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ginnsbaker · 2 days

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (13/?)

Part Summary: “I love you, Leigh,” you declare, the words tumbling out almost uncontrollably. Ever since you stepped off that plane and your feet touched back on home ground, you've been aching to say it. Her eyes turn steely, the brief flicker of doubt swallowed up by resolve. “You say that now,” Leigh counters, her laugh dark and hollow. “But I'm not easy. Loving me might just kill you.”

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.900+ | Warnings: Some angst | Author's note: I think there will be just 2-3 more chapters before we close this book. Just fyi!

When you finally stir awake, the room is washed in a soft morning light. Beside you, Leigh is already up, sitting on the edge of the bed in yesterday’s clothes. Her hair is pulled back casually, a few strands hanging loose, looking a bit disheveled but still unintentionally perfect—or perhaps that's just your infatuation speaking in the early morning haze. But you can't help yourself.

“Morning,” you mumble, voice gravelly from sleep, as you try to tame your own bedhead. You're still barely clothed under the thin covers in contrast to Leigh’s state of fully dressed. The realization makes you blush, remembering last night’s affairs. Subconsciously, you pull the covers tighter around your body, a wave of shyness washing over you.

“Hey,” Leigh whispers in return, giving you a small smile.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, feeling a pleasant ache in your inner thighs and back. “What time is it?” you ask, glancing around, trying to determine the time based solely on the sunlight filtering through the windows.

“It's still early,” she says, checking her phone. “But I've been up for a bit.”

You notice the creases in her clothes, evidence of a night spent on your floor. She seems a bit distant this morning, thoughtful, like she's already planning her day.

“You could have woken me,” you say, letting a small, teasing smile play across your lips.

Leigh shakes her head. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to wake you,” she says, her eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. There's a warmth there, but also something you can't quite read.

“But I did make coffee,” she offers, tilting her head toward the kitchen. Her eyes land on the pile of your clothes scattered on the floor, remnants of just a few hours earlier. She clears her throat and her cheeks color a little as she says, “I'll let you get dressed first then.” Without another word, she heads back to the kitchen.

You grab some clothes and quickly dress, and then a thought hits you. Was Leigh watching you sleep? The idea makes you a bit giddy, flipping a fluttery feeling through your stomach. It's strange to think about, but also kind of endearing. Her sticking around this morning feels like a small victory. Being with Leigh felt good, but you weren’t sure what to expect at sunrise.

In the kitchen, you watch Leigh move with an easy familiarity, exploring the cabinets and figuring out where things are stashed. She quickly locates the mugs right above the coffee brewer, grabs two, and sets them down on the counter.

“How do you take yours?” she asks, her hand hovering over the sugar and cream.

You shrug. “Two creams, two sugars?”

Leigh is meticulous, measuring each spoonful of sugar, ensuring there's just the right amount of room for cream. Every small adjustment she makes for your preference makes your heart skip. You’re touched by the simple fact that she cares enough to know and remember exactly how you like it.

You realize, not for the first time, but perhaps the most profoundly, that you’re falling in love with her. You have been for some time now, but this morning it feels like the descent down a rollercoaster—fast, exhilarating, and a little bit terrifying. There's no slowing down or stopping it; you just have to close your eyes and hold on for dear life.

As you both sip your coffee, you find yourself easing into the comfort of small talk, curious about Leigh's return to working at The Beautiful Beast. She mentioned needing to help her mom out, especially after a few recent resignations—a situation you understand all too well from your own experiences with running a business and the never-ending struggles of hiring staff and managing them.

While part of you listens, another part is preoccupied with thoughts of last night. You want to delve into what happened, to ask if she enjoyed herself, and to apologize for not being more assertive. You want to confirm what it means for both of you, but the thought makes your hand tremble slightly around your coffee mug.

Before you can gather your courage, Leigh’s phone vibrates loudly on the table. She checks it and her expression tightens. “I need to go,” she says suddenly, standing up.

You automatically stand up too, but without a clear next move, you find yourself frozen, waiting for something to happen. Both of you are just standing there—Leigh figuring out how to leave, and you, how to say goodbye.

Then, as if deciding for both of you, Leigh steps forward and gives you a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll see you later,” she says.

