When you walked out of your room later that evening, mostly dry except for your hair, which you had tied up in a bun to be dealt with later. You had a fluffy sweater on- the air had chilled after the storm passed- and leggings, reading to enjoy the night home with Leo.

The date had been quite the memory. What else could you say about it? It had been a fun, light afternoon, hanging out with Leo in such a normal way that you almost wish that there had been someone to show off to. You felt a little grin pull at the corners of your lips as you made your way to the kitchen. Would he want to go out again next weekend? It would be nice to go out to dinner--

But, on second thought, having Leo cook for you was always a wonderful thing. He had dried off in minutes and, being that you had skipped lunch, went right to the kitchen. As was habit, you leaned in the doorway to admire him for a moment as he raided the cabinets. At this point, they were as much his as they were yours. Today he had a recipe on the counter, which was new. You sidled closer, trying to read what he was making; you weren't familiar with it.

“Oh,” you said on impulse as you got closer. “You're hair is still wet.” He spun around as though he would be able to see it, which made you giggle; little droplets of water flung across the room, a few landing on you. “Wait, wait,” you laughed, “you're acting like a dog! It's seriously dripping wet; I thought you said you were going to dry off?”

“I changed,” he mumbled as a trail of water rolled down the side of his face; embarrassed, he wiped it away. “You must be hungry, we were out all day and I didn't think about getting food.”

You smiled and pulled him by the arm out of the small kitchen space, giving yourself enough room to get behind him. With a gentle push you sent him towards the bathroom. “Towels are in the cabinet,” you pointed inside the doorway. “Make sure you dry off completely!”

“You didn't dry your hair either,” he said, nodding to your bun. “That can't be good for you.”

You blew him off. “My hair is wet all the time, its hardly a big deal. Besides, it's off my neck. Anyway, go dry up!” Before he could protest any more you pulled the door closed on him.

You went back to the kitchen, looking to see what Leo had been doing on the recipe. The next thing on the list that you didn't see partially scattered across the counter was minced onion. With a shrug, you pulled an onion out of the pantry and began to slice it carefully, leaning away from it as best you could. The knife you held was one of your larger ones, the blade a significant length and nicely sharpened to make tasks like this easier.

You peeled the outside off first so you could chop it. You were skilled with this knife-- you had been cooking for yourself for years before Leo came-- so you knew how the game was played. You cut the onion in half on the cutting board but almost immediately had to turn your face to the side. Sometimes onions weren't a problem for you; this one was strong though. The fine mist of juice that sprayed into the air when you cut it made its way directly into your eyes.

There was nothing for it; blinking rapidly to hold back the tears, you continued chopping. You were relatively quick, so by the time the tears started to fall you were basically done. Which was good, considering that you could hardly see what you were doing. You slid it over to the side of the cutting board and laid the knife down next to it, trying to wipe your burning eyes with the back of your hands.

“Is it alright if I leave the towel on the hook on the back of the door?” Leo asked from the bathroom on his way out. “It should dry best there--”

He stopped short as he walked into the kitchen and you turn to face him, tears dripping down your face, eyes red. He was in front on you in an instant, taking in the situation in a panic. He spotted the knife.

“God no,” he murmured, grabbing your arms and hands and frantically searching you for injuries. “What happened? Where are you hurt? Why didn't you call me?!”

His voice quavered as he spoke; he was running his hands along yours and the inside of your arms, searching for blood or wounds. Finding nothing only increased his anxiety. You tried to calm him down but he spoke of your words and ignored the rest. It didn't help that you hadn't yet gotten fresh air on your face, and tears continued to fall.

In one swift move, Leo caught you in his arms princess style and carried you into the living room. “it'll be okay, it'll be okay,” he kept murmuring under his breath, and though you were fine you couldn't help but wonder if it was more for your sake or for his. He put you gently on the couch and knelt besides you, brushing away the tears from your face with his thumbs gently.

“Please, tell me what happened, are you sick? You don't seem injured...” He seemed so perturbed, but his movements were so sweet; he was looking at you earnestly.

You pushed his hands away and sat up, legs crossed. Leo followed your every move.

“Leo, I'm fine, I promise, it was just the onions.”

“The... onions?”

“Yeah, they make you tear up. That one was really strong I guess. Nothing is wrong.”

He sank to the floor, head resting on your knee as he took a shuddering breath. You had the sudden epiphany that this was the first time Leo had ever seen you cry; knowing Leo, of course he would panic. “My god, it was onions.”

He let out a weak laugh, and you pet the top of his head with the back of your hand. He caught it, and despite your quick protests that it was dirty gently kissed the back of it and pressed it to his forehead. “Please,” he whispered, almost too low to hear. “Never cause me that fear again.” You couldn't help but offer a low smile.

“Never.”