Glidiaxoxo

He hated it that they unsettled him. 

He also loved it in the worst of ways. 

Leona had spent his entire life looking into the abyss of ambition, watching its cruel eyes gleam over what he could have been as it passed itself onto ‘better’ people. Nobles smiled at him because they wanted his family. Advisors bowed because they wanted to curry favour, perhaps even marry off a daughter into his family. Desire always carried a price tag, and affection was the one currency he could afford to spill—after all, he had had no attachment to it at all. 

He’d known that, and better for him, he’d accepted it; which is why [name] terrified him. They weren’t all that different, them and him; two different politicians cut from the same fucking cloth. They wanted something, always did, and unfortunately for him, Leona was more than willing to be a party to that. 

Sometimes, it was a letter of recommendation to a fancy institute. Other times, it was access to an invitation-only gala. Perhaps it was merely the influence that accompanied walking arm-in-arm with the second prince of Sunset Savannah, cameras flashing as tabloids eagerly speculated over yet another romance that would never be confirmed.

He knew. 

Stars above, he knew what they were doing. 

He knew every lingering brush of their fingertips and every smile they reserved for him had been perfected before countless mirrors, every laugh measured just to make him feel clever enough to slip some information their way. Even the way they said his name—soft and honeyed in a way that curled around the syllables like a sigh of love—was deliberate. 

Leona should have hated them for it, but instead, he found himself wondering if they were well, if they’d eaten, whether they'd remembered to bring a jacket when the evenings grew cold, and whether they were sleeping enough.

Pathetic. Truly pathetic.

He could negotiate with foreign dignitaries without yielding an inch. He could sit through twelve-hour meetings and emerge with every concession he wanted. Men twice his age having served his brother and his father for decades thought carefully before challenging him.

But a simple “Are you busy tonight?” text could turn the tides in their favour, rendering his entire schedule useless. His attendants had learned not to question it, his secretary no longer blinked whenever he postponed meetings at the last minute, and worse, even Ruggie had stopped teasing him after the first year of this stupid, illogical relationship.

“You cancelled your meetings?” Ruggie had asked once, slender fingers thumbing through the pages of Leona’s journal to see his original schedule for the day. 

He hadn't even bothered looking up from his paperwork. “They're coming over.”

“To see you?”

“They need a favour.” 

“Right,” Ruggie nodded, the sarcasm all but reeking off of him. His hand lets go of the journal pages. “How many favours do they need?” When Leona doesn’t answer, he sighs again. “You’re happy?” 

“Yeah.”

“Down bad bastard.”

“I know.”

It was embarrassing, in hindsight, how little shame accompanied that confession. Leona shakes the thought away, fingers threading through his hair. When [name] needed something from him, at least they came to him. He'd gladly become a stepping stone if it meant they continued to knock on his door. He'd rather occupy that place in their life than none at all.

Sometimes, in the quiet hours before the sun rose, Leona would indulge in fantasies of his own. Fantasies he knew that, if he ever spoke them out loud to the person who accompanied him in them, would vanish within wide eyes and a jutted lip before never seeing them again. Distance is safe for what I need to do, Leona, they’d said once, their hand intertwined with his as they fed him snacks idly. 

He imagined [name] arriving with empty hands for once. No expensive gifts bought with another person’s money in an attempt to get him on their side—he always was—only bringing a light smile and themself. Curling up beside him on the couch because they wanted his company, stealing bites from his dinner because they liked the way he complained and got distracted, or even falling asleep against his shoulder without calculating what it might earn them in return. 

Ridiculous. If [name] had ever looked at him without desiring something else, he didn’t remember it, and he was no amnesiac. Still, when the familiar knock rapped against his door into his private room that evening, his heart leapt before his logic could drag it back down, already smiling as he opened the door. “There you are,” he murmured.

“Hi, Leona.” They smiled, handing him a bag of oud from the Scalding Sands. They stepped inside, accepted the cup of tea he'd already prepared because he knew exactly how they liked it, chatted with him about meaningless things for nearly an hour, laughed at one of his half-sarcastic remarks while resting their chin in one hand as if they had nowhere else in the world to be.

And then: “Actually.” There it was. “I need a favour.”

Leona almost laughed. He’d memorised this song-and-dance years ago and he never tired of it. “What do you need?” 

Their shoulders relaxed with visible relief. “I knew you'd understand.” 

No, you just knew I wouldn’t refuse, Leona thinks. Yet, as he watched them smile across the table, a warmth that may or may not have been genuine blooming in their eyes, he realised something that made him feel infinitely more pathetic.

If they’d walked in here and asked for his fortune, he’d be willingly destitute in a heartbeat. If they asked for his land and his knowledge, he’d hand it over faster than they could speak. If they asked for his heart—