“Bye,” you reply, a bit dazed as you watch her grab her things and leave.

You touch your lips, feeling the ghost of Leigh’s quick kiss, an electric zip that lingers like the aftertaste of strong coffee. You’ve seen Leigh in nothing but shadows and moonlight, felt the undeniable press of her bare skin against yours, but the shock of her kiss never dulls. It’s a bit like being struck by lightning—no matter how many times it happens, you never get used to the jolt.

Sara sits confidently across from you, dressed in a black turtleneck and slacks, attire appropriate for a formal interview. Earlier, she mentioned she's finishing her thesis and is interested in a part-time job that can accommodate her academic commitments, which seems ideal. However, the situation is far from perfect. Ideally, hiring someone you once found attractive isn't the best practice, but she's the only applicant who has responded to your job postings so far.

Feeling her eyes fixed on you, you fiddle with the sleeves of your coat while reviewing her résumé. Between you is a history as transient as a wisp of smoke but clear nonetheless. You’d almost ventured into something with her after a lonely night spent swiping through an app you swore off a dozen times before. And with the recent memory of Leigh leaving your apartment still vivid in your mind, you question whether considering Sara for the job is the right decision.

“So?” Sara ventures after you've been quiet for a while. You feel your cheeks warm with a blush, realizing you've been stalling. Forcing yourself, you tear your eyes away from her rather impressive qualifications.

Letting out a sigh, you set down your glasses, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Honestly, this just doesn't feel serious,” you confess. “I keep expecting Suzie to pop out with her phone, recording this whole thing as a prank.”

Sara's laughter spills out, rich and melodious. It’s infectious, and after a while you find yourself chuckling too.

“I promise, I'm serious,” she assures you, still smiling. She leans forward, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Look, our history was brief. We didn’t really date, we just met that one time—”

“Twice,” you interrupt, unable to resist correcting her.

Her smile broadens. “—outside of the app. We can be friends, forget all that other stuff, okay?”

You consider her words, searching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. Finding none, you ask, “And that won’t be weird for you?”

“Not at all,” she replies confidently, her head shaking slightly. “And… if you're alright with just part-time for now?”

“Yeah, I can manage reception on my own some days,” you say. But there's another nagging thought that won't let you go.

Sara quickly catches on to your dithering. “What is it?”

“It's just... aren't you worried this job is a bit beneath you? You're chasing an MBA. Wouldn’t you rather find something more aligned with your degree?” you ask.

She leans back, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “I’ve considered that,” she says slowly, “but right now, the flexibility this job offers is what I need most. And honestly, I believe in what your clinic is doing—it's a good place to be, even if it’s just a stop along the way.”

You smile at that, genuinely touched by her kind words about your establishment and the work you do.

“Alright, then, I just have one more question to, uh, make this official,” you say, shuffling the papers in front of you. “You've got impressive organizational skills and a solid background in customer service. How do you think these will help you in a medical office setting?”

Sara doesn’t hesitate, her answer ready almost before you've finished speaking.

“Are we sure it's okay to leave Sara by herself while we grab lunch?” you ask, a slight frown forming as you think about what might need handling while you're gone.

Suzie gives you a reassuring smile as she slings her purse over her shoulder. “She’ll be fine. It’s usually quiet around this time, and I’ve given her a rundown of the essentials. Plus, she knows she can text me if anything comes up.”

You can't shake off a sliver of worry, knowing how overwhelming the first day can be. “Alright,” you say, still unconvinced but trusting Suzie’s judgment. “Let’s make it quick then.”

The two of you make your way to a charming little café tucked around the corner. It's a snug nook, celebrated for its hearty sandwiches and home-cooked soups. As you walk, the idea of bringing Leigh here bubbles up in your thoughts—she'd appreciate their renowned kale soup, you reckon.

As you line up to order, Suzie nudges your shoulder lightly. “So, not weird at all hiring an old flame?” she teases.

You roll your eyes. “It's strictly professional. And technically, we never really dated. We just… hung out.”

“Yeah, you hung her out to dry.”

“I’m still your boss for the next two weeks,” you remind her jokingly.

Suzie smirks and raises her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, boss. I'll behave.”

