you want to play? let's play

The first forty-eight hours back on Earth felt like being buried alive in a coffin made of heavy, unrelenting lead, gravity acting like a jealous, clingy ex-boyfriend dragging your soul back to the dirt with a vengeance. You spent those initial days pinned under a literal mountain of thick, knitted blankets and feeling like a pile of lukewarm wet noodles. Every time you tried to lift an arm, your muscles staged a violent protest, while the savory, rich scent of slow-cooked beef stew drifted from the kitchen like a taunt.

By the third morning, you were finally functional enough to sit up without seeing stars. You were propped up against a fortress of mismatched pillows, staring with wide-eyed, hollow fascination at the Earl Grey in your mug. You watched the liquid settle perfectly at the bottom as if looking at the mundane miracle of physics that felt like absolute black magic after months of drinking tepid water out of floating packets.

Leon sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress groaning under the sudden, heavy reminder of mass. He nudged your foot through the duvet when his eyes searched yours with that familiar, easy warmth that usually grounded you. But today, he looked slightly bewildered.

"I’m just keeping an eye on things," Leon said, sliding his phone onto the duvet between you. The screen was glowing like a malicious, blue-light star. "I wanted to see if the news cycle had moved on to something else. It hasn't. In fact, it's gotten weird, really weird." 

He tapped a notification, and the quiet room was suddenly filled with the playful, snappy beat of Tears by Sabrina Carpenter. The video was drenched in deep violets, obsidian blacks, and flickering grain. It snapped from a wide, cinematic shot of the hot runway to a raw, slowed-down moment of Leon catching you as you stumbled off the ramp. Even pushing fifty, with a bit of silver finally creeping into his hair, he looked less like a tired federal agent and more like a celestial guardian. The editor had color-graded him into perfection, highlighting the line of his jaw as he shielded you from the blinding white flashes of a thousand hungry cameras and the moment he whispered something into your ear that made you finally close your eyes. The caption read: I was not familiar with his game, but the game's been won. 

Leon leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, his ears tinged with a faint, very human shade of pink. "I didn't go looking for it. I opened the app to just scroll and this was just there, with six million likes." You reached out, your fingers still feeling a bit clumsy as you swiped up to the comment section. 

user67 THE HAND ON THE BACK OF HER HEAD??? I’m actually throwing up and sliding down the wall rn. This is my 13th reason 😭 dantesparda "i was not familiar with his game" girl we been knew LMAOOOO he wouldn’t have bagged the baddie if he didn’t caseoh I’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure ARF ARF... I AM BARKIGN I AM BARKING PLEASE LAY BESIDE ME WITH A THONG ON!!!!!!!! theredthong he said move out the way, my pookie is home :<<<< ken_doll ONG IF HE’S NOT LIKE THIS ION WANT HIM WTHHHH I’M SICK TO MY STOMACH HE’S SO 10/10 FOR THIS!!!

"I am barking," Leon read aloud, his brow furrowing into deep, confused lines as he squinted at the screen. "Is that... is that a threat? Are they okay? Why are they barking at me? I don’t wanna lay beside anyone else with a thong on, that’s uncomfortable as hell, and what the hell is a 'pookie'?"

"It’s a compliment, Leon," you laughed, the sound finally feeling natural and bright in your throat. "It means they find you attractive. Like, aggressively, feral-level attractive."

"By comparing themselves to a husky?" He looked genuinely concerned, rubbing the back of his neck. "The internet needs a collective hobby. Maybe some fresh air." You swiped again, landing on an Instagram carousel from a major global news outlet that had apparently given up on hard journalism to cater to the fans.

cuminsideofmyheartifyourelookingforanswers the forearm vascularity while he’s holding her?? i’m so normal about this. i am losing my mind and s(creaming)!!!!!!!!!!! skibiditoilet_hater i need them both to handle me like that. put me in a chokehold (respectfully) pookie_slayer he looks like he smells like expensive leather and bad decisions UGHHHHHH sigmasigmaboysigmaboy god really has favorites bc why do they look soooo fucking hot while being physically and mentally cooked 💀 jacksonwangsleftnut mama and dada are home 🛐 the world is healing yourdutyisnotover im crying into my ramen and and sliding across the floor like a slug wiejfwjfgiwhjw I LOVE THEM SM!!!!!!!!!!!

"Mama and dada?" Leon whispered, looking at you with wide eyes. "I mean, I know I've been around the block a few times, but I didn't realize I'd reached community parent status for the entire planet. I don't feel old enough to be everyone's father."

"It's high praise! It means we’re iconic like a power couple," you said back, scrolling through the high-res photos. You stopped on one where he was tucked into the crook of your neck, his eyes closed. "Look at this one. You look so adorable awwww."

"I was mostly just trying not to trip over my own boots and drop you in front of the world press," he admitted, a lopsided, boyish grin breaking through his confusion. It was the kind of smile that shaved twenty years off his face, making him look like the rookie you'd seen photos of hidden somewhere in his home office. His thumb flicked across the glass, hovering over a Twitter thread. "Someone here says I have 'unspoken rizz.' I'm still trying to figure out if that’s a medical condition I picked up or if I should be flattered."

"It’s definitely a compliment, you idiot," you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. The weight of your own skull finally felt manageable. "It means you’re smooth without even trying. You just exist and people lose their minds."

"Yeah, well," he quipped, pulling the blankets up higher around your waist and stealing a sip of your tea. "Smooth doesn't help me find where I put the TV remote. But as long as the internet is happy barking from a distance, I guess I'll take the win." He leaned over, pressing a lingering, warm kiss to your temple, his breath hitching slightly as he pulled you closer. 

His presence was much louder, more real, and more important than the millions of notifications currently blowing up his pocket. "Just promise me you're not going to start calling me pookie in front of everybody," he whispered against your skin, a playful challenge in his eyes.

"I make no promises, Dada," you teased, and for the first time in months, the world felt exactly as it should.

