(A/Ns: I promise after this chapter I'll write something with more plot than 5k words of character development and sickness tropes :D yehhh i don't know how ooc this is, it's difficult to write characters as sick when it's never happened in canon. Also, the piece of music Leo played is "Nuvole Bianche" by Ludovico Einaudi. It's a really beautiful piece.

Please feel free to review if you get the chance ^^ I'd really appreciate it!

Content warnings: swearing, vomiting, underage smoking

Disclaimer: i do not own Pandora Hearts or any of the characters)

Chapter 5

Elliot was really beginning to question himself when he noticed Leo's absence more than his presence.

It was already the second period of Thursday, after he'd suffered through yet another sport lesson with Oz – who primarily spent the hour being beaten up by Alice – as his only company. Sure, Leo hadn't bothered to show up to either sport or the library for their study period yet, but after speaking to him about it yesterday during Literature, he truly did trust that the noirette would show up at least for their free – no, study period.

That trust could have easily been in place of naivety, however.

From across the room, Elliot noticed through his sidelong view Oz and the rest of his acquaintances, waving frantically in an attempt to get a response. And Elliot gave them the exact opposite of what they wanted, retorting with a bitter sneer, before reverting his focus to the textbook open on the desk in front of him.

Concentration didn't come to him as easily as he'd have wished, unfortunately. It seemed the harder he tried for it, the further and further away it got. Something was bothering him, clearly, but Elliot would happily blame something utterly absurd for his concentration issues instead of thinking it had anything to do with the currently absent noirette.

As if on cue at that thought, a flash of movement by the door instantly caught Elliot's attention; albeit it wasn't exactly difficult to addle him. And none other was it than the very person Elliot had secretly, internally been hoping for.

Tch, at least he's not skiving… Elliot thought dismissively, pretending not to notice and lowering his head to the text book.

For some reason, his heart was pumping harder and faster when he noticed Leo approach him. It was stupid to be getting so flustered over something so trivial. Maybe it was just shock – yes, that was it: shock that it was the first time so far that Leo had bothered showing up to their study period.

Play it cool, play it cool, play it c- "Where the hell were you?!" Elliot interrogated. Idiot. That wasn't 'cool'. "I-I mean… you said you'd come to the library yesterday!"

"Mhm," Leo hummed, nodding his head slightly. Then, not even muttering a single coherent sentence besides the occasional incomprehensible, inaudible murmur, he shuffled through the contents of his bag, now on the floor, and pulled out his copy of 'The Sign of Four' and their most recent Literature assignment from Vincent. For a brief moment, Elliot did wonder how he'd managed to almost destroy a (presumably) brand-new book in less than a week. But soon that thought bypassed his mind, as Leo finally spoke up again, digging through his pocket for a pen. "But yesterday I didn't know that I'd be called to a meeting with the headteacher for an hour and a half. With my mother."

"Oh…" Elliot said in defeat. "Why?"

Leo shrugged, holding the pen between his teeth as he flicked through the pages of the book aimlessly. "To talk about progress, for some reason." The pen was promptly moved to his hand, being spun between two fingers. Bitterly, he added: "Oh, and about how I haven't been showing up to Physical Ed."

Elliot couldn't help himself as he said, "I told you so."

That remark was promptly met with irritation, as Leo flung his pen at Elliot. And it landed square in the centre of his face.

His eyebrow twitched. "Hey! W-What was that for?"

"Hm, you annoyed me," Leo muttered, shuffling around in his blazer pocket for the spare pen as he slumped back in the chair. "Mm… what did we have to do again?"

"Tch, do you not have the assignment yourself?"

"No. I lost it."

"Figures…" Elliot said, "The question was 'How does Conan Doyle present the character of Sherlock Holmes as an unusual detective?'. You start with the extract at Pondicherry Lodge."

Wordlessly, Leo nodded, scribbling down the information as he was told it, whilst discreetly drumming his fingers against the edge of the chair.

Something was off. Elliot couldn't quite pin-point it, but something wasn't right. Instead, he simply opted to initiate idle conversation; maybe all he needed was a distraction. Because, clearly, the meeting hadn't been particularly fun. "How was your meeting?"

"Absolutely terrible, thanks for asking," Leo replied, his tone harbouring a biting edge, one which really did make Elliot uneasy. "What time is it now?"

"Uh, just gone 10am," Elliot answered, "Why?"

