Older Leon is at his most cuddly when he's tired
Because the older he gets, the less interested he becomes in pretending he has any dignity left.
You're standing in the kitchen talking about something. Maybe it's important. Maybe it's not. He's listening. Probably.
He's sitting at the table with his first cup of coffee, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair sticking up in six different directions, reading glasses mysteriously absent despite the fact that he was wearing them ten minutes ago.
You are halfway through a sentence when he reaches out one hand. No warning. No explanation. Just a vague grabby motion in your direction.
The moment you're within range, he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you directly into his lap then continues listening as if nothing happened.
You were standing over there. Now you're sitting here. Problem solved.
The thing about older Leon is that he becomes increasingly affectionate in direct proportion to how tired he is.
Fully awake Leon still remembers social conventions.
Half-asleep Leon operates entirely on instinct.
And his instincts, unfortunately, are embarrassingly transparent. He doesn't ask. Asking requires energy. Words require energy. Negotiation requires energy.
Simply making you his problem requires significantly less effort.
You'll be trying to do dishes and suddenly there's a large warm man leaning against your back.
You'll be reading a book and discover he has quietly placed his head on your shoulder like an exhausted golden retriever.
You'll get up to grab something from another room and hear a disappointed noise behind you so pathetic it sounds medically concerning.
Not a word. Just a noise. The noise of a man whose favorite piece of furniture has developed free will. He doesn't even realize he's doing it.
"You're clingy when you're tired."
And he immediately denies it. With complete confidence. While actively holding your hand. While sitting close enough that personal space has become a historical concept. While looking at you over the top of a coffee mug because he still hasn't found his glasses.
“Sure, Leon. Whatever you say. Now move your arm. I need circulation back in my hand.”
A/N: the audacity of making reader point it out. Hush little lady, let it be your happy little secret forever
