vi

You'd let it slide in the beginning because you were scared, and truthfully, you couldn't blame him. You'd seen the empty stares, bloody cuts, and bruised skin. He'd experienced indescribable physical pain and emotional turmoil. Though he'd never say it, you had a feeling he was drinking because his heart was shattered.

Your husband has a big, bleeding heart. Always has. Leon loves people and constantly puts them before himself. He's a hero in your eyes even if he'll never believe it. But he's tired and worn.

You didn't know how to help him. You couldn't be his ride when he was drunk or drag him to the nearest toilet when he had to puke for the rest of your life. It was a bandaid on a bullet wound.

A part of you loved taking care of him. Loved being his crutch, especially when he'd snuggle into you, laying kisses and praises on your skin. But this can't go on forever. You were becoming so tired.

So, you did the research. Instead of searching for hangover remedies, you looked up when to seek out rehab, or is Alcoholics Anonymous a good choice? It was stressful and on top of that you were doing it by yourself. You were still too afraid to mention it to Leon.

You didn't want to become the enemy. You saw how much he loved the alcohol and you weren't addicted to it like him, but you know how addictions go. It's a coping mechanism, and most people will defend it with their lives because its the only thing getting them by, at least in their eyes, or maybe they just become so great at lying to themselves.

For once, he seemed pretty sober. A bit hungover but more himself than he has been in ages. Your heart beat out of your chest, ached so horrendously, you caught yourself rubbing over it as if that'd soothe it. This was the best time to have the conversation.

You sat down across from him at the kitchen table. Its wooden surface is covered with a floral cover and a black runner. It was your attempt at being fancy, and you weren't sure if it was working. But that's neither here nor there. You grip your coffee mug tight and watch your husband eat his cereal.

His thick hair is a mess, strands of it poking up at odd angles. He's wearing a band tee you bought him when you two went to a music festival a few years back. It's all wrinkly, and you're sure he's wearing his jet-black sweatpants under the table. You watch in silence for a good while because apparently you're a procrastinator now.

But he's just so cute and the love of your life. And you don't wanna ruin anything or make him mad. Plus, is his drinking really that bad? I mean, at least he's high functioning. Maybe less of a filter on his mouth and a little more attitude. But still himself, for the most part and non-violent, unlike most drunks. You worry your bottom lip while excuses fill your head.

"You okay?" Your husband is looking up at you, dreamy blue eyes blinking. Voice raspy and holding a spoon with sugary cereal on it halfway to his mouth.

"What?" You stutter, confused by the concern shining in his baby blues.

"You're crying," he explains before dropping his spoon back in the cereal bowl. His shoulders widen, and he sits up. It looks like he's ready to go to war at your say-so. It's so dang endearing that it hurts.

"Oh." You laugh it off, swiping at your eyes. "I didn't even realize." Can't even start an uncomfortable conversation without crying. Wow, that's just great and totally not embarrassing.

Leon sighs before pushing his chair back and coming around to you. There's a screeching noise. Then, bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. A hand cups your cheek, and a calloused thumb wipes away another tear. "You didn't answer my question." His voice is soft and low. "Are you okay?"

"No," you pout, chin wobbling. Your hands fidget in your lap, turning to face him completely and abandoning your mug to the table. You can't meet his eyes, not with the way his are burrowing into you. "I wanna help you and don't know how."

His hand slips away, maybe he already knows where this is going. "What do you mean?" Leon clears his throat and crosses his muscular arms. Suddenly, he looks very uncomfortable, and his brows are furrowed.

"I - I mean that I love you." You awkwardly fumble, even gesturing subtly with your hands. "I just wanna help." Here it goes. "You've just been drinking a lot, and I thought maybe you didn't want to anymore. And if that's the case, I can help. We could get professional help."

You ramble as the mood in the room shifts. His shoulders are tense, and his nails are digging into his arms. You try to look at anything but him and yet still catch it. "There's so many options really, and we have the money. The right insurance. There's AA or rehab. Really nice private rehab facilities or a professional that can stick with you and . . ."

"Stop, stop, stop." He waves his hands at you, still standing over you while you sink into the kitchen chair. You just feel like a child that was scolded because you stepped out of a line or a puppy that was chastised for peeing on the carpet. "You think I need help? Some kind of intervention?"

He doesn't sound like an enraged, violent drunk or anything. But he does sound disbelieving and irritated. "Well," you flop your hands uselessly. "It's been a lot lately, Leon. Almost always drunk when not on a mission, and it gets old cleaning up vomit." You laugh lightly, hoping he'll agree, and things won't escalate.

"Oh, so this is about you and your comfort." He nearly growls, now having an excuse to be angry with you.

Your eyes widen, and your jaw hangs open. "That isn't what I said."

He shrugs, making you feel like a child again. That you apparently don't know what you're talking about. "It sure sounded like it to me. You don't wanna clean up after me. And I'm becoming too much." He puts 'too much' in air quotes. Ever a flair for the dramatic.

"Well, you don't have to clean up after me anymore. I'll deal with it myself." He turns away and starts walking. Abandoning this conversation, you, and his cereal bowl.

"Wait, Leon." You call out, rushing out of your seat and grabbing his arm. You know Leon would never hit you, but in that moment, you begin to doubt it. Because your teary eyes meet his, and all you see is red. His eyes are red-rimmed, and rage boils beneath the surface.

This is exactly what you were afraid of, and you so desperately didn't wanna lose him. "Let. Go." He grits through his teeth, glancing down at your hand clasped around his forearm. Your lips tremble, and tears run down your cheeks as you let Leon go.

You stand there, gazing helplessly as he grabs his keys and wallet before walking out the door. The front door shuts and leaves you all alone.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

He comes back late in the night. You're already curled up in bed, hidden under blankets, holding onto a pillow, and staring at the alarm clock. You hear the front door shut and stumbling footsteps. You close your eyes, expecting your husband to come into the bedroom.

You lay still, heart beat rapid like a frightened animal. Minutes tick by, and you hear nothing. Little by little, you blink open your eyes, and fear fades into confusion. The comforter rustles as you throw your pillow to his side of the bed and set your feet on the ground.

You keep quiet and walk down the hallway to the main room, living room and kitchen connected seamlessly. All the lights are out, and you hear slight mumbling from the couch. You peek over it to find Leon laying face first, making incoherent noises in his sleep.

You frown, stomach dropping to your feet. He reeks of alcohol once more, and that conversation rings in your head for the hundredth time. He said not to clean up after him anymore. But you're already playing it out in your head.

Throw a blanket over him. Place a water and some crackers out on the coffee table for when he wakes. Make him a chicken noodle soup tomorrow and maybe force medicine into his system. It's hard to walk away. To tell yourself you didn't marry Leon to become his caretaker. Not like this anyway.

With a heavy heart and even heavier footsteps, you turn away. You leave him sleeping on the couch, no blanket, and no water for when he wakes. You leave him with nothing, and yet you leave with a guilty conscience. And you receive no sleep that night.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Memories hold tremendous power. They can hurt you or comfort you. Bring joy or even anger. Sometimes, one memory manifests contradictory emotions, happiness, and sadness at the same time. One day, a memory can cause you to smile, and then two years later, it'll make you cry.

Leon's given you many of those memories. Your wedding day still makes you smile. The way his eyes were brimming with tears and his hands shook. You remember that night being filled with laughter and indescribable love. Every touch was worship.

One memory is haunting you with a lot more strength than before.

It was a quiet night. You laid in bed, dressed in Leon's shirt and short shorts. A book open before you and headphones on your head. Your favorite songs kept you company, and a golden glow from the lamp gave a warm atmosphere.

Leon was away on a mission, and you didn't have many details as per usual. But I guess the universe decided it was time. Because you felt a presence in the doorway. The headphones come off in a slight panic.

Your man looks like he just returned from war. Broken, haunted, and terrified. In an instant, your book is closed, and you're walking towards him. "Leon, what's wrong? What do you need?" You keep your voice low and gentle. Your brows are furrowed in obvious concern. He's your number one priority. All that matters now is making sure he's okay.

