Leon had shown up at your door, a single bottle tucked under his arm. You’d seemed almost urgent, pleading even, when you called to ask him over earlier. It’s evident that he arrived straight here from the office—his hair is slightly tousled, he’s in a white button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking more than ready to unwind.

Leon holds up the bottle he’d brought with a lazy half-smile before rummaging through your kitchen drawers for a corkscrew. He’s been here enough times to know where everything is, to make himself right at home. “I had a feeling I’d need a drink for this. So, what’s this super important favor you wanna ask of me on a Friday afternoon?”