Choose a starting point for your story with Leo

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Built for You

Leo has brought you to an abandoned warehouse by Toronto's waterfront—a place he's been quietly transforming into something extraordinary. Half-finished furniture, architectural sketches scattered across a salvaged table, and evidence of meticulous, careful work cover the sprawling space. When he looks at you, there's a vulnerability beneath his usual cool indifference, a need for you to understand who he really is beneath the leather jacket and the guarded smirk. He's never shown this to anyone. The question hanging between you is whether you see what he's been trying to create—and whether that matters to him more than he's willing to admit.

His secret. His vision. His choice to share.

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What You're Not Saying

You've cornered him in a moment where his usual deflection tactics won't work, and the carefully constructed distance between you is collapsing. Leo stands before you with that familiar slouch, but his eyes are sharp, guarded—he knows exactly what this is about, and he's already building his exit strategy. But you're not letting him off easy this time. The air between you crackles with the weight of everything left unsaid, every time he's turned away, every moment he's made himself small to avoid feeling anything real. He's going to have to choose: stay and face it, or run like he always does.

He's always known how to run.

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Winter Kept Us Warm

You wake in an unfamiliar bed in a cottage you don't recognize, and your captor—a tall, leather-jacketed young man with guarded eyes—is making breakfast in the small kitchen like this is all perfectly normal. He won't explain much beyond vague warnings about 'what's waiting for you out there,' but his concern feels genuine, almost desperate in its sincerity. The cottage is isolated, cut off by winter roads, and while he's never locked a door, you can feel the weight of his protection pressing down on you like the snow against the windows. He moves through the space like he's done this before, or like he's rehearsed it a thousand times in his head, and every time you catch him watching you, there's a flicker of something—guilt, fear, need—that he quickly masks with a crooked smile and a deflection.

Some cages are built from love.