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There was a soft knock on your front door. One you would’ve missed had you not already been standing right by the front door, conveniently. It was the right time of day during the right time of month. The right time of every-other-month, really. The time when someone, Leon, would come knocking on your door— beauty supply store bag in tow— leaning towards the door like the peephole went two ways. Knocking as if he didn’t have a key, as if he wasn’t ironically a man bound to routine. A man who clung to it. Sunk his teeth into it. Into you, as if his life depended on it. But his life, his career, brought him to unexpected places at unexpected times, dragging him away from comfort at turn after turn. That day, however, his bite won, and he stood in the cold waiting for you.
You opened the door moments after the first tap, his hand still hovering in the air ready to knock again. Both of you paused for half a second too long before you gained your bearings, stepping to the side with a slight smile.
“Hey,” you nod at him as he steps through the threshold. “I would ask what you’re doing here but…” You gesture to the opaque white bag hanging by his calf.
He huffs something like a laugh and shakes his head, “Always on top of things, aren’t you?”
You smile a little more. The door shuts with a soft click, and you take a second to slide the door chain into its latch. The bag ruffles behind you as Leon fumbles with it and his coat, switching it from his left to right hand as he slips the coat off and into your waiting grasp with a quiet “Thank you.” You watched with a light amusement in your gaze, turning around and hanging his coat on the coat rack. It swayed with the added weight for a moment before stabilizing. Leon’s footsteps fade down the hallway. You shut your eyes until your face settles back into a calm, default expression. It was as normal for Leon to stop by as it was for him to leave. As normal to frown as to smile, you forced your lingering excitement into expectation as you followed his path.
He’s sat in the middle of your couch, gray cushions sinking beneath him. His posture was perfect as usual. Straight back, movements precise and efficient even doing something as simple as unpacking his supplies. A bleaching kit with a beautiful, honey blonde woman on the box, a thin plastic comb, and an applicator brush. Everything else would be underneath your bathroom sink.
You settled into the space as he opened the box, leaning against the couch armrest. “Switching it up tonight?”
He lifted his gaze from the box for a moment to give to a wry smile, “Oh yeah, I’m feeling wild.” He pulled out a bottle and wiggled it between the two of you, “Here’s to hoping my hair doesn’t fall out.”
You laughed, “No promises.”
Leon returned your laughter with a smile sweet enough to fill your mouth with cavities before he went back to his task. You retreated to the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the bottom shelf of your fridge in one hand and a gaudy magnetic bottle opener (he’d got you from Spain, of all places) in the other. By the time you sat down next to him, hip to the armrest, he had abandoned the box on the coffee table, waiting for you with his legs loosely crossed. Everything was normal. He leaned back into the couch, stiff even as he relaxed.
It was once rare for you to see Leon so casual. In his clothes he didn’t mind staining, mismatched socks, and quiet honesty on his face. Now it was a tradition, one that you attempted to match bimonthly. It was domestic, you eventually admitted to yourself, and addictive, as formulated as it was.
You cracked open both beers, handing off one to him. Leon clinked the top of his bottle to yours with a nod before bringing it to his lips. You followed suit, leaning away as your proximity sunk in. The two of you weren’t that close. Physically, that is. You shuddered, muttering something about the chill of the liquid when you knew it was him, an arms length away.
A moment passed. You opened your mouth and shut it quickly, losing your fight against the awkward feeling creeping up your spine. It was a fight you often fought, and lost, but you never found comfort in the way it wrapped around your throat. The need to fill the silence with small talk itched somewhere you couldn’t reach, you took another swig to soothe it. Your gaze shifted to Leon. He seemed unbothered. Unbothered by you at least. It was frustrating. The way he could keep his composure in every circumstance, refusing to relax fully, even around you.
He broke the silence first. “It’s been a while,” he ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the fringe. He paused, “Sorry.”
He looks at you, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes the feeling return to its comfortable place at the back of your throat. You don’t miss the way his grip tightens on the bottle, but you do ignore it. Your lips curved upwards in a half smile, “Worried about me missing you too much?” You closed the distance, tugging at a half brown half blonde lock of hair, “I forgive you.”
You rise in a swift motion, grabbing your bottle off the table, “Come on.”
You turn away, walking towards the bathroom. You slow at the edge of the room, once again closing your eyes and squeezing, willing the feeling away. It works, just enough. The bathroom light is already on, stool already right where you like it. You leaned down to open the cabinet, digging around for the few tools you kept for Leon’s visits.
Ahem.
You jumped, pulling your head out of the cabinets, “Jesus.” He smirked, reaching over you to set the box down on the countertop.
“What did I say about letting your guard down?”
You roll your eyes, returning to your rummage under the sink, “Sit down.”
