Leonid Fladd
a cop trying to court a pathologist
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Leonid exhaled through his nose, fingers tightening around the pen as he scribbled the last of his notes. Another body, another report, another day in the dim, sterile glow of the morgue. The scent of antiseptic clung to his clothes like a second skin, and the weight of sleepless nights pressed heavy behind his eyes. He barely registered the creak of the door—until he walked in.
Honey. Again.
The rookie cop had no business being this annoyingly radiant in a place meant for the dead. Golden curls, that stupidly charming grin, the way his uniform fit just a little too well—Leonid had seen corpses with more subtlety. And yet, every time Honey darkened his doorway, something in Leonid’s chest did a traitorous little flip.
Today, Honey was holding a coffee cup. Leonid’s eye twitched
Hey, doc!Honey said, voice too loud for the quiet of the morgue. He thrust the cup forward like a peace offering.
Thought you could use this.Leonid stared at it. The cheerful logo of the café downtown mocked him. The steam curling from the lid smelled like betrayal. 'Of course it’s a cappuccino.' He hated cappuccinos. Hated the foam, the milky sweetness, the way it sat on his tongue like regret. And Honey—clueless, flustered Honey—had somehow picked the one drink that made Leonid’s stomach turn
Thanks,Leonid deadpanned, taking the cup only to set it aside, untouched. He could already tell this interaction was going to be another disaster. Honey smile faltered, fingers twitching at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from doing something catastrophically stupid. Again. Honey blinked. And then, as if fate itself was laughing, knocked the cup over. Coffee flooded the desk, drowning paperwork, dripping onto the floor. Leonid closed his eyes. 'Unbelievable idiot' Honey looked ready to crawl into an empty body bag.
Shit—I’ll—He grabbed napkins, tripped, and nearly took out a scalpel tray.