˚₊꒰ა dulce ₊˚✩

because the leon that woke up from the nightmare—survived it—was not the same. he would never be the same, and the united states government would be sure of that. not long after he walked out of that tunnel with sherry and claire, the three of them leaving the ashes of raccoon city and its monstrosities behind them, leon was given a “choice.” the illusion of one, really. sherry birkin, 12 years old with no family and the remnants of her father’s virus still clinging to her cells, was to be held under government observation from now until whenever they decided she could go (when she was no longer useful). how she would be treated—vaguely like a person or entirely like a caged animal—was up to leon’s cooperation.

basically, sell his soul to save hers.

it was an immediate yes.

from september 31st, 1998 to probably the day he drew his dying breath, leon knew he would carry the guilt of everyone he failed in raccoon city. he couldn’t save marvin, he couldn’t save ben, or kendo and his daughter. he couldn’t save ada. but, sherry? he could still save sherry. he’d give them everything—his body, his mind, his cooperation. if they said jump, he’d jump. whatever it took to give that girl even the semblance of a life, he’d do it.

but he was still jaded.

he had a day, barely, before his life sentence training would start. one final, fleeting taste of freedom before his indentured servitude began. it wasn’t that he regretted his decision—no, he would make the same one again and again if it meant sherry could have some level of agency—but it made him angry not because he didn’t want the chance to take umbrella down and stop this from happening again, no, but because his compliancy was being used as leverage. it was them forcing his hand at a child’s expense that made his anger burn hot, melding itself to his core and tainting almost every part of him—like a virus.

if he wanted to do this right, he was going to need a cure.

and soon.

he would have called claire, but she had her own demons. her brother was still missing, and she had managed to find one lead in the rpd on his whereabouts. she had said her goodbyes to him and sherry before taking off to europe only a few days prior. he hoped for the best.

someone deserved a good ending out of all of this.

his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets as he walked down the dark streets. each breath fogged in the autumn chill that clung to the night air, but his face burned hot. that fury inside him was starting to spill over. he didn’t know what he needed, he just knew he needed to get rid of it.

he needed an outlet.

he needed to forget.

the first thing he could think of was going to the liquor store. it seemed cliché—hell, maybe it was, but what else was he supposed to do? he had spent a good chunk of his life being the stereotypical goody two shoes trying to break the generational curses that seemed to follow him wherever he went. that’s why he wanted to be a cop, why he wanted to do some good in this shit world, and where did it get him?

for once, he was going to act his age. the freshly 21 college aged asshole grabbing the cheapest bottle of booze he could find and maybe finding a frat party to let loose at. it was an experience he never really had, but what better time than now? his final night of freedom.

OPEN

the flashing neon was the beacon calling to him from down the street. the doors swung open as a group of girls around his age or younger walked out, giggling and chatting amongst themselves with paper bags in tow. they barely paid him any mind as they hurried past, clearly in their own little world. he caught brief cuts of their conversation but nothing of substance.

the bell clanged as he stepped in, letting his eyes scan the rows and rows of shelves. there was music playing faintly, competing against the buzzing of fluorescent lights and humming wine coolers. he made his way to the back—not like he knew where he was going or what he was looking for anyway—and scanned the different bottles in front of him. nothing stood out but some things sounded familiar. try as he may to focus, his mind wandered. back to raccoon city. back to rpd.

back to her—

the impact snapped him back to reality as he stumbled forward and caught himself before the bottles did. red rimmed eyes shot over his shoulder to the group of guys that were passing by him, making their way to the back cooler. a muttered ‘sorry, man’ stood out against the ‘asshole’s and ‘weirdo’s but that was the most acknowledgement given for running into him, the group’s attention clearly on what they needed for their party tonight. leon forced the fist in his pocket to unclench as he turned and grabbed whatever bottle was in front of him and made his way to the counter.

