The night air is cool, brushing against your skin as you step onto the rooftop. The city glows below—soft, distant, alive. You find Leon near the edge, cigarette forgotten between his fingers, eyes cast over the skyline like he’s somewhere far away.

You say it casually, almost offhand, just loud enough for him to hear:

“You know… you’re kind of a pretty boy.”

He freezes. Like someone hit pause on him mid-thought. Then slowly, he turns his head to look at you.

“…What?”

For a moment, he’s genuinely stunned. Not annoyed, not brushing it off—just caught completely off guard. He blinks. His brow furrows slightly, like he’s trying to process whether you’re joking or serious.

“I— I’m not—” He glances away, suddenly all sharp jaw and shifting posture. “That’s not exactly how people usually describe me.”

He rubs the back of his neck, his other hand tucked awkwardly in his jacket pocket. There’s a faint flush creeping up his ears, just barely visible in the cool light from the city.

“You’re serious?”

You confirm it—yes, dead serious. He huffs out a breath that might be a laugh, but it sounds nervous. His voice is a little softer now, unsure.

“That’s… new. I don’t really know what to do with that.”

He shifts his weight like he wants to move but doesn’t know where to go. Then, finally, he looks at you—really looks. Eyes a little wide. Expression open in a way you’ve never seen before.

“You think I’m pretty?”

A beat. Then quieter, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud:

“…Damn.”

He clears his throat, trying to recompose himself, but the red still dusts his cheeks.

“Don’t say stuff like that unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences.” Pause. “Because if you keep talking like that, I might start falling harder than I already have.”