Keeping Leo — Chapter two ୨ৎ
Warning: friends teasing, domestic behavior (cooking/cleaning), soft tension, mild delusion, slow burn
Summery: Thursday isn’t supposed to mean anything. Isabelle tells herself she’s just doing her job, but the apartment feels too empty, and she hates empty spaces. One grocery trip, a full kitchen, and a FaceTime call later, she’s already doing more than she should and still pretending it doesn’t matter.
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Isabelle Rose Taylor
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The apartment still feels too quiet when she walks in.
It’s not different from Tuesday, not really, but now she knows what it’s like with someone else in it even briefly and the silence feels more noticeable because of that. The door shuts softly behind her, the sound echoing just enough to make the space feel bigger than it should, too clean, too still, like everything is waiting for something that isn’t there.
“Hi, baby,” she says automatically, dropping her bag by the door.
Leo is already running toward her.
He comes from somewhere deeper in the apartment, nails tapping fast against the floor, ears bouncing slightly as he makes it to her like he’s been waiting all morning, like she’s late even though she isn’t. He doesn’t slow down, just presses into her legs the second he reaches her, tail moving so fast his whole body shifts with it, and she laughs before she can stop herself, crouching down to catch him as he tries to climb halfway up her.
“Okay-hi,” she murmurs, softer now, her hands steadying him as he licks her chin like that’s the only appropriate response. “Missed me that much?”
He stays close when she stands, brushing against her every time she moves like he’s making sure she doesn’t disappear again, and she lets him, glancing around the apartment once as she heads toward the kitchen, already noticing the same thing she did before—how clean it is, how everything is exactly where it should be, how nothing feels like it’s actually used.
“You’re going to hate me,” she tells him lightly, opening the fridge.
It’s worse than she remembered.
Not dramatically empty just wrong. Water, drinks, things that look expensive but don’t actually count as food. Nothing you could make anything with, nothing that feels like someone stands here at the end of the day and cooks for themselves.
She just stares at it for a second, one hand resting against the door, then exhales softly.
“Okay,” she says, glancing down at Leo. “We’re fixing this.”
—
The grocery store is exactly what she expected and somehow still worse, everything lined up too neatly, too perfect, like no one actually shops here, just… curates. The lighting makes everything look unreal, like she’s stepped into somewhere she’s not supposed to be, and Leo sits in the cart like he belongs more than she does, one paw hanging lazily over the edge, head turning every time someone passes like he’s waiting to be admired.
“He’s adorable,” someone says as they walk by.
“I know,” she answers easily, scratching under his chin without thinking, like it’s already routine, like this is normal.
She doesn’t look at the prices after the first few things, just grabs what makes sense actual food, ingredients, things she knows how to cook, things that feel real instead of decorative and by the time she’s checking out, Leo is half asleep in the cart like the entire experience has exhausted him.
“Helpful,” she mutters, pushing him toward the exit.
----
By the time they’re back, the apartment doesn’t feel as sharp around the edges.
Not warm yet. Not hers. But not as untouched.
She sets the bags down, Leo immediately weaving between her legs again, and opens the windows without really thinking about it, just enough to let air move through, just enough to make it feel like something is happening here now.
“Okay,” she says, tying her hair back. “We’re fixing this.”
Her phone buzzes before she can overthink anything, and she answers it on instinct, propping it up against the counter as she starts unpacking groceries.
Bea’s face appears first. “Show me the dog.”
“No hello?” Isabelle says, already reaching for something from the bag.
“No. Show me.”
She angles the camera down, and right on cue, Leo flops onto his back dramatically, paws up, completely relaxed like he knows he’s being watched, like this is a performance.
There’s a pause.
“Oh my god,” Juno says, leaning into frame. “He’s a person.”
“He’s better than most people,” Bea adds.
“I’m right here,” Isabelle mutters, but she’s smiling, turning back to the counter as she starts setting things out, the sound of it filling the kitchen in a way that immediately makes it feel less staged, less quiet.
