Key

📌 How to Request

It’s very simple. You send me:

1 character (canon or from my fandoms/works I write for)

1 genre or vibe

1 specific scene or scenario

That’s it. Keep it clean and straightforward so I can actually fit everything into the drabble format.

Example requests:

“Leon Kennedy / angst / after a mission gone wrong and he can’t sleep”

“Chris Redfield / fluff / domestic morning where he cooks breakfast badly”

“Carlos Oliveira / enemies to lovers / forced to share a motel room during a storm”

You can be as creative as you want with the scenario, but try not to overload it with too many extra details or subplots. Remember, this is a single 1000-word snapshot, not a full fic.

✍️ What I Will Write

Each request will be a standalone drabble focusing on:

Atmosphere

Emotion

Character voice

A single moment in time

Think of it like a frozen scene pulled from a bigger story—something that feels like it could exist inside a full fic, but doesn’t need context to hit emotionally.

I’ll try to lean into whatever tone you ask for: angst, fluff, smut, hurt/comfort, slow burn tension, domestic softness, or chaotic humour. If you give me a vibe, I’ll run with it. It can even be a smau, and I'll make 10 screenshots instead of 1000 words.

⚖️ Rules & Limits (Important!)

To keep this manageable and fair, here are a few ground rules:

1. One request per ask (for now)

Please don’t stack multiple requests in one message. If you want more, send them separately so I can keep track

2. Keep it focused

One character, one scenario, one main emotional direction. If your idea needs a whole plot tree to make sense, it’s probably too big for a drabble.

3. Fandoms/characters

I’ll write for characters I’m familiar with or have written before. If I don’t know the source, I might ask you to adjust or I’ll skip it.

4. No problematic content

I won’t write anything involving underage characters in romantic/sexual contexts, or anything that crosses Tumblr’s content or my personal boundaries. If you’re unsure, just ask, and I’ll let you know.

5. Word count rule is strict

The whole point of this challenge is precision. Every drabble will be exactly 1000 words, and I will be counting like my life depends on it.

💬 Final Note

This is meant to be fun, creative, and a little experimental. Don’t overthink your request—send something you’d genuinely love to read, and I’ll do my best to turn it into something that feels alive.

I’m really excited to see what you all come up with.

So go ahead: Send me your character, your vibe, your scene.

You stood barefoot in the doorway, watching Chris move around the kitchen with the kind of focus he usually reserved for situations involving firearms, hostiles, or imminent disaster. He was currently inspecting a box of cereal as if it had personally offended him. “This expires in March.“ He said flatly. “It's cereal.“ You blinked. “It still expires in March.“ He repeated. “Chris, it's January.“ You said, pointing at the calendar hanging on the wall. He didn't look up. “You're not eating it if it's close to expiring.“ You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Chris.“ He finally glanced at you. “What?“ You couldn't help laughing a little. “I'm pregnant, not made of glass.“ You said. The fact that Chris had told Leon so many times he was overreacting over anything about parenthood and now looked at a box of cereals like it was going to explode any moment was kind of hilarious. You sighed, walking into the kitchen. “You have to take extra care of yourself.“ Chris said. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, because arguing with Chris Redfield when he had decided something was physically pointless. He had faced bio-organic weapons with more flexibility than he approached the concept of you lifting a single grocery bag. Instead, you just watched as he picked up the grocery list, already rewritten in his handwriting, and added something else to it. You squinted, “What did you just write?“ He didn't look at you. “Nothing important.“ He said, tapping the pen against the counter. “That is never reassuring coming from you.“ He didn't answer, which meant it was absolutely something important.

By the time you left for the supermarket, Chris had already turned the outing into something that felt suspiciously like preparation for a controlled operation. You tried to ignore it at first. You really did. But it was hard when he kept scanning the environment like someone might jump out from behind the fruit aisle. “Honey, it's just a supermarket, not a war zone,” you muttered as you walked beside him. “It has slippery floors.“ He said immediately. You looked down at the supermarket tiles. “They're dry.“ You pointed out. “People spill things.“ He said as he grabbed a pack of fresh strawberries. “People also exist everywhere. Should I stop existing?“ He glanced at you briefly. “Don't be dramatic.“ You almost laughed.

The first real sign that this was going to be a long trip came when you reached the bags. You picked one up instinctively, already turning towards the car. Chris took it from your hand before you even processed the movement. “Hey-.“ “I've got it.“ He said. “It's one bag.“ You complained. “I've got it.“ You watched him pick up not just your bag, but all of them. Every single one. Like he was lifting equipment for deployment. You stared at him. “Chris, I can carry a grocery bag.“ He shook his head immediately. “It weighs, like, two pounds.“ You exhaled through your nose, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “No.“ He said firmly as he started walking, carrying all the bags in his arms. “You look ridiculous.“ You followed him, incredulous. “I don't care.“ He said. “That's not the point.“ He paused briefly at the car, loading the bags into the trunk with precise efficiency. “Then what is the point?“ You opened your mouth and closed it again because you weren't entirely sure.

That evening, the house was warm in a way that felt almost too controlled. Chris had adjusted the heating twice more after dinner, and you were starting to suspect he had memorised the entire building's insulation pattern. You sat on the sofa, curled slightly under a blanket, watching him move around the living room with that same restless energy he's had all day. Not frantic, exactly. Chris never looked frantic. But contained, focused, like something inside him was constantly recalculating outcomes you couldn't see. “You're staring again.“ You said eventually. He stopped. “I'm not staring.“ He replied. “You were absolutely staring.“ A pause. Then he walked closer, slower now. Less movement, more presence. You tilted your head. “What?“ He didn't answer immediately. His eyes flicked down to you, then lower. To your stomach. It was still too early, barely anything visible yet. A change more felt than seen. A fact that existed more in words than in shape. His hand moved slightly, then stopped. “Can I…?“ He asked quietly. The question surprised you more than anything else that day. You nodded once. “Yeah.“ His hand settled carefully against your stomach. Carefully wasn't even the right word. It was like he was afraid of applying pressure to reality itself. Like too much contact might make something break. He went still. Completely still. You watched his face change in ways that were almost too subtle to name. His jaw tightened slightly. His breathing shifted, barely noticeable unless you were close enough to see it. “I can't feel anything yet.“ He said quietly. “It's too early, idiot.“ You laughed. He nodded once, but didn't move his hand. Not immediately.

A second passed, then another, like he was trying to memorise the idea of this moment rather than the sensation of it. Eventually, he pulled his hand back slowly, like it weighed more than it should have. “Still real enough.“ He said. It wasn't a question, it wasn't reassurance. It was something else entirely. You looked at him for a long moment, watching the way he didn't quite meet your eyes after that, as if the connection had shifted something he wasn't prepared to examine too closely yet. “I'm fine, you know.“ You said softly. He nodded again, watching your fingers intertwine with his. “I know.“ But he didn't sound like he believed in certainty.

Later, you noticed him again. Because Chris wasn't subtle when he was trying not to be obvious. He was in the kitchen, then the hallway, then checking something in the bathroom that didn't need checking. You watched him pass through rooms like he was patrolling boundaries that didn't exist. Eventually, you called his name. “Chris.“ He stopped immediately. “You're spiralling.“ You leaned against the doorway. “I'm not.“ He excused himself. “You checked the heating twice.“ You tried not to laugh. “It felt inconsistent?“ He explained as if it were common sense. “That's not even a thing.“ He didn't respond. Which was, unfortunately, also a response. “You're doing that thing where you think you can control everything.“ You said softly as you walked closer. “I can control most things.“ He said. “Not this.“ That landed differently. You saw it in the way he shifted slightly, just enough to give away that the words had gone somewhere deeper than the conversation. For a second, he looked like he might argue. Then he didn't. Instead, he just nodded once and moved past you into the kitchen like the conversation had been filled somewhere he didn't have immediate access to. But you knew him well enough to recognise that silence wasn't peace. It was containment.

It was sometime around three in the morning when you woke again. The room was dark except for a faint, cold glow coming from the side of the bed. You turned your head slowly. Chris was sitting upright, phone in hand. “…What the hell are you doing?“ You mumbled, voice rough with sleep. He looked up immediately, caught. “I'm…” he hesitated. “Research.“ You blinked, once, twice, incredulous. “At three fucking am?“ He hesitated again, and that alone said everything. “Chris.“ You pushed yourself up slightly, squinting at him. “Rebecca said headaches are normal,” he said quickly, still avoiding your gaze, “but I'm just double-checking.“ You stared at him. “You're reading medical papers at three in the morning because of a simple headache?“ You said. “It's not just that.“ He tried to defend himself. “Then what else is it?“ He didn't answer. You exhaled, rubbing your face slightly. “You can't just Google your way into preventing everything bad from happening.“ You said tiredly. “I'm not googling.“ He replied flatly. “That's not the point.“ He finally looked up at you properly then. And there it was again, that controlled intensity, the kind that didn't come from panic exactly, but from something tighter, sharper. “I just need to be sure.“ He said quietly. “Sure of what?“ A pause. “That I'm not missing something.“ The room felt smaller after that. You studied him for a moment. The phone light made his face look harsher than usual, but his eyes weren't. Not really. They looked tired in a way you hadn't seen often enough to recognise immediately. “You're not missing anything.“ You said gently. He didn't respond. So you added, softer, “you're just trying to outrun uncertainty.“ That made him still. Not defensive, just still.

The next few days were even quieter. Not because Chris had magically stopped worrying overnight, if anything, you were fairly certain he had simply gotten better at hiding it. After catching him researching pregnancy symptoms at three in the morning, he'd spent most of the days pretending everything was perfectly normal, which, in Chris' language, actually meant he was absolutely not normal. You were sitting on the couch after dinner, a blanket thrown over your legs while some random show played in the background. Neither of you was really watching it. Chris' hand was resting on your stomach again. You were beginning to notice it had already become a habit, not a conscious one, though. Sometimes he'd be sitting beside you, and suddenly his hand would be there, like he needed the physical reminder that this was real. Suddenly, you tilted your head against the couch. “Have you thought about names yet?“ Chris' thumb stilled just for a second. “Already?“ You shrugged. “I'm not saying we have to decide now.“ You said softly. “But you've thought about it.“ He let out a quiet sigh. You smiled immediately. “I knew it.“ That earned a small huff of amusement. You knew him too well. His hand remained where it was, warm through your shirt.

For a few moments, he seemed genuinely thoughtful. Then his gaze dropped, and something in his expression changed. It wasn't dramatic, most people probably wouldn't have noticed. You did. Because you'd seen that look before, a thousand times before. The smile slipped from your face. Chris didn't say anything, he didn't have to. Your chest tightened slightly. “Piers.“ The name hung quietly between you. Chris stared at your stomach for several seconds, then barely nodded. “Yeah…” His voice came out rougher than expected. Neither of you spoke after that. You didn't push, you knew better. Knew how carefully he handled memories like that. Like touching broken glass. “I think about him sometimes…” You admitted softly. That finally made him look at you. “I know… I've seen you staring at the photograph in my office whenever you cleaned.“ He said quietly. “I wish he were here.“ The words hurt more than you'd expected. Because it wasn't just about missing him, it was about all the things he would never see. The things he'd never get to be part of. Chris swallowed, his jaw tightened. “He would've been unbearable.“ You smiled softly. “He wouldn't have stopped until I retired.“ Chris said, a small smile tugging at his lips with the thought, a real smile, the kind that always felt a little bittersweet when it came to Piers.

For a moment, it almost felt like he was there, like the memory of him had settled beside you on the couch. Then the silence returned. Gentler this time. Chris looked down at your stomach again, his hand shifted slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “I thought about it.“ You waited. He took a slow breath. “Using his name.“ There it was. No hesitation, no pretending, just pure truth. Your eyes immediately filled with warmth, because admitting that couldn't have been easy, especially for him. “You don't have to-.“ “I know.“ He cut you off before you could finish your sentence. “What if we have a girl?“ That got a laugh out of him. A genuine one. “Then I imagine she'd be pretty annoyed.“ You laughed too. The tension eased right away, but Chris' smile faded after a moment. “He deserved to be here.“ The confession was so quiet you almost missed it. Your heart broke. Because that was it, that was the real wound underneath everything else. Not the name, not even the grief, the fact that Piers had been robbed of a future, of moments like this, just so that Chris could live. You reached over and covered Chris' hand with your own. “He'd be so happy for you.“ Chris closed his eyes briefly as if hearing that hurt, as if hearing that helped, maybe both. When he opened them again, they were fixed on your stomach, on the future, on everything waiting for him. And after a long moment, he squeezed your hand. “Maybe.“ You leaned into his side. “He would.“ This time, Chris didn't argue, and for him, that was as good as agreement.

You stayed there for a while after that. Curled against Chris' side, his hand still resting over your stomach while the television continued playing unnoticed in the background. Neither of you brought up names again, there would be time for that later, months of it. For now, the future felt close enough to touch and impossibly far away at the same time. Eventually, the conversation drifted elsewhere. The evening moved on, life moved on, January moved on. And unfortunately for you, Chris' paranoia moved on with it. Just little things, constant ones. The sort of things that built up over days until you found yourself staring at your husband in complete disbelief. “Did you take your vitamins?“ You looked up from the book in your lap. Chris was standing in the kitchen doorway. “Yes.“ You replied. He looked at you for a few quiet seconds. “…Today?“ You lowered the book slowly into your lap. “Chris, you watched me take them.“ You answered. “I know.“ He said, crossing his arms. “You literally handed them to me.“ You bit the side of your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling. His expression remained completely serious. “Just checking.“ You groaned.

