#leowhite

Mary's pressed against his side ("For warmth," she said, face red from more than just the chill), and the steam from their hot chocolate dances with the falling snow. It's... picturesque, he decides, and feels the familiar itch for his camera start in his fingers. He left that back at her house though. Will had wanted to go through the pictures and pick out the best ones for Christmas cards this year ("Since you're really good at shots like that," he said, lips quirking up), so he'd been entrusted with Leo's most precious treasure. In turn, he guesses, he'd been entrusted with Will's. Mary jabs him with her elbow and he hums inquisitively, turning his face to her; she frowns, evidently having asked him a question, and he winces. She'd be mad if he asked her to repeat it, but she'd be madder if he didn't answer right... Mary shakes her head when he relents to the former, lips pursed in a pout as she settles against his side again, and Leo scrunches his nose. She was difficult to figure out sometimes, but it wasn't like he hated that—it was irritating, but it was Mary, and she'd usually end up giving in to explaining things as long as he didn't press his ignorance too far. That was the secret Will had told him: let Mary come out with it herself. Leo tilts his head against hers, wishing they had some sort of height difference—it'd be cute to have her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, watching the snow fall around them—and furrows his brow when he feels Mary pull his arm around her anyway. It's warmer like this. She mutters so too, but Leo gets the feeling it isn't because of the closeness. Or, well, it is, but not like— "What I was saying before," Mary interrupts his thoughts, louder this time than she'd been before—probably to help with the passive deafening the snow has— "I... was asking if you liked me, Leo." "Of course I do," Leo replies, aware of the way his voice pitches it into a question at the end. Mary's grip on his wrist tightens and, oh, she meant. She meant like. "Oh." Nervousness bubbles throughout him, and he wonders if the snow'll melt around them if he gets any hotter. Mary's not looking at him, not directly at least; she glances over every so often, jerking her gaze away when he catches it, and Leo laughs weakly. He takes a deep breath, squeezing her against his side, and swallows hard. "Of course I do," he repeats, louder this time, and gives her the bravest (timid) smile he can manage when she looks at him again.

ii.

As much as they can, anyway. Ghetto Height’s would’ve been perfect to fulfill her request, but that was even farther than the movie theater. And while he would’ve loved to feel her pressed against his back again (even layers between them couldn’t stop his body from heating up at the soft warmth hugging so tightly to him) he couldn’t help but remember Black’s words about her condition and that’s how they were here instead, at one of the planetariums of Hellsalem’s Lot, surrounded by other humans and some Beyondians that were interested in seeing the stars.

“Ah, no, it’s nothing. I just, uh, had a pretty rough day.” Which isn’t a lie. But it’s not the reason for his fried brain. White blinks widely at him and shrugs, withdrawing her hand and craning her neck back to see the stars again. His eyes follow the smooth line of it, trailing from the black of her dress’s accents to how her eyes shine in the dim light, the pull of her lips soft and wistful. Leonardo swallows thickly and looks up to watch the show, cheeks burning.

“... I miss the stars a lot,” she murmurs from beside him. “Even before the collapse you couldn’t really see them. It was like one big black sky.”

He relaxes, puzzled by her words, but freezes right back up when her weight rests against him.

“Thanks for bringing me out, Leo.” Still soft. “I promise I won’t cry this time.”

Leonardo chuckles, hand itching to lay across her shoulders and pride swelling in his chest when she doesn’t seem to mind it. “It’s okay if you do. I would too if I hadn’t seen them in a long time...”

“Nu huh. I’m keeping dry this time.” White peeks a coy smile at him and breathes out softly, looking just as enchantingly pretty as she did at the movie. His heart soars and he forgets all about what the announcer’s talking about, something about the constellation stories or what they’re available to see at Ghetto Heights during the different seasons, focused on the warmth beside him.

... It’s worth the possibility of Black killing him, definitely.

“What’s your favorite?” He ends up asking, wanting to keep the comfy mood going.

“Don’t laugh or say of course, okay?” White pauses, waiting for his nod, and once it’s gotten she points at one of the constellations that looks kind of like a spilled glass to him. “Gemini. It’s not our sign, before you ask, but... I kind of like the story.”

“Yeah? What’s it about?”

She giggles and he winces when she pinches his cheek, trying to frown at him and failing. “They just told it, Leo. Weren’t you listening?”

“Oh-- Oh, haha, I guess I must’ve... spaced out or something,” he replies sheepishly. It earns him another bit of laughter (heart filling to the brim, a grin twitching his lips in the dark) and White lets it end with a happy sounding sigh, the silhouette of her hand reaching up and the feeling of her fingers pressing onto the back of his own skyrocketing his mood to the stars themselves.

Who needs them way up there, huh? He definitely doesn’t. He’s already burning up because of the girl beside him he doesn’t need any star at all.

“I’ll tell you when the presentation’s over,” she breathes into his ear, like a secret. “Just pay attention the rest of it, okay? You paid a lot of money.”

“It’s nothing, really, it wasn’t that much...” Or so he’d like to convince himself, the missing bills feeling so light in his wallet. It’ll be painful tomorrow.

White definitely doesn’t believe him anyway but doesn’t press, just smiles bright enough to be a star all by herself, and Leonardo pushes the worries away. They can torment him later -- or even tomorrow! Tomorrow would be great. But today is his day, his bit of (expensive) normalcy, and he’d hate to ruin it with his own anxieties.

So he breathes in, out, and watches the way White stares in wistful wonder at every simulated dot in the holographic sky, connecting the points with her eyes and hanging onto the announcer’s words like it’s the only time she’ll be able to hear them.

It might be.