He doesn't quite know what to do with himself.
Steaming cup of tea beside him, half-eaten slice of delicious pizza just short of his mouth, and she'd stepped out of the bathroom tracking little splashes of fragrant water onto the stone. And now his peaceful meal is the last thing on his mind.
Her hair, usually an unruly and scotch-coloured mess of curls and frizz, is absolutely sopping. Really. The golden shade has turned dark. You almost can't see the sun-bleached tips, and he sort of misses the sunset colours. What concerns him, though. Is the wet.
Rivulets cris-crossing as they soak her bone white skin. Skin so clean and fair and shiny. Slippery with soap and the coconut-oil she left in her dripping hair that he can smell where he sits.
It's all happening very fast, and he thinks with certainty that he can play the last two seconds of open-mouthed staring off as just getting lost in thought. At least until she turns her back to him, and he suddenly remembers that towels are a thing people use.
Holy-! The wrap is tight at the front, for good reason when you're walking out into a room of young men, but at her back she's let the towel hang loosely. The shaggy old thing was too big for her after all, and Leo doesn't think to recognize it as one of his own until he works up the effort to pay attention to anything other than…
Her back. It's as pale as the rest of her. Dots of dark sun spots every here and there, and he could count them easily if he had another pair of hands. He hadn't thought it was possible for something to look so soft, so touchable, as the skin of her back. His finger twitches as he imagines a cool sheen of damp, melting into velvety warmth under his hand.
And there's this line. This perfect arc where her flesh dips into the curve of her spine. And for the breath in his lungs Leo can't bring himself to look away. His eyes follow it's path down through the darling blades of her shoulders and watch as, on either side, he can make out her waist cinching into a figure he can't wrap his head around beneath the shadows of that damn towel. And just below that there's a patch of that perfect skin. And he only sees it briefly, as she turns a corner, but there's enough of a shift in the drape that he spies two adorable, heart throbbing dimples at the end of her spine. Pinching sweetly on either side.
And it's now he notices he has a problem.
He excuses himself with many knowing looks and snickers to take away with him. Ten minutes later he looks back into the living area and sees her dressed with her hair in a turban made of his towel and wearing a cute pair of light blue pajama shorts that show far more leg than usual.
He decides to retire for the night.