It kept happening. Every day seemed to introduce a new concern. One morning, he became convinced the driveway was too slippery, another day, he spent ten minutes reading the ingredients list on a box of crackers. You once caught him researching whether stress levels could affect pregnancy outcomes. The irony of that particular search nearly killed you. Then there was the chair incident. A completely ordinary chair. You had stepped onto it to reach something from the top shelf while Chris was taking a shower. By the time your hand touched the cabinet handle, Chris had somehow appeared behind you. “Absolutely not.“ You nearly jumped. “What the hell-.“ “Get down.“ He said immediately. “It's a chair.“ You complained. “Get down.“ He repeated, already sounding like a dad scolding his daughter. “Chris.“ You tried to negotiate. “The answer is still get down.“ You stared at him. He stared back. Neither of you moved. Eventually, you climbed down purely because you were too busy laughing to continue the argument. Chris did not appreciate that.

The thing was, none of it came from a bad place. That was what made it impossible to stay annoyed for long. You knew why he was doing it. You knew what was hiding underneath all of it. The late-night research, the constant checking, the inability to relax, the fear. Still, that didn't mean you weren't going to make fun of him. Especially because you'd witnessed something very similar before. One evening near the end of January, you were sitting together in the living room when the realization finally hit you. You looked up from your phone, then at Chris, then back at your phone with a conversation with Leon's wife, then at Chris again. Your eyes narrowed. “Oh my God.“ Chris immediately looked suspicious. “What?“ A grin spread across your face. “I don't like that grin.“ Chris said. “You don't even realize you're doing it, do you?“ His suspicion deepened. “Doing what?“ You sat up straighter. “Leon.“ Chris froze, his reaction said it all. Your grin widened. “No.“ He warned. “Oh, yes.“ You said, already laughing. “No.“ He warned again. “You've become Leon.“ A look of pure offense crossed his face. “I have not.“ He said immediately. “You absolutely have.“ You laughed, actually laughed. Because this was too good.

For months, ever since Sammy had been born, Chris had been relentless, absolutely relentless. Every time Leon worried about something, Chris had something to say about it. Every single time. “Leon, relax.“ “Leon, she's fine.“ “Leon, she's not made of glass.“ “Leon, stop hovering.“ You had heard all of them repeatedly. And now? Now, Chris was interrogating you about vitamins he had physically watched you take ten minutes earlier. You pointed at him. “Do you remember telling Leon he was being dramatic because he bought three different baby thermometers?“ Chris looked away. Already a terrible sign. “That's different.“ You immediately burst out laughing. “How?“ You asked between laughs. “It just is.“ He said, clearly annoyed. “Chris.“ He folded his arms, the universal sign that he knew he was losing. “You weren't pregnant.“ You blinked, then laughed even harder. “Oh, that's your defense, Mr. Redfield?“ You kept laughing. “It makes sense.“ He vaguely defended. “It really doesn't.“ You argued. “It does to me.“ You were still laughing when Chris muttered something under his breath. “What was that?“ You asked curiously. “Nothing.“ You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He sighed heavily. “Don't tell Leon.“ He mumbled without looking at you. For a second, there was silence, as if you were considering. Then you laughed so hard your eyes watered. Because that was it, that was the real issue, not being compared to Leon, not being caught. The fact that if Leon ever found out, Chris would never hear the end of it. And judging by the horrified look on his face, he knew it too.

You crossed the room immediately. The second your arms wrapped around him, his body went rigid. For one terrible moment, you thought he might pull away. Instead, a shaky breath escaped him. Then another. And suddenly, he was holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him upright. Your heart shattered. “Hey…” You whispered. His face buried itself against your shoulder. You felt him trembling, not from cold or the rain, but from the sheer effort of holding himself together. “You're home.“ The words were barely audible. Chris' grip tightened painfully. As though letting go would make everything real. For several minutes, neither of you spoke. Then you felt it. A single drop of moisture against your neck. Another, and another. Your chest tightened. Chris wasn't a man who cried easily. You had seen him injured, angry, terrified. But this? This was grief. Raw and unbearable.

His shoulders shook once and then again. And suddenly, the sound that left him was so small and broken that it nearly brought tears to your own eyes. “I'm sorry.” The words came out strangled. You pulled back slightly. “What?“ His eyes were red. “I'm sorry.“ He repeated. “Chris-.“ “I'm sorry…” His voice crackled completely. “I should've saved them.“ The room fell silent. You knew immediately what he meant. His team. The people who had followed him, trusted him, and died under his command. His breathing grew uneven. “They believed in me.“ You reached for his face. He barely seemed to notice. “They followed every order I gave.“ His eyes dropped to the floor. “And they're gone.“ The last words sounded almost impossible for him to say.

You guided him towards the couch. Chris sat heavily, staring at nothing. Like he was seeing ghosts. You sat beside him. For a long minute, the only sound came from the rain outside. Then he spoke again. “I knew them.“ His voice was hollow. “I knew every single one of them.“ Your throat tightened. “I knew their families.“ He swallowed hard. “I promised them I'd bring them home.“ The sentence nearly broke him. His head dropped into his hands. “And I didn't.“ You moved closer instinctively. “Chris.“ "Don't." His voice was rough. "Chris, please..." You said with a tight knot in your throat. "Don't tell me it wasn't my fault. I failed them.“ You tried to make him look at you. “You didn't.“ “I did.“ His voice rose slightly, not angry, but desperate. “I was their captain.“ You took his hands before he could hide behind them again. “No.“ His eyes finally met yours, filled with so much pain it almost hurt to look at. “You didn't fail them.“ A bitter laugh escaped him. “Then why are they dead?“ You had no answer. Because there wasn't one. No perfect sentence, no magical reassurance, just devastating truth.

Sometimes terrible things happened, sometimes good people died, sometimes there was nothing left but grief. And Chris had always carried grief like it belonged to him. Like every grave should have had his name on it instead. You brushed your thumb across his knuckles. “Do you know what they would say if they could see you right now?“ His jaw tightened. “They'd tell me I should've done better.“ You shook your head. “They'd tell you to stop blaming yourself.“ His eyes closed immediately. As though hearing that hurt more than anything else. A shaky breath escaped him. “They're dead.“ The words came out almost pleading, as if he needed you to understand. “As long as I'm alive, they're dead.“ Your chest ached. You slid closer and wrapped your arms around him. For a second, he resisted. Then he collapsed into you completely. Years of discipline, training, and forcing himself to stay strong were gone in less than a second. His forehead pressed against your shoulder. And he cried quietly, hopelessly. The kind of crying that came when someone had carried too much for too long. You held him through all of it. Through every trembling breath, every apology, every whispered name, every ounce of guilt he tried to pour out. And when his voice finally disappeared altogether, you simply kept holding him.

Across the room, Sammy sat on the floor surrounded by toy dinosaurs, completely absorbed in a battle between a T-Rex and what was supposed to be a Triceratops but had somehow acquired wings. You pointed at your phone. “Look.“ Against your husband's better judgment, he leaned closer. A video played on the screen: parents sitting at a table, with cookies and a child. A simple little experiment. Leon watched in silence. Then another video started, and another, and another. Each one followed the same pattern. A child was given two cookies, and one parent got one cookie, the other got none. The parents waited to see what the kid would do. Some shared, some didn't, some dramatically sacrificed their own cookies. The comments underneath were filled with people crying over how sweet their children were.

You looked up at Leon expectantly. Leon stared back in complete disbelief. “No.“ You gasped. “We haven't even tried it.“ You said. “We are not using our child as a science experiment.“ Leon said firmly. “It's not a science experiment.“ You scoffed. “It absolutely is.“ He added, putting on his glasses once again, ready to keep working. You sat up straighter. “It's parent science.“ Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. “That's not a thing.“ He said, removing his glasses again. “It is now.“ He already knew he'd lost. The problem wasn't the idea itself, the problem was that once you got excited about something, you became impossible to stop. Like that day you insisted on getting ice cream after shopping when you were still pregnant. Like that day you convinced a federal agent to drive three hours for a specific brand of ice cream because you suddenly decided you wanted to try it. And yes, he was that federal agent. Leon still wasn't over that. “Come on,” you said, nudging his shoulder. “Just one video.“ You begged. “No.“ “Please.“ “No.“ “Leon.“ “No.“ You pouted. A weapon he had unfortunately developed a severe weakness ages ago.

Across the room, Sammy looked up from his dinosaurs. “Mama?“ You immediately switched targets. “Sammy, sweetheart, do you want cookies?“ The reaction was instantaneous. The dinosaurs weren't as interesting as they used to be anymore when your son launched himself to his feet, leaving them abandoned across the carpet. “Cookies?“ Leon closed his eyes. Of course, he would have to fight his son AND you. You looked at him triumphantly. “You see? He's interested.“ You said proudly. “Yeah, because he's five and you just offered him a treat.“ He sighed. “Exactly.“ You added clapping with a victorious grin. “That's not helping your argument.“ You were already getting off the couch. The discussion was over on your end. Leon recognized the signs immediately. He watched you disappear into the kitchen while Sammy followed behind like an eager little duckling. A few moments later, he heard the unmistakable sound of the cookie jar opening. Then, there was excited giggling. Then your voice. “Don't eat them yet!“ Leon sighed heavily. He already had a terrible feeling about this. Unfortunately, years of experience told him that whenever both you and Sammy looked excited about something, he was usually the one who suffered for it.

Leon should have walked away when he still had the chance. Instead, a few minutes later, he found himself sitting at the dining table while you fussed over camera angles like a professional filmmaker preparing for an award-winning documentary. “This is ridiculous.“ He said, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms. “It's not ridiculous.“ You scoffed, still trying your best to capture the best angle. “It is.“ You ignored him as usual. The phone was propped up against a mug on the counter, pointed directly at the table. After adjusting it for what felt like the tenth time, you finally stepped back and nodded to yourself. “Perfect.“ Leon looked at the setup. Then at you. Then at the setup again. “You're taking this way too seriously.“ You gasped dramatically. “This is important.“ You said. “It's just cookies.“ Leon huffed. “Exactly.“ Across from you, Sammy sat in his chair, swinging his legs impatiently. “Mama, I'm hungry.“ He said. “Just a second, baby.“ The moment you turned around, Sammy immediately tried to reach for the jar with cookies. Leon caught the small hand before it got there. “Nice try.“ Sammy grinned. The exact same grin Leon saw in the mirror every morning. A fact that became more terrifying every year.

You returned carrying the cookies and carefully arranged them on the table. Two cookies in front of Sammy, one cookie in front of Leon, and nothing in front of you. Then you hurried back to the phone. Leon looked down at the messy arrangement. Then at your empty spot. Then back to the cookies. “You know he's going to give you one, right?“ He whispered, as if he was trying to keep a secret from your son. “Maybe.“ You smiled. “No, definitely.“ You raised an eyebrow. “You're his mom.“ He added. “So?“ You said, leaning a little against him, voice still low. “So he's obsessed with you.“ You laughed. “He's obsessed with you, too.“ Leon snorted. “He's started being more obsessed with you lately.“ You frowned at him. “That's not true.“ You scoffed. “You literally can't go to the bathroom without him standing outside the door like a bodyguard.“ His voice was no longer low. “If Mama disappears, I will protect her!“ Sammy nodded seriously. You burst out laughing. Leon pointed at him. “See?“ You kept laughing. “Okay, fair.“

You finally settled into your seat. The phone continued recording. Everything was ready, the experiment could begin. Sammy looked between the three places at the table. Then at the cookies. His little brain was clearly already working overtime. You exchanged a quick glance with Leon, trying not to smile, trying not to influence the outcome. Failing miserably as well. “Okay, Sammy.“ You said. His blue eyes immediately snapped to you. “You can have the cookies. But mama doesn't have any.“ The words had barely left your mouth before he looked down at the table again. His gaze landed on the two cooking in front of him, then on Leon's single cookie, then on your completely empty spot. The kitchen suddenly became very quiet. You held your breath. Leon leaned back in his chair, already convinced he knew exactly how this was going to go. There was no way his son wouldn't share. Especially when you were sitting there with nothing. Sammy stared at the cookies for another few seconds. Thinking, calculating, plotting. And something about the look on his face made Leon's confidence begin to fade slowly because he knew that expression. It was the same one Sammy got right before doing something that technically made sense but absolutely shouldn't have worked. “Oh no,” Leon muttered. You glanced at him. “What?“ Leon kept his eyes on his son. “He's plotting.“ He said quietly. “That's the whole point.“ You answered confused. “No.“ Sammy continued staring at the cookies, completely silent, completely focused. Like a tiny criminal mastermind preparing a heist. And suddenly Leon had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

For a moment, nobody moved. Sammy remained completely focused on the cookies in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were solving an advanced mathematical equation instead of deciding what to do with the three baked goods. The silence stretched. You and Leon exchanged another glance, and then another. And despite his earlier concerns, he found himself slowly relaxing because this started to look promising. Sammy's gaze slowly shifted from the cookies to you. You tried very hard not to react. Very, very hard. The tiny hopeful smile threatening to appear on your face certainly wasn't helping. Then Sammy looked at Leon, then back at you, his expression softened. And immediately your heart melted. “Oh, look at him.“ You whispered. Leon smiled. “Yeah.“ You were both already imagining how this would end. Sammy giving you one of his cookies to you, maybe even offering Leon one too. The kind of sweet moment parents saved forever and showed their children years later to embarrass them. Proof that they had once been tiny, adorable little humans. The comments on TikTok would have loved it. Not that you were planning on posting it, but still.

