Here's my thing: just because I'm not big on fanon's interpretation of Leon, doesn't mean I'm completely closed off to it. It's fun to stretch your limits. Without further ado: Leon can't talk to women.
RE4R L X A 52 - boy, put that pep in my step
Her favorite outfit yet: tight sweatpants hung low paired with an open jacket. To ward off the morning chill presumably. No shirt.
Casually sipping at her mug, Ashley discretely watches her morning entertainment jog down the sidewalk until he rounds the corner and disappears. Every day that he passes by her apartment, time stills. Everyone vanishes and the only ones left on Earth is him and her. She admires his broad chest and shoulders as he comes up and his tight ass is to die for as he leaves. He's better than Baywatch, that's for sure. She leans back on her front stoop, elbows digging onto the rough concrete stair, and sighs.
Sexy Jogger, as she likes to call him, passes every morning at six-thirty sharp. He wears a different outfit each week. Some ridiculous and some borderline indecent. She still blushes thinking of the running shorts that had showed off his powerful thighs from last week.
How he can jog by without being chased by a gaggle of women is beyond her.
Ashley checks her phone and sighs. Time to get ready for work.
“You've been eye-fucking this guy for months and you've never talked to him?” Jessica, a fellow waitress and best friend, asks as she sets down her tray and places a hand on her hip.
“What am I supposed to say to him?” Ashley retorts. “Hello, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I've been drooling at you while you run by. Care for a date?”
“Yeah, that, except only the first part.”
“What, the drooling part?” She says with a roll of her eyes.
Jessica laughs, “No, just hello.”
Easier said than done, she thinks. Ashley finds it rude to try to converse with him while he's getting his fitness on. She hates it when people interrupt her when she's doing something important, it stands to reason that he'd be annoyed that someone would deign to speak to him while he's jogging. He'd be sweaty and out of breath and she'd be the same for different reasons.
Ashley turns her head at the sound of the bell above the door jingling and her eyes widen. What the hell is he doing here?
Sexy Jogger stands at the entrance with two others, a hulking dark-haired man and a gorgeous brunette. All three are dressed in STARS uniforms, likely coming off shift. He looks even better than before if that were possible. Uniforms really do make the man.
“I've got to take a break,” Ashley says to Jessica. “My feet are killing me.”
“Okay, I'll get these guys,” her friend replies. “They should be our last customers for the night.”
“Great, I'll clean your stations when I get back,” she says as she backs away toward the kitchen, tray raised up to her face. She doubts he'd recognize her, but she's not taking that chance. “Be back in five.”
Jessica waves her away with a smile.
“Calvin Klein needs a refill.”
Jessica bursts into the break room, catching Ashley shoveling salad into her mouth. During busy service, she's learned to inhale her meal and the habit has become ingrained into her psyche even with the lulls. She chokes on a piece of julienned carrot.
“W-what?” Ashley manages to cough out.
“I've got to pee,” Jessica whines, dancing in place for effect. “And table seven needs a refill on coffee.”
Table seven is… Oh. Oh no. She's not going out there. She's done a fine job of keeping herself busy: wiping down booths, marrying condiments, filling napkin dispensers. All to avoid that specific table.
A roll of eyes is her reward for stalling.
“Fine,” she sighs. “Which one is Calvin Klein?”
She knows the answer and dreads it.
“The one that looks like he stepped out of an underwear ad. Hulk and Glamazon are fine.”
Ashley snorts out a laugh, shaking her head. “Go pee. I'll take care of him.”
“God, don't say that! My bladder's about to rupture.”
She'll just swan in, refill his coffee and swan right out. She doesn't have to talk to him. Maybe she could grunt and hold up the pot, indicating her intentions. And he'd push his cup forward, silently giving his assent.
Ashley comes out of the kitchen a bit too forcefully in her determination to end their confrontation. The doors bang loudly as they swing to and fro behind her.
The three at table seven swivel their heads in unison toward her at the sound.
“You're a moron,” she mutters and picks up the pot on her way to the booth. “Hi, uh, hello,” she stutters. “Refill?”
What happened to non-verbal communication? She screeches inside her head.
“Yeah, thank you,” Sexy Jogger replies as he picks up his mug and holds it up in the air between them. His fingers wrap around the ceramic. The perfect fingers for just about anything, her brain decides.
Ashley stares at the cup. He stares at her. This lasts for a decade. Or a few seconds. Time is pretty subjective at this point.
Restaurant etiquette is that you never fill glassware while the customer is holding it. It's really a liability issue. To prevent an accidental spill, especially when dealing with hot beverages, onto the customer.
“I'll just,” she pauses, contemplating how to maneuver her fingers between his to wrestle the mug out. “Um, could you set that down, please?”
She sounds annoyed and he takes it that way.
“Sorry,” he huffs, setting down the mug with a firm clunk.
“No, sorry!” Ashley cringes at her volume. “I didn't want to spill on your uniform.”
“No.” Now she is annoyed. She'd express it by pouring coffee in his lap, but she settles for filling the mug as angrily as possible. Which doesn't look anything like that. Figures. “Anything else I can get you?”
“We're fine,” Hulk says. “Thank you.”
Glamazon nods in agreement.
“You're welcome,” she beams at them and levels a glare at Sexy Jogger before turning to leave.
“You look familiar,” Sexy Jogger says, words drifting down to a low rumble. “Have we met before?”
Ashley stops cold, shock keeping her from running out the door screaming. She schools her features and rounds to face him, backing up a step. “No,” she shakes her head. “Never seen you before in my life.”
“Are you sure?” His brow furrows and he tilts his head. “I swear I've seen you somewhere.”
“C'mon, Kennedy,” Hulk mutters between bites of his pie. “Let the woman leave in peace.”
Yeah, Kennedy, let me leave in peace.
“Nope, complete strangers,” Ashley replies.
Kennedy's eyes grow large and he leans back into the booth. “Aren't you—”
“No, I'm not,” she firmly says.
“You look just like her.” He shifts forward, elbow on the table and chin propped up on his hand. His blue eyes pierce her straight through the floor, rendering her immobile. And isn't he all kinds of rude? First the mug, then the staring, and now this.
He hums and relaxes into a smile. “Maybe you have one of those faces.”
“My name is Leon. Leon Kennedy.”
“And you're...” He reads the tag at her chest, “Ashley.”
“Yep,” she chirps. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“We're not strangers anymore.” He grins.
“We're not friends either.”
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