He takes one step forward and collapses in your arms. You gasp at the sudden weight bearing down on you, arms stretched out to hold him up. "Leon!" You cry out in shock and worry. You don't receive a reply, so you stumble towards the bed.

You fall back onto the mattress with a muted "oof." You cup Leon's cheeks and pull his head back to look into your eyes. For all you know, he could be passed out. But you realize soon enough that it isn't the case.

There's tears flowing down his cheeks reminiscent of an endless waterfall. There's so much pain in his face that it's hard to look at him. What the hell happened on that mission? Who did this to your baby?

"Oh, Leon." You whisper, thumbs wiping away the salty tears. Your heart throbs, and tears build up in your own eyes. He says your name, voice cracking with unimaginable pain and desperation.

Leon falls to pieces in your arms, and you do your best to stick them back together. He cries and cries. His arms tight around you, his body heavy on you, and his face buried in your neck. You rub his back, up and down, or in circles.

"You're okay. It's okay. I'm here. You're safe now." All the comforting things you can think of are whispered in his ear. You don't know how long you hold him, listening to his sobs and trying to silence your own.

You still don't know why he was crying that night, and that's what has been bothering you. Why has he never let you in? Why won't he just trust you? Was it alcohol even back then? Did whatever happen on that mission catapult him further into the bottle? Maybe you'll never have the answers.

Arguments come to mind, born from things you can't remember clearly anymore. Just pure rage about something that doesn't even matter and the way it tore your heart to shreds. One of you would always come back apologizing, and there'd be tears shed.

You're not sure this one will end the same way.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Nothing is solved in the morning. There's a tension between you two now. It's challenging because it's obvious you've taken a step back, and he won't apologize. There's lingering looks when the other is preoccupied. Neither of you mentions the fact that he's been sleeping on the couch.

No conversations are shared, only necessary ones for dinner or whatever. You just don't know how, and you're not eager to repeat your failure from last time. He always has a flask on him, though he's been out drinking more than home.

Not even his job as a government agent has been keeping him busy. Your husband is stagnant and doesn't care. Stuck as the waters around him grow ill and pungent with the smell of filth.

This house isn't a home anymore, and it's killing you. You turn away from the window in your bedroom. Then, walk out to the living room. You find Leon staring at a gun in his calloused hand.

You inhale sharply, shoulders locking up as you approach him slowly. "What are you doing, Leon?" It's a struggle to keep your voice even, but you manage.

He shrugs as if there's no need for concern like it means nothing to be weighing a handgun in your palm. "You ever think about how easy it would be? Here, one moment. Gone the next."

Immediately, you choke on a sob, and your hand goes flying to your mouth. He can't be. This isn't happening. How can the man you love be seriously contemplating this? "Leon." Your voice cracks, and you reach out. Nice and slow, you take the gun from Leon.

"It's not loaded." Another lift of his shoulders, and he gives it up easily. You hold the weapon close to your chest as he folds into himself. Back hunched, elbows on his knees, and head in his hands.

You cry, standing over him. The weighted gun is placed out of reach before you return to his side. His name falls from your lips again as you wrap him in your arms. He nuzzles into your stomach, sighing deeply while his arms embrace you.

Your body curves around him as if you can hide him away from this life-sucking world. Your lips brush over the top of his head. "I think I need help." He mumbles, your brave, beautiful man finally reaching his limit.

You hug him closer, placing a lingering kiss on him. "Okay."

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Leon and you decide on rehab, though saying goodbye for a month absolutely destroys you. You won't be there to help him through his withdrawals. You won't get to see his progress in person and hold him. To make things worse, you know it's hurting him, too.

The night before he left was unforgettable. You made love for the first time in ages. Not one thing was said with words, only your bodies. He held you as close as humanly possible. His eyes watered and declared his love for you. Your hips rolled like waves under him.

Your nails left marks on his scarred back. Your eyes locked on his, open and vulnerable like never before. You came as one, and your name was a whispered promise. After that, you were tangled together and began crying.

He had to go, but that never meant it'd be easy.

It was the longest month of your life. Letters and limited phone calls weren't nearly enough. He was suffering through withdrawals, and you couldn't be there. You know it's probably for the best you messed all the ugliness of it. The aggressive mood swings, confusion, and his body working to dispell the poison.

But that was your man. You promised 'in sickness and in health.' He was your responsibility, and this was his most vulnerable moment. You told him how you felt on one of the short calls you were allowed.

"Baby, there's certain things I have to face on my own. You don't need to bear the weight of this anymore. You already did. Just treat this as a vacation, and I'll be back home with you soon." You don't see it, but you can picture the soft smile he has on his face right now. So, achingly familiar.

"I just miss you." You confess, choking up as you swallow down the urge to cry.

His warm chuckle caresses you through the phone, "I miss you too." You curl further in on yourself, laying on your side. Your eyes are staring at the wall while you imagine your husband there instead. To see him without those eye bags and a little more meat on his bones would be such a relief. To see his skin warm and glowing with life once more.

You hear some shuffling on his end of the phone, footsteps, and muffled voices. Your stomach drops as you know this will be another goodbye. "Hey, honey. I gotta go, alright? I love you."

You smile, hoping he'll hear some semblance of happiness in your voice. "I love you too, Leon." The call goes dead, and you drop the phone on the bed. You hug his pillow and fight off tears for as long as you can.

The day you get him back is like your wedding, oddly enough. Extremely happy and yet has your nerves fried. You stand outside the fancy rehab center, fidgeting with your wedding ring. It's a beautiful day, and a cool breeze has your dress rippling around your thighs.

Leon walks out with his bags, and someone else may be a counselor, but you don't care. You drink him in like a tall glass of water. He looks healthy. Weight back on his bones, skin glowing, and overall clean. Even his posture had changed for the better. You break out in laughter, joy bursting out of you.

And that's when he drops his baggage and runs to you. His laughter joins yours in the fullest expression of life. His arms lock around you, and he spins you. When he sets you back down, you cup his cheeks and press your forehead to his.

"Oh, how I love you." You whisper without a care for who sees. He's here. He's on the road to recovery. You haven't heard him laugh so fully like that in years. For the first time in forever, your whole body melts, and a sense of rightness covers you.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

The story doesn't end here, or at least there's no perfect ending. Leon has his good and bad days. But he's been sober for months now. Some things linger like his insomnia. But he's getting help.

He has a therapist, counselors on speed dial, and he's intending AA meetings. Plus, he's got you to keep him busy. Both of you picked up quite a few hobbies and go outside more. Actually enjoying nature and being active together. Though he claims his favorite physical activity is spent in the sheets with you.

Yeah, your husband is smiling more, and you can't seem to stop.

He was nervous at the first AA meeting. But it was an open meeting, and you walked in with him, hands clasped tight together. He clung to you but offered up bits of himself to these people who suffered like he did.

He told you that sharing his story was one of the most difficult things he's ever done. But sharing it in small bits helped. Maybe the others hadn't faced Raccoon City, but they all had nightmares that led to alcohol. Yet they've all chosen to break free. To grab a hold of their stories once again.

Tonight, though, he's all yours. You sit up, perched on pillows, and look down at his disheveled appearance. His calm breaths, chest rising and falling. Soft strands of hair, threatening to cover his eyes. His broad back peeked out from under the covers.

You caress his face, delicate fingers following the line of his jaw and the curve of his cheek. Your heart is full of light and affection.

It wasn't easy, and there was plenty of pain along the way. But you'd do it all over again to gain a moment like this. To see him sleeping, completely at peace and blissfully sober.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Woooooaaaaa! This was a lot, but thank you for reading!!!!!!

You sigh, watching the WiFi bar on the top of your screen flip from 3 bars to 1…then to 2 bars. You shrug and decide, fuck it let’s start the IRL stream right now. 

The stream starts with the most horrid frame rate as always when you decide to take your chat out of your room for once.

“Wait—hold on, the quality sucks I know but that’s the best you’re gonna get at a place like this…” 

The chat starts off slow but picks up as more people join. 

where r we?? 

haii 

irl streammm

where’d I get dropped off to? 😭

we made it out of that room yerr

where da dilf at? 😼😼

You snickered as you read the last message and motioned for Leon to come over and hold the camera. 