Sammy looked down again, and one small hand hovered over the table. You could practically see the decision being made. “There you go, buddy.“ Leon encouraged softly. The hand moved slowly towards the cookies. You felt your chest squeeze. God, he was so cute. Every time you looked at him, it felt impossible that something so wonderful had somehow ended up being yours. Across the table, Leon looked just as emotional. Neither of you was prepared for what came next. Because from every possible angle, it looked like he had decided to share. The little hand reached out confidently without any doubt, without a single sign of guilt. And both of you and Leon smiled, still certain you knew what was about to happen. You were wrong. Very, very wrong.

The moment arrived. Sammy's hand shot forward. You smiled, Leon smiled, the camera kept recording, and everything was going exactly as expected. Right up until it wasn't. Because instead of reaching for one of his cookies… Sammy reached for Leon's. The smile immediately disappeared from Leon's face. “…What?“ You blinked. Sammy grabbed the cookie sitting in front of his dad and pulled it towards himself. Leon stared, and so did you. Sammy stared at the cookie. Apparently, only one of the three people at the table understood the plan. “Buddy?“ Leon said cautiously. Sammy ignored him, his tongue sticking out of his mouth out of pure concentration. The cookie was now safely in his possession, and somehow, Leon's bad feeling only got worse. “Oh my God,” you whispered, already starting to laugh. “No, no, no.“ Sammy carefully held the cookie with both hands, then, with his tongue still out, crack. The cookie broke cleanly in half. The room fell silent. Sammy looked down at his work, satisfied, then he picked up one half and placed it in front of you. You immediately slapped a hand over your mouth. Because there it was. The sharing, the sweet moment, the proof that your son had a generous little heart. Except, before either of you could say anything, Sammy picked up the second half and placed it in front of Leon. Leon looked at the half-cookie with a miserable expression. Then at Sammy. Then, at the two untouched cookies still sitting in front of the little boy.

The realization hit all at once. You saw it happen in real time. The exact second Leon understood. Sammy hadn't shared his cookies, not a single one. Instead, he had taken Leon's cookie, broken it in half, distributed the pieces, and, somehow, managed to keep both of his own. The room remained silent for about three solid seconds. Then you completely lost it. A snort escaped your chest first, then another. Then suddenly you were bent over the table laughing so hard tears immediately started forming in your eyes. “Oh my God-.“ You couldn't even finish your sentence. Leon continued staring at the evidence. The two cookies, the half-cookie, and his son, who looked extremely proud of himself. Like he'd just solved world hunger. “There,” he announced proudly. You laughed even harder at the sound of his convinced, tiny voice breaking the silence. Leon slowly looked up. “Sammy.“ The boy beamed. “Yeah?“ Leon took a second to continue. “You took my cookie.“ Sammy nodded. “And then broke it.“ Another nod. “And gave half to Mama.“ Sammy frowned as if it was obvious. “And half to me.“ Sammy nodded one last time, slower. Leon blinked, trying to understand how he'd somehow been robbed by his own 5-year-old son.

Across the table, you were practically crying. The phone was still recording every second of it. And somehow that made it even funnier. Because from Sammy's perspective? The problem had been solved perfectly. Mama had a cookie, Papa had a cookie, and Sammy still had two cookies. Everyone won. At least, according to him. Leon, however, was beginning to suspect that his son might actually be a tiny Kennedy after all. You were still laughing, not the cute kind of laughing, nor the polite one. It was the kind of laugh where your stomach hurt, and tears were running down your face while you desperately tried to breathe, and demonic sounds came out of your chest. On the other side of the table, Leon looked personally betrayed. “Buddy.“ Sammy looked up from one of his cookies and hummed quietly in response. “That's not how sharing works.“ The boy blinked, clearly confused. “Why?“ You immediately buried your face in your hands. Leon pointed at the cookies. “Because you didn't share your cookies.“ Sammy followed the gesture, his gaze landed on his two cookies and then on the halves in front of his parents. And finally, he looked back at Leon. “But you got a cookie.“ He defended. “A half cookie.“ Leon argued. “Still cookie.“ You choked, actually choked. A noise somewhere between a laugh and a dying gasp escaped you. Leon slowly turned towards you. “This isn't funny.“ He narrowed his eyes at you as you kept trying to recover your breath. “It absolutely is.“ You said, wiping more tears from the corner of your eyes. “It's not.“ Leon said like a sulking kid. “It is.“ Sammy nodded. “Thank you, baby.“ You said.

Leon looked back at his son, determined to make him understand. “Okay, let's try again.“ Sammy took a bite of his cookie. Listening politely, or at least pretending to. “If you share something, you're supposed to give away some of your food.“ Sammy chewed, swallowed, and thought about it. Then pointed at the half-cookie sitting in front of Leon. “You have cookie.“ Leon stared. The kid wasn't technically wrong, which somehow made it worse. “That's because it was my cookie.“ Another bite, another chew, another few seconds of thought. Then Sammy shrugged. “Not anymore.“ You immediately doubled over laughing again. Leon dropped his head into his hands. The betrayal, the audacity, the flawless logic. It was unbearable. From his seat, Sammy happily continued eating his cookie, completely unbothered by the fact that he'd just dismantled every argument his father had tried to make. Finally, Leon looked back up. “You know what the worst part is?“ You were still giggling. “What?“ He pointed directly at Sammy. “He's going to be a nightmare when he's older.“ Sammy grinned. The exact same grin Leon had. You noticed it immediately, so did Leon. The realization hit both of you at the same time. Sammy's smile widened, and suddenly, Leon understood why everyone spent years apologizing for the things he'd done as a kid. Because karma had finally arrived, and it was sitting across the table eating cookies.

By this point, the experiment had completely fallen apart. You were still laughing, Leon was still trying to recover from being legally and emotionally robbed, and Sammy was happily working his way through his cookies like nothing unusual had happened. The phone continued recording from the counter, capturing every second of the little chaos. “You know,” Leon said, pointing accusingly at his son, “most kids would've given one of their cookies to their mom.“ Sammy took another bite. “Mm.“ “That was what the game was.“ Another bite. “Mm.“ “You understand that, right?“ This time, Sammy nodded. “Yeah.“ Leon blinked. “You do?“ Sammy nodded again. “Then why didn't you do it?“ Sammy looked at him as if the answer was obvious. “Because then I only have one and I'm hungry.“ You immediately snorted. Leon stared at the ceiling. Of course, that was the reason. The terrifying part was that it made perfect sense from a five-year-old's perspective.

Sammy finished chewing, then looked between the two of you. His little head tilted slightly as if he'd suddenly noticed that Leon was still sulking. The dramatic sigh that followed was pure Kennedy. “Oh, come on!“ Leon complained. Sammy glanced down at the cookie in his hand, then at you, then at Leon. For the first time all evening, he actually seemed to consider giving up one of his own cookies. You and Leon watched in surprise. Maybe there was hope after all. Slowly, Sammy broke off a tiny piece, a ridiculously tiny piece, barely a crumb. He placed it in front of you. Then broke off another equally pathetic piece and placed it in Leon's hand. “There.“ At this point, you couldn't handle it anymore. Leon looked down at the microscopic offering. “Wow.“ Sammy smiled proudly. “Now I shared my cookie.“ He said, completely convinced. “That's a crumb.“ Leon complained. “It's cookie.“ The confidence alone was impressive.

You couldn't even argue. The silence stretched between you. Finally, Leon asked the question. “You're really Spiderman?“ You winced. “Technically, Spiderwoman.“ Leon stared. “Seriously?“ You pressed your lips together. “Sorry.“ He blinked before laughing, actually laughing. Not because anything was funny, but because reality had apparently given up. You waited nervously, the laughter faded, and his expression softened. “How many times have you almost died?“ The question caught you off guard. Not who bit you, not how your powers worked, not even if aliens existed. Just that. How many times. You felt your chest tightening. “Enough.“ Leon looked down. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. Then he slowly nodded. “That's what I thought.“ The guilt hit harder than you ever expected. “I wanted to tell you.“ You stepped closer. But he backed off. “Then why didn't you?“ The way he stepped away from you made your heart shudder. You didn't tell him because you were afraid. Not of monsters, not of villains, not even of death. You were afraid of losing him. “I thought you'd worry.“ Leon stared at you like you had personally offended common sense. “Of course I'd worry. You're my wife.“ Okay, that was fair too. You laughed weakly despite yourself. Leon didn't. His eyes glistened beneath the kitchen light. And suddenly you understood. This wasn't about secrets, it wasn't about trust. It was pure fear of losing the only good thing he had in his life. The same fear that woke him from nightmares, the same fear that made him check locked doors twice, the same fear that came from loving people in a world determined to take them away. You reached for his hand, and this time he finally let you. “I never wanted to hurt you.“ His fingers tightened around yours. “I know.“ The words nearly broke you. Because he meant them. Even now, even after everything, you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his shoulder.

You hated missions. Not because they took him away, but because one day, you feared they might not bring him back. Your fingers tightened around the phone. “Chris?“ You said quietly. “Yeah?“ You hesitated. The words felt stupidly selfish, childish even. But they had been sitting heavily in your chest for days. “Promise me you'll come back.“ The line fell silent. You immediately regretted saying it. “Forget it, that sounded-.“ A nervous laugh escaped you before he cut you off. “No.“ His voice came in gentler. You swallowed hard. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, typical of a cold November night. “I mean it.“ You whispered. Another pause. You knew why he wasn't answering immediately. Because he couldn't truly promise that. Not with the life he lived, not with the things he faces, not with the reality that every mission carried risks neither of you liked to acknowledge. And yet… “I'll come back.“ Your eyes stung. “Chris…” “I will.“ The certainty in his voice wasn't arrogance, it was determination. As if sheer force of will could drag him home to you, no matter what stood in his way. You lowered your head, blinking rapidly. “Okay.“ You said quietly. “Hey.“ You hummed in response. A smile softened his voice. “When this is over, I'm taking a week off.“ You laughed. “A whole week? The BSAA might collapse.“ You said. “It'll survive.“ He said, his smile widening a little. “Debatable.“ You added quietly. “Very funny.“ For the first time that evening, the knot in your chest loosened slightly.

You talked for another twenty minutes about nothing important, about grocery shopping, about Sammy, about a movie you'd started watching without him. Normal things. The kind of things that made the distance feel smaller. Eventually, Chris told you he had to go. Duty called. “I love you.“ You said before he could hang up. The words came automatically, a habit neither of you had ever outgrown. “I love you too.“ You smiled. “Come home safe.“ You added quieter. Chris remained silent for a second. “Always.“

A few days later, the sound of keys in the front door made your head snap up from the couch. For a second, you thought you had imagined it. Then the door opened, and there he was. Chris barely had time to step inside before you were crossing the room. “Hey-.“ The greeting died in his throat as you threw your arms around him. He caught you instantly, letting out a breathless laugh as he pulled you against his chest. God, you'd missed him. The familiar scent of his cologne, the warmth of his arms, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply held each other, as if letting go would somehow make him disappear again. “I missed you, too,” Chris murmured against your hair. You hadn't even realized you'd said it out loud. A smile tugged at your lips. “As you should.“ His hands settled on your waist as a laugh escaped his mouth. When you finally pulled back enough to look at him, exhaustion lingered around his eyes, but there was something else there, too. Relief, like coming home to you, was the first chance he'd had to breathe properly in weeks. Your gaze softened. “You look tired.“ You said quietly. “I am.“ He admitted. “Then you should rest.“ You tried to get away from him, but he tightened his grip around you. “I'll rest later, I missed my wife more than rest.“ The way he looked at you made your stomach flutter. The distance of the past few weeks suddenly felt very real. Every missed dinner, every unanswered text while he was in the field, every night spent sleeping alone. Chris lifted a hand to your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “You okay?“ You nodded, leaning against his soft touch. But your eyes betrayed you. Because the truth was that seeing him standing here, safe and sound, made something in your chest ache.

Chris seemed to understand immediately. Without a word, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours. The simple gesture nearly undid you. “I came back.“ He said softly. The memory of that phone call flashed through your mind. You closed your eyes. “I know.“ His hand slipped into yours. You squeezed it tightly, as though reassuring yourself that he was really here. Not thousands of miles away, not on the other end of a phone. Here, with you. Chris smiled faintly, then he tilted your chin upward and kissed you. Slowly, like he had all the time in the world now that its safety stopped depending on him. Like he was memorizing you all over again.

