Fandom: Petshop of Horrors
Character/s: Leon
Words: 258
Notes: He makes a good detective because he thinks like a good detective, but sometimes Leon Orcot thinks too well.
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The first time he tries to enter, he stops with one hand on the door.
He tries not to pause. He hates indecision. That split-second can mean the difference between life and death in his line of work, and he hates indecision the way he hates the fact his hair grows up in a funny whirl just behind his fringe, and the bastards the next precinct over who still give him parking tickets when he's plainclothes, even when he's working important cases and needs to get in and out fast, regardless.
But there's something about the door, the first time, that warns him he'd do better to walk away - just duck his head and shoulder his way back into the shoving, seething mass of humanity that makes up the regular crowd in Chinatown, and never set foot near this petshop again.
That's his gut talking, his gut making him hesitate, and he always listens to his gut. It's saved his life more than once, and he's grateful to his instincts.
But something deeper and more cognitive shifts the door aside. It's only a petshop, no matter how venemous that lizard might or might not have been. It's just his suspicions getting the better of him. He shouldn't be so worked up about this.
He'll always remember that he paused, that first time. He'll always remember that his instincts gave him the chance to get out, to walk away.
He'll always remember, because he didn't listen to them, and after that it was all too little, too late.
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