"Nothing." Another fed up sigh. Then, dragging a hand lethargically through his dishevelled hair, he added almost inaudibly with a second exhale: "Dammit, I really need a cigarette right now…"

Not again…

"Right…" Elliot murmured, "Well, you've got…" He checked his watch again, albeit pointlessly. "… another 45 minutes. Just wait until then."

"Hm, no. I don't think I will," Leo retorted, dropping the pen and shoving a hand back into his inside blazer pocket. "Are you coming?"

"Tch, fine," Elliot said as if he didn't have a choice. Well, if he let his curiosity take control of his decisions, he didn't have a choice.

"Thank you," Leo sighed in relief, checking over his shoulder before leading the other out of the library with an awkward, lingering silence. "I'll explain when we get up there."

Elliot rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you better- wait, why are you thanking me?"

"For, you know, not kicking up a fuss," Leo mentioned, the mockery in his intonation still present, though less obvious. "Usually you do when you find out someone defied your blessed rules."

"Tch, I do not…" he denied. But as soon as they made it up to the door to the roof, and Leo began picking the lock, Elliot felt he need to add mentally: never in my whole school life have I broken the rules so much in one week… "Be quick. I don't want to get caught."

"Mhm," Leo murmured under his breath, breaking open the door and pushing it open, as it was carried by the wind a moment later. Thankfully, the rain from earlier had cleared up, leaving a thin layer of humidity in the air. But other than that, it had dried up, allowing Elliot to step outside without getting soaked (like he'd done on the way to school earlier), and Leo to successfully light the already rolled cigarette.

"So," Elliot started, staring at Leo from the side as the inhaled the first drag of smoke, pocketing the lighter as he pulled the cigarette from his lips with two fingers behind an exhale of relief. "Are you gonna tell me what happened or not?"

Leo rolled his eyes, sucking on the cigarette once again; he'd hoped Elliot had forgotten about that.

"My mother and I got into an argument," he answered bitterly, furrowing his eyebrows and taking yet another hit of nicotine, still waiting for it to do its job. "She woke me up early, I threw something at her." Another drag. "And then she took my lighter and didn't give it back until after the meeting."

A nagging thought at the front of Elliot's mind made him want to ask why his mother even gave him back the lighter in the first place. But before he began constructing the sentence in his head, he remembered the noirette's erratic, violent tendencies, and the question was promptly answered from that alone.

Besides, directly confronting him about it probably wouldn't have been the best course of action.

"So wait… your mother actually lets you, you know…?" Elliot asked. Subtle. Really fucking subtle.

Leo nodded briefly, glancing down at the cigarette burning away between his fingers. "Not that she'd be able to do anything. We compromised, and now I don't smoke inside the house."

Something suggested to Elliot that it probably wasn't a very fair compromise, nor did Leo really get along with his mother. Once again, though, dysfunctional families weren't something he was overly familiar with; all his friends came from upper class, typical nuclear families.

Great. Another reason to add to why this brat repulses me… Elliot tried to tell himself. But, really, it wasn't repulse, or disgust, at all – if anything, it was curiosity.

"Alright, I'm done," Leo announced, flicking aside the finished cigarette and extinguishing it with the sole of his shoe. Turning on his heel back to the door, he promptly tore Elliot from his trance, asking: "Are you coming?"

"O-Oh, yeah, sure…" Elliot jolted, before attempting to shake it off and follow Leo back inside as if nothing had happened.

As they descended the stairs, any chance of conversation blocked by silence, Elliot noted that Leo's bitterness was still there. It had just dissipated slightly, but his demeanour was as unsettled as usual – possibly more so. It was very off-putting, to say the least, making Elliot question whether everything he considered saying would cause an unnecessary response. With those thoughts, he eventually came to the conclusion that preserving the silence was probably the safest option, simply shoving his hands in his pocket and following the other.

It took about a minute for anything new to happen, but when it did, it came in the strange form of Leo just stopping dead in his tracks, halfway down the corridor before the library.

"Tch, what?" Elliot scoffed, trying to zoom in on Leo's line of vision but to no avail. "Oi, Leo!"

"Hm, I didn't know you had a piano here," Leo pointed out, somewhat irrelevantly to Elliot. But it wasn't irrelevant to him, whose gaze had quickly flitted to and locked on the baby grand piano, isolated in the corner of one of the old music rooms. Wordlessly, he turned to the door, placing a hand on the door knob and pushing it open lightly, surprised to find that it had been left unlocked.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Just having a break," said Leo, brushing his fingers delicately over the piano keys, drawing lines in the thin layer of dust. "Do you play piano, Elliot?"

