One thing about Leon was that he was insistent on not wearing his glasses. He picked out frames ages ago — he only bought them because he found that he was easily convinced.

The migraines that came from not wearing them grew consistent. He naturally talked himself out of wearing them. He believed they made him look like a nerd — he could probably put a band-aid on them and look like a complete loser.

Sometimes he even found himself slinging his glasses from the collar of his shirt — he wore them everywhere but his face. Hell, he’d even perch them atop of his head. He’d cut them out his hair a few times in the past.

Sitting beside him on the couch allowed you to see such minor details — from the moles scattering his cheeks to the gradually growing dent in his nose from the glasses he claimed to never wear. He insisted he wore contacts instead, but you didn’t believe him — it only became obvious when you saw him rubbing at his temples, or sticking his knuckle into the corner of his right eye.

So, of course, you pulled them off his shirt, much to his mental protesting, opening the arms up, placing them on his nose. You even tucked some of his hair behind his ears just to emphasise it. And his cheeks never burned hotter.

“What are you doing?” He muttered, the tiniest of grins present on his face.