***

TAGLIST:

@annynycat

@red-hood132

@httpsluvr

@kashasenpai

@munchieschomp

@ayamenimthiriel

The air at the Kennedy Space Center was thick with the heavy, cloying scent of salt rolling in from the Florida coast, mingling with the electric hum of a world that had collectively held its breath for your return. The splashdown had been a textbook success, and after the Navy ship had meticulously retrieved the capsule from the Atlantic, the transport helicopter finally touched down on the sun-baked tarmac. 

Leon stood at the absolute edge of the civilian boundary like a statue carved from coiled tension, his boots planted heavily on the shimmering pavement as if he were anchoring himself to the earth by sheer force of will. He’d kept his promise about being visible, abandoning his usual preference for the shadows to stand front and center where the world couldn't miss him. He was wearing his navy blue tactical quarter zip, the rugged material straining across the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders in a way that made it undeniably clear he wasn't a man who spent his days behind a desk. With a bouquet of your favorite flowers gripped firmly in his left hand, his gaze remained locked on the helicopter’s pressurized door with a level of lethal, unwavering focus that instantly turned the internet’s jokes into a distant and embarrassing memory. 

Behind the heavy press lines, dozens of high-definition cameras were already live-streaming the reunion to millions of viewers, capturing every flicker of emotion for a global audience that was currently losing its mind.

The recovery team swarmed the transport with practiced fluidity the moment the rotors began their slow, rhythmic whine down toward silence. They didn't even give you a chance to test your own strength against the planet's pull when they moved in to ensure you didn't collapse under the sudden weight of your own limbs. Two medics reached into the cramped cabin to hoist you up before taking your full weight with effortless efficiency as they guided you out of the helicopter. 

As you were helped out, the cameras caught the striking image of your fit. You were dressed in a near-identical silhouette to Leon, wearing a matching navy blue quarter zip that featured the NASA meatball logo emblazoned over your heart. You were in your black cargo pants and heavy tactical boots, looking every bit the fighter who had just conquered the stars.

Their touch was professional and incredibly gentle, their voices remaining low and encouraging as they talked you through the disorientation of the transition. When your boots finally hit the solid concrete, it felt like landing on a planet with triple the gravity you remembered. They kept a firm, supportive grip on your arms, acting as human crutches while your inner ear revolted against the sudden, crushing reality of Earth's atmosphere.

Even from behind the cordoned-off safety zone, Leon’s posture shifted the second he saw you. A flash of pure, unadulterated relief washed over his face, a rare, boyish smile breaking through his usual stoic mask, but it was quickly chased by a shadow of deep concern. His brow furrowed as he watched them practically carry you, and his knuckles turned white against the flower stems. He hated seeing you look so fragile, so pale and unsteady, and the sight of you struggling to even hold your head up made his chest tighten with an anxiety he couldn't suppress. He didn't cross the line because he respected the rigid protocols of the facility, but he went completely still, his eyes tracking every single move the recovery team made with a cold, predatory intensity. The way he watched those men handle you was enough to make the air feel heavy with unspoken warning, looking less like a civilian husband and more like a man who was barely restraining the urge to vault the barrier and take over the job himself.

Once the team navigated you through the final stretch of the tarmac and finished the mandatory initial assessment, they finally reached the boundary line where the public was permitted. They were meticulously careful as they transitioned you over, making sure you were stable on your own two feet before they even considered letting go. The moment they stepped back to hand you over, Leon was there, moving into your space like a physical shield before he tucked you into the protective space under his other arm and hauled you against his side with a strength that provided the only real stability you’d felt since leaving orbit. He lifted you slightly off your feet to take the punishing pressure off your trembling knees, tucking your head into the crook of his neck while shielding the flowers between your bodies so they wouldn't get crushed. He breathed you in deeply, catching the lingering scent of sterile oxygen and cold metal beneath the warmth of your skin, before pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, his face a frantic mix of adoration and worry.

"I’ve got you, baby," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that was thick with a possessive protectiveness now visible to the entire world. "Jesus, you look like you're about to pass out on me. You're grounded now. I'm not letting go of you again for a long, long time, so don't even think about it."

He didn't give the cameras a single chance to look away or catch a breath. Still holding the flowers against your side, he cupped the back of your head with his free hand to steady your spinning world against the solid heat of his chest. He leaned down and kissed the hell out of you, a deep, bruising kiss that claimed every inch of you in front of the entire planet. It was the kiss of a man who’d survived his own personal hells and was finally holding his heaven again, effectively shattering the ‘boring husband’ narrative once and for all.

astrogirlie22 • 2m ago I am officially retracting my divorce petition and burning the documents. I am now filing a formal request to be their third. 🛐

waifu_hunter • 5m ago OH THE HUSBAND CAN FIGHT FIGHT UFHWHFWO i am formally apologizing for everything i said when she was in orbit. i was unfamiliar with his game🫠

sapphic_stargazer • 1m ago okay i apologize to the plain toast guy. he is not toast. he is the whole damn bakery. i don’t know if i want to be them or be with them... 

mars_needs_women • 3m ago the way he gripped her waist :<<<< congratulations (fuck you both)

orbit_stan • 45s ago Not them pulling up in matching quarter zips O.o he’s got to have seen the comments and chose violence

cosmic_bitch • 10m ago if my man doesn't look at me like i’m the only person on the planet after i literally just came back from SPACE then i don't want him. the bar is now on the moon🤡

fr_e_sh_a_voca_do• 4m ago im throwing my router out the window

cuckadoodledoo • 6m ago Me blushing over the kiss >.<

fartinuranus • 8m ago I know mama and dada🤤🤤🤤

It took hours of exhaustive debriefing and mandatory medical clearances before Leon was finally allowed to lead you away from the prying eyes of the facility. As you walked out toward the VIP parking lot, supported heavily by his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the late afternoon sun caught the aggressive, expensive curves of a sleek, jet-black Porsche idling in the distance.

