Cleon Year March Headcanon: The Pause Before Letting Go
Claire and Leon arenβt overly touchy.
They donβt reach for each other without thinking. Itβs not casual, not constant, not something that fills the space between them.
But when it does happen, it lingers.
A hand on the shoulder that stays for a second too long. Fingers curling around a wrist to pull the other up, neither of them rushing to let go. A hug that starts simple and then quietly stretches past the point it probably should.
Itβs in the way neither of them pulls back straight away. In that half-second pause where they could step away but donβt. In a way where it feels easier to stay just for a moment.
They never say anything about it.
Not when their arms linger around each other a little too long. Not when the space between them feels harder to recreate once they step back. Not when thereβs that brief, unspoken hesitation, like theyβre both thinking the same thing and choosing to ignore it.
It becomes a quiet, shared thing. A line neither of them can cross, but neither of them forgets is there.
A kind of comfort they donβt quite let themselves have.
Because if they let it last longer and let themselves acknowledge it, it would mean something bigger than either of them is ready to face.
Leon never says how steady she feels. How grounding it is having her there. For a second everything in his head quiets down when sheβs close, like he can finally breathe without forcing it.
Claire never points out how tense he always is. Except she notices the difference. The way his shoulders drop, just slightly, when heβs around her. The way his guard doesnβt disappear but softens. Just enough to matter.
Itβs subtle. Easy to miss if youβre not looking for it, but itβs there. In every touch that lingers. In every moment they almost hold on a little longer but donβt.
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