the clerk looked about as tired as him. her voice was apathetic and bored as she asked for his ID and barely gave it a glance. catching his reflection in the window behind her, he could see why. his eyes were dull, not even standing out against the hollow, dark circles around them. his mouth was set into a tight frown from the way his jaw clenched, and the sight forced him to relax it as he put the money on the counter. sleep had been hard to come by. every chance his mind had to wander off became a macabre picture show of horrors and regrets that haunted him in his waking hours and left him with sleepless nights. even if he managed to doze off, the nightmare would unfold again and again, leaving him jolting awake in pools of his own sweat.

leon averted his gaze, not wanting to face the reality that haunted him as the clerk counted out his change and bagged up his bottle. from behind him, he could hear the group of guys chatting away about the party at their place nearby. it seemed like the end all be all of parties this semester, promising to be an ‘absolute rager.’

it sounded like just what he was looking for.

“thanks,” he said as he took his change and shoved it into the tip jar on the counter. snatching the bag, leon headed back out the door and into the cold night. despite the chill, the streets were alive with different groups of students all headed to the various fraternity and sorority housing lining the cross streets. it seemed like everyone else had the same idea.

seamlessly, leon shifted into the crowd and made his way up the hill.

***

compared to outside, the inside of the frat house was like walking into a sauna. the air was thick and hot, seeming more like a wall than anything breathable. smoke danced towards the ceiling in ashen tendrils from different points in the room—a mix of tobacco and something much skunkier combined with the scent of burning paper and smoke. leon did his best not to cough as he pushed his way through the crowd to try and at least find somewhere to stand that didn’t make him feel like a sardine.

each bump of someone’s shoulder or spill of a drink on him added to the rising sense of panic in his chest. he underestimated how being in this dense of a crowd would make him feel. suspicious eyes tried to dart around subtly, jumping from person to person and subconsciously examining them for signs of infection. pale skin, darkened veins, visible bites or scratches, cloudiness in the eyes…he just needed to get his back against a wall, that was all. where were the exits? how many steps would it take to get to the nearest window? was that a scream?

by the time he got to an open space in the kitchen, his head was spinning. seeking hands found the counter, setting the bagged bottle in front of him.

breathe, leon, his jaw tightened as he forced a deep breath of humid air through his nose and took the bottle out of the bag, just breathe.

trembling hands reached for a red plastic cup from the stack on the counter, twisting the top off of the bottle and pouring the brown liquid in a little too heavy handedly. he downed it and immediately felt his face twist at the burn stinging his eyes and throat.

“holy shit,” he barely managed to cough out, covering his mouth to try and avoid any unwanted attention. turning the bottle towards himself, he was just able to make out the white writing against the black label through watering eyes: aerial shot whiskey.

more like gasoline.

a preliminary glance around showed no one seemed to be paying him any attention, all too wrapped up in themselves or their conversations to notice him choking on his own supply. he turned back to the bottle and raised it to pour another cup—with a lighter hand this time—and brought it up to sip slowly. he remembered something his dad told him about drinking whiskey through your teeth.

’you let it dance on your tongue—give it a chance to breathe.’

leon had denied the chance to try it then—another “boy scout” habit—but he would try it now. the burn was still there, but it was accompanied by a smokey flavor. it went down smoother this time, not quite feeling like he had bit straight into a battery. although, he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the burn. it, strangely enough, had settled the danger alarms going off in his chest—like the pinch to wake you up from a dream.

turning around to face the party, leon settled himself against the counter and observed with careful, deliberate sips. at face value, he didn’t really get the point. he was sure for a lot of college kids this was a great way to unwind from a day full of tests and lectures, but for him it was just…awkward. he felt so far removed from anything the average person his age considered “normal.” if everything hadn’t gone so wrong this was the kind of thing he would be busting for noise complaints and underage drinking, not partaking in it. and now? how could he even try to relate? he could find some relief in their ignorance—that no one here would ever go through the horrors he went through—but there’d be no understanding, no commonality. he wasn’t a student—unless the police academy counted, and, even then, no one really wanted a cop at their party. what would he even tell them if they asked about it?