Leon never really showed his full face on camera, but your viewers feasted on whatever slivers of Leon content they could get: his gravelly voice, his broad silhouette stalking around in the background, half of his face making its way in the viewframe when he brings you something while you're streaming, his back whenever you film him, and boy did people (including you) go crazy hearing him build you a new shelf in the background of one of your streams. 

It seemed the older men get the more…sounds they make doing mundane things. And Leon actually likes making you stuff, says it keeps him busy. 

Needless to say, you made sure to buy a lot more unbuilt furniture for your streaming room, for his sake of course. 

You flip your phone camera toward his full figure momentarily, feeding your blood thirsty hounds for a bit. 

He wore a casual navy blue button up and black slacks, the dark colors you found most prevalent in his closet contrasting beautifully with the warm glow of lights behind him. 

The indigo skyline and inky Potomac river shoreline were warmed orange by the lantern festival, illuminating the outline of Leon’s silhouette and reflecting off the strands of his silvery hair. 

Earlier that day, Leon slipped into your office during his lunch break, flipped your blinds close momentarily. After the two of you made out like teenagers and Leon’s fatass munched on all the Oreos you stored in your drawers, the Oreo bandit insisted you clear your schedule for the rest of the night to bring you here. 

Your stomach fluttered just a teensy bit at the way he ambled over, his warm voice and faint smirk dripping in a familiar cadence of sarcasm that only suited him in your eyes. 

“I finally get to be the camera man?” 

“Mhm, your new side hustle” you replied, glancing down at your chat to see a copious amount of depraved people already fiending for your man. 

good lawdd

ITS THE DILF 🥹

that struttt

his VOICE??😼

he walks like he’s hungg 

HES HERE AAJAKF

 omgg you brought ur dilfff

oou is that OUR man? 😍

“Yes, I brought OUR man.” You snicker and squirm at the ticklish feeling of his chin digging into your shoulder as his eyes peruse the screen in your hands.

His curiosity peaks at the sheer amount whirring by so fast he can barely read them all, “There’s a lot of people here tonight.” 

“Yeah and apparently we’re in a polyamorous relationship with…” you glance at the number of viewers, “2,000 of them.”

He chuckles, gently taking the phone and pointing the camera at you. 

“Sorry guys, I’m more of a one partner type of guy,” 

He assumes that would tame the shameless flirting, but his smile fades just as fast and he rolls his eyes.

“What are they saying now?” You chuckle as the two of you begin slowly strolling along the board walk, the gentle breeze muffling your audio a bit. 

He tries his best, putting his finger to the screen and squinting as he reads new chat messages in that dejected and monotone voice, 

“My legal name is One Partner” 

“Suddenly my name is partner” 

He took another long suffering deep breath before continuing, 

“Ur so funny teehee, flash us.”

That one made you laugh. 

His bewildered gaze found yours, “Why do they keep saying to flash them?–“ 

He shut his mouth and shrugs at your defeated gestures to just drop it. 

You can't be mad, he knew you were still a little shy around him and it’s almost like your chat was sucking out what your inner thoughts might’ve been and returning them back to him through the stream.  

That’s what made their silly little horny comments so fun. 

And it’s not like Leon didn’t think all of these things about you, he was just too much of a gentleman to voice those opinions, in public at least. 

The office had certainly caught onto a corner of the internet crushing on their seasoned agent. 

A couple of his colleagues had taken to calling him pretty boy, Fabio, or dreamy eyes. 

Leon would simply roll his eyes, sigh heavily or shake his head. 

The little jabs and comments almost reminded him of the taunting he endured in his first few days of military training in his time with USSTRATACOM. 

Man did he have a lot of nicknames.

Goldie Locks.

Pretty Boy.

Gringo. 

Twink.  

Every derogatory name in the word book. 

He never realized how odd it was that they let him, and him only, keep his hair untouched. It was only later in life did he realize whoever had forced him there was setting him up for failure. 

But look at him now! Getting called the same names, with different intentions.

As Leon admires you through the camera, he thinks of how weird all this was, not the shameless messages, but this funny tingly feeling in his chest. 

He feels lighter and he doesn’t feel like he has to drag a lug of weight on his shoulders, a stark contrast to how heavy and conflicting the last 25 years of his life have been. 

He glances at the chat and realizes he must’ve been zooming in on your face too much, unable to help himself as the camera drifts down your figure every so often. 

take a picture sir itll last longer 

UR THUMB IS IN THE FRAME 🩷

oh cause i wanted to see every pore on their face

enjoying the view? 😼

zoom in sir I can’t see 

Leon huffs, looking down at the phone as he tries to adjust the camera, but he ends up somehow flipping it toward his face. 

His pale visage nearly flash bangs the chat, screen going white for a second as two lone pools of cobalt blue stare down at it in frustration. 

YO

is THAT THE GRIM REAPER

🧿🧿

brown contacts and a spray tan pls 

shittt

BACK UP

🧿🧿🧿

TOO CLOSE

It’s only then he realizes you must’ve said something, he meets your expectant expression. 

“Leon?” You ask, stepping out of frame for a bit and lowering your voice, “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” He chuckles, an almost imperceptible flush taking over him, “They’re uh, really loving my camera work here.” 

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Was it zoomed in too close?” You tease. 

“I think so,” he murmurs, avoiding your gaze and quickly busying himself with the camera. 

Is he…blushing? 

The sight shocks you to say the least, you know he likes you of course, but it’s fun to see him all embarrassed for once.

You were scared shitless of him your first day in office before he approached you. He kind of looked like he never wanted anyone to talk to him, which was real, you couldn’t really blame him. That, and the fact that he was so damn hot it bordered on intimidating.

That was until he spoke and suddenly your timidness was replaced with disgustingly sweet and mushy feelings for the silly man. 

“Oh I didn’t know there was a festival here.” You ask, noticing a group of people coming back from that direction with all sorts of cool prizes and snacks.

The two of you walk around aimlessly, looking for a fun game when you feel Leon slow down behind you, “Wanna test your aim?” he suggests, looking at the stall with a shooting game. 

“Why, so you can show off?” you quip back, nudging him on the shoulder. 

“Maybe,” he shrugs, mischief hidden in his timbery voice. 

You sigh, looking at chat. 

COMPETITION 

whoever wins has to send me their nudes 

^^yo what

bru hes a field agent thats cheating

o nah ur cooked 

You chuckle at all the stupid comments. 

“Hey I might not be a field agent, but I had basic training,” you explain, propping your phone up on its tripod.

When the two of you get into shooting position, you can feel Leon’s gaze on you. You glance up, only to be met by an awfully smug face.  

“Ready to lose?” He teases, nudging his hip with yours. 

You stumble a little further than he intended.

“Shit, I gotcha,” he chuckled, reaching over to yank you back to his side before you could even process you were falling. 

“Damn!” you frown, rubbing your hip even though it didn’t really hurt, “You got a steel plate in there or something old man?” 

He scoffs in amusement at the quip, rolling his eyes like the sassy cunt he is before focusing on the shooting range in front of him as the targets start flashing. 

The buzzer sounds and he’s already off to a great start. 

You steal a quick glance at him, his jaw was set and his heavy browbone was furrowed, so dead set on getting as many points as possible. 

Unfortunately for you, Leon’s already in the lead and as much as you want him to be the one to win you one of those giant stuffed animals hanging on the roof of the stall like the gentleman he is, you were nothing if not competitive (and you didn’t want to lose in front of your entire chat). 

You giggle to yourself as a mischievous idea comes to mind.

Since he’s so locked in, you let your hand swat at his to offset his aim .

He inhales sharply as his hand barely moves, but it still throws him off enough, missing the target by just a hair. 

“The fuck was that?” He chuckles, glancing at you in disbelief. 

“My hand slipped,” you shrug, eyes glaring at the target you’ve been trying to shoot down for the past 30 seconds.

“Did it now?” he asks, and although you can’t see him, you can just hear that stupid smirk in his voice. 

