The room fell quiet, just the soft rustle of clothes and the old bed frame creaking when Leo sat down.
The place smelled like soap and that lavender sachet his mom always tucked away in drawers.
Outside, crickets started up, their song slipping through the open window.
Lila sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, folding one of his shirts with the kind of care that was clearly for show. "You don't have to pack this much," she said, looking up at him. "You'll just end up wearing the same two things anyway."
He grinned. "You sound like you've got me all figured out."
She rolled her eyes. "I do. You'll wear that black hoodie until it fuses with your skin."
He lobbed a balled-up sock at her. She caught it, smirking. "See? I rest my case."
Leo leaned back, watching her. "You're starting to talk like Ma."
"Yeah, well, it's contagious," she said, half laughing, half sighing. Her voice got softer. "I just hate it when the house gets too quiet. You know how she is when you're not around."
His eyes drifted to his open duffel in the corner. "Yeah. I know."
Silence settled between them, heavy with things they didn't need to say—worry, pride, that dull ache you get before saying goodbye, even if it's just for a little while.
Finally, Lila broke the quiet, her voice small and teasing, "Hey… if you meet a celebrity, take a selfie, okay? Don't just come back with laundry and weird stories."
He snorted. "A selfie? You think they'll even let me near a celebrity, let alone close enough for a photo?"
"You never know." She flashed a grin. "Maybe fate's bored and wants to have some fun."
"Fate, huh?" He smiled, just a little. "Alright, I'll keep an eye out."
Before she could answer, their mom's voice rang out from the kitchen—warm, a little bossy, totally familiar: "Dinner's ready! Don't make me call you again!"
Lila hopped up, smoothing her hair. "Saved by the bell."
Leo chuckled and got up, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they headed out. "Come on, before she comes up with that wooden spoon."
"Like she used to?" Lila laughed. "That thing should be registered as a weapon."
He grinned, the knot in his chest loosening. "Yeah, but honestly, it wouldn't feel like home without it."
Down the narrow hallway they went, the smell of something good drifting from the kitchen, their footsteps blending together.
The stairs creaked under them, the wood groaning like it remembered every race they ever had growing up.
Lila hooked her arm around Leo's neck, yanking him down, playful as ever.
"Come on, old man," she teased. "You walk like gravity's got a grudge."
Leo stumbled, half-laughing, dodging her elbow. "Please, you're the one who stays up watching makeup videos till midnight. Don't blame me for being slow."
"Excuses." She tugged him again, grinning when he groaned in defeat. "You used to race me down these stairs, remember?"
"Yeah," he said, a flicker of the past in his eyes—Lila with pigtails, both of them tearing down the steps while their mom yelled not to break their necks. "You always cheated."
"I called it strategy," she said, chin up, proud.
At the bottom, their laughter faded into something softer—a comfort built from old routines and love.
Their mom stood by the table, apron on, wooden spoon tapping her palm. "If you two are done being ten, sit and eat before it gets cold."
Lila darted over, kissed her cheek. "We're here, we're here. No need for the spoon."
Leo slid into his seat.
The table glowed under the kitchen light—rice, fried fish, simple stuff, but nothing else ever felt like this.
He let out a breath, all the stress of leaving fading as he looked at them—his whole world, right there, mismatched slippers and all.
Tonight, that was enough.
Spoons clattered, the ceiling fan hummed quietly above them.
Their mom ladled soup into bowls, trying not to stare at Leo but watching him all the same—every little move, every unspoken thought written in his shoulders.
"Eat more," she said, nudging an extra piece of fish onto his plate. "You'll need it for all that work."
Leo shook his head, smiling. "I'll be alright, Ma. Not like I'm going off to war."
"You might as well be," she grumbled, but her voice softened. "Out there on your own, nobody to remind you to sleep, to eat, to take your vitamins—"
"Mom," he groaned, but he was grinning.
Before she could launch into another lecture, Lila cut in, mouth full, "If you can't hack it, just come home. I'll tell everyone you joined a secret mission and can't come back."
Leo shot her a look. "A secret mission? Seriously?"
"Yeah," she said, grinning. "You're about to be the first runaway crew member in movie history. I'll hide you in the closet. Mom won't find you if I distract her with coffee."
Their mom just rolled her eyes. "Ignore your sister—she never stops with the nonsense."
"She really doesn't," Leo said, reaching over to flick Lila's forehead.
She yelped. "Hey! Show some respect for your future celebrity makeup artist!"
"Future?" He snorted. "You still mix up eyeliner and lip liner."
She gasped, all dramatic, and looked to their mom for backup. "Did you hear that? He doesn't believe in me!"
Their mom just smiled, watching them both with this soft, faraway look. "You two never stop," she said, but her voice was warm. "Eat before it gets cold."
So they ate. No rush. The house was quiet except for the hum of night outside.
When their plates were nearly empty, Leo leaned back, feeling full and warm.
His mom caught his eye—just a quick look, but he got it. Take care of yourself.
He nodded, small but certain.
Lila caught the moment and jumped in, grinning. "Don't forget to send pictures. And if you meet any cute actors, I'm counting on you, big brother."
He laughed, shook his head. "You're impossible."
"That's why you'll miss me."
He didn't argue.