The street lamps hummed faintly above them, casting sleepy pools of gold across the sidewalk. Their shadows stretched long and quiet as Aurora and Leo made their usual walk home — her shift apron now crumpled in her tote bag, the smell of roasted beans still faintly clinging to her sleeves.
Mochii, tucked in his carrier as usual, had uncharacteristically dozed off, his ears twitching gently in rhythm with the passing cars.
It had been a soft evening — not eventful, not loud. Just filled with low conversations and easy glances. But something inside Aurora felt… not quiet. Restless. Full, like a glass filled too close to the rim.
By the time they reached the entryway of their residency building, Leo turned to her with a tilt of his head. "Still good to do the project tonight?"
She hesitated, clutching her bag tighter. "Yeah," she said, her voice soft. "Just… let me change really quick."
Fifteen minutes later, she was in his apartment upstairs — 14B. A little cluttered, lived-in, warm. It smelled like pinewood and citrus. Books were stacked in cozy piles, a folded blanket draped across the couch, an old record player sitting in the corner with a faint scratch across its glass lid.
The soft whirr of her laptop filled the silence as she sat cross-legged on the rug, her notes scattered like autumn leaves. Leo was beside her, lounging lazily against the couch, one leg bent as his laptop rested across his thighs.
The room was dimly lit, a soft golden hue glowing from the desk lamp, casting long shadows on Leo's walls. The soft whirr of her laptop filled the silence as she sat cross-legged on the rug, her notes scattered around her like autumn leaves.
Leo was beside her, lounging lazily against her bed, one leg bent up, his laptop resting across his thighs, a pencil in his mouth he occasionally chewed on when thinking.
It had been quiet for the past fifteen minutes, save for the scratching of pen on paper and the occasional shift of weight. Outside, the city buzzed gently—horns in the distance, the faint purr of an elevator. Inside, Leo's apartment felt like a snow globe, suspended in stillness.
Leo looked up from the equations on his screen. "You're actually not bad at aerospace dynamics. Colour me impressed."
Aurora offered a dry chuckle, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You don't have to lie. I already know I'm terrible."
"You're not," he replied. "You're just too hard on yourself."
There was something about the way he said it, soft but confident. It made her chest feel oddly warm. She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. Her fingers hesitated on the page before she found her voice.
"Leo," she said, slowly. "Can I ask you something?"
He looked at her, still and expectant, the playful sparkle in his eyes dimming ever so slightly.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to…" she hesitated. "But... where were you? Those two months last year. When you disappeared. Rhea mentioned it the other day."
For a beat, he didn't move. Just stared. Then, slowly, he leaned back, his gaze shifting to the ceiling as if searching for the right words. The silence between them thickened.
"My dad died."
Aurora blinked, startled. "Oh... I—I'm sorry."
He let out a humourless breath. "Car crash. Out of nowhere. One day he was texting me about some board meeting... next, I was identifying his body."
The words weren't sad—they were sharp. Bitter. Laced with an anger that had never quite faded.
"He was the reason I got into Chrestvelle. He funded half of their damn development wing," Leo said with a scoff. "And even then, when he died, they gave me a week to clear pending dues. One. Fucking. Week."
Aurora didn't speak. Her throat felt tight.
"I didn't have the heart or the money. So, I left the dorms. Sold some stuff. Moved into this crumbling apartment complex. Figured I'd claw my way back one way or another."
His jaw was clenched; shoulders tense. For a moment, he looked every bit the boy people whispered about—untouchable, dangerous, golden, and burned.
Aurora shifted closer without thinking. "That's... horrible. I didn't know."
"Didn't expect you to," he said, the edge fading just a little. "You're probably the only person who's ever asked."
They sat there in the quiet. Not awkward. Just heavy with things unspoken.
"I'm still not over it," he admitted, quieter now. "Some days I wake up and I still expect his messages. Other days I just hate him for leaving me to clean up everything."
Aurora's hand inched toward his. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. She just let their fingers touch.
Leo glanced down, then back at her. "Thanks," he murmured.
And in that moment, something shifted between them—not loud or flashy, but deep. Intimate. Like a truth finally allowed to breathe.
Then, as if sensing it was too much, Leo gave a crooked smile. "So wanna take a break or should we keep wrestling with Vance's evil genius of a project?"
Aurora exhaled, giving a soft laugh despite herself. "Let's take a break. I think we both earned it."
There was a weight in the air that neither of them could name, a silence that no longer felt empty — it felt heavy. Leo's hands had gone still on the stack of printed research notes; his head tilted down like he was avoiding her eyes.
Aurora just watched him; her own thoughts caught in the way his fingers twitched slightly — like he was still holding onto something he hadn't spoken aloud.
"Leo..."
His eyes flicked up. They were darker in that dim apartment lighting. "Yeah?"
She reached out gently, placing her hand on top of his — not gripping, just resting there. "I'm really sorry about your dad."
He didn't flinch, but something did break in his jawline. "Yeah. It's whatever now."
"No, it's not," she whispered.
They sat in silence again, her thumb absently brushing over his hand. And then, slowly, he turned his palm, catching her fingers into his. It was soft. Uncertain. And then his other hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Aurora..."
She didn't respond with words. Her breath caught in her throat — not out of fear but because this moment had unravelled all her careful lines.
She leaned closer, eyes tracing his features, the way his lashes lowered slightly as if anticipating something he didn't dare ask for.
And then she kissed him.