“Mm,” you hum distractedly. 

The buzzer sounded, and alas, the veteran agent won with flying colors. 

You groaned in defeat as the leaderboard shows your name and score count levels away from Leons.

“Aw, did your little hand spasm screw you up?” he croons, making a show of twirling his fake gun before putting it back on its stand. 

“Show off,” You scoff, pride making you resist only a little as he grabs you by your waist to pull you into him for a post match embrace. 

You slump into him, he’s so cozy you think to yourself. 

You'd think the muscles would make cuddling him uncomfortable, but he’s just so squishy. 

The worker hobbles back into the booth, a slice of pizza in his hand when he does a double take at the score board, eyes widening in disbelief at the sheer amount of points under Leon's name. 

“Alright,” the worker groans, setting his pizza aside and dusting his hands off on his shirt before stepping on the little ladder to reach the plushies lining the stall, “Which stuffed animal tickles your fancy, big guy.”

Leon huffs in amusement as he gazes up and mulls it over, “Let me think…” he hums, stealing a sidelong glance at you.

You discretely point to the bunny, practically buzzing with excitement. You’ve always wanted one of these gigantic plushies, but you’ve never managed to win one. Maybe losing to him wasn’t so bad afterall. 

He grins, looking back at the worker, “The giant bunny’s just callin’ to me, man.”

“Dude, what’re you, a marine?” The man asks, stepping down with the giant plush in his arms, before handing it to him. 

“Uh–somethin’ like that.” He mutters under his breath as he fiddles with the plushie, clearing his throat and avoiding the guy's inquisitive gaze entirely as he turns back to you.

You grin, holding your arms out expectedly, “Hand it over, hotshot.”

He chuckles, pressing the bunny into you by its stuffed arms, making it envelop you in a hug. 

After you two make your way off the side where your stream is still set up, he picks up the phone. 

You suppress a laugh as he scrolls through yet another fresh batch of bullshit. 

bruhj i need a man to win me a fat bunny

yaYY 🧸

LETS GOO

biceps were working like crazy eoigjeigjsoi 

our date is going sooo well 😍

NOW KITH!

That last one piques his interest. 

“Kith?...” he mumbles, brows furrowed in confusion as he looks to you in hopes you’ll translate whatever he just read, “what’s that–mph” 

His words are cut off as he feels a pair of soft lips rest against his. 

The camera teeters, then drops from his grip entirely as he uses the free arm to press you closer to him. 

He can practically feel the leftover tension from work melt and crystallize with the sweet sugar of caramel popcorn coating your lips.

When you pull away, face flush and breathe labored, you catch the way he looks down at the camera on the ground, then his shoes, anywhere but directly at you as he stuffs down a grin.  

“So that's what it means,” he murmurs quietly, wondering how he got so lucky.

He thinks back to your first day at the DSO. Most new hires walked into headquarters all stiff backed and nervous, trying to blend into the tense atmosphere of a counter bioterrorism agency.

Within a week, however, your office space had been thoroughly decorated with what he assumed were your favorite things. You even showed him all the snacks you’d shoved into drawers, which he helped himself now that he visits you on either one of your lunch breaks.

Leon remembers pausing by your office the first time he noticed it, watching you quietly arrange things at your desk while some movie played on your laptop. 

Were you even allowed to do that? Was it your lunch break? 

Who cares when you were that beautiful.

And his favorite part was that you have always been so easy to talk to. There was no awkwardness or formalities. More importantly, there was no fear, judgement, or pity in your eyes after learning who he was and what he’s been through.

You talked to him like he was just some normal guy and that’s why he always found himself lingering around your desk longer than necessary after missions, just so you could ask him something wonderfully trivial like if he ate any interesting snacks or what the architecture was like in whatever country he was fighting for his life in.

He’d catch himself looking for you first when he walked into headquarters and purposely take the longer route to meetings if it meant passing your desk.

Much to his embarrassment, Sherry and Hunnigan caught on. He’s never really been good at flirting. Or hiding his feelings. He realized no matter how much the years hardened him, he’s always carried his heart on his sleeve. 

Sherry gave him a knowing look one afternoon after catching him staring at you across the office. 

To anyone else it could’ve looked like he was judging you with that hard, low browed stare of his, but she could read him like a book. 

“Take a picture, it'll last longer,” she muttered. 

“What?” His gaze flitted back to her. 

“You know what I said,” she smirked, going back to typing on her computer, “I saw you change directions when you saw them walk into the break room the other day.”

Leon scoffed, fiddling with his pen as he avoided her gaze. 

Hunnigan, perusing through a few files, spoke up too, “And today.”

Leon opened his mouth, closed it again, “…I–can’t a man get coffee in peace around here?” 

“You hate the coffee here,” Hunnigan replied flatly, dropping the documents in front of him on the desk with a thud. 

Sherry discretely motioned through the glass toward where you sat, curiously eyeing the trio.

Leon looked up, and you quickly looked down at your reports. That was around the time Leon started wondering if maybe you liked him too. 

He began noticing the way your eyes always darted away all the time whenever he caught you looking.

You tripped over your words a little whenever he leaned on your desk too close and the way your voice got just a little higher around him because of nerves or excitement, he couldn't quite pinpoint it. 

He thought it was cute. And it gave him something to look forward to when he woke up at ungodly hours in the morning before work.

Which is exactly how he ended up in the break room again one morning, pretending he needed something from the cabinets just because he saw you standing in there, looking half awake.

He then promptly got hit in the head with your metal water bottle. 

That’s what he gets for trying to sneak around you, he thought as you began frantically looking for bandages.

When he washed his blood off your hands, his chest felt like it was caving in at how delicate your fingers felt in his while the water ran over them.

Truthfully, he let that moment drag on longer than necessary, figuring he could indulge himself just a little bit after weeks of restraint. 

Later that night, back home in his apartment, Leon laid his wound-up muscles down for rest, wondering what you were doing after work, wondering if you were asleep, wondering if you were thinking about him before bed too.

He felt like a loser. 

Leon sighed heavily when his phone went off, already expecting some kind of emergency from HQ.

But when he checked the notification, it was just Sherry…sending him a link to some streaming site. 

If this was some emergency meeting, he’s firing somebody because why would they use Twitch and not Zoom, or shit, even a phone call. 

He sighed and clicked it. He was immediately met with a clipped video of you calling him the “dilf from work.”

Leon stared at his phone in complete silence as he watched your little rambling confession.

And man, he could barely hear your sweet voice over his pulse thrumming so fucking hard in his ears, so he replayed the video one or two…maybe four times.

Though he had a suspicion, he still searched up what ‘dilf’ meant. 

When he read the confirming words on the screen, Leon rubbed his face, hoping it would suppress his embarrassingly giddy expression. Who was he hiding his boyish joy from? Fuck knows. All he knew was that he hadn’t felt this flattered in years. 

After he brought his face out from hiding to grab his tooth brush from the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of how his calloused hands practically left red prints on his face in the mirror.

He really needed to get a grip. 

The amount of sleep he got that night was laughable. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured you patching him up, asking him silly little questions after his mission, or the way your eyes glimmered when you talked about him on stream like he wasn’t some jaded old agent with problems, but an astronaut who hung the damn moon and stars, a real man. 

He hadn’t felt like that since he was twenty.

Even after asking you out the next day and leaving for his meeting (and tripping over his feet on the way), his racing heart still hadn’t pulled over for even a pit stop of logical thought.

His leg bounced restlessly under the conference table while he tried his best to focus on the mission report. Clumsy fingers fumbling the file multiple times before he could grab the evidence placed in front of him. 

One of his coworkers, a friend he’d made in all his time at the agency, glanced up, eyebrows sky high in amusement as he observed Leon’s jittery form. 

“Kickin’ your feet like a school girl again, Kennedy?”

Leon only looked away, made an indignant sound in response, but the little quirk on the corner of his mouth gave him away.

And now here he is, getting objectified by thousands of Twitch viewers because he’s stupid and his heart keeps spilling from his sleeve, onto his shirt cuffs and right into your hands. 

