Leo's Concerned Gaze

Leo found Eleanor by the old oak tree at the edge of the playground, the one with the swing that always creaked a little too loudly. It was lunchtime, and the usual boisterous symphony of shouting kids and squeaking sneakers was in full swing, but Eleanor seemed to inhabit a pocket of silence. Her eyes, usually bright and curious, were fixed somewhere far beyond the chipped paint of the swing set, and her fingers tapped a silent rhythm against her knees. The familiar, bulky headphones, her constant companions these days, sat snugly over her ears, a dark, sleek barrier against the world.

He approached cautiously, a half-eaten apple in his hand. "Hey, El!" he called, his voice a little louder than usual, trying to cut through the invisible wall of sound.

Eleanor didn't flinch. Her head tilted almost imperceptibly, as if she were listening to something only she could hear. Leo remembered a time when her eyes would have lit up at his greeting, her smile quick and genuine. Now, there was a distance about her, a faraway look that made his stomach do a little flip of worry.