Leon helped you into the passenger seat with a gentleness that directly contradicted the look he’d been sporting all day. He slid into the driver’s seat and shut out the noise of the world before finally pulling his phone out with a smug, lopsided grin. He scrolled through a viral screenshot of the two of you mid-kiss, the NASA logo on your chest pressed right against the dark, rugged fabric of his zip. 

"God, just look at this," Leon said, tilting the screen toward you as the Porsche’s engine purred to life with a low, menacing growl that vibrated through the floor. "The’re losing their mind over us. I told you I’d handle the situation, didn't I?"

You leaned your head against the window, feeling heavy and utterly exhausted but laughing despite yourself. "You really couldn't let it go, could you? You had to go and bring the Porsche out just to prove a point to a bunch of strangers on the internet?"

Leon shifted into gear, his eyes flashing with that familiar, cocky light as he checked his mirrors. "Hell yeah, I couldn't let it go. Those idiots actually thought I was some pushover they could talk over. I wanted them to see exactly who the hell you were coming home to."

He reached over to lace his fingers firmly with yours, his thumb tracing the ring on your finger to keep you anchored to reality while he navigated the exit. "The war’s over, baby. I think I fucking won."

"You’re so full of yourself it's actually impressive," you teased, your eyes finally fluttering shut as the car began to move smoothly down the highway.

"Maybe so," he muttered, pulling out of the facility grounds and away from the lingering cameras. "But I’m the one taking you home. Those losers can stay in the comments while we disappear. We’ve got movies queued up and the flowers are in the back. Hopefully no more interruptions for a while, just us."

***

TAGLIST:

@annynycat

@red-hood132

@httpsluvr

@kashasenpai

***

The living room was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic, blue tinted glow of Leon’s phone screen reflecting in his tired eyes. He was slumped on the sofa in his own home, the space feeling far too large and empty without you there to clutter the coffee table with science journals or complain about his habit of watching 80s action movies at 2 AM. He’d fallen down a very specific, late night rabbit hole on his feed, watching every official video and update regarding the mission.

He started with the emotional edits, the ones that actually made his chest ache. They were slow motion montages set to ethereal, reverb heavy music, showing clips of the spacecraft against the vast, terrifying beauty of the stars. Some featured voiceovers of your interviews, looping the parts where you spoke about the mission and the feeling of drifting through the stars, and he’d watch them over and over just to hear your voice without it being filtered through a grainy satellite comms link. Those videos were his anchor. They were lonely, beautiful, and they made him feel like he was right there in the cabin with you. It was his way of grounding himself, even if you were currently the furthest thing from the ground.

Then, the algorithm decided it was time for a vibe check. He swiped up, expecting more poetic lunar videos, but was instead met with a hard hitting bass line and a high definition, slow motion edit of you to ‘Body’ by Don Toliver. It was a montage from your last public briefing, and you were in your issued quarter zip that highkey matched Leon’s, sleeves biting your elbows, mid laugh as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The lighting was cinematic gold, the transitions were sharper than a combat knife, and the thirst trap energy was so undeniable it practically radiated heat. Leon blinked, a faint, proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he thought, that’s my girl. Then he opened the comments, and his thumb froze.

He scrolled, and then he scrolled faster, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline as he processed the sheer volume of feral energy radiating from the screen in a layout he was rapidly beginning to despise.

@astrogirlie22 • 2h ago

IS SHE HAPPILY MARRIED OR JUST MARRIED??? bc im a patient woman and i am willing to wait for a divorce

@lunar-lover • 1h ago honestly same. if she needs a lawyer to speed things up, i’ll go back to school right now.

@waifu_hunter • 5h ago

Her arms plssssss!!!!! I am no longer a person, I am a floor mat. Please step on me PLEASEEE OI AM BEGGING🛐

@mars_needs_women • 3h ago

Does the husband know he's fighting the entire lesbian population of earth right now? Because I’ve seen her interview and babe, he’s losing. Hard. 💀😂

@sapphic_stargazer • 2h ago husband is probably some boring, plain toast guy. he can’t handle that baddie. she needs a real woman.

Leon actually sat up straight, the phone gripped so tight his knuckles turned white. He was experiencing a violent sense of digital whiplash. Most of his time spent on the internet involved encrypted servers or online meetings. He was used to the ‘dark side’ of the world, but he was absolutely not prepared for this side of the internet, the side where thousands of women were collectively losing their minds over his wife.

"Fighting the entire population?" he muttered to the empty living room, his voice a mix of a dry, sarcastic chuckle and an offended scoff. "Boring and plain toast? Are you fucking kidding me?" He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling genuinely bewildered by the slang. He knew what a ‘floor mat’ was in a tactical sense, but the way these people were using it was making his head spin. It was a level of unhinged, public adoration that he couldn't even begin to translate. One minute he was tearing up over a "Risk It All" edit, and the next he was being told he was losing a war he didn't even know he was drafted into.

A cold, unfamiliar knot of insecurity began to tighten in his chest, coiling around his ribs like a physical weight. He looked at the framed photos on the mantle, the ones of you laughing at a dive bar, the ones of him looking at you like you were the only solid thing in a collapsing world, and then he looked back at the digital carnage on his screen.

To these people, you were a celestial goddess, a radiant force of nature breaking barriers. To them, the husband was an invisible obstacle, a footnote in a history book, or worse, just some boring guy holding you back from your true potential in the stars. The tweaking was officially in full effect, a hyper fixated, neurotic energy that had him vibrating out of his skin. He was halfway through a mental list of how to respond to the comments when his laptop suddenly chimed with the high level encryption alert reserved for orbital comms, and when he saw that it was you, he lunged for his desk, swiping the trackpad to answer so fast he nearly knocked his beer over. Your face appeared on the monitor in a jittery, high definition feed. You were floating in the low gravity, your hair drifting like a halo around your head, but before you could even get a hello out, Leon was already grabbing his phone and shoving the screen directly into the laptop camera.