"Tch, of course. I've had lessons."

"Hehe, I haven't," Leo chuckled, flashing a brief grin at the other. Then, he tentatively pressed down on one of the keys, surprised to find the piano wasn't atrociously out of tune, before taking a seat on the black, velvet bench, resting his foot over the sustain pedal.

"This better be good…" Elliot muttered, inaudibly and not within Leo's auditory range, as he took the cue from the other's hesitation and closed the door behind them. "Go on, I'm listening."

There was a brief silence, before Leo positioned both hands over the keys of the first chord.

And from the very first note played, Elliot was mesmerised.

The first part of the melody was simple, a new chord in the octave about the middle C being elegantly played in the form of a broken arpeggio; each note equal weights and times apart.

His perception of time began to slowly warp as the piece escalated, the left-hand brushing over the keys in a series of frequent, complex chords, along with an ear-catching, tranquilizing medley to accompany in the right hand.

Playing the piano came so… naturally to him. It was fascinating, really, how he could shift from being so irritable and grumpy to so engrossed in music in the space of a minute. Or however long it had been – Elliot wasn't really sure.

Before he could even comprehend it, the music came to an end, dissipating in a broken arpeggio which scaled up and down the piano, fading off into the silence with such eloquence.

Elliot blinked, and Leo turned around.

"That was 'Nuvole Bianche', by Einaudi," he said, standing up from the piano. "Library?"

Wordlessly, Elliot nodded. He was completely and utterly lost for words. Never before had he encountered music so powerful. Dare he say enlightening?

That was… incredible…

Speaking of Leo's absence, Elliot once again found himself alone in lesson.

At least he'd had a week with his mind at equilibrium – you could say – before this. Yes, the past week had gone as normal; so normal you wouldn't think that Elliot was internally conflicted. Every day for an entire week, he'd arrived at tutor to find Leo already sitting there, his face buried in a book. And five minutes before the end of each of their lessons, he'd roll a cigarette, before dragging Elliot (or Elliot followed him willingly) outside to the roof, or the field – out of sight.

Granted, since the meeting on the previous Thursday, Leo had shown up to P.E. once on the following Wednesday. But that was without a kit, which landed him a detention with the head of sport the next day. Elliot could also distinctly remember Literature last period of that day, after which Leo snuck out of school at the end of the day to – what a surprise – have a cigarette, before allowing himself to be guided back inside by Elliot.

But other than that, the past week had gone as routinely as it could get.

And then the abomination of today happened.

Usually, when Leo was there (more than likely testing his nerves,) his mind wasn't able to wander; he was too busy trying to not show how pissed he was. Or, he was trying to get over Leo's incomprehensible academic ability, or his delicate yet extemporary piano abilities. Elliot hadn't been able to truly accept either yet. But that was part of his mental equilibrium, if you could even call it that.

But today, on the first Monday of the following week, there wasn't that distraction, which left his mind wandering, until eventually, it reached the same state of chaos. From there, it really didn't take long, before the same uncomfortable, overwhelming, and confusing feelings made their return to his consciousness.

Maybe Leo would just magically appear like the week before last.

Tch, don't be stupid… Elliot scolded himself.

Abruptly, however, after God-knows how long of being totally zoned out from his surroundings, the bell rang, reverberating through his ears until his attention was diverted. Perhaps for the best, he mentally noted, as the screeching of chairs sounded like they always did.

Obviously, thinking his no-so-discreet trance had gone unnoticed by his Chemistry teacher – Break – was just naïve.

"Elliot?" Break called from his desk at the front, flashing the same grin as usual. "Could you come here please? Don't worry, you're not in trouble~"

Cursing himself and his stupidity, Elliot traipsed over to the desk where Break sat, indefatigable boredom and lethargy in every step.

"Lonely today~?" Break hummed, his words harbouring a noticeable mocking edge. Then, taking Elliot's silence – which practically radiated irritability – as his cue, he proceeded to pick up the last copy of the work they'd done that lesson, extending it out to Elliot. "If you see Leo before me, do me a favour and hand this to him~"

"Sure…" Elliot agreed, albeit reluctantly, as he shoved the papers in his bag. "D-Do you know where he is today?"

