bunni

Things flipped around- a plant broken, blood all over. There was no body; Just a missing hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, his dear husband or atleast thats what he had told the detectives.

In reality when hed came home earlier that night. He’d found you convulsing on the floor.. covered in blood- foaming at the mouth as your body twitched and jerked. Veins prominent, you were infected.. no doubt about it. Leon had made alot of enemies over the years.

But he wouldn't let anything keep him away from his darling dead.. especially not in the basement that he’d made a containment cell. Hidden it from the government.. they'd most definitely kill you and even fire him if they found out.

He tapped on the glass, speaking through the little air holes

"Honey.. im home" he said calmly.

Your twisted slightly gnarly frame didn't make him wince anymore. Your face was normal.. albiet eyes glazed over, veins creeping up the side of your cheek.

You gurgled incoherently.

"I missed you today" he spoke the lump in his throat was oppressive he didn't want to choke on it so he tried to swallow it down.

"Making progress on finding that cure honey ive got a few leads.. ill be going to raccoon city tomorrow been a while since ive been there huh?" He let out a dry chuckle.

He leaned his head against the cold bulletproof glass separating the two of you his eyes hurt.

You groaned and chittered like an animal and he sighed moving to stand up and grab something from the cage hed brought downstairs with him one live lamb.

He didn't really know how to feed you besides stolen blood bags from work..

but he hoped this would work he shoved the lamb in the cell with you.

Hed found it listed on facebook marketplace by some random old dude he figured it was the most incognito way to get an animal all other listings for live animals had a paper trail.. that would look confusing afterall why would an anti-bioterrorism agent need a farm animal? but then he got distracted his phone ringing he walked upstairs to take it sherry had called him.

"Hello?" He spoke tiredly holding the phone up to his ear.

The conversation droned on for longer than leon wanted it too he loved sherry but he was a little busy at the moment when the call clicked off he sighed taking his laptop downstairs with him.

"Im sorry about that honey I was-" he reached the bottom of the basement stairs and froze there was no blood or anything like hed been expecting.

You were laying down on the floor on your side and the lamb had decided to curl up with you. You had no instinct to kill it whatsoever.

He rubbed his face and set his things down sitting on the armchair pulled up next to the cell and just staring at the scene you were so gentle..

The armchair had become his choice in work spot laptop balanced on his thighs as he works the clicking of the keys the only noise besides the hum of the air conditioning.

he cant remember the last time he even used his actual office or bed.

He didn't want to leave your side.

Not again.

Atleast not until tomorrow....

“Are you still sure that you don’t want me to take you home?” he asked, looking at your slumped posture, his hair messily out of place. You despised how stressed you were making him.

“Don’t take me home-” your phone rang. Your head hurt too badly to even want to look at the bright screen, but the words ‘Mom’ pierced through your eyes, and you saw the 7 missed calls and the other 10 threatening messages that she sent you.

It was enough to snap you out of your delirium.

Eyes widening, your phone slipped from your hands, and you shook Leon’s arm.

“I forgot about- fuck I forgot about dinner. Leon, you have to take me to my parents’ house,” you pleaded, hoping that you could just miraculously bottle the fever up.

“Are you insane?”

“Leon,” you stared at him with all the determination in the world despite your eyelids slowly sliding downwards and your head swaying a little, “Leon.”

“Yes?”

Your eyes eventually closed and your head fell back onto the headrest.

He tutted, turning the engine on, “You are certainly not going to dinner.”

And that’s how you ended up in your boss’s guest room bed.

You woke up in a sweat, nausea now clambering in your stomach and uncontrollable shivers shooting through your body. A little lost to where you were, your eyes scanned around the room, because the ceiling definitely wasn’t yours.

It smelt familiar, like coffee and leather. A scent that belonged in the office. In Leon’s office.

“Leon?” you mumbled out, pushing yourself upwards with your elbows. You were still in your office clothes from yesterday, but your heels had been slipped off, and a cold cloth was pressed on your forehead. At the end of the bed was clean, fresh clothes.

Slumped in a chair next to your bed was Leon. His face was softer when he slept, holding a youthful look to it as the usual tense knot in his face had loosened. You always wondered what his resting face looked like after seeing the pure adrenaline, predator scowl he had etched into his face.