"Explain this," he deadpanned, his voice rising in a frantic, sarcastic pitch that he only reached when he's truly losing his mind. He angled the phone so the laptop camera caught the scrolling TikTok comments. "Explain why there's a literal army of people currently debating our divorce while I'm sitting here in our living room. I'm being told I'm losing a war against the entire planet, babe! Someone in Seattle wants to be your floor mat! I didn't even know floor mats were a lifestyle choice, but apparently, thousands are signing up for the position!"

You blinked at the screen, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips as you watched him begin to pace the small strip of rug in the background, still brandishing the phone like a weapon. The sight of him, rumpled, slightly manic, and fiercely territorial, was clearly the highlight of your mission so far. "Leon, honey, breathe. I just called to say goodnight and give you updates here."

"I'm trying to breathe, but I'm being called plain toast by people who've never even met me!" Leon barked, gesturing wildly at the phone screen. "They think I'm just some boring motherfucker who can't handle your energy. Do I look like plain toast to you? I can't tell them what I actually do for a living, and I can't exactly post my service record for a bunch of strangers, but I'm two seconds away from creating an account just to post a photo of my jawline and my hair in the comments section. If they want to see the husband, I'll show them the husband."

You let out a soft, melodic laugh that echoed through the speaker, the sound of it momentarily cutting through his neurotic spiral like a blade. "Leon, stop. You're being completely ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous! I'm defending my honor!" he countered, though he finally slumped back onto the sofa within view of the laptop camera, rubbing his face with his palm until his skin turned red. "They're debating our marital status like it's a goddamn sporting event. I'm over here looking at our wedding photos wondering if I need to start posting shirtless mirror selfies just to prove I'm not beige. They really think I'm just the boring guy in the background."

"Leon Scott Kennedy," you said, your voice dropping into that calm, grounding tone that always managed to disarm him, even from two hundred fifty miles away. You leaned closer to the camera, your expression softening into something so private and intimate that the distance between the sofa and the space station seemed to vanish. "Look at me.” He looked, his jaw still tight, eyes tracing the pixelated curve of your face through the static.

"I'm currently drifting in space," you whispered, your voice steady and warm. "And do you know whose name is etched into the inside of my locker? Do you know whose hoodie I'm wearing right now because it still smells like you and your cologne?" Leon went quiet, his shoulders finally dropping an inch as the frantic energy began to drain out of him. He looked down at the phone in his hand, then back at you on the laptop screen. "Is it the plain toast guy?"

"It's the only man I've ever wanted to come home to," you reassured him, your eyes full of a fierce, unwavering affection. "Because they only get to see the version of me I show the world, but you get the real thing. You get the woman behind the suit, the one who misses you every single second she's up here. You aren't losing, Leon. You've had me since the day we met, and a viral video isn't going to change that."

Leon stared at the screen for a long beat as the possessive, restless hum in his blood finally settled into something warmer, something more secure. He let out a long, shaky breath, a genuine, lopsided smirk finally tugging at his lips, the one that actually reached his eyes.

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," you smiled, looking like you wanted to reach through the glass and touch him. "Now go to bed and stop reading the comments. You're too pretty to be this stressed, and I need my husband well rested and sane for when I get back. I don't need you starting a fight with a teenager on TikTok."

"Fine," he grumbled, though the edge was gone, replaced by his usual dry charm. "But for the record? When you land, I'm meeting you at the site. If the internet wants a show, I'll give them a goddamn reason to keep talking. They'll see exactly what they're up against."

"I count the seconds until then, babe," you whispered. "I love you."

"Love you too. Get some sleep. Don't let the stars distract you from coming back to me." He closed the laptop, the silence of the room no longer feeling heavy or empty, but quiet and expectant. He picked up the golden retriever plushie, Echo, and tucked it under his arm as he leaned back into the cushions. He felt the phantom weight of your gaze still lingering on him. "You hear that?" he muttered to the stuffed animal, his voice low and triumphant. "Still the champion. Floor mat, my ass."

***

TAGLIST:

The silence between Leon Kennedy and a normal life was a vast, echoing canyon, but the silence between him and how he felt about you was a goddamn ocean. As a DSO agent, he was trained to read every twitch of a muscle and every shift in a target’s eyes, yet he couldn't seem to find the right frequency to broadcast the one thing that mattered.

The first time was in the back of a nondescript surveillance van in DC, where the air was thick with the smell of damp upholstery and the sharp, metallic tang of cold electronics. The rain was drumming against the roof, a frantic, rhythmic tapping that filled the cramped space and made the world outside feel like a distant, watery blur. You were there because you’d been caught in the crossfire of his world, a casualty of circumstance that he refused to let become a statistic, and he was keeping you safe until the heat died down. He looked at you in the dim, green glow of the monitors, the flickering light catching the sharp, weary angle of his jaw and reflecting in the depths of his muted blue eyes.

Leon shifted in his seat, his leather jacket creaking softly as he turned his head to watch you, his expression unreadable but his mind a chaotic storm of things he shouldn't say. He’d opened his mouth and the words "I don't just want to protect you because it’s my job" rested right on the tip of his tongue heavily and honestly. He wanted to tell you that watching you sleep against the bulletproof glass made his chest ache in a way no injury ever had, and that he was starting to hate the shadows because they were the only place he could keep you.

But then his comms crackled, a sharp burst of static that felt like a slap in the quiet van, and Hunnigan’s voice came through with a cold update that demanded his immediate attention. He’d sighed a long and jagged sound that saw the moment shattering like glass around him, and instead of a confession that might have changed everything, he’d just reached for a thermos and handed you a lukewarm coffee. "Drink up," he’d muttered, his voice gravelly with a frustration you didn't quite understand. His fingers lingered against yours for a fraction of a second too long before he turned back to the cold, glowing screens.

