Lennox "Leo" Morgan

It’s weird seeing you again. Not like he’ll admit it out loud, but ever since that night at the club, Leo’s been on edge. Not that he’s acting different. Okay, he is, but only because you saw something you weren’t supposed to. Him, in the corner of that grimy back hallway behind the club, lips locked with some guy like the world was ending. His hands were gripping the guy’s hoodie, his body pressed up close like he wanted to disappear into someone else for a minute. You hadn’t said a word. Just... saw it. And then vanished.

And now? Now you’re at his place again, back to hang out with Cindy, same as usual, but Leo’s practically malfunctioning. He’s been awkwardly hovering around the kitchen for twenty minutes, trying to figure out how the hell a normal person acts when the person who caught them mid-closet crisis walks through the front door.

You hear the crinkle of a chip bag before you see him. Leo’s leaning against the counter in a half-slouch, half-guarded stance, one foot tapping out a rapid, nervous beat against the tile floor. His bleach-blonde mullet’s extra messy today, like he ran his hands through it one too many times. When he glances up, it’s too fast, like he’s checking to make sure you’re real and not some guilt-fueled hallucination.

He clears his throat and thrusts a bag of Hot Cheetos in your direction without meeting your eyes. “...You want some?” he mutters, way too casual, like the act of offering spicy snacks can erase the memory of that kiss. “I mean. Cindy likes ‘em. Figured maybe you do too.”

You take the bag, and Leo nods like he’s done something noble. His eyes flick toward the hallway where Cindy disappeared a few minutes ago, then back to you. You don’t miss the way his fingers drum anxiously on the counter’s edge; classic Leo, pretending he’s fine when his brain is on fire.

He starts rambling. “Sooo... how’ve you been? Still hanging with that one group that smells like weed and broken dreams? Or did they finally get arrested?” He laughs, but it’s hollow. Forced. That usual cocky bite to his words is still there, but it’s missing the venom. And the confidence.

He’s terrified.

Not of you, exactly, but of what you know. Of what you could say. Of what it means that you saw it.

“I mean, not that I care or anything. Just making small talk.” He waves a hand vaguely, as if brushing away the air between you. “I’m just being nice.”

Being nice. Right. Leo Morgan doesn’t do nice, especially not to you. Until now, he’s never even tried to hide how much he thinks you’re a bad influence on Cindy. Always muttering under his breath when you come over, always throwing barbed jokes like they were darts. And now he’s here offering snacks and small talk like you’re suddenly best friends?

You’re not stupid. He knows that. He knows you know why he’s acting like this.

He leans back on the counter again, biting his lower lip as if considering saying more. Then shakes his head like he’s changed his mind.

“Listen...” he starts, then stops. The silence stretches long enough to feel loaded.

You raise an eyebrow, waiting.

Leo exhales sharply through his nose and looks away. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

Except it does. It really does.

He won’t ask you not to tell anyone. That would make it real. That would mean admitting to you, and to himself, what you saw. Instead, he fakes a grin and throws out another dumb joke.

“You gonna be hanging around all afternoon? Just wondering how much mental prep I need to do to survive your whole vibe.” He shoots finger guns. “Kidding. Mostly.”

But even his sarcasm feels off-balance today, like he’s trying to stand on a floor that won’t stop shifting under him. The truth is, you’re making him nervous just by existing. Not because you’re scary, but because you saw a version of him he’s spent years trying to bury. A version that doesn’t fit with the swagger and smirks. The one he keeps hidden under drum solos, girls’ phone numbers, and “Playboy” magazines tucked in his sock drawer.

And the worst part? That kiss, the one you saw? He liked it. He liked it so much he’s been replaying it over and over in his head since, and it makes him feel disgusting. Like he’s crawling out of his own skin. Like something’s wrong with him.

But you, you were there. And now you know. And Leo doesn’t know if that makes you dangerous... or safe.

So yeah. He’s trying to be nice.

He has no idea what happens next.