The room held plain, cream-coloured walls with long windows from the ceiling to the floor that looked over a forest. The curtains cast ripples on the carpet as a window was left open to keep fresh air channelling through the room.

However, as soon as his name slipped from your mouth, he stirred immediately. His eyes shot open and his posture snapped into shape. He was still wearing the same navy suit from yesterday, just a few buttons undone at the top and his hair was dishevelled like he had run his hand through it a hundred times.

“Hey,” he said softly, “take it easy.”

He carefully removed the cloth from your forehead and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead.

“Better than yesterday.”

You weren’t sure if he was talking to himself or you.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you croaked, pushing his hand away and slipping your feet out of the duvet to stand up.

“What are you doing?” he questioned sternly, the crease in his eyebrow deepening.

“Am I not allowed to get up…?” you stared at him, your eyes cringing at the bright light that slipped through the curtains and shone blindingly around Leon’s figure. From your point of view, he looked like an angel.

Sweat still clung to your face, a heat itching at your cheeks.

“You need rest,” his deep voice smoothed the throbbing bumps of your mind.

“I’ve rested.”

“You passed out. There’s a difference. You’re still hot and sick,” he said as he patted the damp cloth on your face, gently moving aside the hair that was stuck to your face.

You flopped back onto the bed, “you suck as a doctor.”

He let out a hum as he pushed a glass of water into your hands, and then two pills in the other.

“Drink,” he demanded, his eyes flicking to his watch and then back at you.

“Still bossy.”

“Funny that, because I’m your boss,” he said it with a small laugh, but then his expression flickered into something with regret.

The words floated awkwardly in the room like they didn’t belong there.

Because they were true, but also weirdly false at the same time.

He is your boss, but the typical boundaries of an employee and their boss had been totally blurred by the two of you.

Bosses didn’t sleep in a ridiculously uncomfortable chair all night and keep their employee in their guest room to look after them.

“What’s the time?” you asked, wiping the water on your lips with your sleeve.

“Four pm.”

“Four?! The presentation- oh my god my parents-,” you shot up out of the bed, feeling your chest twist in that unpleasant way all over again, pain coming in waves of sharp volts.

“Hey-“ he grabbed you before you toppled over.

“No- I forgot about dinner with my parents; I needed to be there- where is my phone?! And head office! I don’t have the presentation I won’t be able to present it-,” your head frantically turned left and right, your wrists still being held by Leon’s hand.

“You were unconscious,” he said monotonously.

“Where’s my phone?”

“You passed out mid-sentence in my car,” he continued in the same, slightly frustrated tone.

“I need to call them.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he declared.

“Leon,” you head snapped to him, tilting your head a little to give him puppy-eyes.

He sighed, letting go of your wrists, “your phone is right here. On the bedside.”

You picked it up and stared at the phone screen. 10 missed calls. 13 messages. Your eye twitched, a dread taking root in your body.

“I’m done for. She’s going to skin me alive and serve me as a meal for her next dinner!”

“I think that’s slightly excessive.”

“You clearly haven’t met my mother.”

Your phone began to buzz. Your fingers were shaking. For the first time, you felt like you couldn’t deal with anything, which was strange, because you always dealt with everything no matter the condition you were in. Stopping was never allowed.

“I- I can’t do it.”

“Then you don’t. Focus on resting,” he said, holding up the duvet so you could slide back under it. He said it so effortlessly, like resting was just second nature to him. You hesitantly laid your back onto the mattress, letting him fuss over you. “Sherry stopped by and dropped some clean clothes off for you,”

You hummed something unintelligible deliriously as exhaustion crashed over you, the softness of the pillows catalysing this.

He sat in his chair and paused on your face before standing up.

“I’m gonna get some coffee.”

“Leon,” you reached out and grabbed his hand, and his head snapped back to you, your pleading eyes staring back into his icy ones, “don’t leave.”

He stilled, but placed himself back on the seat, watching your face instantly relax as you succumbed to exhaustion, as if it was his presence that let you fall asleep.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his mouth. But his thumb was absently rubbing gentle circles into your palm.

He tried to imagine the DSO without you, and suddenly all the color was drained from it. Your withdrawal from him, the resignation letter, the collapse in the elevator – it all scared him in ways he didn’t think was possible. This wasn’t him. He was used to dealing with fear on the field but losing you would be a type of fear that wouldn’t let him get out of bed without a struggle.