“But seriously, you can't tease me about Sara anymore because, you know…I'm with Leigh now,” you say, looking down at your feet, hiding your grin.

Suzie turns to you, her eyes widening. “Oh. When did this happen?” she asks, her tone noticeably flat. You were expecting her to be more excited about the news.

Your spirits dip a little at Suzie's lackluster reaction. You straighten up and decide to share the brief version of your reunion with Leigh. As you recount the events to Suzie, you keenly watch her reactions, hoping for a clue into her thoughts. You mention forgiving Leigh and how, after forgiveness was exchanged, Leigh kissed you. Throughout your story, Suzie's expression remains unreadably neutral.

When you finish, she finally speaks, “Honestly, I'm happy for you. Just make sure you're both on the same page.”

“She did stay until morning,” you tell Suzie, feeling a need to convince her—and maybe yourself—that this is significant. After all, someone making you coffee in the morning has to mean something, right?

“Okay, that’s definitely a good sign,” she says with cautious optimism. “But have you guys talked about what this all means? Like, are you actually together now or what?”

The reality of her question gradually settles on you after a few moments. “We haven't really defined anything,” you admit.

Suzie heaves a sigh just as it's her turn to order. She picks a dark chocolate frappuccino and a salmon bagel, loaded with extra cream cheese, then drifts off to a corner to wait while you place your order. As you step up to the counter, you realize you’ve lost your appetite. You settle for an Americano and a mixed bowl of fruit to go. When your food and drinks are ready, you both head to a corner booth by the window.

Suzie, picking up on your nervousness, advises, “Just take things slow, okay?”

You murmur a noncommittal, “Mhm,” your thoughts adding, Too late for that. The two of you eat in silence until the chime of a text notification breaks through—from Leigh.

You can feel Suzie’s curious gaze at you while you read Leigh’s text:

[12:33 PM] Leigh: Thanks for last night

You hover over the keypad, unsure how to respond.

You’re welcome?

The pleasure was all mine?

You shake your head, cringing at your own thoughts. Suzie catches your expression and squints at you. “Everything alright?” she asks.

“It’s Leigh,” you mumble, glancing briefly from your phone to meet Suzie’s questioning look.

“What did she say?”

Instead of explaining, you tilt your phone towards Suzie, letting her read the message herself. A few seconds later, a knowing smirk forms on her face.

“She’s playing it safe,” Suzie concludes.

Your phone pings again, making you jump. Almost fumbling it, you quickly check the new message and read it aloud:

[12:34 PM] Leigh: Hey, quick question. What dog shampoo would you recommend? Logan's perfumed smell doesn't really last long.

“She's playing it way too safe,” Suzie remarks, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

Ignoring Suzie, you quickly type back, suggesting a favorite of yours, and include a link to an online store.

[12:35 PM] You: Try this one <link>. It's hypoallergenic and it should keep Logan smelling fresh longer than the others I've tried.

After sending the message, you look up to find Suzie still wearing a small smile.

“What a bunch of modern idiots,” she murmurs, loud enough for you to hear, before taking a hearty sip from her drink.

You and Leigh continue texting about Logan and his needs. She mentions she'll drop by tomorrow to pick up his supplies. You keep to yourself that you're already planning to gather everything and surprise her by dropping it off at her place—an excuse to see her again.

You leave the clinic early, gripping a bouquet of flowers in one hand and Logan’s bag of supplies in the other. Since that lunch with Suzie, you've been introspective and quiet, wrestling with the idea that she might be right about defining your relationship with Leigh. You realize you're already in too deep, weary of assumptions and the uncertainty of not knowing where you stand with her.

Expecting to find Leigh at her mom's fitness studio in the late afternoon, you make your way there.

But she isn't there.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” Jules greets you from behind the reception desk. She's busy wiping down the counter and sorting through stacks of folders—membership forms that appear to have accumulated over the past few years.

“Is Leigh around?” you ask, scanning the mostly deserted area. Your eyes sweep past the maintenance staff quietly going about their cleaning, but there’s no sign of Leigh.

You miss the brief flicker of discomfort that crosses Jules's face at the mention of her sister. “Leigh's probably at home,” Jules says evenly, going back to her task. “She takes every Tuesday off.”

