Craving Uncle Leornad

Messy

The night before had been one of the rare peaceful ones for Emilia. No tossing and turning or staring at the ceiling with her mind racing a mile per minute. It's just perfectly pure, undisturbed sleep. She woke up feeling rested, the warmth of the sun streaming through the blinds. For a split and blissful moment, everything felt so right.

She stretched, her body heavy with the reluctance to leave the cozy sheets but she eventually woke up and padded downstairs where she found a note stuck to the fridge containing Leonard's sharp, bold handwriting scrawled across the paper.

“Gone out. Try not to burn the house down with your cooking. – Leo.”

Emilia couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head at the dry humour. There was something so effortlessly and incredibly charming about him, even in the smallest things. She wasn’t going to admit it aloud, but yeah, her kitchen skills were horrible. Leonard knew it all too well.

She fixed herself a quick breakfast, something simple (and safe), this time—yogurt and granola, before plopping down on the couch with her phone in hand. As the first spoonful hit her lips, she instinctively opened up social media, swiping and scrolling through the endless posts. Sophie and Claire’s vacation feed lit up her screen with shots of Paris: the Eiffel Tower at sunset,the expensive cocktails on rooftop terraces, and playful pictures of them laughing in front of the Louvre.

They had begged her to come along. A month in Paris—who could resist? But Emilia had declined, why? The reason was as obvious as it was complicated. She would choose staying here, staying near Leonard, over any vacation. Period. It was irrational, maybe even a little self-sabotaging, but she couldn't tear herself away. Being close to him had become a drug she couldn't quit, no matter how many times she told herself she should.

Her phone buzzed. *Incoming video call: Sophie + Claire.*

Emilia hit the answer button, immediately greeted by the sight of her two best friends lounging in some posh Parisian café, their laughter spilling through the screen and light filled faces.

“Look who finally picked up!” Sophie exclaimed, her voice a mix of playful and accusatory. “Thought we’d lost you to 'Mr. Hot Pants' forever.”

Emilia laughed, tucking her legs underneath her. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”

“Not that bad?!” Claire scoffed, waving her manicured hand at the camera. “You ditched Paris for him! P-A-R-I-S!. We’re here having the time of our lives, and you’re… what? Reading in a couch? Not that you don’t look cosy, but still!”

Sophie leaned into the camera, her teal eyes gleaming mischievously. “Tell us the truth. You’d rather be with Leonard, wouldn’t you?”

Emilia’s grin widened as she shrugged. She couldn’t fool them. They know her too well. “I mean, who can say no to ‘Mr. Hot Pants,’ right?”

Both Sophie and Claire burst into fit of giggles, their laughter echoing through the screen. “God, you’re so whipped,” Sophie said, shaking her head. “But we get it. He’s smoking hot, mysterious, and let’s not even talk about how that man fills a suit.”

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, and stop saying mr hot pants youre making it hella wierd. " Emilia muttered, though she couldn't stop the blush creeping up her cheeks. They weren't wrong, after all.

“And don’t think we don’t know you’re missing out on all this partying,” Claire added, taking a sip of her drink. “We went out last night, Em, and it was wild. You would’ve loved it.”

Emilia sighed dramatically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “Ugh, don’t remind me. You know how much I miss a good party.”

“And the guys!” Sophie chimed in, eyes wide with faux-shock. Oh god! “There were so many cute guys! Tall ones, short ones, funny ones, brooding ones… it was a buffet! You’re missing out, babe.”

Emilia let out a long groan. “Stop! You’re killing me. You know I’m a party freak at heart. I haven’t wiggled this booty in forever.”

“Well,” Claire teased, leaning closer to the camera. “What’s stopping you? Go find a club and let loose, girl. Or... is Leonard keeping you under house arrest?”

Emilia rolled her eyes, but there was something in the back of her mind that agreed with them. She hadn’t gone out in ages. She had, without realizing it, perched herself to Leonard, making her world only revolve around him, all because she couldn’t shake the pull he had on her.

“Speaking of Leonard,” Sophie started, her voice dropping into that familiar gossip tone, “what’s going on with him? Give us the juicy details. Have you made a move yet?”

“Oh, God, no,” Emilia replied, shaking her head. “He’s… complicated. I don’t even know how to explain it. One minute he’s here, present, you know? And the next, he’s a million miles away, like he’s hiding something.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Mysterious? Sexy? Potentially hiding something scandalous? Sounds like a romance novel in the making.”

Emilia laughed, but her mind lingered on that thought. What was Leonard hiding?

“Well, when you finally crack the code on Mr. Hot pants, we want to know everything,” Sophie said with a wink. “But for now, go out and live a little, girl! Don’t let him keep you cooped up!”

Emilia gave them a wave as they signed off, feeling a bit more energetic after the call. But the house, once again, felt too still. Too quiet.

She wandered upstairs, Leonard’s room pulling her like a magnet. He was gone for the day, and curiosity gnawed at her, getting stronger by the minute. What was it about him that made her so restlessly hooked. The mystery of him? The distance? The undeniable attraction she felt every time they were near each other?

Ugh, don't go in there, Emii. No, I'm going in, just a peep, and I'd be gone, yeah thats it, just a peep.

She muttered to herself as her legs kept walking towards there.

His room was dimly lit by the slivers of sunlight peeking through the curtains. Emilia stood at the threshold for a moment, breathing in the scent of him that clung to the space. Earthy and masculine. So familiar. She couldn’t think, she just moved, stepping into the room and making her way toward the bed.

Throwing herself onto his sheets, she sank into the softness, letting out a deep sigh as the smell of him enveloped her. His scent was so strong there, and the scent alone was enough to calm her nerves, to make her feel grounded in a way nothing else did. She closed her eyes, letting her body relax into the mattress, and for a fleeting moment, all was well.

But then her thoughts shifted. Her inner ho* in her erupted fiercely. Her hands, idle at first, began to move, slowly brushing over her body, trailing over her skin with a feather-light touch biting her lips as a familiar warmth bloomed in her chest and spreading lower, her breath hitching as the thrill of it began to form. Her fingers moved a little more purposefully, seeming not to stop making her body respond in kind.

But then, just as quickly as the desire came, guilt crashed over her. She stopped herself and pulled her hands away, sitting up abruptly as if the air had suddenly gotten too thick to breathe.

What am I doing?

She shook her head, willing herself to focus on something else. Anything else.

In a desperate attempt to distract herself, she started rummaging through Leonard’s things, her curiosity only intensifying the more she poked around. Opening the drawer beside his bed, her fingers brushed against something hard, and she pulled out an old, weathered photograph.

It was torn and worn at the edges, with the left side of the photo noticeably scratched out. A woman whose face had been completely obliterated by a jagged scratch stood in the middle. To her right was a blonde boy with two missing front teeth, grinning brightly. And on the left… Emilia’s heart stopped. There, unmistakably, was a small, younger version of Leonard, no older than five or six.

Who was this woman? And why had her face been scratched out?

Before she could fully process the mystery, her foot bumped into something in the drawer, sending it tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter.

Her gaze dropped, and her breath caught in her throat heavily.

A gun. It lay gleaming on the floor, cold and sharp under the soft light.

Her heartbeat quickened as panic set in, but before she could move, the door to the room creaked open.

Leonard stood there, eyes dark, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene—Emilia standing over the gun, the photo still in her hand.

His voice dropped low and dangerously calm, cut through the tension like a blunt knife.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”