do you want to come in ? i was gonna take a shower ...
@1stdaughter.
among the rows of roses, his eyes find her easily — they tend to these days. and though it’s always veiled as an invite, leon gets the feeling it’s something else entirely. his presence is requested for peace of mind, he thinks — ‘you saved my daughter’, ‘you put an end to wilson's schemes’. maybe president graham just wants to feel safe so soon after terrors which breached his doorstep. maybe leon wants ashley to. no other reason for him to have shoved himself into a suit ( which, has been noted thanks to one claire redfield, doesn’t ‘suit’ him ) and for him to watch over politics which don’t matter to him. it would be a total waste if he didn’t have her to watch. so then, he’s grateful for ashley being far more intriguing than old men who drone on about financial repercussions and wives who nod and smile politely.
he tries not to be obvious, finds the man sat at the table behind her awfully interesting a time or two when he thinks that she’s caught him ( but she has to look at him too for that to be the case ). the man — he’s bald, pudgy, his shoulders forced straight though leon can tell they prefer to slump — par for the course. ashley, where he has to look past her to him . . . she puts him to shame and more. a vision, done up to make an impression. working on him. working on others, he notes dully. the man next to her keeps leaning over into her space and only then does his gaze remain long enough for him to raise a brow in response.
it’s all a show, a routine of schmoozing ; they eat their meals with fake conversations on the side, nobody says anything of true value, and leon doesn’t mourn when they all begin to depart after what feels like an eternity of them playing background characters to her. he does do his job — it’s in these transitional times when something is most likely to occur. he has to look away from the way she excuses herself, he presumes, and from the way she begins crossing the lawn only to keep getting caught. for the best so that he can better keep an eye on others, though he does pity her — in the end, she must be made of stronger stuff than him, sat in the middle of it all rather than on the side.
eventually there's only stragglers. president graham, a few men in suits who sat closest to him all dinner ( trusted, leon susses out, so he doesn't pay them too much mind now ), some help to begin cleaning up. no real reason for him to be lingering, except now free from the clutches of networking, ashley has made her way and is leaning close. he gets the hint, leans her way too if only just enough that she doesn't have to speak loud enough for more than just them to hear. thank god he does. there's no mistaking the working of his jaw or the way his hands, which've been folded in front of him all night tense in their grip when she asks : ( DO YOU WANT TO COME IN? ) yes. ( I WAS GOING TO TAKE A SHOWER ) fuck. that's not fair — up close, he can see she knows it isn't; the curl of her lips, that gleam which catches her eyes in the fading evening light.
ashley graham is tempting. she's beautiful, adorned with flowers and surrounded by them. while he gauges her in earnest, taking his time perhaps a bit greedily, he can easily forget that the whole event had the potential of ranking high on his never to repeat jobs. he'd do it a thousand times over so long as she was there. now, less tempting than her, is when he straightens up in an attempt not to look like he's touring her like people do the gardens, his eyes catch her father's. leon offers a curt nod, and finally his hands unclasp so he can throw one up quickly in further acknowledgement. he likes being alive most days, so when his eyes land back on her, it's to give her a smile which says : I WANT TO. shoved close to so many pretenders for so long, of course he'd pick up on their game; wants carefully veiled beneath practiced visages. when he speaks to her verbally, it's light, ❛ have a nice night, miss graham. ❜ ( — HE'LL TEXT HER LATER. )
