/Leo/
It took a few minutes before the elevator doors finally closed in front of us. My hand was still wrapped tightly around Jake's trembling fingers, unwilling to let go after what Alex had just done to him. I had practically dragged him inside, his steps weak and uncertain.
"Hey… the groceries." Jake tugged softly at my shirt, his voice barely above a whisper. "They're still downstairs."
I tilted my head, meeting his eyes for a brief moment. The thought of groceries felt meaningless compared to the way his hand was still shaking in mine. When the elevator reached my floor, I unlocked the door to my condo and carefully let go of his hand, giving him room to breathe.
"Here—let me check you." My voice came out steadier than I felt as I guided him toward the couch. My hands brushed over his arms, shoulders, chest—anywhere I thought he might be hurt. He didn't resist. He just sat there, silent, lost in the aftershocks of what had happened.
When my fingers ran across his left arm, I felt it—something wet. I turned his wrist over and froze. Blood.
The anger that had been simmering inside me at the thought of Alex flared again, but worry quickly took its place. "Damn it, Jake…" I muttered under my breath before hurrying into the bedroom. I tore through the cabinet until I found the first aid kit.
By the time I returned, Jake was sitting quietly on the couch, his gaze fixed on the window and the stars beyond. It was like he was trying to disappear into them, away from here, away from the fear.
I sat on the floor in front of him and carefully took his injured hand in mine. "Hold still," I whispered. With gentle hands, I cleaned the blood away. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but it was deep enough that he must have fought hard against Alex. That thought made my chest tighten.
I wrapped the wound with clean bandages, then rested my palm lightly over the back of his hand, as if to promise him that he was safe now. My eyes searched his face, but he wasn't looking at me. His gaze was still locked on the endless sky outside, far away from me, far away from this moment.
And that hurt more than the blood on his wrist ever could.
"Jake…" The word left my throat unsteady, trembling, as I tried to pull him back from the distant sky and into this moment with me. "…I'm sorry."
His eyes finally shifted to meet mine, glossy and heavy with unshed tears. "What are you sorry about, Leo?" His voice cracked, and a single tear broke free, trailing down his cheek until it landed softly in his palm.
"About everything." My voice was firmer now as I reached out, taking his trembling hand in mine, grounding him. "I swear to you—he won't touch you again. I'll make sure that bastard doesn't even breathe the same air as you if he dares to come near. I've already filed a complaint at the station—first about the video, and now… now this."
Jake let out a shaky breath, his lips quivering as he whispered, "Thank you, Leo. If you hadn't shown up that day with the takeout, I… I don't know where I'd be right now."
I tightened my grip on his hand, letting my thumb gently brush over his bandaged wrist. "I promise, Jake. I'll keep you safe until the very last breath in my lungs."
His tears kept falling, silent but unrelenting, and it broke something inside me to watch him unravel like that. Without a word, I pulled a folded handkerchief from my pocket and leaned in, brushing away the streaks of wetness on his cheeks. "Hey… no more tears," I murmured, my thumb lingering against his skin. "Not while I'm here."
The clock on the wall chimed past nine when Jake stirred awake from his sleep on the couch. His head had been resting against me after he cried himself into slumber, and I hadn't had the heart to move him. Instead, I let him sleep while I busied myself in the kitchen.
"Hey," I called softly as he pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes. "Hungry?"
Before he could answer, his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl that filled the quiet room. A smile crept onto my lips, and I quickly pressed it down before he caught me.
"I guess you got your answer," Jake muttered, his tone firmer than before, and I felt a wave of relief. The spark in his voice was coming back—it meant he was finding himself again.
"Come sit. I've made something you'll like." I gestured to the dining table.
He crossed the room, taking his seat across from me. His eyes widened when he saw the dishes spread out, the astonishment softening the lines of tension still lingering on his face.
"When did you make all this?" he asked, his voice carrying genuine surprise.
"When you were sleeping like a certain fairytale beauty," I teased, raising a brow.
He ignored the jab and stared down at the plate in front of him with a kind of reverence. "I wanted to cook tonight… to surprise you with something. Show off a little, you know?" His voice dipped into something deeper, but his gaze was fixed on the food, his expression betraying how touched he was.
"You wanted to, huh?" I leaned back slightly, watching him.
"Yeah," he admitted, almost sheepishly. "It was supposed to be my thing tonight."
"Well, don't worry." I smirked, lifting my glass in mock salute. "You'll get your chance. After all…" My voice softened, dropping the playful edge. "…I'm not letting you go now."
I waited for a reaction, but he was already busy with his first bite, too absorbed in savoring his favorite dish to notice the weight of my words. A small chuckle left me as I watched him eat, pretending not to mind—but deep down, I hoped he had at least heard me.