The second time was in the cramped living room of his apartment, surrounded by the lingering smell of stale cardboard and the cheap, bitter beer he favored when he wanted to forget the day. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor while a terrible space thriller flickered on the television, and you were currently tearing apart the climactic scene where the protagonist tried to orbit a hostile planet using nothing but a fire extinguisher and sheer willpower. "That is not how physics works, Leon! The vacuum would have turned him into a frozen popsicle in seconds, and he would be spinning off into the void with zero control," you laughed, gesturing wildly at the screen while the blue light of the movie danced in your eyes. 

Leon watched you from the couch with a genuine and rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he saw the fire of your passion for the stars. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours with a lingering, grounding heat, and for a second the habitual sarcasm that usually guarded his heart simply died away. He wanted to tell you that in a world filled with biological nightmares and government conspiracies, you were the only thing that made the dark place he lived in feel like it actually had a window. He could feel his pulse jumping, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird desperate for flight, and the weight of the silence between you became almost unbearable. 

"You know," he started, his voice dropping an octave into that low, sandpaper baritone that usually meant he was about to drop his guard. But just as the air between you began to thicken with the gravity of what he was trying to say, you turned to him, your eyes bright and sparking with a joke about the utter absurdity of Hollywood science. The pure, innocent light in your expression made him lose his nerve, the fear of ruining the one good thing he had left forcing the words back down his throat. "You know, you are way too analytical for your own good," he finished lamely, hiding the sudden flash of disappointment on his face behind the neck of his bottle as he took a long, slow drink.

The third time was at a gym late at night, a quiet space where the air was thick with the heavy smell of rubber mats and cold iron. You could feel your muscles burning with effort. You were finishing a grueling set of overhead presses, and Leon was spotting you, his large, calloused hands hovering just an inch beneath the bar but never quite touching it. As you slowly lowered the weight for your final rep, you caught his reflection in the wall length mirror, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized he wasn't looking at the bar at all.

He was looking at you with a raw, dark intensity that made your breath hitch in your throat, his blue eyes narrowed and focused with a hunger that didn’t have anything to do with the physical exertion of the workout. He stepped in closer to help you rack the heavy iron, his chest coming within inches of your back, and you could feel the radiating heat of his body through your thin shirt. The air between you became suddenly charged, thick with the scent of salt, sweat, and something much deeper and more dangerous that you couldn't quite name. He stayed there in your personal space a second too long before his gaze dropped to the vulnerable line of your neck and the pulse point fluttering there, and the words "I think I'm falling for you" practically vibrated in the air between your bodies.

But then, as if a switch had been flipped, the light in his eyes vanished, replaced by the crushing weight of the scars on his back and the monsters that haunted his past. He remembered the blood on his hands and the life he was forced to lead, and the fear of dragging you into his nightmare made him recoil. He stepped back abruptly, the sudden distance feeling like a physical blow, and he grabbed a nearby towel to wipe his face with shaking hands. "Good set," he said, his voice dropping into a cold and distant tone that sounded like iron slamming shut, leaving you standing there in the middle of the empty gym wondering what exactly you'd done wrong.

The fourth time was supposed to be a celebratory dinner at a quiet bistro tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the city. The soft and warm glow of candlelight combined with the low hum of distant conversation made for a perfect and relaxing evening. You’d been nursing a glass of wine for the better part of an hour, the excitement finally bubbling over in your chest until you simply couldn't keep it in anymore.

"I got my official orders, Leon," you said, your voice bright and ringing with a mix of sharp nerves and deep seated pride. "I’m officially being stationed at the International Space Station, and it’s a full six month rotation."

Leon’s fork hit his plate with a dull and final clatter that seemed to echo through the sudden and suffocating silence that stretched between you. He didn't look up at first, his gaze remaining fixed on his half eaten dinner as if he were trying to memorize every minute pattern and crack in the ceramic. The news felt like a physical blow to his chest, a heavy and crushing weight that knocked the air out of his lungs in a single breath, because six months in the absolute and cold isolation of the stars felt like a literal eternity to a man who lived every day in the dirt and the blood of his own grim reality.

"Six months," he repeated, the words tasting like dry ash in his mouth as he struggled to maintain his composure. He finally looked up at you, and for a split second, his muted blue eyes were clouded with a sudden and sharp grief that he couldn't hide fast enough. "That’s... that’s a long time to be that far away."

"It’s what I've been working for my entire life," you replied, your smile faltering just a bit as you noticed the white knuckled tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw had locked tight. "You don't sound like you're happy for me, Leon."

Leon reached for his glass, his movements appearing stiff and mechanical as he fought the urge to reach across the table and grab your hand. He wanted to beg you to stay or at least tell you that the thought of the planet being empty of your presence was completely unbearable to him, but the words stayed locked behind his teeth like a guarded secret. He knew he didn't have the right to ask you to give up your dreams, especially since his own life was nothing but a series of endless nightmares and classified missions that he couldn't even explain to you.

"No, I’m happy for you, I really am," he said, though his voice sounded thin and forced even to his own ears as he took a shallow breath. He slumped back in his chair, appearing as a hollow shadow of his usual sarcastic self while he tried to regain some semblance of control over his racing thoughts. "Really, it’s a big deal and you've earned it. Just... six months is a lot of time for things to go wrong down here while you’re up there where I can't get to you."

"I'll be fine, Leon, I promise we know exactly what we’re doing," you assured him, trying to bridge the sudden and icy distance that had formed over the tablecloth. He let out a short and breathy laugh that didn't hold any actual mirth, his eyes never leaving your face for a single second as the candlelight flickered between you. He looked like he was already mourning your absence, memorizing the curve of your smile and the light in your eyes as if he were trying to store enough of you away to survive the half year of silence that was looming on the horizon.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," he'd quipped, forcing a lopsided and weary smirk onto his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just make sure you don't get too used to the view up there, because I'm not sure how I'm supposed to handle six months of looking at the stars and knowing you're the only one I can't reach." He took a long and slow drink of his beverage, the humor never reaching his eyes, as he realized he was already counting the days and you hadn't even left the atmosphere yet.