’i’m retired?’

simply put, he was out of place.

“this is stupid,” he sighed to himself, grabbing the bottle deflatedly and debating if there was a better way to get out of the house when he caught sight of you pushing your way into the kitchen. your eyes were rimmed with tears and your face was flushed and red. his gaze followed as you made your way to the sink and turned it on, putting cold water on the back of your neck as if to settle yourself down.

all of that rage and sense of displacement that leon felt at his life in its current state was cast to the wayside once he saw you—as if it was replaced by something he almost forgot he was capable of. curiosity bloomed into concern, wondering what could have upset you so, and a piece of himself he thought he’d lost breached through.

“hey,” his voice was soft, not wanting to startle you, but loud enough amidst the noise to not get drowned out, “you alright?”

you looked up at him, eyes shining with tears and wariness at his approach. he saw you analyzing him, trying to figure out if you recognized him or maybe whether he had some hidden motive for talking to you. by the level of distrust in your eyes, he figured whatever happened must have been because of someone else.

“i’m fine.”

your answer was curt and defensive, but it lacked conviction. it reminded leon a lot of himself these past few weeks. over and over again it was the same questions: how are you, leon? are you doing okay? are you sleeping well? tell us about raccoon city. they didn’t ask because they cared but because they needed to—to test his mental state, make sure he was fit to become an agent. so, he obliged them and answered however he needed to to get them to believe he was fine. whatever he needed to do for sherry.

but you shouldn’t have to.

“let me guess,” he started, taking a sip from his cup and feeling the warmth starting to spread throughout him, “the other guy looks worse, right?”

your brows knitted together in equal amounts of confusion and frustration, but you couldn’t hide the cracks forming in the foundation. the corner of your lips twitched, faltering under the almost genuine question before you picked up the humor in his voice. it didn’t take much for your prepared dismissal—a succinct ‘fuck off’— to fizzle out into a long pffffft.

“yeah—if only.”

leon cracked a smile at your response, just satisfied that he had gotten something out of you. he’d rather that than seeing you cry in the middle of a party, and he was sure that you would too.

“he still here? there’s still time.”

this time, you laughed, and leon swore it made him feel ten times lighter than when he walked through the door. he couldn’t even remember the last time he heard someone genuinely laugh. realistically, it probably wasn’t that long ago, but recently it had been hard for him to remember much of anything before raccoon city. in some ways, remembering the before didn’t seem worth it, and so far everything after just blurred together.

it was easier to accept that the “before rc leon” was gone.

but if he could make you laugh again, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to think that the “after rc leon” was all that different.

“no,” you started, sighing the word out in a way that sounded like you were trying to take the high road, “it’s not worth it—it doesn’t even fucking matter.”

despite his efforts, leon could see the misery sinking its claws back in. he understood more than anyone how that could be. one minute you were fine and the next you were in the thick of it again, choking back tears and trying to hope that the pendulum would eventually swing back over to normal—whatever the new normal may be. you sucked your lip between your teeth, trying to hold it all in, and he felt a pang in his chest for you. figuring you might need it more than him right now, leon offered you the bottle.

your eyes slid down, contemplating his offer with that same wariness, but you took it from him anyway and took a long swig. despite not recognizing him, he had an air of safety about him. anyone else would either ignore you or make fun of you thinking you’d just had too much or were being dramatic—not many people would sacrifice their own good time to keep yours from falling to shit.

wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you gave the bottle back to leon who was impressed that you were able to take it so smoothly. it almost made him question the severity of his own emotional turmoil…

“thank you.”

the defensive tone had subsided, appreciating that someone was kind enough to care. it made all of the difference really. leon understood that better than anyone.

“hey, don’t mention it. i only brought one bottle.”

the half cocked smirk on his lips made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t fight your own smile in return. you shook your head at him, and he watched your gaze trail from the bottle, to him, to the crinkled paper bag still sitting on the counter behind him.