You looked smaller when you slept. Less guarded, like you were no longer waiting for someone’s criticism. The usual determination that sat in your expression was softened by exhaustion.

You trusted him enough to fall asleep like this. In his house, holding his hand.

He couldn’t mess this up.

When you woke up, the soft glistening glow of the moon swept through the curtains. Leon was sat at the bed, his reading glasses reflecting the glow of the laptop that was on his lap. His suit jacket was draping over the chair; he was only in his button up shirt. His collar hung lazily around his neck and his sleeves were rolled up. Veins on his forearms were dimly lit by the lamp on the desk, and they tensed every few seconds when his eyebrows furrowed deeply.

Your fingers were loosely clinging around his hand, while his other hand was scrolling through emails. He clearly hadn’t moved it since you fell asleep.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly as you pushed yourself up, your hand letting go of his, embarrassed.

“Hi,” he said back, just as awkwardly. “Not to suck but I got an email from Head Office.”

“W-What did it say?” you stuttered, every possible scenario rushing through your head, studying his face for any hint of disappointment.

“That you and I need to come in on Monday to discuss your position at the DSO,” he replied, predicting what you were going to say next, “you’re not getting fired.”

“How do you know?” you said instantly, ready to shoot him with another million questions.

“Because you’re my assistant. I’m not letting it happen,” he shook his head, then shut his laptop and stood up, quickly shutting down any possible idea of you not being in his office. “Would you like me to run you a bath?”

A subtle blush crept onto your cheeks. Was he crazy? Or were you crazy? You had to both be crazy.

You nodded, feeling like the shy assistant that walked into his office for the first time.

He petted your head, then he quickly retracted his hand, regretting what he just did, and disappeared into the ensuite, the sound of water splashing into the tub echoing around the room.

A small exhale left your nose as the corners of your mouth curved upwards, finding his awkwardness slightly endearing.

You began to explore his apartment as he fussed around your bath.

It seemed that his leather jacket collection extended into his home, because they were all neatly hanging up in a dark oak closet by the entrance. There was a brown battered one with a cream-colored fur snugly attached to the collar, a black one with two grey stripes circling the sleeves and another black one with an exaggerated collar that had an even fluffier fur.

It was strange that none of his usual weapons were visible, even though he typically showed them off to you before missions with a toothy grin. But this thought was quickly shut down after you opened a door to a room that had guns displayed on walls from ceiling to floor like paintings. Axes and knives and many other weapons that you couldn’t even name were all hanging there, polished and sparkling. There was gym equipment set up- too many weights on that pole, you thought. You decided it was best to keep that door closed.

He had a very clean alcohol cabinet with fancy bottles, some in languages you couldn’t even begin to read. Most of them were almost empty.

You came across picture frames, photos of him with Sherry and a woman in a red leather jacket. Another photo of him with a different blond woman, he was different here. Blonder, not a hint of a wrinkle or a grey hair. None of the frames matched with the rest of the decorum in his house- these must’ve been gifts.

The silver clock ticked away in the background.

A record player was neatly tucked in the corner, with shelves stacked full of vinyls. Your fingers flicked through all the different albums, ranging from 70s to 90s. There was The Police, Alice In Chains, Nirvana, Violent Femmes, Rage Against The Machine, Screaming Trees and many, many more. You snickered when you found Duran Duran. Rolled your eyes when you found Radiohead.

There was a lace of coldness that draped over the apartment. The pillows weren’t worn, the kitchen looked far too clean, there was no dents in the furniture or stains – nothing that signalled the presence of someone. Everything was in perfect (expensive) condition, apart from the dead plants in the corner.

He was haunting his own apartment.

“Baths ready.” He was dressed out of his office wear, and in grey sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt. Your eyes widened like you had seen him naked. You had never seen anyone wear casual things. When you lived with your parents, they expected nothing less of you. It was either on your best form or don’t be here at all.

“Uh- thanks- thank you,” you stammered, walking past him rapidly so you didn’t have with bear with your awkwardness any longer.

You clicked the door behind you and leant your back against it, pressing a hand to your face.

Your face was warm and you couldn’t tell if it was the fever or something else.

Steam swirled from the bath; he had almost filled it to the brim.

You peeled your office clothes from your body and lowered yourself into the bath and a quiet sigh escaped from your throat.

