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Leon's shoulders drop the moment he steps over the threshold of their home that night. The lights are warm and low in the living room, and given how the fragrance of garlic and tomatoes lingers in the air, Leon knows that his wife is probably in the kitchen. Leon smiles; she asked him last night if he’d be home for dinner and teased him with the promise of something delicious if he agreed to be back early. Looks like she kept her word, Leon thinks. As she always does.
He turns the corner and steps into the kitchen to see her leaning against the counter, cosy and comfortable in one of his shirts, sipping from a glass of wine as she scrolls on her phone. There’s music playing in the background, something slow and moody, a woman singing about taking her lover’s hand.
“Hello sweetheart.” Leon makes a beeline for her, wrapping his arms around her waist immediately. “I missed you.”
She turns in his arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “Leon. It’s only been twelve hours.”
Leon brushes her hair away from her neck and presses a kiss to the back. “You're wrong."
She glances at the clock, frowning. "Well, it's 7:00 PM—"
"So it's been far too long." Leon concludes, firmly.
She laughs, her cheeks very faintly pink. Leon isn’t sure if it’s because of the heat in the kitchen or because…
“You happy to see me?” Leon nuzzles her, his arms tightening around her waist as he breathes in her scent, radiating warm, gentle, and comforting from the surface of her skin.
“Is the sky blue? Is water wet? And did I make your favourite dinner tonight?” She teases, tweaking his nose.
Leon cracks an eye open and peeks at the stove, where meatballs and tomato sauce are bubbling merrily in a large pot. He groans appreciatively. “You’re the best.”
“Hey!” She smacks his hand away as he reaches to lift the lid. “You can’t touch them yet. They’re supposed to simmer for an hour.”
“An hour?” Leon repeats, dismayed. His stomach chooses that time to rumble in solidarity.
She pats his stomach fondly. “Don’t worry, it’s just fifteen more minutes. Good things come to hardworking husbands who wait.”
Leon heaves a dramatic sigh and slumps on his wife’s shoulder; she sags under his weight and laughs, swatting at him. “Is this when I ask if you skipped lunch… again?”
Leon straightens, rubbing the back of his neck in a distinctively guilty fashion. “I ate.”
“Hmm.” She squints at him. “And what time did you eat?”
“... 8:00 AM.”
She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “I asked about lunch, not breakfast.”
Leon steps back and raises his hands warily. “Look, it’s not my fault. Cafeteria food just doesn’t taste the same after I started on your cooking.”
His wife shakes her head, exasperated. “If this is you flattering me for leftovers again…”
“Is it working?” Leon grins, pressing the advantage.
“... It’s working.” She grumbles.
“Yes!” He pumps his fist and plants another kiss on her forehead. “You really are the best, sweetheart."
She opens her mouth, probably ready with a sarcastic rejoinder, when the song on the speakers changes. Gone is that low, lilting voice he’s heard on so many of her playlists, replaced by a shimmering guitar riff echoing into a hazy atmosphere.
His wife’s eyes brighten; she grins and extends her hand to him, beckoning with her fingers. “Come dance.”
Leon steps into her embrace like he’s done a thousand times before. “I don’t know this song.”
“Mm, doesn’t matter.” She hums, drawing him close and leaning against his chest. Leon wraps one arm around her, his other hand settling instinctively on her hip. “It’s romantic.”
Leon sways gently with her, neither of them really dancing, simply moving with the heavy pulse of the music. The singer begins his verse: his voice languid, almost drowsy, drenched in reverberating guitar notes. Leon huffs in disbelief when he hears the first few lines.
“These are the most unromantic metaphors I’ve ever heard.”
“Leon.” She chides gently. “What’s really unromantic is you trying to ruin the mood here.”
“I’m not!” Leon protests. “He’s not trying very hard, is he?”
She continues to sway. “They’re good metaphors.”
“... are they though?”
“Mm-hm."
"Enlighten me." Leon prods, rocking with her as the verse continues to unspool into the dreamlike instrumentals.
"It’s steady, reliable love. The desire to be useful.” She pauses to think. “Essential. Just like you.”