“you know,” you started, gesturing over to the collection of liquors and beers at the other side of the kitchen, “they normally supply it. you don’t have to waste your money.”

following your direction, leon felt the heat of embarrassment threaten to cross his face. he supposed that did make sense. frat houses were usually pretty well stocked with alcohol—one could assume it just came with the territory. actually, he was pretty sure a decent amount of those bottles were the ones that that group at the liquor store were in such a damn hurry to get.

“ahh—i figure with my own i can just make my rounds, y’know? party to party.”

he played it off nonchalantly, hoping that you would either accept his bluff or find some sort of humor in the subtle self-deprecation of his ‘cool guy’ façade.

“oh,” you started, mirroring the hint of humor in his tone, “of course. you look like a real party guy.”

he chuffed, raising a hand to the back of his neck, “oh—yeah. that’s me. they call me señor fiesta,” he cringed before he could even finish, “yeah, okay—that wasn’t my best.”

but you still laughed.

it made him smile—genuinely, not the ghost of one he had become familiar with recently. the farther you were from tears, the better. it meant there was at least something he could do right tonight—even if it made him look like a bigger loser than he felt, it was worth it.

the tightness in his chest had relinquished, giving him a chance to breathe—not that the air in here was anything worth breathing. the smell of whatever everyone was smoking had gotten thicker, mixing with sweat and too much cologne to create a noxious gas that had his head spinning—that, or the alcohol was starting to catch up.

”i don’t know about you, but i’m starting to think freezing my ass off sounds a lot better than staying in here,” he left the offer on the table for you, watching and waiting with no sign of expectation. if you wanted to stay, he would accept it—though, he really wouldn’t understand why you would—but, to his surprise, you barely gave a look around before you nodded.

”me too.”

you led the way, slipping a hand in his so as not to lose him in the crowd. leon followed, empty cup abandoned somewhere in the kitchen and the bottle held safely against him. the soft feeling of your hand in his was surprising. he was pretty sure the last hand he held was sherry’s while leaving raccoon city and its ashes behind—or so they thought. leon supposed that was the last shred of naivety left of the rookie in him—walking away from hell on earth and thinking there would be some sort of safe haven or justice waiting on the other side. instead, he was met with ultimatums and greed that only mirrored the hubris of those that had destroyed raccoon city in the first place.

the fresh air was the cold splash of water to the face he needed, washing those thoughts away and bringing him back to the moment. surprisingly, there was a decent amount of people in the yard, but there was still a lot more space to move around. a few people played beer pong off to the side on the plastic white folding table—which had certainly seen better days—while others sat along various chairs and boxes, chatting away. leon followed you to the back corner of the yard where there were two folding chairs that had yet to be claimed. dusting off the dry leaves from the seats, the two of you sat.

”i don’t recognize you,” your voice cut through the brief silence and brought leon’s attention from the yard back to you, “do you go here?”

”ah, no…but i figured this was the best way to get the real college experience.”

he raised the bottle and took a small sip, offering it to you in hopes of stalling out any other questions you might add. what felt like the most pivotal part of his story was now stamped with a big red CLASSIFIED, and the rest honestly just seemed pointless. it wasn’t like his life prior to raccoon city was much to brag about, and the last thing he wanted was pity. he wasn’t the child that was neglected by her parents and infected by their lives’ work spending the rest of her orphaned life as a glorified guinea pig, or the sister who only ended up in raccoon city searching for her brother just to uncover a conspiracy riddled with the dead. he was just the rookie that was told to stay away, and he couldn’t even do that right.

he didn’t deserve pity.

“it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” your voice pulled him back, turning to watch as you wiped the whiskey from your lips, “it’s still a lot like high school—but worse.”

“worse?”