The kiss deepened as your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt. Weeks apart melted away with every passing second, every unspoken worry, every lonely night, every fear that he'd never walk through that front door again. When you finally pulled apart, neither of you had moved very far. Chris rested his forehead against yours once more. A quiet laugh escaped him. “I don't think I made it past the living room.“ He admitted, looking around. “You lasted about thirty seconds.“ You laughed. “New record.“ He said before crashing his lips against yours again, hungrier this time. His slow steps guided you to your shared bedroom without breaking the kiss, tossing his jacket somewhere along the hallway, too busy with you to even care about it. The rest of the apartment faded behind you as you continued taking clumsy steps towards the room. For the first time in weeks, Chris was home, and neither of you intended to waste another second apart.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind you when you pulled apart. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Chris stood only a few steps away, his eyes fixed on yours as if he was still convincing himself you were really there. Not a voice through the phone, not a picture, not a memory. Just you, safe, waiting for him, and at home. The look on his face made your heart skip a beat. You crossed the distance again. His hands found your waist instantly, pulling you against him with a quiet exhale. The kiss that followed again was different from the one outside the room. Slow at first, tender, almost careful, like he was making up for every day he'd been gone. Your fingers slid into his hair, and Chris' eyes closed as he leaned into your touch. God, he'd missed this. Missed you, the familiar warmth of your body, the way you smiled against his lips, the way your hands always found him so naturally. Another kiss, then another, each one lingering a little longer than the last. The space between you disappeared completely the moment you both reached the bed. You could feel the steady beat of his heart rising beneath your palm. A soft laugh escaped you when Chris buried his face briefly against your neck, leaving soft kisses on your sensitive skin. “Missed me that much?“ His arms tightened around you. “You have no idea.“ The answer made you smile. Weeks apart had left both of you desperate for this closeness. Not just the physical distance, the emotional one too. The constant worry, the endless waiting, the fear that came every time he left for a mission. Tonight, none of that existed, there was only Chris, his hands, his voice, the way he looked at you like you were the best thing he'd ever come home to.

You brushed your thumb across his cheek. His gaze softened immediately. And for a moment, the room fell completely silent. The world outside stopped existing for a moment, just the two of you coexisting in your shared bed. Chris pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. A smile tugged at your lips. “You know,” you murmured, “I was starting to forget what you looked like.“ A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. “Liar.“ He said, burying his face in your neck again, nibbling the lobe of your ear. “Maybe a little.“ You teased. His eyes wrinkled at the corners. The feeling of his warm breath against your skin made your chest feel impossibly warm. You loved this version of him, the one only a handful of people ever saw. Not Captain Redfield, not the legendary soldier. Just Chris, the man who looked at you as though you hung the stars. His forehead rested against your once again. And neither of you needed to say anything. Some things didn't require words. The months ahead would bring changes neither of you could possibly imagine, but for now, all that mattered was that he was home and that, for one perfect night, the world beyond those four walls could wait.

His hand moved to your neck, pulling you into another soft kiss, while the other played with the hem of his t-shirt, which you used to wear for sleep. The warmth of his hand against your skin when he slipped his hand under the fabric made you shiver. Not because you were cold, but because you almost forgot what it felt like. With the kind of life you both had, you had much less time to feel each other like this than you'd like to admit. His lips moved back down, instantly finding your sweet spot on your neck and slightly sucking on it. You gasped at the feeling, earning a soft chuckle from him. “You've gotten more ticklish.“ He teased, gluing his lips to your skin once again. You just laughed, running your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. A shaky breath escaped your lips as he kept sucking on the same spot. You felt his grin get wider with every uneven breath you took, how he leaned impossibly closer against your body when you pulled him closer. The idea of having a baby with him becoming more and more present with every lingering kiss he left on your skin.

He pushed himself up for a brief second to remove his shirt. Your eyes were glued to his toned figure, admiring how beautifully the moonlight hit his muscles. “Like what you see?“ He teased with a small smirk, hovering back above you. “Quite a lot.“ You said without hesitation, prompting yourself up so he could take off your shirt as well. His lips immediately glued to your skin again, leaving wet kisses from your neck all the way down to your belly. “Chris…” You said with a thread of voice, tangling your fingers in his hair as he moved lower. He hummed in response. “You should lie down… You're tired…” You said, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes. He let out a soft chuckle. “Fine.“ He said, moving back up. “But just for now.“ He added, pressing his lips to yours as you shifted positions.

This time, your lips were the ones trailing wet kisses down his toned torso, your tongue following the perfect shape of his abs. He let out a quiet laugh as he looked down at you. “You know,” he quietly said, “I really missed this view.“ He said, his blue eyes holding so much lust as he saw you unbluckling his belt and removing his pants. “Me too.“ His breath hitched in his throat the moment he felt you wrap your hands around his hard member. You softly pumped it a few times, slow, tender, like you wanted him to enjoy every second of it. His head rested against the headboard, his chest starting to rise and fall more heavily than before. “You don't have to-.“ His sentence cut off the moment he felt the warmth of your mouth wrapping around him. “Fuck…” He barely managed to say. His voice came out rough, almost hoarse, with every groan he left out. His hand didn't take much time to reach your hair, removing it from your face. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes while you suck me.“ He said, his grip in your hair tightening into a ponytail. You obeyed him like you always did, fixing your eyes with his as you trailed his length with your tongue. You felt him getting closer to his climax the moment his groans became louder, and the grip in your hair tightened. “Y/N…” He called you. You absolutely loved hearing him call you like that. “Stop…” He said, pulling your hair slightly for you to stop sucking him. “Lie down, let me take care of you now.“ He said, already shifting in his spot, making some space for you to lie down.

As soon as your back was against the mattress, he was taking out your pants and underwear while kissing you. His movements were more desperate than they used to be before, showing how much he missed intimacy. “Just relax and breathe for me.“ He whispered into your ear as he moved his hand to your throbbing core. A loud, desperate moan escaped your lips before you could stop it when he slid one finger into your wet hole. “Good girl…” He said, burying his face into your chest and leaving love marks all over your chest. In other circumstances, you would have complained, saying you would have to cover up that mess for work the next day. But today, for some reason, you didn't really care. He introduced another finger shortly after, circling with his thumb on your clit while he played and sucked on your nipples. A trail of moans escaped your lips. His fingers were skilled through all the years you've been together, touching every perfect spot, moving at a perfect speed to make your legs weak in no time. “Don't come yet, baby, I haven't fucked you yet.“ He whispered, a small chuckle escaping his lips, seeing how needy you were for him. “Then do it already.“ You said, looking directly into his eyes. He swore you pierced his soul with that look. “God, you drive me crazy when you look at me like that.“ He said, pulling out his fingers from you and licking them clean.

He slowly moved fully on top of you, widening your legs so he could get in between them. The way he looked at you, holding so much adoration in his orbs, made your head spin. “Tell me if you want to stop, okay?“ He said before moving forward. You slightly nodded, already wrapping your legs around his waist. You could feel his hands firmly grabbing your hips in place, his tip teasing your entrance with soft brushes. Once he felt satisfied with your position, he leaned down above you, resting his weight on his elbows and looking at you directly into your eyes. “I want to see how good you feel when I am inside you.“ He added, still brushing your entrance with his tip. You slightly nodded, never breaking eye contact. His hands took yours, holding them tightly against the mattress, slightly above your head. He finally slowly slipped in, like he wanted you to feel every single inch of him filling you up. “Shh… Breathe babe… You're doing great.“ He whispered into your ear when he felt you desperately moving your hips against his, begging to get more friction. “Chris… please… go faster…” You begged as you felt him barely moving, melting inside you. “Look at me.“ He said, releasing his grip on one of your hands to take your chin and force you to lock your eyes with his. “Not yet, baby, I want to take my time with you tonight.“ He added, lowering himself and kissing you softly, rocking his hips ever so gently. “It feels so good… I can't take it…” You breathed against his lips, arching your back slightly. His hands moved to your hips as he went deeper. “I know exactly how it feels, babe. Stay still… Let me take control of this.“ He said. You felt him hitting the deepest spots inside you, making your mind blur with just one thought. You wanted him.

You finally gave in to his pace and control, grabbing his shoulders to keep your balance. “Yes… please…” You moaned into his neck. “That's it… just like that…” He whispered, finally moving slightly faster. “You feel so fucking good around me.“ He added, catching your lips and kissing them deeply. His hands stayed firmly on your hips as he felt the heat getting more unbearable. “You're doing great for me… but I can't keep it slow anymore…” He finally admitted, moving faster, deeper if that was even possible. “Please… don't hold back…” You breathed, gripping tighter at his broad shoulders. The room was filled with heavy pants, moans, low groans, and the rhythmic sound of your skin clapping with his. Chris thrusted deeper and faster with every thrust, groaning louder as he felt you tightening around him. “Good girl, lean your head back, baby.“ He said, brushing a hand through your head. You obeyed him, finally resting your head against the pillow. “Oh God… yes… just like that…” You moaned, digging your nails in his skin. “I've got you… Fuck you're so tight… I'm getting close.“ He admitted through heavy breaths, thrusting even faster. “Me too… Chris… fuck… I'm so close…” You said, seeing small white spots that signaled your climax getting closer with every sharp movement.

Then the thought crossed your mind again, and before you could stop it, you blurted it out. “Chris… Don't pull out… fill me, make us a baby…” You begged, completely unable to control yourself anymore. You felt his expression shift the moment he heard you say that. “Are you sure?“ You could feel the hesitation in the way he slightly slowed down his thrust. You took his face, looked at him with the most sincere look you could ever have, and begged him to come inside you. “Fuck… yeah, let's do it…” He said, finally losing his composure and grabbing your leg a bit up so that he could thrust deeper, making sure you'd get exactly what you wanted. A loud moan escaped you when you felt his load filling you deep inside as you came as well. It was probably the very first time you both felt so in sync, so in love with each other. When he pulled out, a massive emptiness invaded you as you felt his liquids mixed with yours spilling out.

Chris rolled over to your side, lying next to your body and pulling you closer immediately. You pressed your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat slowing under your cheek. He naturally drew random patterns against your soft skin, pulling the blankets over your bodies so you wouldn't get cold, leaving his legs intertwined with yours. “How are you feeling?“ He finally asked, breaking the silence. “Amazingly good.“ You whispered, cuddling further into his chest. “Chris…” You added, quieter this time. He hummed in response, moving slightly to see your face. “Do you think we did the correct thing?“ You asked, insecurity filling your chest at the thought of how impulsive you were when asking him to come inside you to have that baby you talked about weeks ago. His expression changed as soon as he saw that familiar insecurity reflected in the wrinkles forming in your frown. “Hey.“ He said, cupping your cheek. “We did it. Don't you dare think I regret a single second of what we've just done.“ He added, brushing his thumb against your skin before kissing you tenderly. “I believe you'll be a great mom.“ He whispered against your lips.

The next morning, Chris woke up before you did. For once, there were no alarms, no mission briefings, no urgent call waiting on his phone. Just silence. Soft November morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. For a few moments, he simply lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing, the distant hum of traffic outside, and the comforting warmth of your body beside his. A small smile tugged at his lips. Carefully, Chris turned onto his side. You were still asleep, one arm tucked beneath your pillow, hair spread across the sheets, completely unaware that he was watching you. Not for the first time, he wondered how he'd gotten this lucky. His gaze drifted across your face, then lower, and stopped. A faint trail of red and purple marks decorated the side of your neck and the area of your collarbone and chest. Chris blinked a couple of times, flashes of last night playing vividly in the back of his mind. Then, he immediately buried his face in the pillow to hide a laugh at the memory of last night. The reunion, the kisses, weeks of missing each other, finally catching up with them. When he looked back at you, the marks were still there, very obvious, very much his fault. “Oh, I'm never hearing the end of this…” He muttered under his breath between soft chuckles. You stirred slightly but didn't wake. Your husband's smile only grew wider. His hand found yours beneath the sheets. Your fingers instinctively curled around his, even in your sleep. The gesture hit him harder than it should have, something warm settled in his chest. The kind of happiness he'd spent most of his life convinced wasn't meant for him.

For years, he'd accepted that duty would always come first, that there wasn't room for anything else. Yet here you were, half asleep, holding his hand without even realizing it and, probably, carrying the beginning of a brighter future inside you. And somehow that felt more important than anything waiting for him outside the room. Chris glanced towards the ceiling. A quiet laugh escaped him, then he shook his head. The grin on his face was impossible to suppress. If anyone from the BSAA could see him now, they'd never let him live it down. Captain Chris Redfield, decorated soldier, veteran, reduced to smiling like an idiot before breakfast. And to be honest, he didn't care, not even a little.

A month went by fast. From time to time, baby conversations were brought up between both of you as you kept trying to create a new life. And at some point, by mid-December, you started to feel the changes. The first thing you noticed was the smell of coffee, the second was that Christmas cookies suddenly made you want to throw up. You frowned. That wasn't normal, you've always loved them to the point that Chris had to physically remove them from your reach so you wouldn't eat the whole jar at once. Over the past week, little things had started adding up. The exhaustion, the nausea, the way certain foods seemed unbearable. At first, you blamed stress, then the holidays, then a stomach bug. Until one particular realization hit you while staring at the calendar hanging in the kitchen. Your eyes widened. “Oh.“ The possibility followed you for the rest of the day, and the next, and the next. Until eventually, curiosity got the better of you. Which was how you found yourself standing alone in the bathroom on Christmas Eve morning, staring at a test, waiting. Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure the entire house could hear it. A few seconds passed, then a minute, and finally, positive.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. You simply stared, blinking, reading it again, and again, and again. An incredulous laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Followed immediately by tears. “Oh my God.“ Your hand flew to your mouth. Positive, you were pregnant. You and Chris were having a baby. The thought felt impossible, wonderful, terrifying, and perfect, all at the same time. You sat at the edge of the bathtub, staring down at the test while a thousand thoughts raced through your mind. A baby, Chris was going to be a father. The realization made you smile through your happy tears. He was going to lose his mind. By the time you left the bathroom, a plan had already formed in your head. One that required a gift box, a marker, and a tremendous amount of self-control. The next twenty-four hours were torture. You somehow survived Christmas Eve dinner at Claire's place with everyone, the movie afterwards, opening matching pyjamas when you got back home, and even Chris wrapping an arm around your shoulders while you sat together on the couch before going to bed. Every time he smiled at you, you nearly blurted everything out. But somehow, you managed to keep the secret. Just until morning.

