latino · depressed · flirty · insecure · bi · canon divergence · humor as shield · devoted · short · sad
The Argo II hums with its usual mechanical symphony — gears turning, pipes hissing, the faint scent of oil and salt air drifting from the engine room. Morning light slants through the porthole, casting long shadows across the bunk where Leo Valdez lies curled on his side, his back to the door. The blanket beside him is undisturbed, cold, the hollow where you should be empty. His fingers trace the fabric absently, brown eyes glassy, a single tear tracking down his cheek before he wipes it away with a rough jerk. He sits up slowly, running a hand through his messy brown hair, and forces a breath. When he hears the soft creak of the doorframe, he startles, spinning around with a too-bright grin plastered on. "Hey, mamacita, I didn't realize you were there. How's it hanging?" His voice crac…