You ignore the fact that your phone is on the ground, and the fact that your chat is probably blowing up, to admire the rare shyness casting over him again. 

It’s so cute. He always has this little grin etching his lips after you kiss him, like he’s proud of himself, but bashful for what just happened, the scarlett flush on his cheekbones giving him that boyish charm you’ve only seen in the few old pictures he’s shown you. 

“You need a shave mister,” You grimace jokingly to cut through the tension, “Your stubble’s like an exfoliator.” 

He raises a brow, all coyness suddenly gone, “Well now don’t feel bad about dropping your camera.”

“Cause you're a petty bastard,” You quip.

“Whatever you say,” He grunts, hunching over to pick your phone up.

Before he can even get the chance to straighten, you wrap your arms around his neck from behind and practically climb onto the broad expanse of his back like a monkey.

“How’d that even happen huh?” You ask, heaving as your stomach caved in painfully against the hard muscle of his back and the force of your little jump. 

He rolls his eyes, bringing an arm back to support you as the other tries to steady the camera, “My hand slipped.” 

“I’m just so enticing he dropped you guys mid air.”

that hurt

help ive fallen and  i cant get uppp

oh ur back

MY HEAD 😭

that was hot

skill issue

“Hmm I don’t believe you,” You tease, propping your chin on his shoulder, craning to look at him, “Did my kith knock your hip brace out of place? Make you see stars?” 

“You're gonna be the one needin’ a hip brace when I’m done with you,” he quipped back. 

Your mouth shut quickly, face casting aflame. The muscles in Leon’s back and shoulders flex and grow rigid as the two of you process the unintentional innuendo. 

Leon mentally cursed himself, knowing your little friends won’t live this down…He meant that he was going to beat you up, jokingly, that is. 

what did he just sayyy

WHAT

can i watch?

thats what he said

OH.

me next??

“So,” Leon clears his throat, “dinner?”

“Yep.” 

The hostess at the restaurant nearly dropped the menus when she looked up and saw Leon. 

“Mr. Kennedy!” She greets him, expression faltering for a split second as she catches a glimpse of the bunny, “...Right this way,”

You were still suppressing a laugh when the hostess led you toward a little booth near the giant windows overlooking the glimmering water.

The restaurant lighting was dim and amber colored, soft jazz humming quietly through hidden speakers while lantern reflections danced across the dark river outside. 

You opened your mouth, about to tell him how beautiful the place is when you met with the sight of his long and dextrous fingers popping the first two buttons of his collar open with a relieved exhale. You seem to lose your decorum as you catch the tiniest glimpse of his chest hair.

Leon frowned, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you reply way too fast, quickly focusing your gaze back outside the window, hoping the cool air radiating from it would relieve the flush on your face.

Leon settles further into the booth across from you, grabbing the menu and flipping through it, thin eyebrows raising every now and then at some of the options.

He smirks as he flips his menu around and places it in front of you,

“What?” You ask.

He gently grabs your hand from across the table, fumbling with your fingers until one of them points to a particularly unorthodox menu item, “I’ll say yes to whatever you want if you try this,” he chuckles.

You grimace at the description below the name of the dish…then glance back up at him,

“Whatever I want?” You ask, squinting in suspicion.

He nods wordlessly. 

“Well, the bills on you anyway,” You grin, closing the menu.

Leon chuckles, flipping the menu back over to him. 

ooo watchu planning on making him do?

whatever WE want?? 🤔

decisions decisions...

As you scroll through the chat, you find a question you're sure Leon would just love, “One of them has a question.”

“That sentence has never ended well for me on stream,” He mutters absentmindedly as he raises a glass of water.

“Okay, somebody asked…Leon how do you feel about splitting bills?’ ”

Leon pauses mid sip, “…That’s the question?”

“Apparently this is serious discourse,” You reply, seeing all the people in the chat argue over this.

“Split the bill…” He snickers quietly, thinking it’s a joke.

You look at him, still waiting for an answer.

He falters, “Oh–you’re asking seriously?”

“I’m just the messenger,” You shrug. 

He leans back into the booth with another amused breath, eyes glancing around thoughtfully for a second before answering.

“Well,” he starts casually, “if I wanted to split bills with somebody, I’d just get a roommate.”

“Ahh, very wise answer,” You grin. 

Your brows furrow at the sudden spam of song lyrics.

HOUSE REAL BIG

car real big DIH REAL BIG 😼

everythang REAL BIG👹

Random fragments of the song flood the screen so fast they become unreadable.

Leon frowns, “What the hell are they talking about?”

“It’s just a song,” You giggle.

“A song about what?”

You wave him off immediately, still snickering, “Don’t worry about it.”

The stupid lyrics keep coming.

RIMS REEL BIG

pocketS REAL BIG🗣️

RINGS REAL BIG💍

Leon watches the messages fly by, “I feel like I’m being mocked.”

“Well, you are,” you coo, reaching over to squish what little fat he has on his stubbled cheek.

“Great.”

Once the food comes, it’s almost dead silent as the two of you hunker down, dead focused on eating after walking around for so long. 

Leon eventually nudges your foot beneath the table with his. You glance up to see him avoiding your gaze with a faint little grin.

“Hey,” You scold gently, doing it back immediately.

Soon it devolves into a petty little foot war under the booth while both of you try maintaining a posh outward appearance, though the giant stuffed bunny sitting beside you was probably doing a better job.

“Brat,” he mutters.

“You started it,” Your foot catches against his ankle at the same time he shifts forward in the booth. The movement accidentally drags your leg higher against his, against his thigh for a brief second. 

You snicker, foot playfully nudging against what you assume is his side pocket since you can feel the outline of something. His keys or phone maybe…

Leon makes a choked sound, goes still across from you before slowly bringing a hand to lower your foot under the table, eyes looking anywhere but directly at you.

Oh.

You knew his keys couldn’t have been that…big.

“I–sorry,” you mutter.

He clears his throat, “No, you’re good.” 

You down at the camera to busy yourself as he brings the glass of water up to his mouth.

OH?

what happened😭

AM I INTERRUPTING 

feel like im ina cuck chair

its getting HOT in here 😼

Thank god you receive a massive dono from a viewer to cut through the tension. The loud notification nearly makes you jump,

“Wow,” you laugh, staring at the screen.

Leon leans over slightly, trying to read the amount before his eyebrows lift.

The viewer had gifted an absurd amount of subs all at once.

You blink down at the attached message.

You deserve it.

“Oh,” you snort awkwardly, cheeks warming a little. “That’s…sweet. Thank you, seriously.”

Leon huffs softly through his nose beside his glass, “Guess I’m not the only one spoiling you.”

At first he didn't think much of it, people got weird online all the time, especially with streamers.

Another notification comes through, and your eyes widen in disbelief.

‘Jason_m76 donated $50’

Pretty smile.

Leon’s gaze flickers toward the screen briefly.

Okay, he’s just being nice. It’s not alarming…yet.

But then he donates another fifty.

Can’t decide what looks prettier tonight. The lanterns or you.

“Okay,” you chuckle awkwardly.

Leon shifts in his seat, brows furrowing as another donation appears.

I think I saw you walk by earlier.

His gaze flickers towards the windows momentarily. 

Your smile falters for half a second before you recover, “Oh,” you laugh nervously, “well…hi, I guess?”

WAIT WHAT

oh thats kinda creepy 😬

oh!

bro dropped a whole mortgage

“Maybe they're just at the festival too?...” You ask, glancing over at Leon who gives you a reassuring look, not wanting to ruin the night for you. 

He leans back slowly in the booth, gaze casually drifting around the restaurant now and trying to take note of anyone who looked suspicious but he was just met with the set of wealthy businessmen and blushing couples. 

Still, he’d spent too long in his line of work to ignore when his gut started talking.

Something in him snaps when he hears the notification of another donation.

Blue looks good on him too.

“Sure does,” You mumble, growing more nervous by the second. This has literally never happened before and the guy has spent hundreds already.

Leon scoffs quietly. Who the hell is this guy?

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

“Hm? Yeah.” His attention stays fixed on the windows, eyes squinting as he tries to look for any lingering passerbyers.