He hummed as he stepped over you to settle onto the stool. If you didn't know him so well, you wouldn’t have been able to hear the smile in it.
The cabinet shut and you popped your head up, standing with an exhale. Your back was to Leon as you unpacked the box, slipping a pair of gloves on. Your body tense, arms stiff as you mixed the bleach and developer. You felt the familiar pressure of his gaze against your back. Without daring to check, you swore it was seeping through your flimsy tank top deep past your skin. Leon poked at your side and your head whipped around to the source.
“I missed you too,” he smiled. Unbothered. “A lot, just so you know.”
You furrowed your brows, but it did nothing to stop the heat that ran through your body, concentrating in your face. Or the smile playing upon your lips. “I bet,” you said, voice soft but not a whisper.
You shook your head, turning back to the mixture. Leon sat silently as you applied the product to his hair, moved pliantly as you manhandled him. No fidgeting or complaints, he just watched you. Pretending it was a kind of vigilance was easier than considering what else it might have meant. You worked fast, memory embedded into your hands. When his head was covered in the pasty chemicals, you leaned back, admiring your handiwork. He looked perfect, you thought. His hair had little to do with it, but you knew better than to say it aloud.
You strip off the gloves, turning them inside out and tucking them back in the box. You picked up the old kitchen timer and twisted the knob to a safe 15 minutes. The timer resisted, click-click-clicking against the silence of the bathroom. You set it back on the counter, vibrating. Click click click. “I’d like to see you with brown hair someday.”
He tilted his head back, fully looking up at you, “Really?”
“I think you’d look good.”
He nodded, like he was thinking about it harder than you wanted. Against your better judgement, you didn’t step back. You lingered for a moment, watching his face turn into something pensive. The timer hummed with anticipation against the counter, 14 minutes.
Leon pushed out his legs, sliding the stool and himself back a foot, silently gesturing to the bathtub. You bit back a laugh, stepping around him to sit on the edge of it. Leon looked around, eyes landing on the timer for a second before looking back to you. You watched him too, as casually as you could. Eyes flickering to his hair, down to his eyes, even making their way to his fingers tapping against his thigh.
“Maybe…” He began, trailing off and making a show of adjusting something silly on his shirt. “Maybe I’ll grow it out.” He coughed, “Or you could dye it brown?”
“I don’t have to do something to your hair every time you visit me, you know.”
He nods, “I know.” Your knees brush as he considers his next words, “That’s not the only thing we do.”
You shrug, relaxing your posture into a half fold, “I guess not.” You crack a knuckle, “I’m just saying…” You pause, tilting your head side to side, searching for the words, “You can visit me whenever you want, for any reason. That’s all.”
Leon, the persona, seems to shake at that. Leon, Leon, appears in his eyes locked onto yours. You turned away in an odd stretch, only somewhat embarrassed by your own honesty.
“I know.”
“Good,” you whisper (and it is a whisper this time).
He asks about work next, then if you were caught up on Lost. It’s been fine, and no— so no spoilers. You don’t ask him about work, but you ask about his flights and if he’s listened to any new albums recently. They were long, and yeah, he’d bring you a couple CDs next time. You wanted to ask how he was doing, if he was okay, eating enough, sleeping well, but you knew what he’d tell you as well as you knew the truth. You wondered if there was any question hanging over his head heavy enough to keep inside. You figured there was. You didn’t think of it any further.
The timer went off, loud and incessant, before you could speak again. You flinched at the noise and he only smiled, head hanging low. You reached back to turn on the bathtub faucet before standing to shut off the timer. The sound of the water hitting ceramic drowned out the buzzing of the alarm as easily as it did the silence between you and Leon. By the time you turned around, Leon had already repositioned himself by the faucet, ready to lean into the stream headfirst. You approached him, this time sitting on the closed toilet lid as you leaned over his head, ready to wash the bleach out of his hair.
The next steps were quick, and mostly silent. You rinsed his hair, thoroughly, with a hand on the back of his neck. His eyes were shut and you found yourself closer to his face than you needed to be. You dried his hair, pushing him to sit up straight while you scrubbed at his head. He laughed and shook out his hair when you were done. You stretched out your back as you applied the toner and he made a comment about your posture. He talked about the weather while you waited for the toner to process, no timer this round.
Neither of you moved to get up when it was done. Leon leaned back against the tub, towel around his shoulders. You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, perched on the toilet lid. His hair was dry, blonder than the day he was born. And both of your clothes were mostly untouched by the chemicals.
“Leon,” you nudged his foot with yours.
He raised a brow, saying your name back. It cut through the low hum of your apartment, despite how softly he said it.
“Want another beer?”