Leo Bennett-"hello to your kitty"

Leo Bennett had been your best friend for so long that neither of you remembered when personal space had stopped existing. Somewhere between sharing snacks, stealing each other's hoodies, and spending nearly every afternoon together, being attached at the hip had simply become normal.

Tonight was no different.

The two of you had spent the evening watching movies in Leo's room, surrounded by snacks and blankets. Matching Hello Kitty pajama sets—purchased as a joke months ago—had somehow become a regular part of your movie nights. Leo was stretched across his bed, his dark hair a mess from repeatedly running his hands through it, looking completely exhausted after a long week.

You were sitting nearby, scrolling through your phone, when Leo let out a long yawn.

"Hey."

His voice came out sleepy and rough.

When you looked over, he was already half-buried beneath his blanket, blinking tiredly at the ceiling.

"Come lay down."

The words were casual, as if he were asking you to pass the remote.

You raised an eyebrow.

Leo rubbed one eye and sighed dramatically.

"I'm tired."

A pause.

"Need cuddle support."

"You need what?"

"Cuddle support," he repeated with complete seriousness. "Doctor's orders."

"There is no doctor."

"There could be."

Another yawn escaped him.

"Come on."

Despite his attempt to sound convincing, he looked far too sleepy to put up much of an argument. His eyelids were already drooping.

"You know I sleep better when you're here."

The confession slipped out so naturally that he didn't even seem to realize what he'd said.

Leo simply lifted a corner of the blanket in invitation before settling back against the pillows.

Within minutes, the conversation had faded away completely. The movie continued playing quietly in the background while Leo drifted toward sleep, looking more peaceful than he had all week.

For someone who claimed the Hello Kitty pajamas were embarrassing, he certainly didn't seem bothered by the matching outfit anymore.

Leo Bennett had spent years insisting that he wasn't a jealous person.

That claim had held up surprisingly well right until some guy from your literature class decided to flirt with you in front of him.

Now he was sulking.

Not dramatically. Leo wasn't the type to make a scene. Instead, he had perfected the art of quietly radiating irritation from whatever corner of the room he occupied.

You were both sitting on the couch in his apartment after class, a routine that happened so often neither of you needed to ask anymore. Your backpack was on the floor. His legs were stretched across the cushions. One of your socks had mysteriously disappeared somewhere beneath the furniture.

Normal.

Except Leo had barely spoken for twenty minutes.

"You've been weird ever since we got back."

"I'm not weird."

"You are."

"I'm literally sitting here."

"You look annoyed."

"I'm not annoyed."

The response came a little too quickly.

You stared at him.

Leo stared back.

Then he immediately looked away.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You're annoyed about Ethan."

"I'm not annoyed about Ethan."

"You know his name."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Leo groaned and dropped his head against the back of the couch.

"Everybody knows his name."

"No they don't."

"Whatever."

You tried—and failed—to hide your grin.

For some reason, that only seemed to irritate him more.

"He was just talking to me."

"He wasn't just talking to you."

"He was being friendly."

"He was flirting."

The words came out before Leo could stop them.

The moment they did, he froze.

You blinked.

Leo looked like he wanted to launch himself through the nearest wall.

"I mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It was obvious."

"You cared enough to notice."

"I notice things."

"You stared at him the entire time."

"He was standing next to you."

The logic was terrible.

Both of you knew it.

Leo let out a long sigh before slumping sideways until his shoulder bumped yours.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he reached over and took your hand.

Not because he was trying to prove a point.

Not because he was thinking about it.

Simply because touching you had become second nature years ago.

His thumb brushed lazily across your knuckles while his head dropped against your shoulder.

"You know," he muttered, sounding grumpier than before, "I liked today better when nobody was flirting with you."

The confession slipped out before he could catch it.

You felt him immediately tense.

A second later he buried his face against your shoulder.

"Forget I said that."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Leo groaned into your shoulder, already regretting everything.

But he never let go of your hand.

Leo Bennett had spent years insisting that he wasn't a jealous person.

That claim had held up surprisingly well right until some guy from your literature class decided to flirt with you in front of him.

Now he was sulking.

Not dramatically. Leo wasn't the type to make a scene. Instead, he had perfected the art of quietly radiating irritation from whatever corner of the room he occupied.

You were both sitting on the couch in his apartment after class, a routine that happened so often neither of you needed to ask anymore. Your backpack was on the floor. His legs were stretched across the cushions. One of your socks had mysteriously disappeared somewhere beneath the furniture.

