Forget-me-nots Series - Blog Posts

I am a SUCKER for hanahaki disease. I gotta spend more time writing man. I also wanna draw Leon throwing up flowers

forget-me-nots snippet | leon k.

genre(s): angst, romance, modern au warning(s): hanahaki disease trope, unrequited feelings, self-loathing, stream of consciousness, language music inspo: adieu - emily bindiger

It was cute, really—how he thought he was getting away with sneaking glances at a certain former femme fatale.

Like his jaw wasn’t already well-acquainted with the floor whenever a familiar shock of scarlet stained the scene.

She—being one Ada Wong—had sashayed past your table with her lips painted rouge. Carried the scent of jasmine and danger with her, placing a nimble hand on Leon’s shoulder. Coupled it with a well-placed wink and a “See you later, handsome,” crooned in that seductive voice that never failed to derail him—never failed to sink your heart into the deepest reaches of your stomach. 

You wanted to hate her. Honestly, you did. But you couldn’t find it within yourself since she’d reformed and joined the agency. Turned her back on the life of debauchery in favor of something straighter-edged.

And it didn’t help that Ada was…surprisingly kind. Resourceful. Charismatic. Professional. And Leon speaking life into her name like the enchanted soul he was, swayed you further away from your road of disdain when it came to her.

The hearts haloing his head were palpable.

You could touch them if you wanted. Reach out and flick those cartoonish little things, and Leon’s eyes swirled with them, stained all shades of lovey-dovey. The sight of his longing made you hide a snicker behind your hand, and your heart burn cold.

Leon’s attention snapped to you. All traces of that puppylike infatuation were replaced by mild amusement. Over the sultry croon of the songstress onstage, beneath the sepia glow of the chandelier overhead, his brow quirked with a question.

“What’s so funny?” 

The bass of his voice rattled your bones. Enamored you. Always did, drawing your elbows onto the table and your chin atop folded hands. Something in your chest pulsed and pinched, but you masked the throb of it with a teasing smirk.

With a deep sigh pushing through your nostrils, you searched the stratosphere of Leon’s eyes. Admired his features as he maneuvered himself to mirror you on the table. A habit you’d both acquired through your years as partners. Anyone passing would mistake you both for being two pining fools. Though, they wouldn’t be too far off in their assumption.

“Nothin’. Just wish someone would look at me like that.” Despite the tease your voice carried, sadness sank between the vowels and consonants.

Really, you did want him to look at you like that. But you knew you’d never hold a place in Leon’s heart. Not like she did. Could never imagine Leon shuffling around those feelings to make room for someone as plain as you.

Leon blinked a few times. A subtle shade of peach dusted his cheeks. He broke eye contact, taking to fiddling with a wrinkle on the tablecloth as a subdued smile rounded his lips.

Shy was something foreign for your partner. Manly, precise, and goofy were not. He was always so sure of himself. Purposeful in every word, and every action, with a terrible pun or two sprinkled in to break up the monotony of the moment.

So imagine your surprise when Leon Scott-fucking-Kennedy sat amid the liveliness of the ballroom, tucking his bashfulness into the collar of his dress shirt like a boy caught rifling through the cookie jar.

The notion of someone else making butterflies swarm in Leon’s stomach made your chest grow tighter. And a pressure akin to thorns sank into the column of your throat, grazing downward until your trachea grew raw and your chest pulsed again with liquid fire.

It would never be you, would it? Could never be you, right?

“Dunno what you’re on about,” Leon chuckled, anxiety residing in the depths of his voice. This avoidance: he wore it well. Still couldn’t look your way because he’d been caught red-handed, making googly eyes at the woman who haunted his dreams and tarnished yours.

You felt something hot drop into the pit of your belly. Felt your face twitch with the threat of a grimace, yet you brushed it off as quickly as it came.

“Oh, come on. You so wanna bone her right now.”

Leon huffed. Your eyes were trained on how his forearm muscles flexed beneath the polyester of his tux as he reached around the centerpiece for the bottle of Chardonnay. Dragged it from your side, settling it before him with a definitive clunk.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, little lady. I’m cuttin’ you off.”

It was hard to miss the humored glint of his eye. How he bowed forward in an easy slouch with his fingers laced together, relaxed because he was in the company of his partner. His friend. Nothing more. Never anything more. Your stomach gnarled and lurched, but you tamped it down like you did everything else.

Scoff. “I don’t think you’ve had enough, Mr. Kennedy,” you said, snatching the bottle back to top off your champagne flute. Lost count of how many glasses you had. Anything would suffice to drown out the cacophony of your thoughts. To muddle the sound of vines twisting together and—

Leon leaned back against his chair, dusting off the lapel of his jacket. “Tryna cut back.”

Your brow twitched. Surprising because Leon could throw back a bottle of whiskey like it were water.

“Oh? Would a certain vixen in red have something to do with that?”

He snorted, looking off to the side. “Ada? Nah, she’s…she’s cool.”