Jay

And a bonus for me cuz I needed it 👉👈

“She’s also very pretty.” At the roll of Leon’s eyes, Luis tosses back his head in a show of boisterous laughter. “Oh, please. You’re a man with eyes. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Haven’t really had the time.”

“In that case, I suppose you wouldn’t mind if we got… closer.”

“Be my guest.”

“You say that, but I’m sensing some hostility in your tone.”

He tries to bite his tongue. Really, he does. But with the heat of underground and the high-stakes stress of the mission and his temporary partner making advances toward his permanent one—

“I really should’ve left you in that sleeping bag.”

Luis brushes off the hostility with infuriating ease. Just a shrug of lazy agreement and a show of pearly teeth. “Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“That you like her.”

He thinks to argue, to defend himself, but Luis possesses a sharpness befitting a scientist… Biologist. Whatever he is.

“No, she doesn’t.”

It’s almost painful to admit, to say aloud. To recognize that he once again has proven himself lovesick and naive. He thought he was done with it all the first time. Butterflies in his chest, the insufferable longing, the inevitable heartbreak.

But it’s you. His partner, his long-time friend, his—well. He won’t say love. That would mean finally admitting it to himself.

You trained together.

You fight together. 

You bleed together.

You survive together.

During your first meeting, you bloodied up his nose then laughed in his face, then hand-scrubbed the stains from his shirt right outside the dorms in a show of apology. 

He remembers the sleepless nights, and the piss-poor rations, and your complaints about the weather. 

You’ve always been there, tucked away in some far-off corner, slumped against his side, urging him along. To keep going, to keep fighting.

Who else but you?

“You have to tell her. You know that, right?”

Maybe Luis sees something in him. Something that makes the man lower his voice, to speak with such bone-deep passion.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? It’s quite simple.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Yes. It is.” Luis suddenly halts, and Leon accepts his fate. “We should practice.”

“… Practice.”

“For your grand confession, of course. Our lady deserves something proper, from the heart.”

“I’m a little more worried about—“

“Yes, yes, the president’s daughter. It’ll only take a second.”

Ashley Graham is going to die, all because this strange, charismatic man wants to entertain hypotheticals.

Still, Leon relents.

“Only a second.”

“Fantastic. Okay, I’ll play you.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“But shouldn’t I play me?”

Luis sighs. “You are impossible.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The two men stare at each other, neck-deep in a battle of wills.

Leon breaks first.

“Fine. You win.”

Like the flip of a switch, Luis falls back into an attitude of ease, and flashes a teasing grin. “So, it would be best to do this after you’ve rescued her from the clutches of los ganados.”

“She doesn’t need rescued, Luis.”

“Just play along, alright?” Leon twitches his shoulders in a lazy shrug of agreement, and the other man continues, pacing back and forth along the path. “As I was saying: we burst into the room where our lovely lady has been… residing. After an explosive firefight (which I will let you take the glory for), the two of you reunite in a tender display of affection.”

Luis pauses. Something about dramatic effect.

“That’s when you take her into your arms and confess. I’ve thought of you every moment we were apart, and I realize now how foolish I’ve been. My heart beats for you, and you alone. If we survive this, allow me the pleasure of taking you to dinner. And then you kiss. The end.”

Leon blinks. It’s all he can do, really. The scenario is so absurd that in any other situation he would laugh himself to tears. 

“And that… works for you?”

“Like a dream.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“You don’t have to recite it word-for-word. It’s more of a guideline, you see.”

Still, Leon stands there and thinks.

This would never work. Not on you. You appreciate simplicity, have always found comfort in bare minimums. An unfortunate side effect of military life. 

But if he strips away the flowery language and trims the fat, it could work. It’s not like he doesn’t need the help where you’re concerned. 

“I’ll think about it,” Leon says, and they continue on.

When he sees you next, you kneel inside a branched-off cave, inspecting boxes and barrels. Some of the lids are broken off, others caved in to expose the contents inside. Just behind you sits three sticks of strapped-together dynamite.