"Hm…" Break hummed in idleness, scanning through the register. "He's not in today. The register says "Sickness"."

"Ok, thank you."

"You're welcome," Break chuckled. "Have a fun day~"

Elliot almost snorted out loud in derision at that suggestion.

Fun? As if.

Another hour alone was enough proof that – contrary to what his hopes wanted to convince him – Leo wasn't going to randomly show up out of nowhere.

That triggered an unwanted response in Elliot: concern.

He shouldn't be worried. Or bothered. Everyone gets sick, including him, and his stupid thoughts. Maybe that was some kind of mental sickness: constant worry for someone you just feel overly conflicted about. Oh god, what if they were both sick? Was he really destined to care (or not care) so much about one person that it almost kills him?

Ok, he need to stop; his thoughts were getting out of control now.

But the nagging feeling of anxiety at the pit of his stomach just wouldn't leave him alone, no matter how hard he tried to repress it, or deny its existence.

Tentatively, he glanced up from the Maths work, oh-so-innocently slipping his phone out of his blazer pocket and stealthily lowering it to under the desk. Gilbert wasn't looking right now. Probably.

If Leo hadn't given him his number the other week, he didn't know what he'd have done.

[To Leo, 12:04]
Where are you?

A moment later, his phone vibrated just a little too audibly, making his heart flip subsequently.

[From Leo, 12:05]
who is this?

It was only at that point that Elliot realised that he hadn't actually messaged Leo at any point yet.

[To Leo, 12:05]
Elliot. You gave me your number. Who else would it be?

The few minutes it took for a response to come through unnerved him, to say the least. But, fortunately, all apprehension was settled once he did receive a reply.

[From Leo, 12:09]
at home

[From Leo, 12:09]
im sick

Alright, so perhaps it wasn't really a good thing that Leo was sick, but at least he knew where he was, and that lingering sense of uncertainty had thankfully dissipated. Nevertheless, though, Elliot wasn't overly convinced.

[To Leo, 12:10]
Sure

[From Leo, 12:10]
you can come here and check but i might vomit on you

Lovely.

[To Leo, 12:11]
Where do you live?

[From Leo, 12:11]
i was joking…

Once again, Elliot was kicking himself and his stupid inability to say sensible things when he was stressed. Stressed? Stressed. Yes. Stressed. Or lonely: lonely worked too.

[To Leo, 12:12]
I didn't mean it like that

[To Leo, 12:13]
Break gave me your work to give to you

A passable excuse.

[From Leo, 12:13]
78 Creymore Road

[From Leo, 12:13]
you'll be walking a while

[To Leo, 12:13]
I don't care. I'll see you after school.

It wasn't a total lie. Arriving home late to his family after his erratic train of thoughts today didn't sound like a horrible idea.

[From Leo, 12:15]
k

Just as that message came through to his phone, Gilbert's attention was finally caught by the buzz, loudened by the table. Noticing Elliot's averted gaze, he promptly shot him a warning glare, gesturing for him to think twice about what he was doing. Swallowing thickly in his panicked haste, Elliot shoved his phone back into his pocket, picking up his pen as if he'd been doing nothing suspicious.

And the rest of the lesson was filled with nothing but boredom, paranoia, and Gilbert's voice droning on about solving identities. Or whatever it was he was teaching them.

Eventually, after what felt like probably the entire day to him at this point, the double lesson of Maths was over, everyone packing up as usual at the cue of the bell.

"Elliot?" Gilbert called as the students began swarming to and pouring through the door. "Can I speak with you a moment?"

Elliot, who was 99% sure he knew what this would be about, swiftly turned on his heel, dragging himself back over to the desk at the front of the room.

Wordlessly, Gilbert just stared interrogatively at him to begin with as if to say "I think you know what you've done," as he slipped his jacket off the back of the chair and shrugged it over his shoulders. Then, he asked, "Why were you on your phone in my lesson?"

Like the scolded, foolish, and guilty child he was, the ash-blonde simply shot Gilbert a clueless glance, shrugging his shoulders barely.

Gilbert sighed. "If you don't give me an adequate excuse, then… I'll have no choice but to tell father."

Elliot fought back the strong desire to roll his eyes at that threat, however his pride (and fear of being penalised for it) decided for him that a blunt display of attitude was not an appropriate response. Instead, under his breath, he muttered his excuse. "I was just trying to find out where Leo is."

