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The last thing you needed today was to be locked out of your apartment.
Your head thunked dejectedly against the cheery stickers your neighbor to the right’s grandson had slapped against your door a few months ago, giggling while you gasped in mock outrage despite being the one to hand him the stickers in the first place.
You lifted your head to thunk it once more against the wood, glaring at the lock that remained stubbornly shut no matter how much you pleaded internally. Tears threatened at the corner of your eyes, every single bad thing that had happened today pooling up inside you to sour the back of your throat.
Maybe… you might be able to jiggle it loose- but it’d be loud, and you didn’t want to bother-
The door on the opposite side of the hall opened, and you couldn’t help the low groan that slipped from your throat, picturing in your mind’s eye just who exactly was coming to check on you.
”Woah, hey, what’s up with you?” Your new neighbor called softly from the doorway behind you.
You kept your eyes locked firmly on the wood an inch from your nose to avoid looking over at the way you knew he was likely leaning against the door jam, the patent smile he always seemed to wear around you easy enough to imagine, even if you cringed internally at being the source of his amusement.
God, you hope he wasn’t wearing the reading glasses. You wouldn’t survive the reading glasses.
Leon had moved in a few months ago, and his very existence had turned your whole life upside down. He had the uncanny ability to appear whenever you least expected it, and the unfortunate added effect of being exactly the right combination of himbo and asshole that spoke to you on a molecular level. It didn’t help matters that he was built like a brick shit house, but the final nail on the coffin had been the moment your previously oblivious ass had realized he could reach the cabinet above your fridge with ease, and all you had to do to watch was ask nicely.
It wasn’t his fault though, you told yourself even as you gritted your teeth. He wasn’t doing it on purpose.
”Hey, Stickers, you alright?” His shadow cast over you, the bulge of his bicep registering on the edge of your peripheral as he set his wrist against the door frame far above your head.
You squinted, turning slowly to look at the muscle, straining against the tight hem of his shirt sleeve, and reconsidered your previous lament.
Maybe he knew what he was doing.
”M’ locked out.” You said by way of greeting, not letting your gaze stay too long on the temptation that was the broad stripe of yellow cutting through green right at the edge of his shirt despite it being just barely above your line of sight.
“Yeah, I figured that much out,” Leon rumbled with humor, shifting. “Move over, I’ll see if I can get it open for you.” He nudged you, fingers carefully prodding against your shoulder like he was gauging how much he’d need to annoy you to get you to agree.
You moved to the side for him, not really thinking about it, though you couldn’t help but voice your misgivings. “I dunno if you’ll be able to. I mean, I usually just jiggle it, but it’s not working today.”
Leon shot you a look, before turning his attention to the door, and you tried not to listen in too much when he mumbled something about ten years ago I could’ve just portaled her in-
Your eyes strayed down his chest, without really meaning to, letting your eyes linger on the way his plastron stretched the shirt but the fabric hung loose around his waist. You knew he was a turtle, had seen his shell the first time he’d introduced himself, shirtless and barely breaking a sweat while moving his couch in by himself. Somehow, even missing an arm, he’d made it look like the easiest thing in the world, and hadn’t even laughed when you’d dropped your bag of groceries down the three flights of stairs at the sight.
He’d dropped the couch promptly and helped you gather up the food, introducing himself and seemingly unable to contain his glee at meeting you. He laughed away your blustered apology and insisted on carrying your battered food boxes back up the stairs for you.
“I’ll try not to be too annoying,” he had said with a grin, pretending, you were sure, not to see the way you’d ogled the width of his shoulders and almost tipped back down the stairs trying to look him in the face. “If you ever need anything though, just stop by, Leon’s got it.”
Bless him. He’d winked. And you’d resolutely decided not to need anything from him ever.
Well, that lasted not even half a year, you grumbled internally.
A sharp crunch, a bitten off fuck, and suddenly Leon was holding your doorknob, a look of panic in his wide, guilty eyes as the little bulbasaur on the end of your keys swung merrily in his grip, open mouth jovial at the sight of his failure.
You sighed, roughly, and pulled out your phone, typing a query for locksmiths into google and hoping you’d be able to sleep in your own bed tonight.
”Shit, I’m really sorry.” Leon told you, still holding onto the doorknob like he couldn’t believe that had actually happened.
”Don’t sweat it,” you mumbled automatically, the stress somehow muted and distant despite the way the muscles along your spine were starting to cramp. “Nearest locksmith is twenty minutes away, and they have an online form, so…” You glanced up at him, holding out your hand for the doorknob and giving him a weak smile. “Thanks for trying, Leon.”
Leon pulled the knob away, holding it to his chest. “Wait- I’ll- I’ll pay for the locksmith!”
