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The mild bitter chill in the air is typical of a late autumn evening in Washington D.C. The trees are half-bare, eager to shed what remains of the oranges and reds clinging to their branches before being cocooned in colorful string lights and oversized festive ornaments much to the delight of the tourists who will "ooh" and "ah" at the holiday cheer. That mildly bitter chill pierces Ashley’s soft peacoat, the garment proving to be more effective in fashion than practicality as she steps out of her Uber, gathering a Tupperware filled to the brim with turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce in her arms, thanking the driver before closing the door behind her. The small heels of her boots click against the sidewalk as the car pulls away and begins to hum back down the quiet street as leaves crunch beneath its tires. The city is calm tonight, especially in this residential neighborhood tucked away from the usual hustle and bustle of downtown.
Ashley follows a familiar path up to a familiar apartment building, her head tilting up towards the second floor as she scans for any sign of light flickering in the window. She finally catches it, tucking her Tupperware closer to her chest to secure it before starting up the iron staircase. There are rumbles of conversation and laughter muffled by the doors of the neighboring apartments, people still winding down their holiday alongside their families and friends. It almost makes something tug a bit painfully at her heart when she arrives at her destination and only hears silence from behind the closed door. Shaking the thought, she shifts the Tupperware to the crease between her forearm and her elbow, using her free hand to knock.
It takes a minute…a long minute at that, as she shivers in response to a slight gust of wind. And she knocks again. Then a third time. Before the fourth, however, the door pulls open, and the broad, familiar shoulder on the other side visibly lose a bit of their tension.
“Ashley…”
She smiles a little, her cheeks rosy and stinging a bit from the cold. The apartment behind him is dark, illuminated only by dim lamplight and the flicker of the television, and Leon’s voice is raspy. Raspier than usual, that is.
“Sorry...did I wake you up?” She asks with the slightest tilt of her head.
“No.” He shakes his head, and one of his hands moves to rub against the stubble at the line of his jaw. “Just wasn’t expecting company tonight.”
For a moment, she wonders if he's disappointed...if he would have rather spent the night alone. The silence that settles between them is brief, however, before he seems to remember himself and pull the door open a bit wider for her, as if subconsciously rebuking that line of thought for her all together. His apartment is still as sparsely decorated as always. It’s not like he spends enough time here for it to matter how homey it is, but it still makes a part of her inexplicably a little sad. It's his home, but it doesn't feel like one.
Once inside, she sets her Tupperware down on the dining room table next to a half-eaten TV dinner and a glass rimmed with a left over splash of pungent amber.
Drinking by himself again.
Leon...
“I brought you some of our leftovers,” she says, turning away from the remnants of his Thanksgiving dinner with a soft smile. It's enough to mask her concern about his drinking habits for now, at least.
Leon steps behind her, reaching around her waist to open the top of her Tupperware, the spiced scent of seasoned turkey and the sweet aroma of cooked down cranberries wafting out into the kitchenette. He chuckles lowly before replacing the lid. “Nothing says “Thanksgiving” like a catered meal.”
“Better than…” she pauses, picking up the TV dinner carton and twisting it around, “whatever this is.”
“Touché.” His arms move around her waist, and her body relaxes against his when she feels his nose nuzzle her temple. He’s being affectionate, and the smell of bourbon on his breath is a relatively good indicator as to why that is. “Why’d you come tonight, Ash? Feeling sorry for me?”
“Can’t I just want to spend some time with you? It’s been almost two weeks.” She tilts her head back and her chin up to look at him with soft green eyes. “Besides…no one should be spending a holiday alone. Especially you.”
Leon chuckles lowly, placing a fleeting kiss against the top of her cheekbone as his arms tighten around her waist.
“That’s sweet,” he admits, giving her waist a soft, playful pinch. “Can’t say I’m not used to it by now though.”
With a chuckle and a slight flinch, she turns herself around in his arms, her hands holding on to his forearms as she looks up at him with a soft smile. Maybe he's used to it, but he shouldn't be. The true nature of their relationship may be complicated at best, but if there's one thing she knows for certain it's that he's her friend at the very least. And friends don't let friends spend Thanksgiving drinking alone in a dark, bare apartment.
“Well, you won’t be lonely tonight,” she assures him with a little grin. “Because I’m here now.”
Somehow, to her pleasure, that causes his expression to soften, and though the dark circles under his eyes and the unshaven stubble on his chin tell a slightly different story, for that moment, he looks serene. Happy, even.
“That you are, Ashley Graham.” With that, his arms circle around her once again, pulling her into his chest in a secure hug. Any tension in her body melts away, and she tucks her head into the crook of his neck, allowing herself to lose herself in his embrace if only for the rest of the night. “That you are.”