Leon feels heat immediately creep up the back of his neck. “You say the most inconvenient things.” He clears his throat, suddenly self-conscious.
She giggles, utterly unrepentant. “Am I wrong?” She tries to look up at Leon; he doesn't let her, pressing her tightly to his chest.
The singer launches into a bridge about secrets. Leon's wife mouths the words against his skin.
“You know, I met some friends for lunch today.”
“Hm? Did you have a good time?” Leon reaches up from her hip to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
“I suppose you could say that.” She nods. “It’s just…”
Leon feels her lips curve against his chest, waiting when she goes silent, probably reliving her conversation with said friends.
“They said I looked good. ‘Radiant’, they said. That they’ve never seen me so happy before.”
Something tightens then breaks open in Leon’s chest, settling like warm syrup in his belly. “That’s good.”
He hadn't thought deeply about it. Because to him, she's always been radiant.
She laughs to herself, soft and quiet. “I suppose… happiness is harder to hide than I thought.”
Leon leans back from her and angles her head back. “You shouldn’t have to hide your happiness.”
“Mm. They don’t know why I’m happy.” Her eyes take on a faraway look. “That I’m married to my favourite person.”
Leon nods, tucks her back into his arms. “But we know.”
“Alas,” she says, returning to the moment with a crooked smile. “They’ve been spared from hearing me wax poetic about the light of my life, Leon Scott Kennedy. They’ll have to wait in suspense to hear about the million and one ways I find him patient,” she tiptoes to kiss his nose. “—loving,” She tugs him down to kiss his cheek, “And kind.” She kisses his jaw.
“You’re very enthusiastic.” Leon rubs his face where her lips brushed his skin, feeling heat bloom where she pressed her kisses, dazed by her unreserved affection.
The chorus plays, the music swelling, the singer repeating his refrain, his voice aching with yearning.
“I don’t want to hide.” Leon confesses. “And it looks like I haven’t been discreet either.”
“Yeah?” Her eyes are closed. “Tell me.”
“Small things at work.” He shrugs. “People asking me how come I’ve been bringing leftovers for lunch. Staring at my ring, like they think I won’t notice. Pointed remarks about me being in a good mood.”
“—you do brood a lot, baby.” She interrupts, nodding gravely. “That’s deeply suspicious—”
Leon flicks her forehead. “—higher-ups complaining that they’re losing me to vacation days.”
“True. I don’t want to ask how many of those you accumulated.”
“Not nearly enough to spend all the time I want with you.” Leon admits, nuzzling her neck again.
“How very glib of you.” She laughs, delighted. “I do hope they’ll forgive me for reclaiming my husband.”
Pleasure curls in his chest, a secret joy that Leon would never speak out loud. Something about these rare shows of possessiveness are his own private bliss.
“They might be getting a bit suspicious,” he says. “That I’ve been leaving work on time so much.”
“Oh no!” She gasps in mock consternation. “No more overtime? What’s the DSO coming to these days?”
“I’m sure they’ll find a way to survive without me.” Leon says dryly.
“Success!” She crows, triumphant and gleeful. “They’ve lost you to my enhanced pay structure. Meatballs, cuddles, and kisses are the superior incentives. It’s a very comprehensive compensation package.”
The song shifts back to another verse. Leon listens and laughs, low in his chest. “Do the metaphors ever get better?”
“You don’t get it.” She looks up at him, amused, then leans in close like she’s about to share a secret. “It’s simple, unvarnished love. Devotion stripped bare. Wanting to be yours in the most fundamental, uncomplicated ways.”
Leon swallows, registering the sudden intensity of her gaze. He could cast his mind back years and still not be able to pinpoint the first moment he started wanting to be hers. Just as you’re mine, he thinks. “We talking about the song?” He says lightly.
“Maybe.” She grins. “You’ll have to stick with me to find out, hmm?”
“You’re never getting rid of me.” Leon chuckles. “I’m yours. No returns, no refunds.”
The song fades into a suspended guitar chord, the echo of a lone voice ringing out into the emptiness.
Leon watches the way her ring glints in the light of the stove. Love and happiness make for poor secrets indeed.