You try laughing it off for chat, but the mood is obviously different now. Not enough to ruin the night completely, just enough to leave a strange vibe in the air.

Eventually you end the stream outside the restaurant after saying goodbye to chat.

The drive home is nice and quiet. The city lights blur gold against the windshield while Leon’s hands rest steady against the steering wheel and the other holds yours.

You ramble quietly about wedding planning and moving boxes to fill the silence.

Leon hums absently. You glance toward him. He’s listening, sorta, but his eyes keep drifting toward the side and rearview mirror. 

You squeeze his hand,“Tired?”

“Hm?” He glances over briefly. “A little.”

You nod but something still feels a little off. Was it the guy that kept donating? What if he got jealous or something? Or maybe he’s just weirded out like you were? 

When you finally reach your apartment, Leon follows you upstairs carrying the giant bunny under one arm while you fumble with your keys.

The second he steps inside, his posture changes subtly as he sort of hovers behind you. His eyes move around the apartment toward the windows, the locks, the hallway, the balcony door. 

You chuckle softly, it looks like he’s seeing the place for the first time.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers quickly.

He notices the way you tilt your head, and immediately and forces himself to relax a little, reaching over to squeeze your side gently.

“Sorry sweetheart, just been a long day.”

You nod, accepting the answer for now. “Well,” you sigh, stretching your arms over your head, “I’m showering before I pass out.”

“Mhm.”

You pause halfway toward the bathroom when he doesn’t follow, still standing near the living room window, watching outside, “You comin’?”

His eyes flick toward you, “Nah, it’s okay. You go ahead first.”

You blink. That’s weird. Especially after the entire night you’ve had together.

You wander back toward him instead and his expression softens instantly when you wrap your arms loosely around his neck, 

“I thought you’d do whatever I wanted,” you whisper. 

“You fight dirty,” he murmurs, exhaling quietly through his nose before finally relenting, hands settling against your waist.

“But hey,” he mutters, bringing your ring finger up and placing a gentle kiss there, “I am a man of my word.”

The shower leaves both of you flush and boneless and by the time Leon carries you back into the bedroom wrapped loosely in your robe, your limbs feel like jello.

He plops you onto the mattress gently. You frown in exhaustion as he pulls the blankets over you, “I’m never showering with you again.”

He snorts softly before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Shit.”

“What?” You ask.

“My phone.”

“You left it?”

“Yeah, in the car.”

You wave him off sleepily, “Just get it tomorrow.”

He’s already heading for the door. He needs it in case he gets a dreaded emergency call from work, “Won’t take long babe.”

Outside the night air is colder than before, so quiet he could probably hear a pindrop. Leon grabs his phone from the car before heading back to your door. 

He pauses at your doorway. There's a small, poorly wrapped cardboard box sitting on your doormat.

He crouches beside it and picks it up, turning it to look for a shipping label. There’s no return address, no name, just a crooked little bow taped messily on top.

Leon shakes his head, opening it carefully, there could be a damn bomb in there for all he knows.

The sight makes his body grow cold, there are tons of photographs. 

You, outside the DSO building. You, getting into his car. You, laughing beneath the lantern lights earlier tonight. You, sitting inside the restaurant.

He takes note of how every picture is taken from a distance, like the photographer is hiding behind something, watching your every move

Leon flips to the final photo.

It’s you outside the restaurant window when the both of you were heading back to his car. You're smiling and he’s beside you, except his face has been violently scratched out.

A folded note slips from beneath the stack and in messy handwriting: You looked beautiful today.

Leon stares at the words for a long moment, feeling molten hot anger simmer in his chest. His fingers are shaky with adrenaline as he slowly puts everything back into the box

Every exhausted and paranoid instinct he tried suppressing all night suddenly crashes together at once as two thoughts come to mind.

You weren’t staying here tonight. 

And he’s gonna fucking find jason_m76.

jason rn:

“Hey,” He gave a nod. His brows furrowed for a second as you crossed the driveway before relaxing.

“Moving everything in today?” He shook his head at your question.

“Just the basics. Movers are bringing the rest tomorrow.” He tucked the box underneath his arm. He closed his trunk and then held out his hand, “Leon,”

“Nice to meet you, Leon. I’m (Y/N),” You shook his hand, “I’m guessing you’re sleeping on an air mattress tonight?” He chuckled at your joke and shifted the box to hold it with both hands.

“Nah, I can’t do that. I don’t think it would be good for my back if I wake up on the floor.” Leon matched your friendly energy. He gave you another once over, a strange feeling of familiarity settling in his chest. “I booked a hotel not too far from here.”

Oh, that was such a good idea. Why didn’t you think of that when you were moving? That first night was the worst, so you focused on assembling your bed the next day. Once again, there went your new neighbor’s scrutinizing gaze. He was assessing you. It didn’t make you uncomfortable, but he definitely needed to learn to control his expressions.

“I don’t know why it had been on sale for that long. It’s a pretty house,” You motioned to your homes, “I actually checked out both of them when I was deciding. But I liked mine more.”

“Ah, so what you’re saying is you got the better one of the two?” He smirked.

“Sorry, Leon. Shoulda came five years earlier.” You shrugged, “Anyway, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on my door.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll keep that in mind.” Leon said as you left. His brows furrowed in thought. He shouldn’t linger on it too much. But it bothered him more than he would admit not being able to figure it out. It was on the tip of his tongue.

He was going to lose sleep over this.

Leon made his way to his house. He set the box down beside another one. He glanced around the empty living room with scattered cardboard boxes. Eventually he’d get it all fixed up. He didn’t have much of a reason to move. He didn’t really need to at all. But an apartment was starting to feel cramped and this house was rather quaint.

… Now that he thought about it, you said his house had been on sale for a while. And the realtor did mention that too. Maybe that should have been a warning.

Oh well. He got a pretty neighbor as a bonus. Let the roof cave in.

He wanted to get back to the hotel and relax. His next few days would be very hectic with unpacking. He grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter and made his way. He closed the front door, searching for his new house key amongst the few others. As he was locking it, he lifted his gaze slightly enough to see your house.

You kept it in tact. Clean, freshly painted, grass trimmed, and a few little decorations. There went that sudden itch again, insisting that he’d seen you somewhere before. He shook it off. It was just the stress from packing and deciding what he was going to keep.

Meanwhile, inside your house, you were discreetly peering through your window blinds. You watched him go over to his car, “Damn…” You clicked your tongue, letting go of the blinds, “They don’t make them like that no more.”

Leon settled in the neighborhood very quickly. You were a very friendly woman and made it easy for the two of you to get along.

Mrs. Beamon from across the street kept telling you to snatch him up before she did. The elderly woman had her priorities straight, you’d give her that.

Most of the time, you two had dinner together. His busy schedule made it a little harder to do anything besides that. Either at your place, sometimes at his, or booking a reservation. Other times you’d rant to him, fresh off work, about your least favorite coworker editing your spreads again while he fixed his bike in his garage.

He never went into details as to what he did. For him, it was nice to have a friendship with someone who wasn’t from work or relating to his missions. So he’d rather spare you from the details of his messed up life. A simple “I work for the government” was good enough. You took note that he’d rather not bring his mysterious job home with him.

Now what did he think? That you were a very, very gorgeous woman. He was so confused as to why you were single. You never mentioned a boyfriend, and never had a man come over. Plus, he was fairly certain that if you did, your boyfriend wouldn’t be too comfortable with you being as friendly with him.

A boyfriend or a man on the side didn’t matter. He still couldn’t pinpoint where he might have seen you before.

And how long did it take him living as your neighbor to finally figure it out? Three entire years. Three.

Is there still time to meet up for lunch? She’s in my ear and getting on my nerves again.

Leon snickered at your message, typing up a reply.

Too late. You had your chance to see me. But I’ll let you meet me for dinner instead. Your turn to pick.

“The would be 20th anniversary of Monroe Magazine.” He jolted in his chair. He looked over to see another agent sitting on the break room couch, reading over his phone. He somehow managed to slip past Leon without alerting him. “Man, time flies, huh?”