The heart inside his chest threatens to spill between his ribs at the sight. Everything looks a little brighter, fuzzy at the edges.  

Luis nudges him hard in the ribs, nods over to you with wide eyes. A silent scream of say something!

“About time you showed up, Leon.” They turn to look at you as you wipe the dust from your shirt then heave out a sigh. “Hello, Luis.”

The man in question saunters over to where you stand, grin wide and wolfish.

“Ah, mi señorita.” He presses a kiss to the back of your palm, and you smile. “¿Estás bien?”

Something bitter coats Leon’s tongue.

“Sí, pero este ganado...”

You step aside to reveal a man slumped beneath a broken box, chest pockmarked with bullet wounds.

“How’d you get here?” Leon asks, cutting a quick eye to Luis and the hand he wraps around your shoulder.

The hand that curls tighter, a jesting lilt to the other man’s voice as he says, “Oh, come on. What matters is that we’re all together now.”

“One big, happy family.” You gift Leon a smile that burns bright as sunshine, impossibly warm. Like he’s been caught in a great blizzard and the mere sight of you chips away at all the lingering frost. “Right, Leon?”

You feel like sanctity, a blinding light at the end of a crumbling tunnel. A buoy, a deep-rooted redwood, an altar, the prayer itself. 

This village doesn’t know a goddamn thing about worship.

“Right.”

Luis leads you from the cave as Leon grabs the dynamite, arm slung heavy around your shoulders. He speaks to you, simple small talk, questions concerning your background.

He asks your name.

“Sorry. Only Leon’s allowed to know that.”

“Oh, you wound me. I thought we were friends.”

“Let’s get rid of this cult, and then we’ll talk.”

“That is music to my ears.”

If Leon didn’t know better, he’d think his skin green at this point. Something festers between his ribs, a viscous tar that chokes at his throat. Leaves him speechless and sullen.

He hates it. Hates the way you render him to useless emotion, so powerful and overwhelming.

He should be past this by now. Over it.

But it’s you, and you make him stupid.

“Unfortunately,” you duck away from Luis’s touch and move toward the entrance of the cavern, “I’ll have to catch you two later. There’s information I still have to collect.”

“Now? Really?” Leon asks, feet following you on instinct. You’re a team. Always have been. Where else should he be but at your side?

“This is what I came here to do.”

“But what if you—“

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You know I will. That’s half the job.”

You smile at him again, until Luis clears his throat to redirect your attention.

“Might I suggest a short farewell? I can stand… somewhere else. Over there.” He stares at Leon, raises his brows in silent prodding.

Oh. His heartfelt confession. Right. 

“This place is dangerous,” Luis continues. “You never know what could happen.”

You meet Leon’s eye and nod in agreement. “Right. Yeah.”

Luis throws him a thumbs up before slinking away to the other side of the cavern, lingering somewhere out of sight.

Leon turns to you and clears his throat. Adjust the fit of his gloves. Tightens the straps of his body armor.

He’s nervous, and he’s doing a shit job at hiding it.

“So, uh. Comms still working?”

“Yeah.”

“What about guns? Have enough ammo?”

“Loaded and ready.”

“And you’re sure you aren't hurt.”

“I’m fine. Seriously.”

“You’re sure.”

You lift a hand to rest against his bicep, lightly squeezing. An attempt to reassure, comfort.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “You’re acting weird.”

“Am I?”

You level a glare at him, and he stiffens.

Because he is acting weird. There’s a certain discomfort to the air, a tension that cracks the smooth edges of his aura. And you notice. Of course you do. You know him better than anyone, and the arms-length conversation he currently holds you at has tipped you off. 

“Did something happen with Luis?”

“No. It’s just been a long day.”

He can’t do it. Not now. Not when you look at him like this, a dissection of atoms and bone marrow.

You step closer, almost chest to chest, and his head begins to spin. A stifling heat rises to his face.

