You leaned on your desk and stared at the screen of the computer. It was sitting there, waiting for he grades to be submitted, but you weren't paying attention to it at all. You figured that is someone else knew what was going on, they probably wouldn't blame you. You had an attractive, fake-ish boyfriend sitting in your apartment for gods sake. Half-, cat onesie-- yeah, attractive. You put your head down on the desk.

What were you supposed to do? You were the one who initiated the kiss, not him. He had been relatively good about the entire thing. Maybe you were giving him too much credit. You looked up and checked the clock. You had to go home soon, classes were over, and since you weren't actually putting in grades you were running out of excuses to stay.

You gathered your belongings, throwing papers to grade in your purse. You had no idea how you were going to face Leo when you got home; act as if nothing had happened? Actually, how were you supposed to treat someone when you went home from work, in general? It was a new experience for you. Would “I'm home” suffice? You passed your few remaining colleagues wordlessly in the hallway, too focused on what you were going to do.

In the time it took you to get home, a good thirty minutes, you still had no answer. He was probably angry, actually. Or what if he had left all together? A panic began to grow as you walked, your worry about yourself turning into a frenzy of whether or not he had abandoned you already. It was hardly a day; what did it say if even a made boyfriend couldn't stand you? How upset had you made Leo that he felt the need to leave? You began to half-run down the sidewalk, spotting your apartment in the distance. Maybe if you had gone home earlier, he would have forgiven you. You scrambled for your keys as you tripped up the stairs, scrapping a knee on the harsh concrete but paying it no mind.

You made it to the doorway in record time, shoving the key into the lock like a madman and pushing open the door.

“Leo?!” You called, the entry way empty and barren. The box he had come in was still resting in the corner. Would he take that with him? Probably not, you decided.

You waited for a response, but there was none. You gulped, running towards the kitchen. It was your fault for kissing him and then rejecting him, stupid, stupid-

You stopped dead at the entrance of the kitchen, heart dropping through your stomach. Leo looked up from where he was standing over the rapidly boiling pot on the stove, stirring something mindlessly.

“Oh,” he said, shedding a glorious smile on you. “You're home.” He peeked up at the clock on the wall behind him. “I was expecting you a bit later, so this isn't ready yet. Is pasta okay?” He looked back to you expectantly, but you couldn't be bothered to answer. You leaned your head on the wall, dropping your purse to the ground and trying not to follow it as relief flooded you.

“Um.”

The concern in the tone caused you to raise your head, meeting Leo's gaze as he stared you down.

“Are you alright?”

You slipped off your shoes and moved to sit down at the table. Leo never stopped watching you, wooden spoon forgotten in hand as the water boiled erratically.

“You aren't leaving?” You asked, hoping the relief was permanent. Leo's brow furrowed as he struggled to understand where the question was coming from.

“If you need something,” he began slowly, voice quiet, “I can try to go buy something-”

“No no,” you cut him off, shoulders slumping. It didn't even seem to be on his mind at all. “It's nothing. And yes, pasta is fine.”

He didn't look convinced, but went back to the pot regardless. “If you want to go clean up, this will probably be done by the time you get back. Oh, and I did the laundry, so fresh clothes are folded on the bed.”

You perked a little at the thought of washing the day off of your face, but faltered when you realized he had also washed your clothes.

“... You washed all of my clothes?”

“Everything that was in the hamper,” he responded, unperturbed as he went in search of a colander. You headed towards the bedroom with a renewed panic. The door was semi-closed, only a sliver open and not enough for you to see through.

You pushed it open, took one glance at the room, and closed it again; you went to wash your face. Sure enough, your laundry was folded nice and neatly on the bed, bras and included, precisely on the top of the pile. Forget Leo leaving; maybe the bigger problem was him staying. You washed as though you could cool the blush that burned your cheeks. The image was creeping into your head of Leo folding your underwear, and you most certainly did not like it.

You returned to the kitchen with a blush and a scowl, neither of which would leave. “Don't do my laundry anymore,” you said, annoyed, but Leo turned around to face you with a hefty, filled dish of pasta in hand. As the scent drifted towards you and you realized that you hadn't eaten in hours, you forgave him. Just a little.

“Are you sure?” He put the dish down and you seated yourself in front of it. “It really wasn't a problem-”

“Seriously, no thanks.” You dug into the food with a quick murmured thanks after your more tart response. He simply graced you with a gentle smile and moved to sit next to you.

“That's fine, if you prefer. I just ran out of things to do today. There's no more information about you here...” He looked around the kitchen with a slight bit of dissatisfaction. You followed his roaming gaze with your own; he was right, in a sense, it was a rather sparse apartment. You had never been one to reveal your personal life easily, even if it was just with photos and knick knacks. “... so,” he continued, getting your attention again, “I was wondering if you want to go on a date with me tomorrow.”