“yeah because you feel like everyone should know better—or at least be better—but instead they just actively choose to be assholes.”

unsure of what to say and unable to disagree, leon just hummed in response. he took the bottle back and looked at you from the corner of his eye. he watched as your body stiffened, the threat of tears stinging your eyes as you turned your face away to hide it from him—from everyone. glancing over at the door to the backyard, he watched a guy, probably no older than him, walk out with a girl on either side of him and what leon could only describe as a gaggle of cronies in tow. what irked him the most was that this guy barely bothered casting you a sidelong glance but seemed completely satisfied in the way you shrank beneath it anyway.

watching the way your arms curled around yourself, leon figured that this must be the other guy. another sip, another burn to warm him from the inside, another glance across the yard as he felt his fist clench for the second time tonight. ignoring him didn’t seem to be an option—his voice obnoxiously seemed to carry to every part of the back, even your isolated corner. leon shifted in his seat, reaching a hand to rest on your own and pull your attention back to him.

“that him?”

he could see it, that moment of contemplation on your face. you shifted slightly under his gaze, trying to avert your eyes and only finding the pain of seeing him across the way without a care in the world.

without a care for you.

“hey,” gentle with his touch, leon’s cool fingers pressed against the warmth of your cheek and guided your eyes back him, “look at me—not him.”

he wasn’t sure where he was able to pull this confident air of reassurance from, but he knew he couldn’t stand to see that hurt in your eyes. it had nothing to do with him—he could see that message flare across your face for just a second—but he felt compelled to do something, and you felt compelled to listen.

maybe he could make a difference here.

“is that him?”

this time, you answered him with a small nod, not pulling away from his touch—however tentative it may be. you were strangers with not even an hour of time or a name shared between you and already you recognized a kindness in him that you weren’t even sure you could have mustered for someone else, let alone yourself. yet…here he was, with eyes that had seen too much for someone so young, looking at you with a steady calm that quelled your inner turmoil to silence.

“you don’t have to tell me if—“ he started, but you shook your head.

“he was my boyfriend—i mean, i thought he was, but…” you shrugged, still trying to play it off as if anyone would be convinced of your apathy, “i guess i was the only one that didn’t get the memo.”

as if on cue, cruel snickering echoed across the yard, and leon could tell in the way you shrunk back and dropped your gaze that it wasn’t just people having fun. he barely turned over his shoulder, but it was enough to catch the eyes of the girls that came out with your ex. they were whispering amongst themselves, tittering at something he could imagine was only funny at your expense. not that he ever thought to compare, but dealing with zombies and government secrets was starting to seem a lot easier than whatever this was.

“you were right,” he turned back to you as you raised your eyes, “it is like high school.”

“here’s your college experience.” you said dryly, vaguely gesturing towards the group.

“is this really all there is to it?”

there was something in the way he asked, staring back at the girls who were now quite boldly staring at the two of you, that surprised you. it wasn’t quite disappointment, but it was…resolve. as if your response would be the deciding factor in what he would do next, and it was. he had already told himself that, depending on your answer, he was going to make this right. maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the need to feel like he could make a difference somewhere, or maybe it was a mix of both. regardless, you knew the second he looked back at you with that determination in his eye that you could trust him.

“it doesn’t have to be.”

for the second time tonight, leon genuinely smiled. this wasn’t exactly the outlet he had been thinking of when it came to letting go of things, but maybe this is what he actually needed: a good time, a fun time, and a big ol’ middle finger to shitty people.

there had to be something cathartic in that, right?

“good,” he started, taking a swig from the bottle and handing it back to you, “because you know what i think?”

“what?”

you smiled in spite of yourself, taking the bottle and feeling excited butterflies starting in your stomach watching a light begin to shine in his eyes. you were so stuck in feeling sorry for yourself that you barely thought about how far off he had seemed until this moment. now that he was so present, it seemed obvious. maybe he needed this more than you did, and you weren’t going to deny him.

“i think we should show him you’re a lot better off without him.”

you snorted, taking a sip. it seemed a bit…juvenile but somehow a fitting suggestion from him, “i don’t think he’s going to care.”

“oh, he will. guys like him always care—i knew a lot of them in—“ he caught himself before he said the academy, “—high school. his ego is entirely built on people worshipping him. if you don’t care, it’s going to piss him right off—same as the girls with him. if you don’t care and you’re having fun? that might just ruin their night.”

