Leon always acted silently. Unconsciously and never setting expectations from others. He moved like a well-oiled machine, trained by experience, whether it be on the field or at the office. Habits carried on and Leon did what he did because he was only doing what he thought was right, like any other decent person would.

You were a long time colleague of his. You’ve both worked for the D.S.O. for several, several years, being founding members, and having partnered for more than a couple handful of missions. You were one of those agents who he genuinely trusted and respected, knowing well that you had a good head on your shoulders—plus, you made good company in those rare moments of downtime, in-between all the paperwork and raining bullets. 


Though, amidst those small moments, Leon was always chivalrous. He didn’t have a paternal figure growing up to tell him ‘how’s and ‘don’t’s, and he certainly didn’t have a lot of experience in the relationship department either, apart from an embarrassingly long situationship (that was realistically going nowhere), and a couple one-nighters.

But all in all, Leon knew how to treat a woman right. It was common sense to him, he’d plainly argue. Not even in a romantic sense either, because it extended to the other women in his life, like Sherry and Claire. Basic decency. However, a few would say otherwise, since they noticed he paid a little extra attention when it came to you. It was pretty subtle for the most part—but if you really looked at it close enough, it would make one question a couple of things.

For example: the way Leon would always look at you whenever you said something, nodding along attentively—full-on eye-contact and everything, with the occasional hum or comment, just to let you know he was listening. How he’d always open doors for you, or walk on the curb-side whenever you headed out the agency for whatever reason. How he’d walk you to your car after work (even if there was security nearby, and within the building), because it was dark outside. There were even a couple of times he’d offer his jacket, when the air-conditioning was cranked down a bit too low for your liking (you were always sensitive to the cold). 



—And sure, that could objectively be seen as ‘decency’. Like, how one would help an elderly woman cross the road. Gestures like that didn’t necessarily mean there was intent. 



…But, there was also the way he’d cover the edge and corners of desks whenever you picked something that you dropped from the floor. Or, how he’d automatically be moving to make you a cup of coffee when he saw you enter the break room, knowing you liked yours with a splash of milk and two sugars. How he was quick to offer his seat to you during weekly department meetings—and you, specifically—since the conference rooms were usually packed, and he’d already be there way before it started. How he’d call you, rather than text you (surprisingly) whenever he needed to speak to or remind you about something for work. He hated phone-calls.

Those very insignificant gestures combined, equated to something more. Funnily enough, you seemingly didn’t pick on it. You never really said anything. And in turn, Leon likely didn’t even know he was doing any these things either. If anyone did ask, he’d shrug his shoulders and say it was because he’s known you for so long. It was habitual, like second nature.

If anyone teased him however, especially Sherry, there’d be a brief pause. Maybe it was contemplation. Or maybe something else that he couldn't discern (or rather, acknowledge yet). Then, he’d shake his head and brush it off. If it had him thinking about it later on, then...that was future him's problem.

But again, it's the small things. Always the small things.

"I thought you said you handed in your report the other day," Sherry commented, raising a brow as she watched Leon flick through a small bundle of papers. It was already sometime in the afternoon, past three. "I did. S'not mine," He says without looking at her.

Sherry hums knowingly. Hm.