While you’re still distracted (and a little disappointed), Jules notices the bouquet you’re holding.

“Are those for her?” she asks.

You give the bouquet of red Chrysanthemums a slight wave, then a bit sheepishly, you nod and confirm, “Yeah.”

“That's sweet, Y/N,” Jules comments, her lips curving slightly.

She seems to expect you to leave since Leigh isn't around, but instead, you take a seat on one of the stools at the reception.

“How are you, by the way?” you ask, flashing a warm smile at her. You lean your arms on the counter and start drumming your fingers, genuinely interested in her response.

“You sure you wanna hang around? Leigh hates waiting for anyone,” she says. Though her words are light, there’s a shadow behind them that yanks your attention.

“Is everything okay? I mean, with you and Leigh?” you ask cautiously. Jules doesn’t speak for a moment too long, and you nearly backtrack, thinking maybe a lighter topic might salvage the awkward silence.

But just as you’re about to pivot, she blurts out, “I moved out recently.”

You gawk at her, surprised by the sudden confession. Jules notices your open-mouthed shock and it almost coaxes a laugh from her. She's somewhat entertained by your astonishment but also touched that you cared enough to ask. Inside, she’s glad she secretly cheered for you over Danny.

“I know, right? Bet you didn't see that coming,” she says with a wry smile.

“Moving out is definitely a big step,” you reply, “but uh, you kind of didn’t really answer my question there.”

Jules chuckles and rounds the counter to sit beside you. “No,” she says flatly, her expression sobering as she sits beside you. “And honestly, I'd rather not hash out my issues with Leigh unless it's with my therapist. Talking about it just feels like letting her win somehow.”

She lets out a deep breath, her gaze drifting away momentarily. “And no, I didn't plan on moving out. I just got tired of being treated like crap by my own family.”

Jules starts picking at the edge of the counter before she looks up. She had mentioned not wanting to discuss it, but somehow, she finds it easy to open up to you.

“I mean, obviously, we're not related by blood,” she continues, “and yeah, it's the 21st century—being adopted shouldn't be a big deal, right? But even though it's common, it doesn't make me feel any more part of the family, any less like an outsider. I feel like an eternal letdown, like I'm always just shy of what they hoped I'd be.”

“What exactly are they hoping for?” you ask softly.

Jules shrugs, her eyes darting away as she wraps her arms around herself protectively. “I don't really know. It's more of an outline than a shape.”

You think about her words for a moment before adding your two cents. “Could it be that maybe some of this pressure is self-imposed? Maybe you're the one filling in the blanks with what you think they expect of you? It's okay just to be yourself, you know. You don't have to be everything to everyone, and that’s perfectly fine,” you say.

Jules nods slowly, her gaze fixed on some distant point. Then, quietly, almost a whisper, she adds, “It's tough, especially with my…you know…past drinking problem. Even though I've been clean for months, it feels like I'm always on trial, always having to prove I’m better now. And when I slip up, even just a little…” her voice falters, “I just... I imagine what they must think of me, if they—”

“If they love you any less for it?” you interject gently.

Her eyes snap back to yours, slightly wet and reddened. Instinctively, you reach out for her hand. Jules grasps it in return, and you give her hand a comforting squeeze.

“I don't really know Leigh in terms of family stuff,” you say, shifting uncomfortably on your stool as you choose your words carefully. “And maybe you've got it right, Jules. But then again, maybe not. See, when we really care about someone, we tend to put them on a pedestal, root for them so hard that sometimes, without even realizing it, we might push them a bit too much.”

You let the thought sit for a while, then continue, your own quandaries weaving into your speech. “Maybe it's best if you talk to Leigh about this... I mean, personally, I need to talk to Leigh about something too. I want to stop assuming things and thinking my perspective is the whole reality. We all do it, don’t we? Set traps for ourselves with our own expectations and assumptions.”

Jules sniffles, manages a faint smile, and discreetly wipes away a tear with her pinkie. Then, unexpectedly, she leans forward and hugs you, her head resting snugly against your cheek. You return the embrace, gently rubbing her back in random circles.

When she steps back, there's a new light of recognition in her eyes.