Normal.

Except Leo had barely spoken for twenty minutes.

"You've been weird ever since we got back."

"I'm not weird."

"You are."

"I'm literally sitting here."

"You look annoyed."

"I'm not annoyed."

The response came a little too quickly.

You stared at him.

Leo stared back.

Then he immediately looked away.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You're annoyed about Ethan."

"I'm not annoyed about Ethan."

"You know his name."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Leo groaned and dropped his head against the back of the couch.

"Everybody knows his name."

"No they don't."

"Whatever."

You tried—and failed—to hide your grin.

For some reason, that only seemed to irritate him more.

"He was just talking to me."

"He wasn't just talking to you."

"He was being friendly."

"He was flirting."

The words came out before Leo could stop them.

The moment they did, he froze.

You blinked.

Leo looked like he wanted to launch himself through the nearest wall.

"I mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It was obvious."

"You cared enough to notice."

"I notice things."

"You stared at him the entire time."

"He was standing next to you."

The logic was terrible.

Both of you knew it.

Leo let out a long sigh before slumping sideways until his shoulder bumped yours.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he reached over and pulled you against him, his body underneath you.

his head dropped against your shoulder.

"You know," he muttered, sounding grumpier than before, "I liked today better when nobody was flirting with you."

The confession slipped out before he could catch it.

You felt him immediately tense.

A second later he buried his face against your shoulder.

"You are going to be the death of me"

Leo groaned into your shoulder, already regretting everything. His hand slowly crawled higher up your thigh, rubbing your skin slowly. He murmured

"You are so soft"

You had known Leo Bennett for so long that some of your earliest memories included him.

There had never really been a point where Leo entered your life. He had simply always been there.

Across the street. In your backyard. At your kitchen table stealing snacks. Curled up on the couch during movie nights. Taking up entirely too much space in your life and somehow becoming one of the few people you couldn't imagine living without.

Tonight was no different.

Rain tapped softly against the windows while a movie played in the background, largely ignored by both of you. The living room was dim except for the glow of the television.

Leo was sprawled across the couch beside you, one arm lazily draped over the back cushions.

Comfortable.

Familiar.

Home.

For a while neither of you spoke.

Then Leo suddenly muted the television.

You looked over.

"Why did you do that?"

"I have something important to say."

The seriousness in his voice immediately made you suspicious.

"That's never a good sign."

"It is this time."

"No, it isn't."

Leo ignored you.

For a moment he seemed oddly thoughtful, staring down at his hands.

Then he sighed.

"You know..." he began quietly. "Things are changing."

You blinked.

That wasn't what you expected.

University was ending soon. People were talking about jobs, apartments, moving away.

The future.

A topic both of you had been avoiding for months.

Leo leaned his head back against the couch.

"What if everything gets busy?"

"It will."

"What if we end up living in different places?"

"Leo—"

"What if you make new friends and forget about me?"

You stared at him.

"Forget about you?"

"Yeah."

"Leo Bennett."

"What?"

"You're in my house at least four times a week."

"That's not the point."

You couldn't help laughing.

The look he gave you suggested he was being completely serious.

Which somehow made it worse.

Before you could say anything else, Leo shifted closer and held out his hand.

Specifically, his pinky finger.

You looked at it.

Then at him.

Then back at it.

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"Pinky promise."

"We are adults."

"Pinky promise."

"Leo."

"Pinky promise."

The stubbornness in his voice was unbearable.

You groaned dramatically.

Leo continued holding his hand out.

Waiting.

Patient.

Determined.

Exactly like the little boy who used to demand pinky promises over the most ridiculous things imaginable.

Eventually, you rolled your eyes and hooked your finger around his.

Satisfied, Leo grinned.

"Promise we'll always be friends."

The simplicity of it caught you off guard.

Not "stay in touch."

Not "call sometimes."

Not "visit when we can."

Always.

Leo's expression had softened considerably.

For once there was no teasing.

No jokes.

Just quiet sincerity.

You squeezed his finger gently.

"I promise."

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Leo nodded once.

As though that settled everything.

As though a childhood tradition still carried enough weight to guarantee the future.

Maybe, to him, it did.

A moment later he unmuted the movie and immediately leaned against your shoulder like the conversation had never happened.

The crisis apparently resolved.

You shook your head.

"You're ridiculous."

"Maybe."

Leo's reply was already sleepy.

But his hand remained loosely hooked around yours for the rest of the movie anyway.