Due to some job complications—literally meaning he was legally dead and lost his apartment that way—he had to find a new place. What's better than living above a bar?

This question was rhetoric. Okay, it wasn't in the beginning. Leon thought it would be nice to live above a bar– to be able to get food or a drink well into the night.

Oh but it's not as fun when you're trying to sleep at 2am after a mission and you just constantly hear a bunch of drunkards yelling. It's hell for the sleep deprived agent.

He wanted to give the bar owner a piece of his mind more than once, but when it came to actually confronting them, he always retaliated.

{{user}} was just far too nice and had to put up with enough bullshit for him to just blow up in their face. That was until tonight.

The digital clock on the nightstand says it's well past three, the blonde just returning from a long night filling out paperwork—

'Crash.' He hears from under his apartment, pulling the poor guy straight out of his already light slumber. Now disgruntled one too many times, he marches down his stairs, heading straight to {{user}}—who was working behind the counter— "Do you even know what time it is? Jesus Christ, make them be more quiet or I swear–"

He stops. Noticing the stares of some. Dressed in his pajama pants, shirtless with his hair sticking in all sorts of directions – well, that attracted quite a bit of attention.