“i didn’t realize señor fiesta was the next sigmund freud.”

he was laughing before he even knew it, having to hide his surprise. he had laughed since raccoon city, he had to have….right? looking at you now, the way your lips twisted to hide the satisfaction that you had gotten him—with his own lame joke, at that—was enough for him. it didn’t matter when the last time was. the entire point of tonight was to enjoy it because enjoying it meant that that anger in him wasn’t as permanent of a fixture as he thought.

that was progress. it had to be.

“well, i can’t prove that he’s got mommy issues, but..”

you covered your mouth to keep from laughing too loudly at the ‘come on’ look he was giving you, but it was proof enough to him that whatever charm he was mustering was working. rocking up to his feet—and taking a second to steady himself against the sway of the rye in his system—leon offered his hand to you.

“let’s make our own college experience.”

***

in times of adversity, humans were capable of a great many things. a crying mother could lift a truck off of her child, a man could fight off a bear trying to harm him or his family, or a rookie cop could survive what felt like a horror movie realized before him. the aftermath is what no one ever seemed to talk about. the long nights spent between dissociation and frustration, fighting off sleep to escape the nightmares all while fighting off consciousness to escape the memories. the body stayed in a seemingly permanent state of tug-o-war, nerve endings feeling fried by the constant pull between full adrenaline and its inevitable crash.

the feeling was isolating whether there was people who shared in the nightmare or not. those who didn’t could never fully understand the gravity of the experience, and those who did would have to rehash events in order to let it go—which just felt like ripping out stitches just to break out the needle again.

leon, deciding neither of those options seemed appealing or viable, had chosen a third option: escapism.

the start was rough, but it seemed to be working out so far.

thanks to you.

with a thud, his back rested against the wall in the dark living room as he fought to catch his breath. sweat beaded on his forehead, latching onto his fringe and the uranium green glowstick circlet sitting sideways on his head. he could barely remember how it got there, but he was certain you were the one who plopped it atop his head rather unceremoniously before tugging him out onto the impromptu dance floor.

the music, which gave no signs of stopping anytime soon, rumbled against his back in a way that was equal parts annoying and relieving—like a magic fingers vibrating mattress in a shitty motel. not that he was paying much attention to that, no. his focus was on you with your arms up over your head, still dancing in the middle of the crowd. he watched the way you moved over the rim of the red plastic cup in his hand—the whiskey he bought now lost and replaced by whatever jungle juice someone had shoved at him—admiring the way you moved with a mix of amusement and something headier.

amusement because when you pulled him out there, he tried telling you he wasn’t much of a dancer—although he had surprised himself—and you had said:

“so what? me neither!”

the latter because, well, the way you were moving now—the way you had danced on him—proved otherwise.

your eyes opened, realizing that he had finally broken away for a chance to breathe. when you found him, the way you lit up almost made his heart skip a beat. he reached out his hand as you pushed your way to the edge of still dancing bodies, taking it and stumbling into him as he pulled you out. with an ‘oof’ from both of you, you collided into his chest, and leon found his place back against the thumping walls. for a moment, you just stared at each other, drunken smiles plastered goofily on your faces.

“hi.” your voice was sweet, even if he could barely make it out above the music.

“hi.”

“you stopped dancing.”

“i needed a break,” he started, daring to let his eyes slip a little lower down your face, “and the view was better.”

even in the faint glow of his circlet, he could tell you were blushing. it was the way your eyes darted away before rolling at his flirtation, trying to play it off even though there was a shyness in the way you looked back up at him. for a minute, he forgot what the whole point of this was. he remembered the plan to make your ex mad, but he could barely remember why he decided to come here—to this party— in the first place.

he supposed that meant it was working.

leon’s eyes languidly followed as you reached up to hold the cup in his hand. you didn’t take it from him, but you leaned it over and guided it to your lips, letting him feed it to you. whatever was in it barely mattered anymore—he was in a comfortable spot right now anyway. he felt relaxed. happy.