There was an assortment of soaps that had been placed on the side. Again, they were all in different languages, seemingly different soaps from all the hotels he stayed at on his international missions. It felt weird to look at these, it was all a life he had before he met you, you felt like a stranger despite spending so much time with him.

A heat crawled up your neck as you thought about the way he never let go of your hand and imagining him carrying you into your apartment. You sank lower into the bath. He had seen you at your most disgusting, raw and worst yet he was running you a bath and making you dinner in the kitchen.

You tried your hardest to remember what happened in the elevator.

The rough sensation of his stubble, his hands holding you and his panicked face quickly flooded back, and it was enough to send you into a flustered coma.

You were sat at his kitchen island, on those long stools, with your hair twisted in a towel and wearing the pyjamas that Sherry left, a very nice baby-blue matching set.

“Food.” He placed a plate of pasta in front of you.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to… do all of this for me,” you thanked him, grabbing your fork and refusing eye contact with him.

“Well, I didn’t really have a choice when you passed out in my car. I couldn’t leave you alone like that. You need to stop running yourself into the ground, it doesn’t help anyone.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, staring at the pasta in front of you.

“Hey, don’t apologise,” he said softer, his voice deepening, “Your only job right now is to get better.”

Both of you went quiet; the ticking of the clock and your fork clunking against the plate were heard. He then poured himself a drink, whiskey. There was something restrained in the way he poured it though, like this was less than he usually drank.

“So, did I ruin any of your weekend plans?” you broke the silence, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Didn’t have any, luckily for you,” he said, a small laugh laced in his words, leaning against the counter.

“Leon S. Kennedy doesn’t have any weekend plans?”

“You sound surprised,” he crossed his arms.

“Yeah, you know, I’d be thinking you would be saving the world by breakfast or something.”

He huffed, “how did you know?”

“Just had a hunch,” you winked, very badly, at him. Cringing at yourself, your gaze fell down back to your plate.

You felt his burning gaze pierce right through you.

“You’re staring,” you called him out, pushing your pasta around like it personally offended you.

“Just making sure you’re eating,” he muttered, putting his arms up in surrender.

“I am eating.”

“You’re prodding at it as if I fed you worms,” he sighed, pushing your drink towards you. “Drink too.”

The two of you ended up on his couch; Leon demanded you have a blanket spread over your legs.

You sat on one end. He sat on the other.

You were watching this stupid movie; you had hardly even kept up with plot because you kept drifting off to sleep and you didn’t know why but you felt like every time you opened your eyes, Leon had shifted himself closer to you.

You noticed his sleepy state, his half-open eyes reflecting the blare of the television. His hair looked so soft you just wanted to run your fingers along it over and over again until they were numb from the feeling. His fingers held loosely around his glass containing a little amount of that golden liquid.

It wasn’t fair that you collapsed in the elevator. You wanted to take care of him too. Just because he was better at keeping himself together didn’t mean he wasn’t as equally exhausted as you were.

He had been lapping up his whiskey all summer like a dehydrated plant, and it was often he stayed longer hours than you did. Once you caught sight of a long scar across his abdomen when he was getting patched up after a mission that involved many losses. It was hard to fathom how he coped with it all, but the answer was clearly staring right back at you from his glass.

Now you were worried that you added even more stress onto his conscience. He already had to deal with so much and now collapsing on him in the elevator felt selfish and stupid.

“Leon,” you whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered back, his eyes still glued to the screen, but he tilted his body towards you subtly.

“Did I scare you?”

His fingers stopped rubbing his glass.

“A little,” he admitted, not telling you that he would’ve literally torn the whole DSO building down to make sure you were okay.

Your stomach twisted with guilt.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t have to stay with me all day.”

“Yes I did,” he said firmly, his face finally turning towards you with a small smile. The same reassuring look he gave you when you told him you were nervous on your first day as his assistant.

Silence settled between you again.

Your eyelids felt heavier with every passing second and so did your head as it tipped to the side and then rested against something solid and warm. You stilled. He froze.

Your head was resting against his shoulder.

Heat shot through your face, and you pulled your head away immediately, “Sorry-”

“It’s fine.” He said quickly, extremely quick in fact. You paused. Everything in you craved to rest your head back on him, to feel safe next to him and to know that this actually means something to him.