“You remind me of Matt.”

You're not sure if that's a flattering comparison or not. You did connect with Matt, after all, not because you were opposites that attracted, but because you saw parts of yourself reflected in him—similar interests, similar ways of thinking.

You can’t help but ask, “How so?”

“Matt always played mediator between Leigh and me. Oddly enough, we both really listened to him, took his opinions to heart. He had this wisdom, you know?” She stops for a second, her expression clouding over. “Which really threw me when I found out about some of the... stupid choices he made.” She gestures towards you apologetically, adding, “No offense.”

“None taken,” you assure her quickly with a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, Matt was that person in the family who really saw everyone, who tried to knit us all together. I miss him,” Jules says wistfully. She looks past your shoulder, into the distance, as if she's seeing his ghost. You don’t look behind you. You can see his ghost in her eyes clearly.

Jules continues, “And whatever went down with Leigh, I don’t think it was all his fault. Leigh... she can be challenging to love sometimes. Oh god, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, understanding what she means more than she might think. “It's okay, Jules. It's hard, loving people isn't always straightforward or easy. They say love brings out the best in us, but often, it brings out the worst.”

“It’s like I can hear Matt talking, but in a female voice,” Jules jokes, returning to her post. “Anyway, are you and my sister finally going out?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out soon,” you say, gesturing to the bouquet you're holding. You feel a bit forward buying flowers for a girl, especially since you don’t even know what Leigh's favorite flowers are—or if she likes them at all.

Jules gives you a mischievous grin and says, “Well, good luck with that. For what it's worth, I don't think Leigh dumped Danny for nothing. She seems to really like you.”

“Thanks, that means a lot,” you say, feeling a bit more buoyed as you rise from your seat.

With a final nod to Jules, you head out, the bouquet of flowers in hand feeling less silly and more like a talisman as you drive straight to Leigh's house.

You pull into the driveway of the Shaw residence, your hands gripping the steering wheel a tad too tightly. The bouquet of flowers sits next to you, a daunting shade of red against the gray upholstery, and Logan’s supplies are carefully arranged in the backseat. You mentally rehearse your opening line to Leigh, hoping the surprise might soften the ground for the conversation that needs to follow.

You ring the doorbell and wait, shifting from foot to foot, your hand gripping the stem of the flowers a little too tightly while your other arm cradles the box containing Logan’s things. But when the door swings open, it's not Leigh who greets you.

“D-Danny,” you stammer, the subtle smile on your lips completely falling away.

What is he doing here?

Danny looks equally unenthused to see you. “Hey,” he replies, his eyes briefly dropping to the flowers before meeting yours again. “Looking for Leigh?”

Before you can respond, Leigh appears behind him. Her face emerges as she peers at you over his shoulder, his towering height partially obstructing your view of her. She looks utterly surprised to see you at her doorstep, giving you the impression that she wasn't expecting you and maybe you shouldn't be here at all.

“I… I thought of bringing Logan’s supplies now since I’m free, but… yeah, I should probably go—”

“Danny was just leaving,” Leigh announces abruptly.

You find yourself frozen, rooted to the spot as you turn to face her. Danny looks poised to object, but Leigh fixes him with a look. It's enough. His defiance melts into resignation, his shoulders dropping slightly as he exhales a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I'll call you later, Leigh.” He stalks off without waiting for a reply.

You’re still looking at the ground, the front door cracked open, a draft passing in between you and Leigh as you stand on her doorstep.

What was Danny doing here? You can't seem to shake it off.

Leigh reaches out and gently touches your elbow, nudging you inside. “Come in,” she murmurs, leading you past the threshold.

Inside, Leigh takes the box of supplies from your hands. She starts sorting through it, tossing a casual “Thanks” over her shoulder as she examines the contents. Her focus is entirely on Logan’s needs until she looks up and spots the bouquet you’re still hanging onto.

Your cheeks flush as her gaze shifts to the flowers. You had fantasized about a dazzling smile breaking across her features at the sight. Instead, Leigh’s expression tightens with skepticism, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regards the bouquet.

“Flowers?” Leigh inquires uncertainly.

