His Little Heir

We Interrupt This Program to Bring You: Leon Royally Fricking Up

      Leon leaned over the bathroom sink, tapping his nails against the ceramic mold. His face burned with aftershave. He watched as redness's flame danced across his skin, but washing it away, he distracted himself with thoughts of her.

     Of tonight.

     Daya had told him briefly of what the night would entail. Only the restaurant's name eluded secrecy, other than that, she kept her mouth shut. Even tickling her yeilded no results, but at least fluffy laughs as light as air filled his ears in their serenity.

    After her fever cooled and her coughs quieted, something changed. Leon caught her one night fast asleep and bundled up in his charcoal jacket, her childish babble still playing in his mind from when he wished her goodnight.

     Something about Daya in his hoodie made his heart pound. Her hair a mess in the hood and the shear excess of fabric enveloping her rendered him speechless, powerless even. If she had asked Leon for the world in that moment, it would be hers within the hour.

    He couldn't imagine what a red dress would do to him if an oversized jacket put him under such a spell.

    Leon donned the dark, irish green dress shirt that Bertha had picked out for him, saying that it "Made him look sharp."

    If sharp meant like a gigantic booger, then she was correct. The garment's tightness made his swift arms the weight of lead. With a sigh, he buttoned the middle's line, his fingers reddening at the strain.

     The midnight ebony slacks sang the common song of discomfort, but lucky for him, not tightness. He finished the ensemble with a golden watch and a tie mirroring the pants' tint.

   Leon's phone dinged.

   Daya.

  "Hello?"

      "H-Hey um, look, I know... I know I said eight but I just messed up my eyeliner for the sixth time and, well, I'm nervous." The weight of stress tainted her voice.

    "You're doing your makeup yourself?"

     "I-I just wanted to look nice for you on my own."

     His heart melted. That was one of the things he loved about her, the way she was able to touch everyone she met. The darndest things that made her special all revolved around people, her sweetness. Maybe that's why she smelled of roses and tasted of honey suckle.

Kindness.

     "Daya," Leon slowed his words, "I'm not mad, take as much time as you need."

     "Oh thank God, I knew trying wings was a bad idea."

     "Wings? You're not gonna fly away from me, are you?"

     "Nah, I like where I am, love. Ah... eight thirty, then?" Daya waited for his confirmation.

     "Eight thirty it is, and don't think I missed you calling me that!"

    "Don't gloat, now, I'll see you in thirty."

     The call ended with an abrubt click.

     Leon watched as the screen dimmed and tossed his phone onto the bed, determined that, maybe, he could make use of that thirty minutes too. She was going to look so beautiful. Shouldn't he put in extra effort, then?

     He palmed the navy blue comb. With his tounge plastered to the outside of his upper lip, he parted his hair to the side. Bertha, at least, was right about doing so; it did indeed open up more of Leon's face.