“His fridge was empty,” she says, glancing back at the phone. “Like actually empty. I had to go to the most intimidating grocery store of my life.”
“With his money?” Bea asks immediately.
“With his money.”
Bea goes quiet for a second. “I would’ve blacked out.”
“She probably did,” Juno says. “She just looks calm.”
“I am calm,” Isabelle replies, rinsing something in the sink. “I was very normal about it.”
“You’re never normal,” Bea says.
“And why,” Juno cuts in, squinting, “does his apartment look like that.”
“Like what.”
“Like if pinterest and a bank account had a baby.”
Isabelle huffs out a small laugh, shaking her head as she starts cooking, moving around the kitchen like she’s done this before, even if she hasn’t here, the motions easy, familiar.
“It’s just… nice,” she says.
“She paused,” Bea says immediately.
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t,” she repeats, but she’s still smiling, and they both notice.
“Yeah,” Juno says. “She’s gone.”
“I’m literally cooking,” Isabelle says.
“For a man,” Bea adds.
“For the dog.”
“That’s not what it sounds like.”
She doesn’t hang up.
She just keeps moving.
They stay on FaceTime while she cooks, while she plates everything, while she leans against the counter and eats a few bites standing up, Leo sitting at her feet like he’s waiting for something, like he’s part of it. They keep talking over each other, Bea asking questions Isabelle refuses to answer properly, Juno pointing things out she pretends not to notice, the conversation slipping from teasing to normal to something softer without her realizing.
She carries the phone with her when she moves again, setting it down in the laundry room as she starts sorting through things, the sound of the washer starting up mixing with their voices.
“You’re doing his laundry?” Bea says immediately.
“It was there,” Isabelle shrugs.
“That’s intimate,” Juno adds.
“It’s laundry.”
“Your literally holding his boxers,” Bea says.
“It’s fabric,” Isabelle replies dropping the boxers into the washer, but she’s smiling again, shaking her head as she closes the machine and leans back against the counter, Leo settling nearby like he’s decided this is where they are now.
“You like him,” Juno says.
“I don’t.”
“You paused.”
“That means nothing.”
“It means everything.”
“I’m hanging up,” Isabelle says.
“You’re not,” Bea replies.
She doesn’t.
----
By the time she does, it’s quieter again, but not the same kind of quiet.
There’s something left behind now voices, movement, the feeling of something actually happening in the space and she finishes what she started without thinking too hard about it, wiping things down, folding what needs to be folded, leaving everything just a little softer than she found it.
Leo follows her the entire time.
From room to room, step for step, like he’s making sure she doesn’t disappear again, like he’s already decided she belongs here even if she hasn’t.
“Relax,” she tells him quietly at one point, glancing down. “I’m not leaving yet.”
He stays anyway.
By the time she’s done, the apartment feels different.
Not hers.
But not empty.
There’s a faint smell of food in the air, a window cracked open, a softness that wasn’t there before, small things that shouldn’t matter but do.
Leo is curled up on the couch, tucked into himself, completely settled.
She stands there for a second, looking at him.
Then grabs her bag.
“Okay,” she murmurs, crouching down one last time. “You’re set.”
He lifts his head slightly as she scratches behind his ears.
“Don’t miss me too much.”
He will.
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@ isa.rose 🔒
❣️liked by 🔒Juno.jpg, 🔒Ramen.bea and 49 others
who knew rich peoples fridges were so empty
view comments...
@ juno.jpg 🔒 no literally where was the FOOD
@ ramen.bea 🔒 did you financially recover from that grocery trip
↪️ @ isa.rose 🔒 no ❤️
@ juno.jpg 🔒 leo looks more comfortable than you
↪️ @ ramen.bea 🔒 he owns the place
↪️ @ isa.rose 🔒 im just staff apparently
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a/n - make sure to join taglist google forms are just easier to manage and if you have ideas feel free to live them on the form or comments!!!
link!
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