Cleon Year March Headcanon: The Pause Before Letting Go
Claire and Leon aren’t overly touchy.
They don’t reach for each other without thinking. It’s not casual, not constant, not something that fills the space between them.
But when it does happen, it lingers.
A hand on the shoulder that stays for a second too long. Fingers curling around a wrist to pull the other up, neither of them rushing to let go. A hug that starts simple and then quietly stretches past the point it probably should.
It’s in the way neither of them pulls back straight away. In that half-second pause where they could step away but don’t. In a way where it feels easier to stay just for a moment.
They never say anything about it.
Not when their arms linger around each other a little too long. Not when the space between them feels harder to recreate once they step back. Not when there’s that brief, unspoken hesitation, like they’re both thinking the same thing and choosing to ignore it.
It becomes a quiet, shared thing. A line neither of them can cross, but neither of them forgets is there.
A kind of comfort they don’t quite let themselves have.
Because if they let it last longer and let themselves acknowledge it, it would mean something bigger than either of them is ready to face.
Leon never says how steady she feels. How grounding it is having her there. For a second everything in his head quiets down when she’s close, like he can finally breathe without forcing it.
Claire never points out how tense he always is. Except she notices the difference. The way his shoulders drop, just slightly, when he’s around her. The way his guard doesn’t disappear but softens. Just enough to matter.
It’s subtle. Easy to miss if you’re not looking for it, but it’s there. In every touch that lingers. In every moment they almost hold on a little longer but don’t.
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