“Monroe Magazine?” Leon sat up in his chair. He locked his phone and placed it face down on the table. He rubbed his jaw, “20 years? I haven’t heard about them in a while. Didn’t they shut down in ‘09?”

“Yeah, and they used to be good before they switched owners in ‘06. They went downhill fast after that. You could tell the guy was a creep.” The agent gave Leon a side eye. He scrolled through the article on his phone. “The original wanted pretty girls to shine. The second made it a degenerate’s magazine.”

“I remember that.” Leon scoffed lightly. “They lost that classy style. Their sales tanked, right?”

“Of course they did! They lost half their audience! Women got the magazines because they would buy the clothes the models wore. Like at the back, there was a catalogue and all those codes.” The agent made motion with his hand as if he were flipping through a book.

“So that’s what all those things were in the back…” Leon said to himself.

“My favorite was Cecilia. So beautiful, you only had to say her first name. You remember that tagline?” The agent raised a brow and grinned.

“My favorite was—” Your name left Leon’s lips subconsciously. It dawned on him in that very instant and he swore the room became smaller.

Monroe Magazine. It all came rushing back to him. How did he not piece this together sooner?

The first time he bought a magazine from them was at 22. He considered himself to still be rather innocent. Honestly, young Leon didn't have the confidence to buy a more explicit magazine. He promised he’d work his way up slowly. What he settled on was a far, far better choice.

The issue he bought had four gorgeous women dressed in flappers. It was a special edition showing the fashion of women over the decades. His eyes were glued to only one amongst those four.

Somehow, amongst the hectic routine he was thrown into, he kept himself up to date with any issue releases you were featured in. You were on the front covers, runways, billboards, even perfume commercials he might have taped. Gone was his whole idea of working his way towards explicit magazines. And good, because it was never his style to begin with.

“The Golden Girl! I bet you were the reason why she always got the spotlight.” The agent joked. He exhaled and became rather pensive, “Kind of sad she disappeared out of nowhere once they switched owners.”

“Right, right.” Leon forced out a small chuckle. Internally, he started to panic. Monroe’s Golden Girl didn’t disappear. She was living next door to him working as some editor. Why were you working at an office job? Shouldn’t you be on some beach in Miami telling a boy toy to rub sunscreen on your back?

His mind began racing, different thoughts all swirling at once. The agent he had been speaking with focused his attention to his phone. Then, guilt settled in Leon’s gut. After the fall of Monroe Magazine, he didn’t have time anymore to keep up with your public appearances, and you did suddenly stop making them.

But there was one thing he didn’t do. He absolutely refused to throw out those magazines he carefully collected. He still had them. He still had them. They were in one of those boxes in his attic and he knew exactly which one. He kept telling himself he’d look through them again for the fun of it, and put it aside each time.

It ate at him for the remainder of the work day. He was supposed to have dinner with you. His appetite was gone and he no longer wanted to know what restaurant you might have chosen.

“Shit—” Leon ducked his head when his car parked and he saw yours pulling in from his rear view mirror. “Damn it—” Just behave normally. Yeah, sure. Behave normally around his first ever celebrity crush.

“Hey,” He heard you call out to him as soon as you were both out of your vehicles. “Did you see my text? I was thinking about that new place that opened last month. We still haven’t tried it out! All the reviews say it’s good!”

“Rain check. I’m not feeling well.” He lied, then rushed off to his house. You were left stunned by your car. He didn’t even wait for you to offer bringing him some medicine or if he needed anything.

“Okay…” You dragged out, giving a suspicious glance at his house. “That was weird…”

He probably needed some rest and everything would be better by tomorrow. Except the same thing happened. He didn’t respond much to your texts or have the same energy. You asked if he felt better but he left your message on delivered. When you got home, he sprinted to his house to get away from you.

Then, the next day.

The day after that.

The day after that. He was giving you the cold shoulder and avoiding you like you had the plague. Now the mere thought of Leon annoyed you the same way your colleague at work did. Let him be like that. Mrs. Beamon could have him.

One month and two weeks. That’s how long he kept this charade going. His guilt followed him like a dark cloud hanging above his head. He barely acknowledged you anymore. And the cardboard box upstairs in his attic containing those magazines repeatedly called his name.

Another day, you two arrived at the exact same time. He gripped his steering wheel tightly. He refused to look over in your direction. Deep down though, he owed you an explanation. You had every right to be upset about a friend randomly starting to avoid you.

With a heavy sigh, he got out of his car and called out your name. In response? You didn’t turn his way and slammed your car door loudly. The freshly cut grass crunched under your shoes as you made your way to your porch. You disappeared inside, leaving him standing there all the more stupid.

His feet dragged all the way over as he slowly made his way over to your house. He stood right outside your front door. Of course the Golden Girl didn’t chase, she attracted. Knock, knock, knock. The door opened, you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Hi, hello.” Your snarky tone made him feel worse, “Are you done being weird yet?”

Rip the bandaid off. Get it over with. He was a grown man that shouldn’t be avoiding you all because he used to mail in a vote so you could be featured on the cover of the next issue.

“I used to buy all your Monroe Magazines when I was younger.” Leon blurted out.

You blinked. He felt the heat rising up his neck. There was a better way he could have gone by that. You huffed. He half expected you to start yelling and calling him all the names in the book. Instead, you ended up bursting into laughter and giving him a bit of relief from this tension. His embarrassment skyrocketed when you doubled over, a hand slapping against your thigh.

“Okay, okay, okay,” You spoke once your laughter died down, “I already knew that. You did not have to go avoiding me.”

“What do you mean you already knew?” He refrained himself from scoffing. He shifted on his feet. The embarrassment might have subsided for the time being, but it was very much present. “I didn’t even remember until some guy at work told me about the 20th anniversary.”

“I mean when I meet people my age or older, I automatically assume they know I used to be a model.” You explained, “It’s literally no big deal. Definitely not for you to be acting the way you did.”

He knew he overreacted by avoiding you. It just caught him off guard and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He rubbed the back of his neck, “How come you never mention it to me?”

“And make it seem like I was still living in the glory days, fishing for compliments? Tch, no thanks.” You flicked your hand dismissively. Then, you frowned and poked his shoulder, “Plus, let’s not forget. You haven’t once told me what you do besides working for the government.”

Really? You were comparing being a former top model across the globe to fighting bioweapons as if it were the same thing. He still hadn’t explained everything he did and what all those “trips” were where you’d house sit for him.

“You keep your secrets, I’ll keep mine. Now that you’re done avoiding me,” You said, “I expect to be at that restaurant at 8 PM. No more ‘rain checks’.”

“Fine.” He scowled, pretending like he hated the idea. You gave him the same expression in return which made him break character. “I’ll pick you up or whatever.”

“You pull that stunt again, and I’m telling Mrs. Beamon that your type are seventy year old retired women with dentures.” He froze on the bottom step of your porch.

“Yes ma’am.”

The street parking right in front of the restaurant was taken. Leon had to drive around the corner and you two had to walk. There weren’t any complaints since the cool air felt nice tonight. As part of his apology, he let you choose where to sit and to get as much as you wanted from the menu.

You made conversation in between bites. Leon was very curious about how you lived during that time. You spoke fondly about the founder of Monroe Magazine. He learned the man wanted to be a fashion designer, but never had the opportunity. Even though you were seen as the magazine’s favorite, Cecilia was the founder’s muse. It was a rivalry for a show, but a bond behind the scenes.

“You still get followed by paparazzi? Seriously?” He asked in a surprised tone.

The waiter had long since cleared your table. The restaurant stayed open late. It gave the current patrons enough time to chat and enjoy their food. There were two wine glasses on the table, slowly being sipped on as the conversation continued.

“It’s mostly just people with a camera trying to make extra money on the side. Tabloids buy anything these days.” You said as if it were nothing. He wasn’t too familiar on how the whole celebrity industry worked.

Paparazzi pictures of retired celebrities, such as yourself, would surface around the internet.