and like he really wanted to kiss you.

he let you finish his drink, abandoning the cup on the floor—it’s not like anyone had bothered to set up a designated trash area—and placing his hands on your hips. his hold anchored you there, even though you hadn’t tried to move away since running into him. at this point, neither of you had bothered to see if your ex and his posse? were even paying attention to you anymore, but that just meant you were really committed to the plan.

leon could feel his heart beating in his chest. it wasn’t the first time his pulse had risen tonight, but, this time, it was welcomed. for the first time since everything happened, panic and fear and the instinct to run or fight weren’t driving him. it was excitement, giddiness, longing…

he felt normal.

he leaned down, feeling butterflies in his gut as he tried to keep his voice as even as possible. he was nervous, but it was a good nervous. when you heard him speak, feeling the brush of his lips against your ear, you could hear the hints of shyness behind the confidence he had mustered either from liquid courage or from finally feeling like he was just like you—a college kid trying to figure life out one awkward step at a time.

“can i kiss you?”

giddy laughter bubbled up your throat before you had a chance to stop it. at first, it made him second guess where this was going, briefly losing his footing on the steps of his newfound confidence at the thought that, maybe, he had misread the signals. it wasn’t like he had a whole lot of experience, and the last person he kissed—well, getting into that right now wasn’t a great idea.

“please—i mean, yeah—sorry, i mean i hope you—“ your nervous chatter was enough confirmation for him, laughing as he raised one hand to cup your burning cheek. it made him feel better, knowing that you were just as anxious as he was—and you were relieved that you hadn’t insulted him while also surprised at the callouses on his palm. he seemed too tender, especially now, to have such roughness around his edges. it reminded you of the way he looked earlier, happy now that he wasn’t looking so far off anymore.

he was looking at you.

his lips were warm against your own, much softer than the feeling of his palm—not that you were complaining. the shared smokiness of the whiskey blended with the sweet and vaguely fruity flavor of the drinks you had shared together. he wanted to go slow, savour the moment, but he could already feel the blood rushing to his head.

and, well…elsewhere.

what started soft had almost immediately devolved into a heated fervor, a desperate need for some sort of connection. something to ground him to the fact that while his world had fallen apart, there was still a chance to turn life around. the thought of this being his escape from his crumbling reality was cast aside, replaced only by the feeling of you. how you pressed to his chest with a need to feel the heat from him despite how hot the room was. the way your arms slithered up around his neck and your feet stepped on the toes of his boots as if to pull yourself up and get more of him.

leon moaned into your mouth, almost pathetically as his tongue slithered out to meet your own. it was hot, a little sloppy in the way his danced with yours—betraying some of his inexperience but not at all discounting his need for you. using the hand he still had at your hip to hold you to him, he turned you both around and pressed you up against the wall—a mix of both protective and possessive in the way he wanted to shield you from everyone else and keep you to himself.

your hand shifted up the nape of his neck and into the back of his slightly shaggy blonde hair—he hadn’t had a chance to trim it, leaving it just a little more unkempt than usual—making him moan slightly louder and trailing off into a whimper between your lips. the way that turned him on—something even he hadn’t expected—could be felt pressed against your thigh.

the longer it went, the better he became—though it wasn’t necessarily inexperience that was making him sloppy as it was lack of familiarity. he had done things before, had a girlfriend before he went off into the academy, but she had been the only one. he was who she was used to, but he was always eager to learn.

and to please.

his tongue fought against yours for dominance and this time won, taking over your mouth so explicitly that you couldn’t help the sound you let out. luckily, the music was loud enough—and, let’s be real, there were plenty of other people doing the same thing the two of you were at this point—that no one could hear you and dark enough that they couldn’t see the shift of leon’s hips against you for some sort of friction.

well, most people couldn’t see, but there was someone who had his eyes on the two of you the whole night, silently steaming at the fact that you were having a good time with some random loser. you were clearly enjoying yourself, and the psychoanalysis of señor fiesta had proven shockingly accurate: it had pissed your ex off.

leon almost growled as he felt the hand on his shoulder pulling him off of you, having to squint at the lights that had been flickered back on—by one of the sneering girls that had been whispering about you earlier that night, no less—to see the raging red face of your ex standing in front of him. you froze, feeling like a deer in headlights, suddenly cold now that leon wasn’t pressed against you.

