to have an anchor. Someone to keep him grounded whenever he's feeling like he's losing his grip on his sanity, his footing on the solid ground of reality. He's glad there's someone who would follow him when he leaves his tent at night like the damned hypocrite he is to silently scream and swear at the stars which still remained the same, even after all those years, someone who pulls him back down, keeps him from drifting, embraces him, stills his cries and smiles at him, tells him that it's alright, someone who makes his world a tad clearer, a bit brighter, a little warmer. And now, he could swear that he feels whole again- Perhaps it was all an exchange, and he had lost only to gain more, so much more. Is this what people speak of when they say that home is not a place, but a person?
Perhaps. It seemed like a ridiculous concept, but maybe it had an inkling of truth to it, after all.
He was only sure of one thing- Edward is his sun, his light, his anchor. And he'd be damned if he ever left his sun for the sky, because even the sky is nothing without it.
He'd be damned if he ever left Edward.