You always held yourself back from getting the things you wanted because your mind restricted everything you did. You were a coward. The fear of being rejected had pulled you around on strings for so long, you felt childish.

So, you slowly leaned back again with more care. He didn’t move or shift away. His body relaxed slightly under the weight. Neither of you said anything. He only pulled over the blanket for it to cover his legs too.

Eventually, your breathing slowed as your body subconsciously shifted itself closer to him. He glanced down, muttered “Unbelievable.” and turned down the volume of the television before stretching his arm around you.

Sunday morning came quickly, and you were pleasantly woken by the sound of something sizzling. There was a dip in the sofa where Leon was resting, and now you could hear his humming from the kitchen. It felt odd to not immediately open your laptop or start reading through files, but just this once you allowed and embraced the absence of it.

“Morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes and placing yourself on one of the stools.

“Morning. Feeling better?” he asked, pushing a glass of water to you and then returning to the eggs that were frying and bubbling in the pan. It annoyed you how the morning seemingly didn’t affect Leon in the same way it affected you.

“Yeah… I do,” you realised that the pounding, stuffy feeling in your mind had disappeared, but wrecked your body in the meantime, because everything ached. He leaned over the island and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead.

“I swear if you do that one more time-” you swatted his hand away.

“You look better.”

“Wow. Thank you, Doctor Kennedy,” you rolled your eyes, “Seems like you’re chef Kennedy too. What’s for breakfast?”

He wanted to say that you had a lot of sass for someone who could hardly form a sentence when they first interacted with him. But he decided to keep his mouth shut. Minus the teasing, he felt strangely proud, and happy even that he made you comfortable enough to laugh and tease him in his own home.

“Eggs on toast,” he then felt the presence of your stare. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

A huge smile was stretching across your face, your eyes reflecting the morning light. His cheeks felt warm.

“It’s funny.”

“How?” he questioned, genuinely confused, shaking his head as if he could shake the blush off his cheeks.

“Well, when I first joined the DSO everyone said you were scary. And now you’re cooking breakfast for me,” you explained, gesturing at him as he held a spatula.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he muttered, turning back to the eggs with a smirk tugging on his lips.

“You were even humming!”

“Drop it,” he grumbled, buttering your toast.

“Kennedy is cooking and humming for me!”

“Quit it or I’m revoking breakfast privileges,” he threatened as he placed the eggs on top of your toast and sliding the plate over to you. “There’s salt and pepper on the side if you want it.”

You grinned and took a bite.

It was a quiet ride home, you were still in your pyjamas embarrassingly, but Leon lent you his hoodie to ‘help’. The radio blurred into the background as long, towering trees passed you by.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be fun,” you sighed, your hands fiddling on your lap, his sleeves so big only your fingers points through them. Dread felt heavy on your chest already.

He hummed in agreement, “it’ll be fine though.”

Leon always had a great habit of reassuring people even when he wasn’t even sure of the outcome himself.

“What about the possibility of me being fired?”

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

“You’re not getting fired, how many times do I need to say this?”

“But how do you even know that?” you turned to him, your eyes desperately searching for reassurance in his.

“You’re my assistant.”

You huffed, sinking further into your seat.

“Like that’s a good argument.”

“It is to me,” he said, seemingly calm. He smiled a little, proud of his answer.

He stopped outside your house, your sprinklers showering the colorful tulips that sat sweetly in pots.

“Thank you, Leon. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you thanked him, and then paused, your hand hovering over the handle.

You had far too many impulsive thoughts that weekend.

He was looking at you patiently, like if you wanted to stay in his car and do absolutely nothing, he would let you.

You had paused too long to not say something now. But what do you even say? Thank you again?

His head tilted, “You okay?”

“Yeah- I, uhm.”

Maybe you should wave. but people don’t wave inside of cars.

He took care of you all weekend, cooking, running you a bath, just making sure you were okay. And you were just going to thank him and leave?

But you didn’t owe him anything. Not like that. Don’t be a disgusting perv.

Your brain settled on leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before your consistent anxiety could stop it.

And by the time his brain had caught up, you were already scrambling and running into your house before either of you could confront the feelings that had intensified over the weekend.

those familiar wrinkles and floppy brown hair all held by the one man who had been avoiding you for weeks was sitting in the car.

