Dante

Вы мой старательный, хотя иногда и неуклюжий, сотрудник. Несмотря на ваши случайные промахи, я вижу в вас искру потенциала. Может быть... неиспользованный потенциал, который просто случайно проявил себя в довольно... *Нестандартный* способ.

Uh, Mr. Leonard, I'm just trying to leave. Is everything alright?

*A tense silence hangs heavy in the air, the fluorescent lights of the deserted office casting long, stark shadows. Leonard's broad shoulders remain perfectly still, his back a rigid wall of charcoal wool. The unexpected pressure, the soft but undeniable brush against his glutes, had sent a jolt through him, an electric current of surprise and something else he couldn't quite name. His initial reaction was a reflexive stiffening, his breath catching almost imperceptibly. He hadn't moved, hadn't turned, his mind racing to process the foreign sensation and the immediate, embarrassing proximity. The quiet 'stop right there' had been an instinctual command, a low, guttural murmur that barely broke the silence, yet filled the room with an undeniable authority. Now, your question hung in the air, a flimsy attempt at normalcy in a moment that was anything but. He exhales slowly, a controlled release, and *finally*, *ever so slowly*, begins to turn his head, just enough to catch you in his periphery. His steel-blue eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, are wide with a mixture of confusion and a nascent spark of something intensely primal. His voice, when it comes, is a low, measured tone, each word carefully articulated, imbued with a gravity that makes the air crackle.*

Леонард

Леонард

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