"He's sick," answered Gilbert for him. He lowered his voice slightly and exhaled. "Elliot, just because I'm technically your family, it doesn't mean I can let you get away with that."

"I know," Elliot sighed. Gilbert held a good point.

And as if to only emphasise that, barely a second later, Vincent – his other adoptive older brother – waltzed into the room, and without a moment of hesitation headed straight over to Gilbert. Yes, that was right: two out of four of Elliot's teachers were his brothers – adoptive. He said that; he'd always gotten along with them better than his biological brothers. Granted, they didn't live at home anymore. They also didn't go any easier on him, and so the way Elliot saw it, the fact that they were related was irrelevant.

"Ah, Elliot," Vincent greeted sinisterly. Somehow. He then took one extra step closer to Gil. "What have you done this time?"

Gilbert once again answered in his place. "He was texting during my lesson."

"Only for a bit…" said Elliot, flitting his guilt-stricken gaze elsewhere.

"A confession is your worst enemy, Elliot," Vincent scolded, clearly in an attempt to patronise him. "Have I taught you nothing about lying?"

"Vince, cut it out," Gilbert said through gritted teeth. Elliot always cringed when he called him 'Vince.' "I'm going out now. Vince, you lock up." There it was again.

"As you wish." Vincent nodded willingly, watching Gil stride out of the room before dropping his unreadable stare dead on Elliot. "Elliot, how many times must I remind you not to mess with Gil? You won't want my personal punishment if you do. Just keep that in mind."

"I understand…" Elliot said, once again like the caught and scolded child he was. But Vincent had always been overly protective over Gilbert, and this shouldn't have been off-putting.

However, it triggered one of his most repetitive thoughts from earlier. It was… frustrating, to be reminded of something trivial.

Perhaps it… runs in the family to care about someone so much who almost kills you…

Oh well. That was irrelevant. All that mattered now was making it through the last double lesson of the day without the noirette's presence.

After two hours of Literature with Vincent watching him devotedly, and a nearly half-hour walk through areas and streets of all three social classes, Elliot was finally coming close to his destination: Leo's house.

The first thing he'd done was input Leo's address into Google Maps, and wait for the damn thing to load. In that time, he managed to successfully pry himself away from Oz, and convince his family – namely his sister, Vanessa – that he had a legitimate reason to be late home. And both of those were tiresome, bothersome activities themselves, which didn't place him in a particularly joyful mood for when the realisation hit that Leo's house was over half an hour away.

Thankfully, he had managed to shave some minutes off the predicted arrival time by aggressively speed-walking the majority of the way there.

The last 10 minutes of the journey had taken him into a rather lower-class part of town. Maybe that wasn't the correct (politically correct) way of putting that, but once again, when he had never really been exposed to such concepts, you couldn't expect much better of him. And by this point, Elliot had finally learnt to simply get over his ignorance. To him, the houses seemed scummy, tiny, and run-down, never taking up more than 6 metres squared or so – which was a stark contrast to his 2-acre mansion, virtually, on the opposite end of town.

Eventually, though, after sucking it up and dealing with the poverty (he assumed,) Elliot reached the street which Leo had said, scanning the house numbers on his left and right, and watching them increasing numerically down the seemingly endless street. And, finally, after what felt like far too long, he found Leo's house, and the unexplainable pressure in his chest which had been there all day alleviated just marginally.

It wasn't the house number that gave it away though. No, it was the scruffy and indeed ill-looking teen slumped across the front porch, a cigarette burning away and balancing loosely between two limp fingers.

"I didn't think you were supposed to smoke when you're ill," Elliot said as he crossed the empty driveway and tried not to sound as if he were provoking the other. Because he genuinely didn't mean to; sometimes he just didn't get the message across as he'd hoped to.

Leo, lethargically lifting his focus from the ground with an excessive amount of effort, snorted derisively in response, not moving a single one of his as he raised the cigarette to his lips and took another steady drag. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were the expert, Doctor Nightray." Inhale. Smirk. Exhale. "Get off my case though, please. This is my first one of the day so far."

Elliot bit down on his tongue inside his mouth, instead retorting with a stupidly lame remark over the snarky comment which had originally come to mind. "If you're well enough to smoke and take the piss, then…. you were well enough to be in school!"

"Hm, I beg to differ," Leo said, tapping the ash off the tip of the cigarette gently; completely ignoring the existence of the ashtray behind him. He screwed his face up briefly, waiting for a bit for the lingering nausea to somewhat settle before speaking again. "Remind me, why are you here?"