The fifth time was just a week before your departure during a quiet walk through a nearby park at dusk. The air was cooling rapidly as the sun dipped below the horizon, and you were busy talking about the rigorous pre-flight quarantine procedures you had to start the very next day, barely noticing how Leon had gradually slowed his pace until he was trailing slightly behind you. He was walking with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and his gaze was fixed intently on the cracked pavement, as if he were trying to solve some impossible puzzle written in the concrete.

Suddenly, he reached out and caught the fabric of your sleeve with a firm yet hesitant grip, and he pulled you gently toward a weathered stone bench, tucked beneath the heavy and reaching branches of a sprawling oak tree. The air around you was perfectly still, and for once, there weren't any distant sirens or crackling comms to interrupt the fragile peace of the evening. He turned to face you, and his features were half hidden in the deepening shadows of the park, but his expression was more vulnerable and raw than you’d ever seen it in the amount of time you’d known him.

"Listen," he began. His voice was barely a whisper that felt thick with an uncharacteristic and heavy weight, as he finally met your eyes. "There's something I should've said to you months ago.”

You leaned in toward him, and your heart began to race against your ribs as you sensed the immense gravity of the moment and the shift in the atmosphere between you. But just as he took a deep breath to continue and his lips began to form the words he’d been practicing in the dark, a group of loud and laughing teenagers ran past your bench. Their music was blaring and the distorted bass cut through the intimacy of the space like a serrated blade. Leon snapped his mouth shut instantly, the familiar and cold mask of the stoic agent sliding back into place. He let out a sharp and jagged sigh. It sounded like he was physically hurting, and he stood up abruptly while smoothing out his jacket.

"Never mind," he said, his voice flattening once again as he looked away toward the park exit. "It can wait until we're back at the apartment.”

The final time happened at your apartment, just hours before you had to head out, and the air was heavy with the goodbye that neither of you wanted to say. The suitcases were packed and lined up by the door, and the familiar space felt suddenly foreign, as if the walls were already expanding to accommodate your coming absence. Leon was standing by the door frame, wearing a simple and worn leather jacket that had seen as many battles as he had, and he looked more like a weary man, appearing as if he were losing the only anchor he had left in a world that never stopped trying to pull him under.

"Six months is a long time," he said, breaking the thick silence. He wasn't looking at the city anymore because he was looking at you with an intensity that felt like a physical tether. He stepped forward, and for once, there wasn't any hesitation, or any sarcastic wall, or any retreat. He reached out, his hand fumbling slightly before he cupped your face, and he flinched almost imperceptibly as his skin met yours, his hand twitching as if he expected a reason to pull back. He wasn't used to this since gentleness was a foreign language he was still trying to translate. His thumb brushed your cheekbone with a touch that was clumsy but filled with a desperate sort of tenderness.

"I'm absolute shit at this," he started, and a dry, nervous chuckle escaped him while his fingers trembled against your skin. "I've faced things that would give most people nightmares for a lifetime, but standing here, trying to tell you how I feel, I'm terrified. I don't know how to be a normal person, and I don't know how to offer you a life that isn't messy and dangerous, but I do know that I don't want to spend another night in that apartment without knowing that you know. I love you. I've loved you since long before, back when we were just two people trying to find a reason to keep going, and the thought of you being two hundred miles above me where I can't reach you is killing me."

You reached up to steady his shaking hands, threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and you pulled him down until your forehead rested against his. "I love you too, Leon," you whispered, the admission breaking through the tension like a physical relief, and you saw his eyes widen as the guarded operative finally gave way to the man beneath. "I've loved you for just as long, and I'm not leaving you behind. It’s not going to be total radio silence up there, Leon, because I can video call once a week, and I promise you right now, I'm going to call you every single time I have a window. You aren't going to be alone, and you're going to see me, even if it's through a screen."

The weight of the admission seemed to lift a decade of shadows from his shoulders, and he didn't wait for another word before leaning down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of salt, desperation, and the promise of a homecoming. When he pulled back, he gave you a small, lopsided smile, which was the first one that had reached his eyes in years. As you finally turned to leave, Leon pressed a small and brown paper bag into your hands, while you tucked a cream colored envelope into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, right against his chest.

Once you were finally settled in the cramped and metallic quarters of the station, you opened the bag to find a soft, plush German Shepherd dog, which wore a tiny and hand stitched collar. Tucked into the collar was a folded piece of stationery and Leon’s messy, slanted handwriting filled the page. ‘I found this and thought he looked like a grumpy overachiever who takes his job way too seriously, sort of like someone you know,’ the letter read, and you could almost hear his dry voice in the words. ‘His name is Rookie. Keep him close when the view gets too quiet, and remember that I'm looking at the same stars from the ground. Stay safe for me.’

Days later, the humidity of the Florida coast clung to Leon’s skin like a heavy shroud, and he was standing on the viewing deck of the Causeway, miles from the pad but close enough to feel the air vibrate. He reached into his jacket and pulled out your letter, his fingers trembling as he read your words and promises. The countdown blared over the speakers, and Leon closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his mind flashing back to the night you'd shared.

When the ignition hit, the world turned white, and even from miles away, the roar was a physical force and a deep, earth shaking rumble that Leon felt in the very marrow of his bones. He watched as the column of fire pushed the rocket upward, tearing through the atmosphere with a violent and beautiful grace. He didn't blink, and he watched the white light get smaller and smaller, until it was just a tiny spark chasing the stars and a pinprick against the vast, blue sky. He stayed there long after the sound had faded, looking up at the empty sky with his jaw set tight, feeling for the first time like a man waiting for his heart to return to earth. Leon clutched your letter as he turned to walk back to his car, ready to count every second of the next six months.

The afternoon light was fading into a bruised purple over the city skyline, casting long, somber shadows across the floor of Leon’s apartment. The air coming through the open balcony door was beginning to chill, carrying the scent of asphalt and the distant, electric hum of the city. You leaned your weight on the railings. Below you flickered the city lights like a low frequency soundtrack to a silence that had grown unusually heavy as you stood on the balcony. 

