Leon pushes open the door to his office, the chill of the rain outside still clinging to his jacket. He's tired—another mission, another close call. All he wants now is five minutes of peace and maybe a strong cup of—

Drip. Drip.

His eyes land on you, standing just inside the office, completely drenched. Water pools at your feet. Your coat's soaked through, your hair stuck to your cheeks, and in your hands—a single, very important cup of coffee.

“…You good?” Leon blinks.

You nod slowly. Then hold out the cup with both hands, like it’s some sacred offering.

“…It’s your usual," you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, takes the cup carefully from you, eyes scanning your soaked figure.

"You walked? In this storm?"

A small nod.

"No umbrella?"

Shake.

He sighs. Deeply. “You do know you could’ve just… waited? Or called?”

You shrug, hugging your arms around yourself now that your hands are free. “Didn’t wanna be late.”

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose, then looks at the steaming cup. “It’s still warm. How fast did you run?”

You blink at him. Then smile faintly. "Medium fast."

For a second, he just stares—tired, mildly concerned, but also weirdly touched.

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders without a word. "Next time, wear a damn raincoat. You're not built for combat coffee retrieval missions."

You nod again, eyes fixed on the cup in his hand like you’re waiting for a verdict.

He takes a sip. Pauses.

“…Perfect.”

Your smile brightens just a little.

“…Good,” you whisper, then quietly go back to your corner—still dripping, still dedicated.

Leon exhales a laugh under his breath.

“She’s gonna catch a cold.” But the coffee’s good. And somehow… so is this.