"Tch, I have your Chemistry work from Break."

"And you had to do that now?"

"Well, no…" Elliot stuttered. "I just… wanted to make sure you were okay, that's all."

Leo's hand discreetly manoeuvred to his stomach, the light tough going unnoticed by the other. "How sweet of you."

"Don't flatter yourself…" There was a short pause. "So… why weren't you in today? What's actually wrong with you?"

"Oh, well that is-"

Before he even finished his sentence, Leo abruptly cut himself off, his eyes widening behind his glasses and mop of hair. He was dead still for a good 5 seconds before Elliot noticed that something was up.

"Leo?"

Wordlessly, the cigarette falling out of his fingers and onto the ground, Leo stood up, blindly groping the door handle (albeit it was already partially open) and pushing it open. And it was only after he'd scrambled inside with a hand plastered over his mouth that Elliot realised what was happening.

Lovely indeed…

For a few moments, Elliot didn't really know how to follow up from the recent events. Was he supposed to just leave? Go in a help? Stand outside and wait like a total idiot?

After much deliberating, he eventually went with the middle option. First, he took it upon himself to extinguish the cigarette out with the heel of his foot; Leo could thank him later for ensuring his house wouldn't burn down. Then, he tentatively stepped past the threshold into his house. His eyes began to wander, considering he hadn't ever been here before, but before he could observe anymore than slightly cracked walls and hall decorations of the bare minimum, his attention was diverted by the sound of strained retching, coming from what he presumed was the kitchen.

Venturing towards the admittedly disgusting sounds, Elliot soon found his assumptions to be correct. Along with that, he found Leo, bent over the kitchen sink with one hand clasping the edge of the counter and the other weakly holding the majority of his hair out of he way. Bile rose from his throat and spewed into the sink with a sickening retch, but the furthest Elliot could get before feeling nauseas himself was just a step ahead of the door frame.

It took nearly 5 minutes for Leo to be reduced to dry heaving, panting over the sink and waiting for the rolling in his stomach to stop completely. Only then did Elliot step forward.

"Don't… come near me…" Leo said breathlessly, waving a hand at the other as if to say 'shoo.'

"You need to lie down, idiot," Elliot grunted. "I'll… help you up to your room."

Leo wanted to point out how suggestive that sounded but couldn't find the willpower to do so. Instead, he languidly pulled away from the sink, wiping his mouth with his pyjama sleeve and staggering over to the door. "I'll be fine on my own. I don't want you catching anything."

"I'll be fine," Elliot muttered, "Just… let me make sure you're okay. And not passed out on the floor somewhere."

"Alright, whatever," Leo sighed, leading the other up the star and to his room in total silence. Despite how irritated he was getting with Elliot, his willpower just wasn't there, or the energy to send him away.

Eventually, after dragging himself up the stairs, one step at a time, Leo reached the narrow corridor at the top of his stairs. His room was only just opposite the bathroom – the door left open – and after another metre or so of carrying himself sluggishly down the corridor, he made it to his room, with Elliot tagging along closely behind him.

Plucking up enough energy to make it across the floor plan of his bedroom, the noirette finally made it to his bed, which suddenly looked more appealing than ever, as he threw himself under the covers, jolting his fragile stomach in the process and regretting it instantly, before wrapping the blanket around his frail form.

Leo pouted. "You can leave now."

"Do you not have, like…" Elliot blinked a few times in surprise. He wrinkled his nose briefly. "… a bucket or something?"

"I'm not a child," Leo said, his hair poking out the top of the sheets. "I can make it to the bathroom when I need to."

"Alright."

Elliot stood for a few more minutes without saying a single word.

The urge to take care of Leo, watch over him, get him water, make soup – anything which displayed a stupid, disgusting amount of affection (in his eyes) – was undeniably strong. It felt wrong. Where had this random maternal instinct even come from?

Leo was passed out like a log in barely a minute, which he promptly took as his cue to leave; standing around in Leo's room whilst he was asleep sounded a bit weird when he mentally repeated it. And, as he turned on his heel without a single sound, spare a discreet mutter of "get well soon," Elliot could finally come to a conclusion to that question.

It was obvious: it was the illogical, erratic feelings which attached themselves to his conscious like glue whenever Leo did something impressive, or irrational, or both.

Dare he call it… affection?