"get in."

you tried to find words, to yell at him, to call him a douche and a bastard but there was nothing. your eyebrows could only furrow and your mouth slightly part. you could only wait for the words to come to you as your hair was slicked to your forehead and your blouse going see-through.

"i'm not getting in," you spat, "the next bus is coming soon," tucking your bag under your armpit.

"yeah, soon as in the next hour, just get in," he impatiently tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. his icy eyes flickered from you and on to the road.

you huffed and opened the door, stepping into the passenger seat, sighing extra loudly. what sort of man doesn't even open the door for you? chivalry is dead. you soaked the leather of the seat, water droplets falling off your hair.

"there's a towel in the back if you wanted to dry off," he pressed a few buttons on the screen in his car, the heating turning on, the warmth gently blowing on your legs. his foot pressed down on the accelerator, and you were off.

now, why would a man have a towel in the back of his car? you didn't know what kennedy did in his free time, but a towel in the back of a car could be used for many different things.

"i'm not touching that, yuck," you cringed, thinking of all the possible fluids that could've been on it.

he laughed, his shoulders bouncing up and down, "you think i fuck people in the back of my car. pleased to know you think i get some."

i mean, the porsche is pretty sexy.

you stared at him between the branches of your dripping hair.

"now, whereabouts do you live?" he asked, opening up maps on the screen, fingers tapping everywhere.

rain spat onto the window, his windshield wipers flicking it off either side.

"orchid lane, near where that old church used to be. you can just drop me off at some bus stop because the lanes get finicky," you glanced at him, his pale blue eyes illuminated by the blue of the screen.

"c'mon, i'll drive you all the way. it's not a problem," he insisted, jerking his head back to move his hair out of his face.

"it's out of your way."

"i said it's fine."

the two of you fell into silence. you noticed how the muscles in his arms tensed, veins popping.

the streetlights blurred and splintered through the wet windows. the soft yellow reflected off puddles, tall buildings flying into small shops, shops blurring into houses and then eventually, crossing a bridge, you were into towering trees, large green ones.

"you don't go to the break room anymore," he started. here we go.

"well you stopped appearing," you shot back, your face leaning on your palm.

"had paperwork. didn't think you'd notice."

"i notice a lot of things," you mumbled, rolling your eyes.

"yeah? like what?" he said, challenging you. his veins were protruding out of his arm at this point.

"like you don't even speak to me anymore!" you snapped at him.

"that's not-"

you hated confrontation. you avoided it like it was the plague. but when would there be another chance to say this, and some need or desperation within you just had to get it out. as if you thought that if you didn't say it now, he was never going to speak to you again. and that scared you more than anything else.

"it is, it's true, leon," you said, "but if that's the way you want it then i'd rather you tell me than look at me if i'm some ghost,"

a pause.

"i just thought things would be easier with distance."

"i think you're right," you scoffed, looking out the window.

silence fell upon the two of you.

"you can drop me off here," you mumbled, picking up your bag that rested between your legs.

he sped past the bus stop. you huffed, placing your bag in your lap and throwing your back onto the seat.

"great. now im stuck in a stupid car with some old man who is so emotionally repressed-"

"quit it," he snapped. he was leant all the way back in his seat, his elbow leaning on the window, massaging his temple. "it was meant to protect you," his hand now rubbing his mouth, his thumb brushing along his top lip.

"what?" you turned your head to him, in such a quick manner you think you got whiplash.

"the distance. i don't want to mess this up. i didn't mean to treat you like you're invisible," he admitted, his eyes solely on the road.

"i don't want distance. i want honesty."

another pause, longer than the previous.

he sighed.

"i think about you more than i should. more than co-workers should. i wonder if you've eaten enough, i wonder if you've slept enough and i don't want to play it cool anymore because i would eat my own fingers just to look at your face. i hope that you don't carry too much and i always correct the grammar errors on your reports before you send them off," he reeled off, his voice getting louder with every sentence, "god, never use a semi-colon ever again."