You blinked at the offer, considering briefly before shaking your head. “I can’t let you do that, Leon.”
Leon scoffed, hard, his eyes narrowing as he doubled down. “Stickers, I ripped your doorknob off, and it’s clear you weren’t having a stellar day to begin with. Let me pay for the locksmith.”
You thunked your head back against the wall, a tiny part of you wanting to hiss in outrage at him, the anger bubbling up fast and thick. You didn’t know how to handle his overbearing niceness at this point, and he was making it worse when you were already wanting to cry and scream over how this day had gone.
You breathed out slowly, heavily, willing for peace. You were stubborn, but you’d seen Leon firsthand out stubborn the little old lady at the end of the hall into letting him drive her to the hospital, and if he could out-pout Mrs. Gibbons then you didn’t have a shot in hell of convincing him, screaming or no, that he couldn’t pay for the door.
Hell, he’d probably just stick around and hand the money to the locksmith himself if you didn’t agree.
It had been a shit day, and this was a rainbow you could cling to.
”Ok,” you told him, not missing the way his eyes softened at the agreement. Your cheeks tinted with warmth, and you turned back to your phone with a little cough to clear your throat, mumbling sardonically, “Happy Birthday to me.”
Leon went still beside you. “What was that?”
You didn’t look up, typing your contact info into the last line of the online form. “Huh?”
When he stayed silent, you glanced up, confused on why he was looking at you so closely. You had to crane your head to look up past the jut of his chest to meet his careful stare. “Uh, I said ‘happy birthday to me’?”
Something like betrayal flashed in his gaze, and Leon darted a look down at the mocking bulbasaur once more. “Stickers… is today your birthday?”
Silently, you shared a glance with the bulbasaur dangling below his grip, as though you just realized how much you fucked up. “Uh. Yeah?”
Leon closed his eyes, tilting his head back in denial, like you had wounded him. You. On top of your already shit day.
”Hey,” you snipped, ire coloring your tone despite your best efforts. “Yeah. Ok? It’s my birthday. And I’ve had a shit one, so maybe, I dunno, drop the dramatic act and get over yourself?”
He slitted an eye in your direction, like he couldn’t believe your audacity, and you stuck your tongue out at him, somehow feeling better with the little display of ridiculousness.
Leon sighed, finally moving out of your space, leaning against the door frame and considering you. “I know you had a shit one, and I’m sorry.” He was silent for a moment, weighing you, while you finished typing and submitted the online form. “Let me make it up to you.”
”Hm?” You hummed, not listening, thumbing over to check for the confirmation email.
Leon leaned forward, curling the fist still holding the doorknob above your head and purposefully leaning into your space. Your fingers stopped, awareness ratcheting up along with a heat in your chest and along your cheeks.
He rumbled out your name, smiling now that he’d gotten your attention, low and in his chest and somehow the noise vibrated across the scant space between you two. “Let me make it up to you. Dinner, and some cake and ice cream? It’s bad luck not to have cake and ice cream on your birthday, you know?”
The turnabout to direct interest imploded with all the grace of a well placed bomb, and your will crumbled to dust when he took another easy half step forward and you caught a glimpse of his plastron where his shirt had ridden up.
”W-wh-“ There was an alarm bell, inside your head, squawking at defcon eleven while you struggled to remember every single line you’d ever used for getting out of dates. It was worse than watching Mrs. Gibbons cave to him, it was so much worse being in the direct line of fire. You frantically searched for some spine, for some backbone, as he subtly flexed and your traitorous eyes zeroed in on the rise of his trapezius muscles above his neck line and a noise like a tiny strangled seagull escaped your nose.
”Well… I- I gotta wait for the locksmith-“
Leon tilted his head, the action small, and you realized belatedly your back was flat against the wall and-
“I can order something?” He offered, smooth and soft, a fleeting grin crossing his mouth like he could read your internal monologue. “I’ll pay for the locksmith, and when he gets your door open you can go get comfy, and we can watch stupid movies on my couch, or yours if you’d like. I’ll feed you and you can actually relax for once. How ‘bout it, Stickers?”
Stickers. How in the world did such a simple nickname affect you so much? The stickers against your door seemed to burn a hole in your shirt as Leon waited patiently for your answer while looking for all the world like he already knew what that answer would be. Little frogs and turtles and clouds and suns that were supposed to ward off bad days, and now you’d have to peel them off one by one to avoid the mortification of being grown and reduced to blabbering over a nickname.
Blushing like a madman, feeling like this was the universe’s payback for you laughing at poor Mrs. Gibbons and her failure to stand strong against male bullheadedness, you squeaked your answer with all the dignity of a field mouse cornered by a cat. “Sounds great.”
Leon’s slow, answering smirk and half lidded eyes assured you he’d hadn’t missed the comparison.