“do me a favour, leo… it’ll only take a few minutes, leo…” he’s grumbling to himself, parroting his brother’s words in a bitter hiss as he kneels under the dim glow of a street lamp. “oh, stop being such a brat, leo, you practically live next door…” he is ( kind of ) being a brat, though; hand-delivering a letter is not a big ask, much less when it’s addressed to an apartment some five-hundred yards from his own. still, when one has half a bottle of champagne dancing though their veins, even the most simple of tasks has a strong likelihood of going awry. and so it is, that leonis finds himself here: at the doorway of an unfamiliar building, one arm slotted through the letterbox of its grand, oaken door, contemplating just how the hell his goddamn keys ended up on the other side. his fingers scrape against the wood, a whine of frustration slipping from his lips as he strains to reach the lock. the sound floats down the vacant street, ricocheting against concrete façades and drowning out the dull patter of approaching footsteps. only when a shadow appears in his peripheral vision, does the prince finally notice he’s not alone, and the realisation nearly sends him toppling backwards in alarm. he raises a shaky palm, pressing it to his eyes ( mostly to still the spinning, but also to hide his embarrassment at being caught in such a suspicious predicament ). “please don’t call my mother,” he begins, the words fading into a groan, because that is not what he meant to say, damn it. “the police— i meant the police. i can explain, just… don’t call the police.”
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