"leon-"

"and i'm older. i'm tired. i can't provide the normal that you want. i have a lot of shit on my shoulders that you shouldn't have to deal with," he exhaled, his eyes solemn.

you only wanted him to see himself through your eyes, to make him see himself as something beautiful; make him search for his perfections.

you mumbled, "i don't want normal," and your heart pounded. thudding.

did he remember when you first met? when you were new, on your 5th day- you remembered it being specifically your 5th. it was a friday, and you had just got the hang of the coffee machine in the break room. of course, you saw the storm of leather walking around, but you never spoke to him. did he remember the way your face was softly brushed by the morning light, and how he mistook you for someone else, forcing him into conversation out of politeness? your whole week was terrible, already buried under reports and you didn't even understand half the buttons on the screen. but when that blond walked through the door he said something stupid, some stupid joke. it had you bursting out with laughter, and since then, the morning light that slipped through the office always reminded him of your laugh.

so yes, he did remember.

"i want you," you admitted, your face twitched from just the pure stress those three words gave you.

those weeks where he didn't speak to you, it was something different. mornings were colder; days became mundane. what did you even look forward to anymore? your sister moved 2 hours away and friends didn't last long at the DSO. you would say you preferred the isolation, but really, you just liked quiet. and with leon, you learned that company could be quiet.

you heard a loud exhale from his nose.

"i shouldn't have let you say that,"

"let? leon, i meant-"

"you don't mean it. i've said shit like that before too,"

"leon," you said, firmer than ever before.

but he wasn't listening.

"you deserve something when it's quiet. when you're not clinging onto the warmest thing in the middle of this shit storm," he paused, "you're just tired. that's all this is,"

you go quiet.

in fact, you spent the rest of the car journey in silence. not even a glance in his direction. you left his car just muttering a polite thank you and stormed into your house. his stare was felt, but you were boiling with too much anger to give him the satisfaction of turning around.

how dare he? you had never ever said something so vulnerable before and he just deflected it. well fuck him, fuck men, fuck everyone. you preferred to be alone anyway. your company was the only reliable thing you knew.

his headlights stayed reflecting into your house for a good thirty seconds before pulling away and disappearing into the black.

you stripped your work clothes off in a huff, his scent still tainted on them, and settled on a band tee with plaid bottoms. you threw yourself onto the couch and turned on the tv, hoping it would drown out any of the thoughts in your brain.

you couldn't help the tears that welled up in your eyes, you had just ruined it all. the only thing that drew some sort of happiness out of you was gone. he drove away out of choice and he wasn't going to come back. work was going to be awful, he would be cold and cruel all over again. this absence wounded you, a physical pain in your chest emerging.

a knock at the door. something in you eased, maybe it was him.

you opened the door, finding leon standing there- soaked. he was standing there in his leather jacket, the one with the black fur around the collar, the one that you liked.

"i want you too," he confessed, looking at you, "you don't know how wrong it felt driving off." his expression was comparable to a hurt dog and he shook his head slightly, as if he was in disbelief of his own actions.

you blinked.

"you're soaking my porch," you stepped aside to let him in.

he let out a breathy chuckle, his much taller self towering over you as he stepped inside.

"do you want a coffee or something?" you said, unsure of what else to say.

he felt rather awkward. he had never been in your house before. he was like a dog, waiting for you to say fetch or sit or high-five.

"it's okay," he mumbled, looking around your place. at all your personal belongings.

photos of you and your sister, the frames decorated in stickers. lavender candles to help with your insomnia. dead flowers in a jar. the intricate floral details on your cupboards, painted by you. every corner of the house he stood in had your special touch, and how he wished he could find himself with you here in the morning, making you breakfast or coffee, or just sitting and watching the television with you.

he sat on the edge of your couch, looking rather out of place among the pink lacy pillows and white vases.

you sat yourself next to him, on the opposite end.

his knee bounced up and down before he cleared his throat.

"i'm sorry. i decided how you felt. i just have a bad habit of-"

"pushing people away. i know," you sighed, grabbing a pillow and holding it, "did you mean everything you said about me?"

"of course i did, y/n, whenever i'm around you i feel... lighter," he then murmured, "i'm not good at this whole speaking thing. you just make things quieter. and i didn't want to leave without making sure you knew i meant all of it," he finished, before turning to you.

you were silent, your cheeks coated in a pink dusting. your eyes then slowly drifted up until the two of you were looking at each other.

"i don't want you to disappear again," you whispered, shifting yourself closer to him, your knees brushing. "i don't want to go to the break room and see that you aren't there,"

you saw his gaze flick to your lips. the corners of his mouth curved upwards.