You speak in whispers. “Is it because he’s been flirting with me? ‘Cause listen, I won’t let that distract me from the mission. He said it himself: that’s just how he is.”

“No, that’s not—“

“Then what is it? I know you. Something happened.”

“Have dinner with me.” The words rush out. He doesn’t think, just speaks, and his tongue burns with regret, but he can’t stop talking. “After we get out of this place and take Ashley back to her dad, we should have dinner.”

Your eyes roam his face, and you say nothing. He swallows thick, shifts on his feet with a crunch of gravel that cracks loud amongst the silence.

His grand confession, little more than word vomit. Truly, it isn’t a confession at all. You eat dinner together all the time. Hell, you sleep in the same bed sometimes, share blankets. You’ve seen each other naked.

You make him stupid, make him feel young again—a flash of red, a manipulation, a cable car kiss.

But you don’t make him feel the way she did. Your affections hold no ulterior motive, no means to an end. You care because you simply do, and he doesn’t know how to cope with that.

He should try again.

“I was worried about you while you were gone. I’m too used to having you with me, I guess.” He hopes you’ll understand, read between the lines, catch the things he says and the things he can’t yet. He shakes his head. “What I’m trying to say is: I had to live in a world without you, and I never want to do that again.”

You take a moment to process, simply stare at him, into his eyes, and he hopes you see that he’s trying. That he means what he says.

“You… oh. Oh. You’re asking me on a date?”

He exhales a laugh, and his lips curl into a tender smile. “Yeah.”

He braces for the rejection—a wince, maybe a frown, maybe you might laugh in his face. Maybe you’ll request a transfer, another partner as soon as you reach HQ. And he’ll be okay with that. He’ll have to be.

Your gaze lowers, as if searching for something in the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t think you cared about me like that.”

“You have no idea.”

“And you don’t either, apparently.” Your lips stretch wide into a sheepish grin, and you scrub a thumb over his cheek. Over the smear of soot that he never bothered to wipe away. “I thought my hints were pretty good, but apparently not.”

“You were dropping hints?”

You laugh, rest a hand against the body armor covering his chest, and he thinks he might die. Genuinely, truly die. “Yeah. I guess I should’ve just said something. Communication and all that.”

“To be fair, they never taught us that in training.”

You toss your head and tug him closer by the hem of his shirt. “Just hurry up and kiss me before you go.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Your lips meet, and although your laughter offsets the angle, and you’re both covered in a layer of grime, and he stumbles over a rock at one point, it’s sweet and tender and all the dreams he’s had over the years could never ever compare to this—you, tangible and warm and beautiful, returning his affection.

He should pinch himself later.

He pulls away and your chest expands on inhale, heavy and breathless, and you look at him like he hangs the stars in your sky, and he knows he doesn’t fare much better. 

“Maybe we should just stay here,” he says, mouth stretching into a smile. “Make up for lost time.”

“That’s tempting, but you kinda have a cult to destroy. And we can’t forget the president’s daughter.”

A thought crosses his mind, then passes by again, then sticks. He recalls what Luis said, something about being territorial, and he knows it’s weird and possessive—

But the curve of your neck is right there, and the urge won’t leave him.  

“Can I do something, then? Before we go?”

“…Now you have me curious.”

You allow him to tilt your head back, a forefinger soft beneath your chin, and his lips press to your neck. Open-mouthed kisses that leave you sighing. Then he suckles at the heavy thump of your pulse, and something coils in the pit of his stomach.

He pulls away and meets your low-lidded gaze. 

“Hickeys? Really?”

A mottled discoloration against your complexion, still slick with spit beneath torchlight.

“In case anybody tries to get handsy.”

“Like who? Los ganados?”

“And others.”

You smack the back of your palm against his arm, and he grins. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Luis.”

He shrugs, watches as you laugh. As your nose scrunches and your teeth gleam and your eyes shape to crescents.