Christmas Day arrived far too slowly. The living room glowed beneath the lights of the tree. Wrapping paper covered half of the floor. Chris sat cross-legged on the rug beside you, coffee in hand and looking far more relaxed than he ever did at work. For once, there were no missions, no emergencies, no responsibilities. Just Christmas and family. Your heart hammered inside your chest. The small gift box sat beside your leg, waiting. Chris finally noticed it. “What's that?“ You smiled. “One more present.“ His eyebrow lifted. “You said we were done.“ He frowned, taking the small box from your hands. “Maybe I lied.“ You giggled. “Open it.“ You added softly. The suspicious look he gave you nearly made you laugh. Still, he carefully peeled back the wrapping paper. Then lifted the lid. The smile on his face disappeared instantly, not because he was upset but because his brain stopped working. Inside the box sat the positive pregnancy test, across it, written in black marker: 'Hey, Dad! ❤' The room fell silent for a few long seconds. Chris stared, his coffee forgotten on the table. You could practically see the gears turning inside his head. One second, two, three. His eyes slowly lifted towards yours. Then back at the box. Then back at you. “…Dad?“ You laughed through nervous tears threatening at the corner of your eyes. “Yeah…” Another long pause followed. The realization finally hit. Hard. You watched it happen in real time. Shock, disbelief, and then pure overwhelming happiness. “Wait.“ His voice cracked slightly. “You're pregnant?“ You nodded. “Why do you think I didn't drink any alcohol last night at your sister's?“ The biggest smile you'd ever seen spread across his face.

For a second, he looked completely speechless. Which was honestly more shocking than the positive test itself. “Chris?“ A breathless laugh escaped him. Then another. And suddenly, he was moving. Pulling you into his arms so quickly that you barely had time to react. You laughed as he buried his face against your shoulder. “Oh my God.“ The words sounded almost disbelieving, like he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to be this happy. “We're having a baby.“ Tears finally escaped your eyes. “Yeah.“ Chris pulled back just enough to look at you. His own eyes were suspiciously bright. A grin stretched across his face, the kind that made him look years younger. “We're having a baby.“ He repeated again, just to hear it, just to make it real. And when he laughed this time, it sounded brighter than any Christmas morning either of you could remember.

The rest of Christmas Day passed in a blur. Somehow, neither of you stopped smiling. Every conversation seemed to circle back to the same thing, the baby. Your baby. Chris couldn't stop saying it. Each time, the grin returned to his face as if he was hearing the news for the first time all over again. You spent the afternoon curled together on the couch beneath a blanket, talking about possibilities. What the nursery might look like, whether the baby would inherit your eyes or Chris', and whether they would be stubborn. “That's definitely your side of the family.“ You immediately threw a pillow at him. The resulting laughter echoed throughout the apartment. For the first time in a very long time, everything felt simple, normal, and happy.

By evening, the Christmas lights still glowed softly around the apartment. Half-opened presents remained scattered across the floor. And despite insisting you weren't tired, you'd fallen asleep against Chris long before midnight. Not that he'd minded. He carried you to bed with a smile, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and watched you settle comfortably beneath the blankets. Pregnant. The thought still didn't feel real. Yet every time he looked at you, warmth spread through his chest, thinking about you, his wife, his family, and his baby. Everything he'd spent years convincing himself he didn't need and everything he would now do absolutely anything to protect.

At 03:07am, Chris was still awake. He stared at the ceiling, then rolled onto his side, then onto his back, and then onto his side again. Sleep refused to come because every time he closed his eyes, another thought appeared. Doctor appointments, baby-proofing, cribs, car seats, pregnancy complications, mission schedules, the possibility of being deployed while you were pregnant, the possibility of not being there when you needed him, the possibility of-. Chris groaned quietly and rubbed a hand down his face. Great, he was already panicking. Careful not to wake you, he slipped from the bed. The apartment was dark and silent, the only light came from the Christmas tree still glowing faintly in the living room. Without really thinking about where he was going, he found himself heading towards his office. The familiar room offered little comfort tonight.

He sank into his desk chair and stared blankly at the paperwork scattered across the surface. Normally, work helped him focus. Tonight, it only made everything worse. A tiny, completely helpless human being depending on him. The realization was both wonderful and absolutely terrifying. Instinctively, he reached for his phone. Rebecca would know what to do. Rebecca always knew what to do. His thumb hovered over her contact. Then he glanced at the clock. 03:14am. Chris sighed. “Right.“ Rebecca would murder him. Slowly lowering the phone, he leaned back in his chair. Silence filled the room once more. For several minutes, he simply stayed there, thinking, worrying, planning. Until his gaze drifted across the office and stopped. A framed photograph sat on one of the shelves. Chris hadn't looked at it in weeks. Maybe months. Yet he recognized it immediately. Him and Piers. The picture had been taken years ago. Neither of them looked particularly happy about being photographed. Piers was halfway through saying something, and Chris looked thoroughly unimpressed. It had always made him laugh. Tonight, however, something else tightened in his chest.

Without thinking, he stood and picked up the frame. The smile came before he could stop it. “You would've gone crazy about this.“ The words escaped quietly into the empty room. For a moment, he could almost hear the response. Something about Chris being too old to be a father, a beg to let him take his place in the BSAA so that he could retire and have a happy life with his family, maybe a joke. The thought made him huff out a laugh. Chris lowered himself back into the chair. The photograph remained in his hands. His thumb brushed absentmindedly across the edge of the frame. The room felt strangely smaller, filled with memories. Chris has carried the weight of everyone he'd lost. Some losses faded, and others never truly left. Piers belonged firmly in the second category ever since he sacrificed himself to save Chris a bit more than two years ago. The ache was still sharp, still present, still missed.

The briefing resumed, but it blurred into background noise. Coordinates, hostile presence, extraction point. Words that meant danger but never fully captured what that actually looked like when it happened. Leon listened like he always did. Focused, unreadable. But you knew him well enough to catch the smallest tells. The slight tension in his jaw, the way his thumb tapped once against the folder and then stopped, like he'd caught himself doing it. And something strange you've never seen before underneath all of it. When the mission parameters were finalized, the room began to be cleaned in pieces. Chairs scraped, papers were gathered, people left in pairs, in clusters, in silence. You stayed, so did he. For a moment, it was just the two of you and the echo of everyone else leaving. “You sticking close this time.“ Leon said, finally. It wasn't a question. “I always do.“ You tilted your head slightly. “That's not what I mean.“ You met his gaze. He looked tired in a way sleep never fixed. Not exhaustion from the mission ahead, but from everything before it, everything that had trained him to expect loss before arrival.

“I can handle myself.“ You said. “I know,” he replied immediately. No hesitation. That wasn't the issue. A pause stretched between you, thick and unspoken. Then he stepped closer, just enough that his voice dropped, meant only for you. “I don't like the feeling I get when I can't see you.“ He admitted. It was quiet, almost irritated with himself for saying it. You almost smiled, but it didn't fully land. “You're not going to lose me in there.“ He held your gaze for a second longer than necessary, like he was trying to memorize something he already hated imagining forgetting. “Yeah,” he said finally, lower this time. “That's what I keep telling myself.“ A radio crackled somewhere down the hall. Footsteps approached, signaling it was time. Leon reached out, not fully nor dramatically, just enough to catch your hand for a brief second. A touch that no one else would have noticed unless they were looking for it. His grip was steady, controlled, but not completely. “Stay close,” he said again. And then, after a pause that felt heavier than the entire briefing combined: “Please.“ You squeezed his hand once before letting go and nodded with the faintest smile. Outside, the world was already waiting to fall apart.

The air outside the facility felt wrong the moment you stepped into it, too still, too clean for something already infected with tension. The sky had that washed-out grey-blue that made everything look temporary, like the world itself was waiting for something to go wrong before committing to the day. Leon moved ahead of you by half a step, like he always did when he wasn't trying to show it. His hand stayed near his weapon, but his attention kept flicking back, subtle, automatic, like he was checking you were still there without making it obvious. The rest of the team spread out around you. Chris was already scanning the perimeter, all sharp angles and discipline, the kind of focus that made it look like he trusted the world only when he had it in his sights. Jill walked slightly to his side, quieter but not less alert, her eyes moving like she was reading a language everyone else had forgotten how to speak. And Claire stayed a little further back than the rest, not because she was weaker, but because she was watching people as much as she was watching the environment.

It should've felt controlled, professional, balanced. It didn't. Leon slowed just enough for you to fall into step beside him. Not behind, not ahead. Beside. “You're quiet.“ He said under his breath. “You're one to talk.“ You replied. A faint exhale, almost a laugh, but it never fully formed. Ahead of you, the entrance to the site loomed. Broken fencing, emergency lights still blinking like they hadn't been told the situation was already over. Somewhere inside, something moved that didn't belong there. Chris raised a hand slightly. The signal for stop. Everyone froze. Leon's body shifted instantly, subtle but immediate. The change from 'walking' to 'ready' was so practiced that it looked more like instinct than thought. His gaze locked forward. “Movement inside.“ Chris said, voice low. Jill adjusted her stance without a sound, weapon angled but not raised fully yet. Claire's hand tightened on her gear strap. Leon leaned just slightly towards you again, voice barely audible. “Stay with me.“ You didn't answer, you didn't need to.

The moment Chris gave the signal to proceed, everything tightened. Footsteps entered the structure. The first sound inside wasn't a scream. It was something worse, wet, uneven breathing that didn't match anything human should sound like anymore. Leon moved first when the door gave way. Of course he did. Inside, the world changed. Light broke into harsh strips through cracked windows, cutting the room into pieces. Shadows didn't sit still, they shifted, wrong and twitching. The smell hit before the danger became visible, something humid and sticky. Chris took point left, Jill, right, and Claire covered the rear angles. And you stayed with Leon, exactly where he had asked you to be.

For the first few minutes, it was almost manageable. Controlled bursts of movement, clean shots, communication in fragments. “Left corridor clear.“ “Two contacts down.“ “Moving up.“ Leon stayed close enough that you could feel him adjusting his position to keep you within reach without ever slowing the team. It was subtle, strategic, hidden in plain sight. Then the structure changed. Something deeper inside reacted. A sound echoed through the hallway ahead. Not footsteps, not human. Jill turned her head slightly. “That's not infected movement.“ Chris didn't answer, but his grip tightened. Leon's voice dropped lower, sharper now. “Whatever's in there… It's organized.“ That was the first real shift. Not panic but recognition. The realization that this wasn't just another containment failure, it was something that had already adapted. And as you moved deeper, the spacing between you and Leon began to tighten without either of you agreeing to it. Like gravity was doing it for you. He didn't say it again, but you could feel it in the way his shoulder kept angling towards you. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me. And the deeper you went, the more it stopped sounding like a request.

The hallway had felt too narrow before it happened, like the building itself was slowly closing its fist around all of you. Light flickered overhead in uneven pulses, turning every movement into something fractured, too fast, too sharp, too easy to misread. Leon was just ahead of you, angled slightly left as he cleared the next corner. His voice had started to form your name, half warning, half instinct. But he never finished it. The shot came clean. No warning crack that your brain registered in time, no dramatic build-up. Just impact. A single precise force hitting your chest and stealing the air out of your body before you even understood you had been hit.

For a fraction of a second, you didn't feel pain. Just disbelief. Then your knees started to fail you. “-No.“ Leon's voice broke instantly, like something inside him had snapped clean in half. You stumbled back into the wall, your hand moving instinctively to your chest. Warmth spread fast, too fast. It wasn't gradual, it was immediate, soaking through fabric, slipping between your fingers when you tried to press down. Somewhere to your left, you heard movement. Chris shouting an order, Jill firing back into the darkness, Claire calling your name. But it all sounded far away, underwater. The world narrowed to one thing: Leon reaching you. He was there so fast it didn't even feel real. One moment, he was clearing angles, the next one, he was in front of you, catching you before you hit the ground completely.

His hands came to you immediately, one behind your back, one pressing where your own hand was already shaking. “No, no, no… Stay with me.“ He said, voice rising in a way you had never heard from him. Not command, not control. Just panic, raw and unfiltered. You tried to speak, but it came out broken. Air, blood, and something you couldn't organize into words. Leon looked down at his hand for half a second, then froze when he saw how quickly it was getting worse. That was the moment his control finally cracked. “Chris!“ he shouted, and it wasn't just a call for help. It was a demand. “We need extraction NOW!“ Chris' voice answered somewhere in the chaos, but Leon wasn't really listening anymore. His focus has collapsed entirely onto you. “Look at me,” he said, forcing your face towards him with shaking hands. “Hey… Hey, stay with me, okay? You're not… You're not allowed to-.“ His sentence broke. Because there was nothing tactical left in him now. Only fear.