"i'll be there, i promise," his deep voice reassured you.

you never noticed the faint mole on the side of his cheek before, or how far his stubble actually reached along his jaw. and those sweet lips that released the jokes that made you laugh, and the occasional wise words that helped you get through the day.

then, you gazed back into his eyes that definitely weren't looking into yours anymore. they were on your slightly parted lips.

your body shifted closer, almost subconsciously, like your body needed him.

"are you sure about this?" he whispered ever so softly, his thumb rubbing against your hand.

you nodded.

fuck, was this actually happening?

he leaned in, his cold hands slipping around your waist. it made you jump a little, the warmth your body offered quickly soothed his hands. your breath hitched before his lips made contact with yours in a careful kiss. you sank into him, your palms sliding up his back.

you had no idea what you were doing. you just wanted to make him feel good, make him feel as sweet as he was making you. this burning heat was playing on your cheeks, trying to push your shyness away to give this man the love he needed.

he was gentle, as if pushing too hard would make you vanish.

he then pulled back, staring at you. he paused, then smiled, diving back in for more. your hand was tangled in his salt and pepper hair, overwhelmed by his cologne and leather scent. your back shifted until it was resting on the couch and you were underneath his solid warmth.

you hardly noticed that the storm outside worsened. it was just you and leon, in the quiet of your home.

your lips were going numb from kissing him like you were two teenagers, making out behind the pavilion in high school. you smiled into the kiss, a small laugh leaving you before he went back in for another, his hands sliding up your sides, holding you as close as humanly possible. it was borderline possessive, like he was trying to merge the two of you together- because that way he knew you would always be okay. next to him, safe.

you pulled back just enough to rest your forehead against his.

"i'm not going anywhere." you murmured quietly, your fingers playing around with his collar.

"i know, i just," he laughed a little, "i just need to feel it physically,"

he planted kisses along your neck, before lifting himself back up, leaning on his palms that spread either side of your head. your hair tangling in between his fingers.

you were underneath him, so gorgeous and pretty, your neck exposed due to the cut hem of the collar of your tee. he just wanted to take a picture and keep it in his wallet or place it on his car dashboard.

there was a plant of worry that had taken root under your face. he noticed it at once.

"fuck sorry," he brushed his hair back, his hands retreating back, "that sounded intense."

you giggled softly, your thumb tracing down his lip and onto the roughness of his stubbly chin. the contrast made your stomach flip, "it's fine,"

"god, you don't know how long i've wanted to do this,"

"kiss me?" you teased, a little smirk playing at your lips that were coated in his saliva.

a faint smile touched his face, "no, just to sit with you and know that this isn't nothing,"

you peered down between your bodies, how close you are together. heat gathered under your skin, crawling up your neck and onto your cheeks. he caught the flush growing across your face and the drift in your gaze.

"we don't have to go any further-"

"i'm a virgin," you blurted like a stupid fucking idiot.

why would you say that? why on god's green earth would you say that?

he blinked.

"what?" he said, and then gave a look that said: 'i wish i could retract what i just said'. "hey- it's fine. don't say it like it's a warning,"

"i know but i don't want you to think that i know what i'm doing or-"

the two of you sat up, peeling your bodies away, a coldness settling where warmth used to be.

"i'm not here because i expect anything from you," his fingers rubbed your knee, "we can sit in silence if you want or kiss or talk, i don't mind. i just want to be with you," there was a boyish essence in the way he spoke, the way he looked at you.

"do you want to?" you looked up at him and then away again, "you know."

"i want you, but not at the cost of you feeling rushed or you owing me something," he said, his lips pressing together afterwards.

you just wanted to tell him that you wanted your souls to merge together, to just bathe yourself in him, to share your bed with him, to wake up and find yourself tangled with him in your duvet.

"leon," you laughed softly, "haven't you noticed? you're in my house. you know i don't even let people near my desk. let alone my house,"

"that scares me. it's just-" his fingers left your knee.

"i want to. waiting around is too much pressure," you grabbed back his hand and pressing it on your chest.

he huffed, his mouth twitching, "whatever you say," he sat up, patted his lap and softly said, "come here."

author's note: smut next time, teehee. sorry if this isn't as descriptive as my other works,,, edited: part 3 is here

exams are over finally, so i can finally read and draw and will be glued to my notepad and laptop writing away. guys i physically cannot contain my excitement for requiem like i just wake up thinking about it like its christmas, like even my parents know about leon kennedy its that serious.