He was more familiar seeing candid photographs of you being used in gossip columns. He found it so ridiculous how they’d twist up the story, trying to make it seem more scandalous than it actually was. Things were different back then. At least it calmed down a bit. Some people were built to withstand the pressure and stupid rumors. He liked his privacy, so he knew he wouldn’t have the mental capacity to handle all those cameras pointed at him and bright flashes going off.

“On rare occasions, I will get professionals. I actually got followed by one not too long ago. But they eventually go away after a while.” Back then, you used to play around. Either by winking or blowing a kiss to the cameras.

“Did they run you out of the spotlight? You just…” He shrugged his shoulders, “Disappeared out of nowhere.”

“No, I left the magazine after the new owner came in. Then I started going through some personal matters that I’d rather not talk about which made me choose to step away.” You sipped from your wine glass. You set it aside, “Enough about me. I need to know what young Leon looked like.”

Young Leon? You wanted to see him when he was fresh faced and barely made eye contact with the cashier as he passed the magazine over the counter.

He let out a nervous chuckle and rolled his eyes. You were trying to get him to expose himself.

“Come on,” You egged, moving closer. He held up a hand and reached in his back pocket for his phone.

“Alright, alright. I probably have a picture somewhere.” He muttered. He noticed his pointer finger trembling more than usual as he swiped through his camera roll. He eventually found one. He was going through some old mission files and one of his older ID pictures slipped from the folder.

It was worn out. Something compelled him to take a picture. Maybe it was him feeling nostalgic. He turned the phone around, showing you the screen. You leaned over slightly, grabbing the top part of his phone and tilting it back to see it better. Young, handsome. It was hard to believe this was the same man sitting beside you. You would have confused them for two different people.

“Oh, if I’d met you back then? Things would be very different between us.” You glanced up, noting the flustered expression that quickly formed on Leon’s face.

“Stop it,” Leon wasn’t used to being on the opposite end of flirtatious remarks anymore, and especially not ones that made him flustered. And you laughed behind your hand. He felt the shyness from those years breaking through his well built confidence. “You stop that. I’m still that kid at heart.”

“I can just imagine it now.” You rested your elbow on the table and your chin on your palm. He can see it. The shift in your model persona with those captivating eyes he dreamt of. What did he do? Start taking his sweet time in putting his phone away to avoid your intense gaze. “Young Leon grabbing his wallet to pay for a scented magazine.”

His head jerked up, “Scented? … There were scented magazines?”

“It was to sell perfume, and people started buying them as a collectors item.” You nodded your head. You placed your hand on the cushion, scooting closer to him, “You know…” He didn’t like that tone you said that in.

“Knock it off.” He sternly said, trying to come off as unbothered. But as he tried, he failed.

“I have tons of copies at home in pristine condition,” You teased. “I’ll give you some if you give me something in return.”

It was one thing to see your stare from a high print page in a magazine, and it was another to see it in person. Although he bravely held your gaze this time, you saw the red hue on his cheeks. He feigned annoyance, “I’m getting the check. Pay for your own meal.”

The clank of a wrench echoes throughout the cluttered garage, followed by a string of curses that would have a frail elderly woman clutching her pearls.

“Fucking piece of-” Leon’s rough voice grumbles from where he lays under his dark green Jeep Wrangler; a car, in his spouse’s opinion, which he should have gotten rid of ages ago and was “causing more stress than good.”

The door connecting the garage to the house squeaks softly as it opens. Leon makes a mental note to oil the hinges later on. His spouse steps into the garage, their sock-clad feet padding softly against the cool concrete floor.

“Ready to trade it in yet?” They joke, sitting down next to where Leon’s legs rest on the floor, the other half of his body covered by the rackety old car. They have an old R.P.D. coffee mug nestled in their hands.

He huffs in response, ignoring the comment and continuing to fix whatever part had gone bad this time.

“How long have you been under there?” They ask, taking a sip from their coffee mug.

“Do you want the real answer or the answer that’ll make me look cooler?”

“Real.”

Leon can’t see their face but he can tell they have a smile resting on their lips. He sighs softly and mumbles an unintelligible answer. They give his thigh a playful pat.

“Since this morning.” He mutters, the sounds of his work pause as he rolls out slowly from under the car, sitting up and stretching his neck and shoulders. His muscles flex and strain against his grease and oil stained t-shirt.

“Leon-”

“I know, I know.” He gives them an apologetic smile, a smile that quickly turns devious as he takes the coffee mug from their hands and brings it to his lips.

“Hey!” They let out a scoff, watching as he takes a large drink of the coffee.

He sighs and the now half empty mug between them.

“You know I would have made you a cup.”

“But then I wouldn’t be able to see that cute face you make when I drink yours.” He smiles, feigning innocence and poking the creased space between their eyebrows.

They swat his hand away. “Which part went bad this time?”

He huffs. “Well, I was originally only checking the oil, but then I figured I’d check the breaks, and then one thing led to another and I ended up under the damn thing fixing a rusted out bearing.”

He runs a hand over his face, oil smudging onto his cheek.

They smile and grab a cloth from the cart beside them, bringing it up to his face and gently wiping it off. Their hand lingers on his stubbled jaw.

“Ever consider just taking it to the mechanic? Even having someone come over to help you?” They offer, thumb brushing over a faint scar on his cheekbone.

“No.”

“Leon-”

“I like fixing it.” He shrugs.

They give him a look of pure disbelief.

“It’s relaxing!” He excuses.

They laugh.

“What?” He frowns.

“Honey, everytime you come out here it’s nothing but cussing and groaning.” They let their hand fall from his jaw. Leon catches it in his clean one, thumb brushing over their knuckles. They squeeze his rough, calloused hand and glance at the car beside them. “How many parts are going to break before you finally give it a rest?”

He sighs, gaze drifting to the scratch on the driver’s side door, the green paint scraped and chipping away from the time someone swiped it with a grocery cart years ago.

You would think it would be easy to let go of it. Hell, it’s just a damn car. One that had been put through the ringer back in its prime. But for some reason he couldn’t bear to part from it.

“It runs great.” He argues.

“The engine sounds like it is crying anytime you start it.” They deadpan.

“It looks beautiful for its age.”

“There’s scratches all over the paint, a dent in the rear bumper, the passenger seat is gaining a tear-”

“Those can all be fixed!”

“Leon, seriously, it gets to a point when this isn’t even the same car you bought in 1998. Hell, it’s the Jeep of Theseus at this point.” They let out a short laugh at their own joke.

Leon can’t help but to crack a smile as well, shaking his head slightly before gazing at them lovingly.

“I know this car means a lot to you. I really do. You don’t have to make a decision right now, but just think about it, okay? I’d prefer if I got to see my husband more than his car does.”

He nods. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, honey.”

“No, I do. I should stop focusing so much on this damn car before it puts me in an early grave.”

They lean over, closing the distance between them to press a soft kiss to his lips. He practically melts against them, his hand hovering over their waist but not touching, aware of the oil coating his palm and fingers.

The kiss lingers for a few seconds before they pull away.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” He pecks their lips again.

When they finally part, his spouse stands, holding out a hand for him to take. “Come on, you need a shower.”

“Trying to tell me I stink?” He smirks, taking their hand and grunting when his knees pop as he stands.

“Yeah, actually.” They tease.

He scoffs and moves to the front of the car, cleaning up the mess of tools he left out and checking to make sure all of the caps and seals are secure. He straightened out his back, whacking his head on the underside of the hood in the process. He grunts and rubs the back of his head.

They raise a hand to cover their mouth, giving him a sympathetic look while also trying not to laugh.

He shuts the hood and walks back over to them, thumping his forehead into their shoulder with a groan.

Their hand gently rubs at the back of his skull, fingers running through his hair while the other strokes his back.

…

Later on, they lay in bed. Leon’s practically fully on top of his spouse half asleep as they run their fingers through his damp hair, gently scratching his scalp. He lets out a content hum and they smile softly, placing a gentle kiss onto the top of his head.

“It’s the reason we’re together.” He mutters into their chest.

“Huh?”

“The Jeep.” He shifts, hand coming up to rest on their side. “I’m not sure if I would have had the courage to kiss you if it wasn’t for it breaking down that day.”