Your vision blurred at the edges. The corridor behind him flickered in and out of focus, the sounds of gunfire, movement, orders. It all faded under something heavier. Leon pressed harder on your chest, like he could physically hold you together if he tried enough. “You're okay,“ he said, but it didn't sound like he believed it. “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay… Just breathe, just-.“ His voice lowered suddenly, breaking into something quieter. Almost desperate. “I've got you.“ But his hands were shaking too much to make it true.

The corridor had turned into controlled chaos. Gunfire still echoed somewhere deeper in the structure, but for you, everything had narrowed to breath, pressure, and the feeling of Leon refusing to let go of you. His arms were locked around you, one hand still pressing hard against your chest as if sheer force of will could stop what was already slipping away. “Extraction route is compromised,” Chris said sharply through the comms, voice tight but controlled. “We move on foot to the secondary exit. Now.“ That word 'now' hit differently for Leon. Because he didn't move. He didn't even look away from you when Chris spoke. “Negative.“ Leon said immediately. It wasn't hesitation, it wasn't discussion. It was a refusal. A pause stretched between you. Chris' voice came again, lower this time. “Leon, we don't have time for this. She's injured, but if we don't move the team-.“ “She's not injured.“ Leon cut in, sharper than before. His grip tightened slightly around you, like the word itself had insulted him. “She's bleeding out. Choking on her own blood.“ Silence crackled through the channel. Even in the distance, you could hear the shift. Jill stopping fire for half a second, Claire's voice cutting off mid-callout. The entire team feeling the fracture in command.

Chris stepped into view at the end of the corridor, weapon still raised, posture still perfect. Professional, controlled. Everything Leon wasn't being anymore. His eyes dropped to you once, then back to Leon. “Leon,” Chris said, slower now. “I understand. But if we stay, we lose everyone.“ That word again. Everyone. Like it included you in a category instead of a person. Leon laughed once, short, broken, almost disbelieving. “You're talking like she's already gone.“ He huffed. “Don't do that,” Chris warned. He didn't sound angry or cold, just tired of losing people in different ways. Leon finally looked up at him. And the expression on his face was nothing like the man who had walked into the mission. “This isn't a negotiation. I'm not leaving her behind.“ Leon said quietly. Chris didn't move. “It is when I'm in command of extraction.“ That was the moment everything stopped being tactical. Leon shifted his weight slightly, still holding you against him, and the change in his tone was immediate, lower, heavier, dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with enemies in the building. “Then take me off your command structure,” he said. Chris blinked once. “Leon-.“ “I'm getting her out,” Leon continued, voice breaking at the edges but steady in intent. “Alive. Or I'm not leaving.“ A beat of silence. Jill's voice came through the comms softly, almost carefully. “Chris…” Claire didn't speak at all. She didn't need to.

Chris looked at Leon for a moment. Not as a soldier, not as an agent. Just as someone who understood exactly what it meant to lose someone and still keep walking afterwards. “Leon,” Chris said finally, quieter. “You can't save her if you die here.“ Leon didn't respond immediately. He looked down at you instead. His hand trembled slightly where it pressed against you, as if he was fighting his own body to stay steady. When he spoke again, it wasn't to Chris. It was to you. “Hey,” he said softly, like the world outside the two of you had stopped existing. “You hear me? I'm getting you out. You're not allowed to leave just yet, okay?“ A pause. His forehead almost touched yours. “I need you to stay with me.“ Behind him, Chris exhaled slowly. The kind of breath that meant a decision was being made that no one would like later. “Fine,” Chris said at last. “We move. But we move now. And Leon-.“ Leon didn't look up. “I know,” he said. But he didn't sound like he agreed. He sounded like someone who had already decided what price he was willing to pay.

The extraction didn't feel like a victory. It felt like losing in a different location. By the time they got you out, everything outside the facility was too bright, too open, and normal for what was happening in the middle of it. The kind of daylight that didn't respect grief. A field medical tent had been set up fast, fabric snapping in the wind, equipment already inside waiting for outcomes it probably wouldn't like. Leon barely let go of you when they took you from his arms. It only happened because someone physically separated him. “Mr. Kennedy, we need space-.“ He didn't hear the rest. Or didn't process it. His hands hovered in the air for a second after you were gone, like his body hadn't been told the truth yet. Inside the tent, the world disappeared behind canvas walls and sharp medical commands. “Blood pressure dropping.“ “Airway compromised.“ “Get me adrenaline, now!“ And then another familiar voice broke into the chaos. “Move her here—no, here. I need suction. Keep pressure on the wound.“ Rebecca said. She didn't look up much, she couldn't afford to. But she was already fighting something that didn't want to be fought anymore.

Outside, Leon stood frozen just beyond the entrance flap. He could hear everything. His hands were still stained in your blood, still shaking, still useless. Behind him, footsteps approached. Chris stopped a few meters away. Neither of them spoke for a moment. It was Chris who broke it first. “She's in good hands.“ He said quietly. It didn't really sound like a promise, just reality as he could frame it. Leon didn't look at him. “I had her in my hands.“ He mumbled. Chris didn't respond immediately. There wasn't a good answer to that. Silence stretched again, heavy with everything neither of them wanted to name. Then Chris spoke again. “You did everything you could.“ That sentence landed wrong. Leon finally turned his head slightly, just enough for Chris to see his face. “That's the problem,” Leon said. “It wasn't enough.“ Before Chris could answer, the tent flap moved sharply. Rebecca stepped out. Her gloves were still stained, her expression wasn't dramatic, but it was controlled in the way only doctors get when they've already crossed past optimism. She looked at Chris first, then at Leon. “It's not looking good…” She quietly said. No euphemism, no cushioning. Just truth.

Leon moved before he even realized he had. Inside the tent, the air felt smaller. Everything sounded further away except the machines. You were there, barely. Too still, too pale, too far gone in a way that didn't match how recently you had been talking, breathing, fighting. Rebecca didn't stop him when he approached. She just stepped slightly aside, still watching the monitors like they might change their minds the moment you saw Leon. He sat beside you. Careful, like touching you wrong might make it worse. Or like it mattered anymore. His hand found yours. And for a second, he just held on. “Hey…” he said softly. His voice broke on the first syllable, so he stopped before trying again. “I'm here.“ Your eyes flickered barely. But enough that something inside him snapped between relief and terror. “Dont-.“ He started, then swallowed. “Don't leave me like this.“ His thumb brushed your knuckles, slow, trembling. “I was going to tell you…” He whispered. A pause too long invaded the atmosphere. His breath hitched. “I love you.“ It came out like it had been trapped behind everything he'd ever survived. Your fingers twitched slightly in his. And Leon leaned closer, forehead almost touching yours, like he could anchor you there just by refusing to move. “I love you.“ He repeated, quieter this time. “I love you. Please just… just stay a little longer.“

The tent had gone quiet in the way nothing living ever would. Even the machines seemed unsure of themselves now, less sharp, less certain, like they were trying to soften the truth before anyone had to say it out loud. Leon didn't notice the silence at first. He was still holding your hand, still counting your hitched breath without meaning to, still leaning in like proximity alone could keep you here. “Hey…” He whispered again, because repetition had become the only thing keeping him upright. “You're still with me, right?“ His thumb brushed your knuckles. “Just… stay with me. Please.“ Behind him, Rebecca moved quietly between monitors. Not rushed anymore, not fighting in the same way she was minutes before. Just adjusting, confirming, watching. She didn't interrupt. That was what scared him most. Leon leaned closer, forehead finally resting on yours. “I didn't get to say everything,” he said, voice breaking under the weight of it. “I was going to… I was going to take you home. I was going to-.“ He stopped because your fingers had stopped responding properly. Not fully gone but fading out of rhythm. “Hey,” he said again, sharper. “Hey, look at me.“ Your eyes were barely open. But they were on him. That was worse because you were still trying. Still here in the only way you could manage. Leon exhaled shakily, a sound that didn't belong to a trained soldier anymore, tears finally falling as he allowed himself to feel. “I love you…” He said again, like he could force the world to remember it. “I've always had… Please don't leave me…”

After a small pause, your lips moved slightly. Nothing came out. He leaned in immediately, desperate, like the distance of a breath was too much to risk. “What? What is it? Talk to me, please.“ Your fingers tightened once, like all the energy left in your body was used to make that tiny movement possible. Like you were trying to hold on to the sound of him. And then he saw it. A tear. Slow, unsteady. Not from pain nor fear, something deeper. Something human that was trying to surface at the very end when there wasn't enough time left to say it properly. It slid down the corner of your eye before their light faded into something darker, emptier. And that was when Leon broke. “No…” he whispered, like denying it could still change physics. “No, no, no… don't—don't do this.“ He pressed your hand harder against his chest, like he could physically stop the moment from happening if he held on tight enough. “I didn't get to hear it,” he choked out on his own cry. “I didn't get to hear you say it.“

The monitor shifted tone behind him, flatlining into something that no longer cared about hope. Rebecca's voice was soft when it came, slightly unsteady. “Time of death…” But Leon didn't hear the numbers. He only felt your hand go still in his. Like the world had decided, without asking him, that this was the moment you stopped being someone who could answer back. He stared at your face, waiting. Like if he waited long enough, you'd finish the sentence you never got to say. His voice dropped to something almost inaudible. “…I love you.“ He said one more time, but it wasn't a confession anymore. It was a promise he couldn't return to you. And the tear on your cheek was still there when he finally realized you weren't coming back to finish it.

The sky over the cemetery was dull in a way that felt almost intentional, like even the weather didn't want to draw attention to what was happening below it. Everything was too quiet. Not peaceful, just emptied out. A small group stood gathered near the fresh earth, close enough to show respect, far enough not to intrude on something none of them could fix. Leon stood slightly apart from them. Not because anyone had told him to. Because he couldn't stand being closer. The coffin was already lowered. That part had happened while he wasn't fully present. Time had blurred, fractured into fragments of conversations he hadn't answered and movements he hadn't controlled. Someone spoke nearby, words about service, sacrifice, loss, but they didn't land. They passed through him like wind through something hollow. He wasn't looking at anything except the ground. At the place where you were further away than distance could ever explain. Behind him, he could sense the others. Chris stood with his arms crossed, not out of indifference, but because stillness was the only way he knew how to contain grief without letting it spill. Jill stood quietly beside him, head slightly bowed, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The kind of silence she wore was familiar, too many names, too many endings. Claire was further back, hands clasped tightly in front of her, jaw set in a way that suggested she was holding something together by force. None of them approached Leon. They didn't know how. Or maybe they knew better than to try.

A final bit of soil was placed over the grave. The sound was soft, too soft for something permanent. Leon finally moved. Slowly, like his body was remembering how gravity worked. He stepped forward until he was standing right at the edge of the grave. No speech, no ceremony, no performance of strength left to give. Just him. He crouched slightly, fingers brushing the edge of the earth as if checking whether it was real. It was. Of course it was. His hand stayed there longer than it should have. “I keep thinking…” he started, voice rough, barely holding shape, “that you're going to call my name.“ Silence answered him. Not even the wind contradicted him. He swallowed hard. “I keep waiting for it,” he admitted, almost like he was ashamed of it. “Like I just… missed you walking away somewhere.“ His fingers tightened slightly against the dirt. “But you don't walk away,” he said quietly. “That's the part I can't-.“ He stopped. Because there wasn't a version of that sentence that ended without breaking him further. Behind him, someone shifted, but no one interrupted. Leon exhaled shakily. “I was supposed to tell you everything,” he said. “I did tell you, but I… I didn't get to hear you say it back.“ A pause. Long enough that it almost became unbearable. Then, softer, almost disappearing into itself: “You left me mid-sentence.“ His shoulders tightened, but he didn't cry loudly. It wasn't that kind of grief anymore. It was quieter.

Leon remained at the edge of the grave long after, the fresh earth sat untouched beneath him. Permanent, unfair, real. For a moment, he simply stared at it. Then his hand disappeared into the pocket of his jacket. When it emerged again, he was holding a small black box. His grip tightened around it instantly. Like, part of him regretted taking it out. Like part of him couldn't stop. The weight of it had followed him for weeks. Through briefings, through flights, through quiet mornings beside you. Through every moment he'd spent trying to find the right time. He had planned everything. Not perfectly, just enough. A dinner when the two of you finally had time to breathe, a nervous laugh when he inevitably forgot what he'd rehearsed, your smile, the answer he already hoped he knew. His thumb brushed over the edge of the box. Slowly, carefully. Then he opened it. The ring sat exactly where he had left it. Wating. Leon stared at it for so long that the silence around him became unbearable. Behind him, nobody spoke. Not Chris, who helped him choose the ring, not Jill, who convinced your superior to give you a day off the same day as Leon's, not Claire, who agreed on keeping the secret from you, even though she was too excited to not say it. Because suddenly, there was nothing left to say. His jaw tightened. And for the first time that day, his composure broke completely. Not because you were gone, not because he had watched you die, but because you would never know. You would never know that he had cosen you. That he had carried your future around in his pocket. That every plan he had made beyond the next mission had started and ended with you.

A shaky breath escaped him. “You would've said yes,” he whispered. It wasn't arrogance, it wasn't certainty. It was grief. The kind that invented conversations because reality no longer allowed them. His eyes dropped back to the ring. “I would've asked after the mission, in that restaurant you always loved.“ His voice cracked. A small, broken smile appeared for barely a second. “And you would've told me my timing was terrible.“ The smile disappeared just as quickly. Because there would be no laughter, no proposal, no wedding, no future with you. Only a ring that would never leave its box. Leon closed it carefully and held it against his chest for a moment. As if he was mourning something beyond your death. Not just like the life you had shared. The life you never got to have. Then, after a long silence, he slipped the box back into his pocket and walked away carrying both of you for a little longer.

