Once we’d survived the busy and somewhat-aggravating bus journey into the centre of town, I allowed Leo to drag me into a very large department store. We rode three escalators to arrive at the floor that sells a wide array of clothes.
Leo, despite his initial enthusiasm for getting me some, in his words, “proper human clothes,” seems to have reached the bored, messing-around stage of our shopping excursion. At this point, Leo has grabbed me an armful of T-shirts, jeans, and jackets in various sizes, all of which he has shoved into my arms to carry, accidentally flirted with three different employees who offered to help, and tried on every single hat in the shop.
He keeps asking me to tell him what I think he looks like in the hats. My descriptions have been getting steadily more elaborate.
It’s only been twenty minutes.
Leo takes off the offensively puffy hat and leans over to pop it onto my head. My arms are too full for me to be able to bat him away, which I’m almost certain was his plan from the start, given how he’s smirking devilishly at me, clearly overjoyed with the result of his devious plotting.
I glare at Leo from beneath the gold brim of the hat, a red plume of feathers flopping over the front and obscuring my vision slightly. I mean, I’m no fashionista, but why would you put red feathers on a gold hat unless you’re legit colour-blind?
“You,” Leo exclaims, holding his hands out in front of him as if presenting me to a crowd. “Stunning. Just. Absolutely spectacular. You take my breath away.”
He grins at me, and I want to smash his face into the nearby table.
“Wait until I’m not holding these bloody clothes anymore.” I narrow my eyes at him menacingly. “Then we’ll see how much breath of yours I can really take.”
“You can’t strangle people, Jack,” Leo admonishes, still looking far too joyful for my liking. “It’s very rude. Also illegal, probably.”
“Didn’t realise you were all that bothered about legality.”
“Excuse me, I am a government agent. Why else would I do this job if I didn’t care about upholding our judicial system?” he asks, sarcastic in the extreme.
“The pension?”
Leo appears to consider this, lips pursing slightly and eyebrows drawing together. After a few moments, he heaves a shrug and says amiably, “I can have more than one reason for doing a thing. I’m multifaceted.”
“Like a shiny, shiny diamond,” I agree caustically.
Leo pretends not to hear the mockery in my response and beams at me like an anime character again as if I’ve genuinely complimented him.
I suppose it’s not a complete lie to call Leo a diamond. There is something decidedly precious about him, glimmering and coveted, but hard too. He seems to take whatever I throw at him in stride. My past, the monstrous things I’ve done he has to know about, my unfriendly, even outright-hostile attitude towards him.
It makes me curious because nobody is born with a thick skin. You build those mental calluses up over time, usually because someone, or multiple someones in your life force you to.
That psychological resilience doesn’t quite jibe with the emotional openness Leo has an alarming penchant for displaying.
If I were being generous, I might even think he was interesting enough to make me want to learn more about his life outside FISA.
Leo’s eyes flicker up to the stupid hat on my head again.
“I really think you should get the hat.” Smiling mischievously, he adds, “For the glory of Sparta.”
Instead of responding, because the only acceptable response in my eyes would be to punch him in the solar plexus, I roll my eyes and turn to stride away from him.
Leo lets out loud laugh as he trails after me to the changing rooms. The sooner I try this stuff on and pick something to appease Leo, the sooner we can get out of here and. Well. I’m not sure what will happen afterwards. But as long as it doesn’t involve hats, it will be a significant improvement on the current situation.
There’s a salesperson standing just inside the changing room, short and pretty, with dramatic red lipstick and the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a human outside of a drag show.
When I get close, Lashes serves me with a white, toothy smile and asks how many items I have. Since I have no idea how many bits of clothing Leo shoved at me throughout our treks around the department floor, I settle for glowering unhelpfully at Lashes instead.
Lashes, possessing a more sensitive disposition than Leo, wilts under my disapproval of her existence. She even backs away a little. It reminds me of the FISA agents I’ve been dealing with, so much that I can’t help but curl my lip at her like I do them.
Leo pops up at my side like he’s some kind of social-skills guardian angel. Or my emotional support animal.
“Hiya!” he says, smiling genuinely at Lashes.
“Hi,” Lashes replies, her discomfort easing immediately in response to Leo’s positive energy. She smiles back at Leo and directs the same question she asked me to him. “How many?”