It's not the response you'd imagined, and you suddenly find yourself scrambling for an explanation, the bouquet feeling unexpectedly cumbersome in your grasp.

“I, uh, passed by a flower shop,” you start, fiddling with a petal as you concoct a small white lie. “I bought some for myself and figured, since I was coming over with Logan's supplies, maybe you'd like some too.”

You've both seen each other naked just hours ago, yet somehow that doesn't seem to matter now. This doesn't feel any easier than before you slept together.

“They are pretty,” she says, accepting the flowers. She looks around for a moment. “I'll find a vase for these.”

Relieved she's accepted them, you seize the opportunity to change the topic. You're on the verge of asking why Danny was just here, but to your own surprise, a completely different question slips out.

“Where's Logan today?”

“He's with mom,” Leigh says, returning to the living room holding a plain-looking vase. “She’s really bonded with him. Actually, she's out showing him off to some old friends today.”

That coaxes out a small smile from you, imagining Logan charming everyone he meets.

Now the roles reverse and Leigh takes her turn with the questions. “How about you? Weren't we supposed to meet for Logan’s stuff tomorrow?” A beat passes, and she adds, “I wasn’t expecting you.” Her tone isn’t harsh, but it's clear that Leigh isn't fond of surprises. You mentally file that away for future reference.

“I wanted to see you,” you say, the words tumbling out more bluntly than planned. “You left so quickly this morning after... after last night.”

Then, almost without thinking, you find yourself nodding toward the door Danny had exited through, the question spilling out before you can reel it back. “Why was Danny here?” It sounds more accusatory than you intend, and you hurry to cushion it, not wanting to come off as possessive. “I mean, I thought you two were—”

“Broken up?” Leigh fills in the blank sharply. She sets the vase down slowly, then turns to face you, her expression becoming more earnest by the second.

“Yes, we are,” she confirms, crossing her arms lightly over her chest. “Danny came by to pick up some of his things he had left here. It's not... we’re not back together. But if you’re asking why he’s still in my life, then I have news for you, Y/N: we’re friends. And he’s still Matt’s brother.”

You bite your lip, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within you. “I'm just wondering, that's all,” you manage to say, trying not to sound too confrontational or possessive. You’re suddenly aware of how precarious your position is—you’re not really entitled to feel jealous or make demands. After all, Leigh hasn't given you any sort of claim over her; you're not officially anything. You came here hoping maybe that would change, but now you worry you might be messing it all up.

“Of course you can be friends with whoever you want,” you add hastily.

“Exactly,” she says, but then she pauses, scrutinizing you with a curious tilt of her head. “But what about you?” she presses, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, like a predator stalking its prey.

You give her a quizzical look.

“The flowers, showing up without a heads-up... What are you hoping to get out of this?”

As Leigh’s gaze bores into you, probing and skeptical, something inside you snaps. The hurt ricochets through you, searing and unexpected. She was so delicate with you, making you feel all sorts of things while doing wonderful, unspeakable things to your body, and now she’s making you question your own reality.

“I've been falling in love with you, Leigh,” you say, your voice rising without your permission, the words bouncing off the walls with a force that startles even you. “Are you just enormously daft or do you not care at all?”

Silence crashes down like a heavy curtain following your admission.

But Leigh doesn’t flinch from your outburst, nor does she display any signs of distress. She remains eerily still, almost statue-like. Yet, when you look into her eyes, you see it—the unsteadiness there, the only part of her that seems vulnerable to your scrutiny.

Then, she speaks. Just one word, but it's enough to completely deflate you, a response more chilling than if she had simply said she didn't care.

“No.”

“What—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“You don’t love me.”

The certainty with which she says it feels like a door slamming shut, final and resolute, leaving no room for doubts or arguments. Your mouth hangs open, muted by her unequivocal assertion that you don't love her.

You’re gearing up to tell her how wrong she is, to insist that what you feel is real, but she cuts you off with a question that feels like a bucket of ice water.

“When you learned that ‘Nick’ was just Danny all along, that Matt’s brother helped him betray me, what was your first thought?” Leigh's voice is clinical, almost detached.

You feel like you’re missing something, grasping at the air for an answer that will satisfy her. Her gaze traps you, demanding truth, and you realize you can’t escape until you give it to her. What does she want to hear? What is she trying to understand from this?