The path to the cemetery had become familiar in a way Leon never admitted out loud. Not because it got easier. Because repetition was the only thing that still kept the days from collapsing into each other. The sky was the same kind of grey it always seemed to be when he came here, soft, indifferent, like the world had long stopped taking notes on his life. Leon walked slowly, hands occupied. Two coffee cups in one hand. Still warm, careful not to spill. A small bouquet on the other. Your favorite flowers. He never forgot, he never allowed himself to. By the time he reached the grave, he didn't hesitate. That was the strangest part now. He just… arrived. Like it was a routine he had learned too well. He set the coffees down first, one slightly closer to where he always sat, the other placed as if you might still reach for it out of habit. Then the flowers, always carefully. “I still don't know if you'd approve of the coffee I bring you,” he said quietly, almost conversational, like you might answer back if he spoke the right way. “You used to say I made it too strong.“ A faint breath left him, something between a laugh and something heavier. He sat down beside the grave, not quite on the ground anymore, but not fully apart from it either. “I keep thinking,” he continued, voice softer now, “that when I go home… you're going to be there.“ He stared forward for a moment, unfocused. “And you'll be mad at me,” he added, a little more honestly. “Because I left the dishes from breakfast again.“ A pause. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the coffee cup. “But you're not,” he said. No emotion in the words at first. Just a fact. Then it cracked. “And I still forget that part,” he admitted. “Every time I open the door.“ Silence settled again. Not empty, just full of everything he wasn't saying fast enough. Leon exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly on his hands. “I used to think the worst part would be losing you,” he said. He swallowed before continuing, like the words felt like thorns piercing through his throat as they came out. “It's not.“ His eyes lowered. “It's everything after.“ A long pause followed, the kind that stretched until it felt like it might swallow sound entirely. Then, quieter, almost like he was afraid to give the words too much weight: “I think about what I never said properly,” he continued. “And I keep coming back to the same thing.“ He glanced down at the grave, as if you might still be there listening in the only way that remained possible. “It was always there,” he said softly. “I just never said it enough.“ His voice steadied slightly, like he was holding himself in place with effort. “I love you,” he said again, like he was trying to say it as many times as he could to compensate for all the times he didn't say it. “And I always will.“

A small smile pulled at your lips. Of course, he had. Leon's wife had been practically begging you to come meet the baby ever since Sammy had been born two months ago, though Chris had somehow managed to avoid it every single time. Work excuses, missions, 'bad timing'. The usual. Apparently, they had finally succeeded. You leaned against the counter, rereading the note for a second before letting out a quiet laugh under your breath. The idea of Chris Redfield holding a two-month-old baby was almost impossible to picture. Almost. You could already imagine the stiff posture, the panic hidden behind his serious expression, the way Leon was probably making fun of him the entire time. Shaking your head fondly, you folded the note again and placed it back where you found it before heading towards the bedroom to change out of your work clothes. Still, somewhere in the back of your mind, curiosity lingered. You wondered how Chris was handling it.

Meanwhile, in Leon's place, Chris was fighting to survive the cuteness aggression of the little boy. (Read interaction here)

You heard the front door unlock a little after nine. At first, it was just the familiar sound of heavy boots against the floor, followed by the soft clink of keys being dropped into the bowl by the entrance while he removed his boots with a tired sigh. Then came silence again, long enough for you to glance up from the book resting in your lap. “Chris?“ You called from the couch. “Yeah.“ His voice sounded distant, distracted. A second later, he appeared in the hallway, shoulders tense beneath his dark jacket, exhaustion written all over his face. There was something strangely blank about his expression, like his mind was still somewhere else entirely. Your brows pulled together slightly. “You okay?“ You asked. “Mm.“ He nodded once, already shrugging off his jacket. “Long day.“ It wasn't technically a lie, but you knew Chris well enough to hear when he was avoiding something.

Still, you didn't push. Instead, you watched him disappear into the bedroom before hearing the bathroom door close moments later. The shower started running soon after. You tucked your legs underneath yourself on the couch, eyes drifting towards the hallway thoughtfully. Usually, after seeing Leon, Chris came home irritated in an almost affectionate way, complaining about Leon's jokes, about how chaotic the apartment was, about how sleep-deprived he looked. Tonight, though? Nothing. Just silence. Nearly twenty minutes later, Chris finally reappeared. His hair was still damp from the shower, short dark strands falling messily over his forehead. He'd changed into gray sweatpants and an old black t-shirt that clung slightly to his shoulders, the fabric still wrinkled from being pulled on too quickly. Chris was still unusually quiet. You noticed something was clouding his mind the second he dropped onto the couch beside you, staring blankly ahead like he was somewhere else. “So?“ You asked softly. “How was Sammy?“ A small smile appeared on his face before he could stop it. “He's…” Chris exhaled quietly. “He's tiny.“ You laughed under your breath, but his expression never changed. If anything, he looked almost thoughtful. Emotional, even. “Leon looked happy…” He admitted quietly after a moment. The words caught you off guard slightly. Chris wasn't looking at you at all. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere around the TV in front of you, his arm resting along the back of the couch behind you while his thumb tapped absently against the rough fabric. “He looked exhausted, too, didn't he?” You teased slightly. That finally pulled the faintest huff of amusement from him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “He did.“

Silence settled between you again, soft and comfortable at first. But then it stretched. And stretched. You glanced towards him carefully. There was something different about him tonight. Something subtle you couldn't quite place. Not upset, not angry, just… distant. Like part of him had stayed behind in Leon's apartment. “You sure you're okay?“ You asked more quietly this time. Chris blinked, finally turning his head towards you like he'd almost forgotten you were there. “Yeah,” he said automatically. You raised an unconvinced eyebrow. His gaze lingered on you for a second before he sighed softly, leaning back further into the couch. “I don't know,” he admitted under his breath. And somehow, hearing him say that so honestly made your chest tighten a little.

By the time the two of you started making dinner, you were sure of one thing. Something was definitely going on with your husband. It showed in the little things at first. The way he stood leaning against the kitchen counter longer than usual, staring blankly at the vegetables you'd just handed him like he'd forgotten what he was supposed to do with them, the way you had to repeat his name twice before he finally looked at you. “Chris?“ He hummed in response. “You're holding the knife upside down.“ His eyes flickered downward. “…Right.“ A quiet laugh escaped you as he corrected his grip, though concern still tugged at the edges of your chest. That was not normal. Chris was always focused, always aware. Even after exhausting missions, he carried himself with a kind of automatic alertness that never really disappeared. But today, for some reason, everything was different.

You moved around the kitchen beside him, opening cabinets and grabbing ingredients while soft music played quietly from your phone on the counter. Usually, cooking together ended with Chris teasing you, stealing bites of food straight from the pan, pulling you against him whenever you walked too close. Tonight, he barely spoke. And every time he did, the conversation somehow circled back to Sammy. “Leon looked terrible.“ He muttered while stirring the pasta absentmindedly. You snorted softly. “Well, newborns don't exactly let you sleep.“ Chris hummed quietly. “He still looked happy.“ There it was again. You glanced at him carefully. Chris stood in front of the stove with rolled-up sleeves and damp hair still falling over his forehead, his broad shoulders tense beneath the black shirt stretched across his back. But his expression had softened into something unusually thoughtful. Almost vulnerable. “You really liked him, huh?“ You asked gently. His mouth twitched slightly. “He didn't want us to leave.“ The answer was so immediate, so oddly sincere, that it caught you completely off guard. You blinked once before smiling despite yourself. “Oh my God,” you laughed quietly. “You're attached already.“ Chris rolled his eyes faintly, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Don't start you too, he's two months old.“ He defended quickly. “He doesn't even know what's going on.“ He added. “Neither do you, apparently.“ That finally earned you a proper reaction. Chris looked over at you with a tired look that almost resembled amusement before shaking his head under his breath. Still, the moment faded quickly. Too quickly.

A few minutes later, you caught him staring again. Not at anything specific, just thinking. You lowered the heat on the stove before turning towards him fully this time. “Okay,” you said softly. “Seriously. What's happening in that head of yours?“ Chris blinked like you'd startled him. “Nothing.“ He said quietly. “Chris.“ His jaw tightened slightly. For a second, you thought he might actually tell you. But then he looked away again, dragging a nervous hand across the back of his neck. “I'm just tired, I barely had time to recover from the last mission.“ He murmured. You didn't believe any of the words coming from his mouth.

By the time dinner was ready, Chris finally seemed to relax a little. Not completely, but enough that the strange tension from earlier slowly started melting away into something softer, quieter. The two of you ate on the couch instead of at the table, plates balanced carefully on your laps while some random movie played in the background, neither of you was actually paying attention to. At some point during dinner, Chris shifted closer without saying anything. Then closer again. Until one of his thighs was pressed against yours and his arm hooked lazily around your waist like he physically needed the contact. You tried not to smile too much at that. “Full?“ You teased softly, taking another bite from his plate. Chris hummed distractedly against your shoulder. “Mhm.“ His voice vibrated lightly through you, warm and low. A few seconds later, you nearly dropped your fork when you felt him press a quiet kiss against the side of your neck. You turned your head briefly, suspicious immediately. “What do you want?“ That earned you a sleepy huff of amusement. “Nothing.“ He said, pressing another soft peck on your shoulder. “Liar.“ Chris only tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer against his side until your back rested partly against his chest.

The clinginess would've been surprising on any other day. Chris wasn't cold, not with you, but physical affection from him usually came in calmer, quieter ways. A hand on your lower back, fingers brushing yours, a kiss pressed to your forehead while passing by. But tonight he acted like he couldn't get close enough. Every few minutes, his hand found you again. Your thigh, your waist, your fingers, your hair. Like he needed the reassurance that you were there. You set your plate down on the coffee table eventually, before turning slightly towards him. “You're being weirdly affectionate.“ You pointed out with a small smile. “I am?“ Chris looked genuinely confused for a second. You barely nodded in response. “Hm.“ That was all the response you got before he leaned down and kissed your temple. “Chris.“ You said, his lips lingering on your skin. “What?“ He muttered against your temple. “You're still doing it.“ A small smile finally appeared on his face then, tired and unfairly soft. “Maybe I missed you.“ You narrowed your eyes immediately. “You saw me this morning before I left for work.“ You reminded him. “And?“ You laughed quietly under your breath, shaking your head before settling closer against him anyway. The second you did, Chris relaxed. Actually relaxed. You felt it in the way his shoulders loosened beneath your hand, the way he exhaled slowly against your hair before resting his chin on top of your head. Silence settled between you comfortably between you after that. For a while, neither of you spoke. Chris just held you close on the couch, absentmindedly tracing circles against your side while the movie continued playing unnoticed in the background. And despite how soft the moment felt, you still couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed tonight. You just didn't know what yet.

The apartment had gone quiet by the time you started getting ready for bed. The dishes were done, the lights dimmed low, and the movie from earlier had long since ended somewhere in the background without either of you noticing. Chris was still sitting on the couch when you disappeared into the bathroom to wash your face, though he'd pulled you into his lap for a few minutes before letting you go with a reluctant sigh that made you laugh quietly. Clingy, definitely clingy. You smiled faintly to yourself while brushing your teeth, still thinking about the way he'd kept touching you all evening like he needed constant reassurance that you were there. It was sweet. Strange, but sweet.

By the time you stepped back into the bedroom wearing one of Chris' old shirts, the apartment was almost completely silent. A vibration suddenly broke the quiet. You glanced towards the bed automatically. Chris' phone lit up against the mattress where he'd apparently left it charging earlier. You weren't trying to snoop, really. But as you moved closer, the bright screen caught your attention before you could look away. A message from Leon flashed briefly across the screen. Sammy finally fell asleep. You gave him too much attention, old man. You huffed a quiet laugh. Of course, Leon would say something like that. Still smiling to yourself, you reached for the phone instinctively, planning to bring it back out to Chris before it buzzed again. The screen lit up fully this time. And your steps slowed. Because underneath Leon's messages… The browser tabs were still open. Your eyes flicked across the screen once. Then again.

How to know if you're ready for a baby.

What changes during pregnancy.

Best ways to support your pregnant wife.

Your breath caught slightly. For a second, you genuinely thought you were reading it wrong. But then your thumb brushed the side of the phone accidentally, opening another tab.

Newbron sleep schedules.

You froze completely. The sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom barely registered before Chris suddenly appeared in the doorway. And stopped. The second his eyes landed on the phone in your hand, his entire body went still. Silence filled the room instantly. Thick, heavy. Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs as you slowly looked up at him. Chris looked almost horrified. Not angry, just caught. Like this had been the one thing he hadn't wanted you to see yet. Neither of you spoke for a few long seconds. “Chris…?“ You said quietly, finally breaking the silence. His jaw tightened. You watched his throat bob once before he exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze dropping briefly towards the floor. And somehow, that tiny reaction told you everything. Your voice softened immediately. “Why were you looking at this stuff?“

For a moment, Chris didn't answer. He just stood there in the doorway, shoulders tense beneath the gray fabric of his shirt, while the silence stretched between you. Not awkward, just fragile. Like one wrong word could break whatever this moment was becoming. Slowly, you set his phone down on the bed beside you. “Chris,” you said softly this time, gentler. “Talk to me.“ His eyes finally lifted to yours. God. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him look so unsure of himself. Chris faced bioweapons, terrorist attacks, and impossible missions, but this? This seemed to terrify him.