”who the fuck are you?” the indignant tone did nothing to hide the slight slur in his words that showed he was, not only pissed off, but drunk. leon, however, seemed strangely unfazed. maybe it was the calm the alcohol had given him—something he’d have to be careful of in the future—or the fact that he was finally enjoying himself and wasn’t going to let some random guy ruin that for him, but he seemed rather unimpressed by the sight in front of him.

”i could ask you the same thing,” his response was cool, not an act like it had been with you earlier, “but i really don’t care.”

you knew it was coming, but so did leon. when someone was about to throw a punch, there were always tells. the way their muscles tensed, the shift of their eyes to where they wanted to hit, and the deep breath in that would hopefully boost the power behind it. it brought him back to rpd in some ways, running through the halls while heavy footsteps echoed behind him—threatening to bring the already crumbling police station down under the weight. unfortunately at the time, he wasn’t always in an open space when he got cornered. with a mix of experience, police training, and a healthy dose of luck, leon had gotten really good at seeing exactly when a punch was coming.

and he highly doubted this drunk asshole could pack as much of one as whatever the hell that tyrant was.

he was quick and surprisingly nimble for someone who had had his fair share to drink, leaving you ultimately impressed. he hadn’t been bad on the dance floor, actually he was a lot better than you expected, but you didn’t think he would be so light on his feet. what surprised you more was the smirk on his face—a little cocky but ultimately kind of charming.

he was having..fun?

”ope—careful,” leon spoke as your ex stumbled and crashed into the shelf, sending an array of cups and tiny shooter bottles clattering onto the floor, “wouldn’t want you to fall.”

part of you felt like you should speak up—stop this before it got too hairy—but the other part of you was still pretty angry at being made a fool of. you were going to take the high road when it happened. you were going to calm down, head to your apartment, and cry over a tub of ice cream and a stupid movie to get yourself over it. it wasn’t like he was that important to you—you never really committed yourself to the idea of it working out—but it was still a relationship. you were taking it seriously, but you were just another name to add to the roster to him.

the low road wasn’t always so bad.

he whipped around, seeing more red than he had before, but this time it was leon’s turn. you hadn’t noticed until now because he had been wearing a jacket—which you could see on top of the pile by the door—and it had been dark, but he was well built. you weren’t sure what he did for a living, but it clearly entailed more than you would have expected from this awkward albeit sweet man.

the muscle in his arm coiled and snapped back faster than you could keep up with. the only reason you knew his punch connected was because of the crunching sound followed by the loud thud of your ex falling onto the floor. blood started spilling from his nose, collecting on his chin, his shirt, and the ground as still rolling eyes struggled to focus before ultimately closing. his head hit the hardwood with a thump, and everyone stood in shock with baited breaths.

”looks like it’s past your bedtime.”

all eyes turned to leon, and, before he could regret saying what sounded a lot cooler in his head, he was grabbing your hand and his jacket and running out the door. a mix of screams (likely from the crowd that had been with your ex), laughter, and the music cutting back on echoed behind as the two of you ran off into the night. you weren’t sure where you were headed, but neither of you really cared.

“how’s that for the college experience?” you laughed out, breathless and stumbling to keep up with his pace.

”i think i’ll pass.”

leon smiled at you, bold and bright and filled with something you couldn’t quite place—not that it mattered. you were both free, and there was a long night still ahead of you.

to be to continued.

AHH thank you for reading! i m really roud of this fic, and i am very excited for the next part. i feel like the immediate post re2!leon is not one we see a lot of. this fic is going to be two parts but is going to be part of a greater series that will follow leon over the course of his life.

as always, it will be cross posted on ao3!