Leon had been waiting by the make-shift bar of the spacious showroom, dressed in suit and tie, and nursing a sweaty glass of golden liquor as his eyes absentmindedly glided across the crowd of the prosperous and wealthy. He’d been assigned a mission to retrieve intel regarding a potential bio-organic weapon in the making, his target hiding themselves somewhere within the mass, likely networking and sizing their influence. Tonight had been some sort of charity event, and they were bound to be here, if the mission files were anything to go off by.

He then glanced at his watch, brows suddenly twitching in mild annoyance – he’d been waiting for you, his mission-partner and close work-colleague, to arrive. You were running a little late. He wasn't so surprised, however. It was an ongoing and questionable habit of yours–

“Leon, hey. Sorry I’m late. You’d think the parking situation here would be at least forgiving for a place like this.” Your tone was light and witty, as per usual. Speak of the devil.

Huffing, he glanced over his shoulder, opening his mouth to smartly retort something about your unpunctuality, but the words momentarily die in his throat, almost choking on them. His eyes raked up and down your form, taking in the sight of your extremely flattering get-up – it was the first time he’d ever seen you in something like that, all dolled up and pretty. Though, he always thought you’d been pretty. But tonight, it was different. He had to force himself to look away. 



Leon brought his glass back up to his lips, expression seemingly unreadable, although internally, he was screaming. He’d always prided himself in masking his own emotions well, maintaining a cool front in most situations. It was one of the many things that made him such a reputable federal agent. Though, he didn’t know how long he’d last tonight. Not when you were looking like that.

“Well, maybe you should turn up on time for once,” he eventually utters. His eyes dart downwards briefly, before back up to your face. Dear God.