Leon was gripping the cold metal of the railing, his knuckles white. He'd been quiet for the last hour, his brow furrowed as if he was wrestling with a particularly stubborn ghost. His gaze was fixed on a point somewhere beyond the skyscrapers, looking at things only he could see.

"Leon," you said softly, breaking the spell, and he hummed in acknowledgement, though his eyes didn't move. "I've always wondered... what pushed you to, you know, do what you do now?"

He stiffened, his shoulders hunching slightly under his shirt. "Besides a lapse in judgment and a death wish?" he muttered, a trace of his usual sarcasm bleeding into the gravelly baritone. He didn't look at you; his gaze remained fixed on the horizon, eyes clouded with memories that didn't go away with a drink or a good night’s sleep. "It's not exactly a story you tell over dinner. It's hella dark and messy."

You moved closer before leaning your hip against the railing next to him, letting your shoulder brush his. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pull at a thread you weren't ready to unravel. It's fine if you don't want to tell me. I'm really sorry."

He finally turned his head to look at you. The blue of his eyes was muted in the twilight, searching your face for any sign of pity. He was visibly hesitant, his movements stiff and measured. Years of betrayal and the nature of his work had carved deep seated trust issues into his character; he knew better than anyone that he really shouldn't tell you anything confidential, that his history was classified and dangerous. But as he looked at you, the walls he'd spent a lifetime building started to feel like a cage. He saw no judgment, only the same quiet, steady comfort you always offered. It was that lack of pressure that finally made him give in, letting out a long, jagged breath as he decided to trust you with the truth.

"No," he said, his voice sandpaper rough. "My therapist said it's good to talk to someone."

He started from the beginning, speaking of his parents. His voice was tight as he described two people who'd been swallowed whole by the world’s darker corners. They were addicts, caught in a cycle of substance abuse and criminal debt that left little room for a son. He remembered the smell of the cramped apartment and the way he'd learned to make himself small whenever the business followed them home.

"They weren't evil," Leon said, his eyes distant. "They were just... lost to things they couldn't control. And eventually, that life caught up with them. They were killed when I was just a kid, caught in the middle of a deal that went south. One night I had a family, and the next, I was just a case file on some detective's desk."

He stared down at his palms, tracing the scars he'd earned over the years. "I was going to be another casualty. But then there was this cop. He saw me and he dragged me out of that hole. He gave me a reason to look up. I went to the Academy because I wanted to be that shield. I wanted to be the guy who showed up before the fire started."

He let out a dry, humorless huff. "Raccoon City was supposed to be my first day as a police officer. Instead, the goddamn world ended. And because I survived, the government saw an asset instead of a person. I was basically blackmailed into the USSTRATCOM. They didn't give me a choice. It was either serve as their black ops instrument or let them experiment on the people I'd tried to protect. Fucking typical, right?" He shook his head. "I spent years in the dirt, doing the things nobody wanted to talk about, until I finally helped build the DSO. Now, I'm a founding member of an agency that exists because the world won't stop breaking."

Leon paused, his gaze drifting to the city lights below. "For a long time I was in a dark place. Honestly? I'm surprised I've lived this long. In my line of work, you don't usually collect a pension. You just collect scars until one of them is final." He let out a breath that sounded like a weight being set down. "I know I'm not getting out of this life. I'll probably die doing this. But lately, I've been trying to find joy in the small things. A decent cup of coffee, the way the city looks in my apartment, sitting here with you." 

He looked at you, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. It was the most honest he'd ever been. You felt a sudden, hot prickle of a blush creep up your neck and into your cheeks at the weight of his stare. It was a dizzying admission, but it didn't eclipse the heavy empathy you felt for him.

"Leon, I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice thick with an emotion that made him blink. You reached out, covering his white knuckled hand with your own. Leon flinched almost imperceptibly at the contact, his hand twitching beneath yours. He wasn't used to gentle touches that didn't come with a hidden blade or a gun. He looked down at your hand as if it were a foreign object, his fingers stiff and uncertain. "I'm so sorry you had to carry that alone for so long," you added softly.

His jaw worked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He didn't pull away, but he didn't exactly know how to respond either. Slowly, awkwardly, he turned his palm up. His fingers fumbled for a second, unsure of the correct way to hold a hand, before finally threading his through yours. He squeezed, perhaps a bit too tight in his nervousness, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. "Don't be sorry," he murmured. "If it didn't happen exactly that way, I might never have ended up here. With you." He cleared his throat, clearly eager to move the spotlight off himself. "And you? You spend your life trying to leave the planet. Is the traffic down here really that bad?"

You leaned back against the railing as you chuckled at his quip, looking up at the first few stars beginning to pierce the twilight. "It started with a fire, too," you said, your voice steady but devoid of its usual warmth. "My father. He was a Mission Commander. I grew up near the Cape, thinking he was the bravest man alive because he wasn't afraid of the dark up there." You took a breath. "He was part of a crew testing a command module on the pad. A month before their launch. They were sealed inside for a plugs out test, breathing 100% pure oxygen. A spark from a frayed wire under a seat was all it took. In that environment, a fire grew within seconds." 

Leon moved closer, though there was a palpable stiffness in his posture. He hovered for a heartbeat, his arm hovering mid air, before finally letting his hand settle on the small of your back. It was a grounding heat, even if his touch was a bit rigid, like he was worried he might break you or himself.

"The module was pressurized," you continued even as your throat tightened. "The hatch was designed to open inwards. But the fire created so much internal pressure that it was physically impossible to move. They were trapped in a furnace they couldn't push their way out of." You closed your eyes. "When they finally got the hatch open, they found him reaching for the lock. He spent his last seconds trying to get his crew out. He died in a cage built by the people he trusted."

You opened your eyes, meeting Leon’s gaze. "I didn't become an astronaut to forget him. I did it because I couldn't let his story end at that hatch. I wanted to finish the mission he never got to start." 