“My first thought?” you repeat, trying to remember how it made you feel. “I felt sorry for you, Leigh. I couldn’t believe someone so close to you would do that. I felt angry for you, and yeah, I felt really sorry that you had to go through it.”

Leigh's eyes flicker, a subtle shift like a wince. “You pitied me,” she says, her voice cold. “And you also wanted to fuck me. That can be a real killer combo you could mistake for love.”

You stumble back a step, your legs suddenly weak as her words sink in. It's as if she's taken your heart and laid it bare under a harsh light, reducing your feelings to something small and pitiful, far from the love you thought you felt.

Finding the nearest surface to lean on, you press your back against the front door. The temptation to leave, to walk away from this painful confrontation, is strong. But the beautiful, infuriating creature in front of you couldn't be more wrong about you, about love, about how you feel for her. And you’re hell-bent on changing her mind, even if it’s the last thing you do.

“Then why be with me last night?” you challenge, your voice strained. “If you really think that, why even bother?”

Leigh's smile takes on a mocking twist, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Just satisfying your curiosity,” she says. “I wanted to lift the veil for you, help you realize it's nothing more than just guilt and sympathy.”

You shake your head. “I don't believe that. Last night wasn't just curiosity or some misguided sense of duty. It was real, Leigh. And I think you know that too.”

Her eyes remain hard, but just beneath, there's a shimmer—perhaps doubt, or something like it.

“You think you know what love is?” she whispers, her voice so faint it's almost lost. “You think it's just about feeling sorry for someone and wanting them?”

“No,” you say firmly. “I think it's about seeing someone for who they are, flaws and all, and wanting to be there for them anyway. I think it's about standing by someone even when it's hard, even when they push you away. And Leigh, I see you. I see all of you, and I still want to be here.

“I love you, Leigh,” you declare, the words tumbling out almost uncontrollably. Ever since you stepped off that plane and your feet touched back on home ground, you've been aching to say it.

Her eyes turn steely, the brief flicker of doubt swallowed up by resolve. “You say that now,” Leigh counters, her laugh dark and hollow. “But I'm not easy. Loving me might just kill you.”

“Leigh—”

“Why do you think Matt was found at the bottom of a forty-foot drop?” she nearly screams, her voice fraying at the edges of hysteria. She starts pacing, her movements restless and agitated. “Why do you think he came to you? Why do you think he kept running from me?”

At the mention of her dead husband, everything suddenly makes sense. The walls she’s built, her reluctant heart—it’s not about being mysterious or difficult. It’s about fear, a deep, visceral terror of being the storm that wrecks another life. Leigh isn't just pushing you away out of whimsy or cruelty; she's doing it because she believes it's the only way to prevent history from repeating itself.

“I’m not Matt.”

She stops pacing, her eyes locking onto yours, filled with anger, fear, and something that looks a lot like pain. “No, you’re not Matt. But you don’t get it. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle me. I drove him away, and I’ll drive you away too.”

“You didn’t drive Matt away. He was running from his own demons, not you. And I’m not afraid of you. I’m here because I want to be. Because I—”

Her face crumples, the mask she’s been wearing cracking. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” she whispers. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I know it’s not easy,” you say, closing the distance between you. You feel her radiating every feeling she’s struggling to contain, the ones she’s attempting to shield from you. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for all of it.”

Her eyes well up, tears slipping down her cheeks. But she doesn’t move away. “Why?” she asks, her voice so small and child-like. “Why would you want to stay?”

“Because I love you,” you say simply, “and I’m not afraid of the cost.”

Leigh gives you a look that could freeze fire—like you’ve just spoken the worst of blasphemies.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmur, cupping her neck gently.

“Like what?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“Like it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard.”

She attempts to smooth over her expression, trying to regain some semblance of control, but there’s a fleeting moment where she resembles a chastised child. You can't help but smile gently, touched by her unguarded reaction.

“Leigh,” you whisper, taking her hands in yours. “One date. Go out with me. Let me prove it to you. Let me show you why it can be a good thing.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She nods, almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough. It’s a start.

“Okay,” she whispers in surrender. “One date.”

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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