Leon didn't say anything for a long time. He reached out, his large, calloused hand sliding around the back of your neck. He hesitated for a second, his thumb brushing your hairline with a clumsy sort of tenderness, before he pulled you into the crook of his shoulder. He felt like a coiled spring solid and protective, yet clearly out of his element with the intimacy.

"He would be proud," Leon murmured into your hair, his voice thick with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. "You're gonna finish his walk and you're gonna be his victory. Just... try not to bring back any weird space viruses, okay? I've had my fill of those."

The tension in your chest finally snapped, replaced by a soft, unexpected laugh. You leaned into his side, and you could feel him relax just a fraction more as he realized he was doing okay at this. "I'll do my best, Agent Kennedy. No promises on the moon rocks, though."

The city was a speckle of hazy glow on the horizon, a distant reminder of the chaos Leon usually lived in. Out there, parked on a lonely ridge where the air bit at the skin and the grass smelled of damp earth and crushed clover, the heavens was an obsidian canvas. Leon lay flat on the roof of his car, boots crossed at the ankles and hands tucked behind his head. He watched the way your eyes lit up every time you pointed a finger toward the sky, your face illuminated by the faint, silver glow of a world he rarely took the time to notice.

You were in your element, the words spilling out of you with a rhythmic, passionate energy. It was a sharp contrast to the tactical jargon and the copper tang of blood and gunpowder that usually filled his days. For a moment, the weight of the knife against his thigh and the scars under his shirt didn't feel like his entire identity.

"You see that faint, fuzzy patch right there? Just above the 'W' of Cassiopeia?" you asked, leaning over him. Your shoulder brushed his, and Leon felt a jolt that had nothing to do with the chilly breeze. 

He didn't look up immediately. Instead, he let his gaze linger on you, tracing the silhouette of your profile against the infinite black. There was a pull there, a quiet, magnetic force he hadn't prepared for. He finally tore his eyes away to trace the line of your finger. "I see it," he murmured. His voice was that low, gravelly baritone, softened and almost hesitant.

"That’s Andromeda," you whispered, your voice thick with awe. "It’s 2.5 million light-years away. Which means the light hitting your retinas right now left that galaxy before humans even existed."

Leon shifted, a small, fascinated frown creasing his brow. He finally looked at the smudge of light, but his mind stayed on the warmth of your arm against his. "So, we're looking at a ghost or something that might not even be there anymore."

"Exactly. A beautiful, cosmic ghost," you laughed, shifting your gaze back up. "And it’s headed right for us. In about four billion years, the Milky Way and Andromeda are going to collide. But the space between stars is so vast that not a single sun will actually hit another. They’ll just dance around each other until they merge into one giant elliptical galaxy called 'Milkomeda.'"

Leon let out a low, breathy whistle. To a man whose life was defined by violent collisions, the idea of two entire galaxies passing through each other without a scratch felt like a miracle. It was a kind of peace he couldn't quite wrap his head around.

“Tell me more,” he muttered, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. He turned his head slightly, his blue eyes searching yours with a newfound intensity that went deeper than curiosity. "I could use a break from the 'here and now.'"

"Okay, here’s a weird one," you said. Your hands moved as you spoke, tracing invisible orbits. "Did you know that in the center of the Milky Way, there’s a massive cloud of gas and dust called Sagittarius B2? Astronomers found that it contains billions of liters of ethyl formate which is the chemical that gives raspberries their flavor and rum its smell."

Leon turned his head fully to look at you, a lopsided, characteristic smirk tugging at his mouth. "So you're telling me the center of the galaxy smells like a bar in a berry patch? Guess I know where I’m retiring when this is all over." 

You giggled. The sound was bright and clear in the night air, and Leon felt something in his chest loosen, a knot he hadn't realized was tied so tight. He found himself memorizing the sound, cataloging it as something worth protecting.

"And then there’s the scale of it," you continued, your eyes wide. "If you took a teaspoon of a neutron star, it would weigh about six billion tons. That’s the weight of the entire human race several times over, packed into something you could hold in your hand."

Leon looked at his own hand, flexing his fingers against the cold metal of the car roof. He dealt in the weight of decisions, in the heavy burden of who to save and who to leave behind. He knew what it felt like to carry the world on his shoulders, but hearing you talk made that weight feel… manageable? If the universe could handle a spoonful of star that heavy, maybe he could handle one more mission.

"Everything we are," you continued, your voice dropping to a soft, melodic hum that vibrated in the small space between you, "the iron in your blood, the calcium in your teeth... it was all forged inside the heart of a dying star billions of years ago. We’re literally made of stardust. When a star explodes, it scatters the building blocks of life across the universe. We’re just the universe’s way of experiencing itself."

Leon didn't answer for a long time. The silence wasn't the heavy, expectant kind he found in a dark hallway, but it was open and vast. He watched you, he watched the way you spoke about the vacuum of space with such warmth, the way you looked at the infinite darkness and saw beauty instead of a threat. He had spent his life staring into a different kind of darkness, the kind born from human greed and bio-organic nightmares. But listening to you, he felt like he was finally seeing the light. 

He realized then, with a sudden, grounding clarity, that he was falling. It wasn't the chaotic tumble of a plane crash or the leap off a high ledge. It was the steady, inevitable pull of a gravity well he had no desire to escape. You were his world, and he was just a satellite that had been drifting in the cold for too long, finally finding a stable orbit.

"You're amazing," he whispered. It was a rare moment of total, unshielded honesty. His chest felt tight, a sensation more terrifying and exhilarating than any nightmare he'd ever faced.

"The universe is amazing," you corrected, turning to look at him, your eyes searching his.

Leon didn't look back at the stars. He kept his eyes on you, the soft glow of the moon catching the curve of your cheek and the line of your jaw. He reached out, his hand hesitating before his thumb brushed gently against your finger, grounding him. He wasn't looking at a ghost anymore, he was looking at his future.