He dragged a hand over his jaw before looking away again, exhaling through his nose. “I didn't mean for you to see that.“ The honesty in his voice made your chest ache immediately. You took a small step closer. “It's okay.“ Another silence. Chris glanced towards the phone briefly before speaking again, slower this time. “I don't even know why I was looking at it.“ That, at least, was a lie. Maybe not completely, but enough. You could hear it. Your voice stayed soft anyway. “Yes, you do.“ His jaw tightened again. You watched him struggle with the words in real time, like he was trying to organize thoughts he'd never allowed himself to say out loud before. Finally, after what felt like forever, Chris spoke. “…Seeing Leon with Sammy today just…” He stopped. You waited patiently. Chris swallowed once before shaking his head a little. “I don't know.“ A sad smile tugged at your lips. “You've said that a lot tonight.“ That earned you a small huff of amusement from him. Barely there but enough. He walked further into the room, then, slow and quiet, until he stopped directly in front of you. Close enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him. His blue eyes dropped briefly to the floor again before he admitted quietly. “He looked truly happy.“ Something in your chest softened instantly. Not because of the words themselves, it was probably the fifth time he said it, but because of the way he said them. Like happiness was something distant, something he wasn't sure belonged to him.

You reached for his hand carefully, threading your fingers through his. Chris held on tighter almost immediately. His expression stayed distant, thoughtful. After a long pause, his thumb brushed slowly against your knuckles. “I never really thought about any of this before.“ He admitted quietly. “Kids, family…” Your heart squeezed painfully. Not because you were surprised, but because you understood exactly why. His entire life had been survival mode. Missions, loss, responsibility, moving from one disaster to another without ever stopping long enough to picture something softer for himself. Something permanent. Chris looked down at your joined hands, wedding bands shining in the soft glow of the moon. “When Leon handed him to me…” He let out a faint breathless laugh, almost disbelieving. “He was so small.“ You smiled softly. “And you got attached in five minutes.“ Chris let out a quiet laugh. “He grabbed my finger.“ You couldn't help the wider smile pulling at your lips. But when Chris spoke again, the amusement faded from his voice completely. “I think it scared me.“ Your expression shifted a little. “Why?“ He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. But then, he said it. “Because I liked it.“ The confession hit you harder than you expected. Chris looked genuinely vulnerable standing there in front of you, fingers tightening slightly around yours like he regretted saying the words out loud already.

“I know the kind of life we have,” he continued quietly. “I know what comes with it.“ His eyes finally met yours again. “And I never thought…” He hesitated, throat tightening slightly. “I never thought I could have something like that.“ The room felt painfully still. You stepped closer without thinking, your free hand resting gently against his chest. “Chris.“ His expression cracked a little at the sound of your voice. Just enough for you to see the exhaustion underneath. The fear, the desire. Everything mixed into something you've never seen before. “You know what I saw tonight?“ You whispered softly. Chris frowned slightly. “I saw you come home and look at me like you were terrified to even think about wanting something good for yourself.“ His breathing slowed. “And honestly?“ You murmured, brushing your thumb against his chest. “That broke my heart a little.“ Chris closed his eyes briefly. The next thing you knew, his arms were around you. Strong, warm, almost desperate. He buried his face against the side of your neck as he held you close, exhaling shakily like he'd been carrying this weight around ever since leaving Leon's apartment. Your arms wrapped around him instantly. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just stood there together in the quiet bedroom while Chris held onto you, like letting go would somehow make the feeling disappear.

He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door, already shrugging out of his holster with a tired sigh. The apartment smelled like coffee and whatever candle you had lit earlier, something warm and sweet that clung to the air far too softly for the kind of day he'd had. Leon glanced towards the couch. Nothing. Living room chairs. Nothing. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Baby?“ He asked. “In here.“ You called lazily from the kitchen. Leon followed your voice, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulder as he walked down the hallway. He was halfway through asking if you'd seen his jacket when he stopped dead in the doorway. You stood barefoot by the counter, one hand wrapped around a mug while the other flipped through something on your phone. His jacket hung off your frame ridiculously oversized, the sleeves swallowing your hands completely.

For a second, Leon just stared. The dark leather looked worn and heavy on him, molded by years of missions, rain, and long flights home. On you, though? It looked soft, domestic, yours. You glanced up eventually, catching him staring from the doorway. “What?“ Leon blinked once like he'd forgotten how conversations worked. “That's my jacket.“ You looked down at yourself slowly before shrugging. “Finders keepers.“ A disbelieving laugh escaped him under his breath. “You stole it.“ He said. “It was abandoned on the couch for… At least twenty minutes.“ You said, pausing mid-sentence dramatically. “That's not abandoned, that's literally me living here.“ Leon said, trying his best to hold his laughter. “Mhm.“ You took another sip of coffee, completely unbothered. “Well, it lives with me now.“ Leon scoffed quietly, though the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. He crossed the kitchen slowly, exhaustion still heavy on his limbs, and stopped in front of you. Up close, the sight somehow got worse. Or better. The sleeves nearly covered your fingers, the collar brushed your jaw, his jacket smelled less like leather and gun oil now and more like your shampoo.

Something warm twisted unexpectedly in his chest. Dangerous territory. You tilted your head. “You want it back?“ Honestly, he should've said yes. Instead, Leon found himself reaching out to adjust the crooked collar near your neck, fingers lingering longer than necessary. “You stretched it out.“ He muttered. You grinned immediately, victorious. “So that's a no?“ Leon exhaled softly through his nose, already tired enough to lose this argument on purpose. “…Temporary custody.“ He decided. “Sure, sweetheart.“ The teasing nickname should not have affected a man his age as much as it still did. Leon shook his head under his breath before leaning down to steal a quick kiss from you anyway, getting a taste of the warm coffee. When he pulled away, your hands disappeared further into the sleeves as you smiled at him. And God, maybe surviving this long had finally done permanent damage to his brain, because instead of wanting the jacket back, all Leon could think of was that he liked seeing you in it far too much already.

The problem started three days later when Leon couldn't find his jacket again. “You've got to be kidding me.“ He muttered, digging through the back of the couch cushions for the second time that morning. From the kitchen, you didn't even look up from where you stood making a toast. “Lose something?“ Leon narrowed his eyes immediately. Slowly, suspiciously, he turned towards you. There it was. His jacket. Again. “You're wearing it.“ You looked down at yourself innocently. "Oh wow. Would you look at that.“ Leon stared at you for a long moment before pointing accusingly. “You took it off the chair.“ He said. “It was cold.“ You explained. “You own sweaters.“ Leon complained. “None of them smell like you.“ The words left your mouth so casually that Leon almost missed them. His ears went slightly pink before he cleared his throat and looked away towards the coffee machine, as if it had personally offended him. “That's weird…” He muttered shyly. You grinned into your mug. “You're weird.“ He huffed a quiet laugh despite the whole situation.

The issue was that after that, the jacket stopped belonging to any actual location in the apartment. It possibly existed wherever you were. Leon would come home from training to find you curled up sideways on the couch in it, one sleeve shoved over your hand while you scrolled half-asleep through your phone. Sometimes you wore it while cooking dinner, swaying softly to music playing from your phone speaker as the sleeves constantly got in your way. Other times, he'd wake up in the middle of the night and find you stealing it from the chair beside the bed before climbing back under the blankets. “You know,” Leon mumbled sleepily one night as you settled beside him, “normal people buy hoodies.“ You tucked yourself against his side without shame. “This one's better.“ You said, snuggling further into his chest. “Why?“ You looked at him like the answer was obvious. “It's yours.“ And there it was again. That strange pressure in his chest. Leon had spent so much of his life detached from things. Apartments, cities, clothes, none of it stayed long enough to matter. Losing things had become normal somewhere along the way. Easier, maybe. But every time he saw you wearing the jacket, it stopped feeling like another thing waiting to disappear. It felt lived in, kept.

One afternoon, Leon finally found it hanging over the back of your desk chair while you showered. He paused on his way past. For a moment, he simply looked at it. The leather was softer now, worn differently than before. The sleeves had started folding slightly, where you constantly pushed them up your arms. Faint traces of your perfume still clung to the collar. Without really thinking about it, Leon reached out and ran his thumb along the sleeve. “You miss me already?“ He nearly jumped. You stood in the hallway with damp hair and an amused smile, catching him red-handed. Leon immediately dropped his hand. “I was inspecting the damage.“ You hummed in response. “You're ruining my jacket.“ You walked closer until you stood right in front of him, still wearing one of his t-shirts from bed. “And yet,” you said softly, taking the jacket from the chair again, “you haven't asked for it back once.“ Leon opened his mouth automatically. Nothing came out. Because the truth was worse. He could've taken it back anytime he wanted, but every time he saw you in it, warm, relaxed, safe inside your shared apartment, something deep in him settled quietly into place. And maybe that terrified him a little. Because he had spent most of his life surviving, but this somehow felt dangerously close to having a real home.

The apartment was quiet when Leon got home the next day. Not silent, but soft in a way only your apartment ever was. Rain tapped steadily against the windows, distant thunder rolling somewhere over the city while warm yellow light spilled from the lamp beside the couch. For the first time all day, Leon felt his shoulders loosen slightly. The mission briefing had run longer than expected. Too many voices, too many reports, too many photographs burned into the back of his mind that he knew would follow him into sleep later. He shut the front door carefully behind him, already loosening the collar of his shirt. “Baby?“ No answer. Leon frowned slightly and stepped further inside. That was when he saw you. Curled up asleep on the couch beneath a blanket, one cheek pressed against the cushion, lips slightly parted while rainlight flickered softly across the room. And wrapped around you, his jacket.

Leon stopped moving entirely. For a long second, he just stood there staring. The sleeves covered your hands completely again, one of your legs tangled lazily in the blanket, while your breathing stayed slow and even, completely unaware of him standing in the middle of the room looking at you like he'd forgotten how to function. Something in his chest tightened tenderly. Leon swallowed hard and quietly set his bag down near the door. The jacket had once smelled like smoke, rainwater, gunpowder, cold nights spent sleeping in places that never felt safe enough to close his eyes properly. It had belonged to airports, missions, and temporary lives. But now it smelled like your detergent, like coffee in the mornings, like the shampoo you used after late-night showers. Like home.

Leon sank slowly into the armchair across from the couch, exhaustion settling heavily into his bones as he watched you sleep. He couldn't remember the last time something in his life had softened instead of broken. And somehow, without even trying, you had taken this thing he carried through years of violence and turned it into something warm, something safe. His eyes drifted over you again. The oversized sleeves, your wedding ring glinting faintly beneath the lamp, the way you unconsciously curled deeper into the jacket like you belonged nowhere else but there. Your husband exhaled quietly through his nose and leaned back into the chair. Maybe that was the real problem. It wasn't about the jacket anymore, it was about what it meant every time he saw you wearing it. You waiting for him to come home, you wandering around the kitchen half-asleep in his clothes, you stealing pieces of his life and making them softer without asking permission first. A life Leon had genuinely never believed he would get to have.

The couch shifted slightly as you stirred awake. Your eyes blinked open slowly before finding him sitting across the room. “There you are.“ You mumbled, sleepily, voice rough with exhaustion. God. Leon felt his entire chest cave in at the sound. You pushed yourself up slightly, immediately noticing the way he was staring at you. “…What?“ He shook his head once, almost dazed. “Nothing.“ He said quietly. “You're doing the weird stare again.“ A tired laugh escaped him quietly at that. “Yeah?“ You hummed in response as you reached blindly towards the arm of the couch for your glasses. “Usually means you're thinking too hard.“ If only you knew. Leon stood slowly and crossed the room before you could fully wake up. The couch dipped beneath his weight as he sat beside you, one arm immediately pulling you against his side out of instinct. You melted into him without hesitation. The realization hit him so suddenly that it almost stole the air from his lungs. Not the apartment, not the city, you. You were the first thing Leon had ever looked at and thought: I made it back.

Rain continued tapping softly against the windows while the apartment settled into comfortable silence around you both. You stayed tucked against Leon's side beneath the blanket, still half-asleep, your head resting against his shoulder while his arm remained wrapped tightly around your waist. Neither of you spoke for a while. Leon just held you there quietly, thumb moving absentmindedly against your side through the leather of the jacket. Your jacket now, apparently. The thought should've annoyed him, but it made something warm unfurl slowly in his chest. You shifted slightly against him before glancing down at the sleeve hanging over your hand. “Oh,” you murmured softly, suddenly remembering. “Sorry.“ Leon frowned lightly. “For what?“ He asked. “The jacket. You said I was ruining it.“ You looked down at it as your fingers played with the cuff. “I know you actually like this one.“ The words were casual, innocent. But Leon felt them land somewhere deep. Because yeah, he did like this one. Because for years, everything he owned had been temporary. Weapons got replaced, apartments changed, clothes disappeared during missions, and never came back. But this jacket had survived until now. And somehow, somewhere along the way, it had become tangled up with you, too.

You started pushing yourself upright slightly, already slipping one arm out of the sleeve. “Here.“ Leon reacted before he even fully thought about it. “No.“ You blinked, pausing halfway through taking it off. “…No?“ His hand settled gently over yours. “Keep it.“ The room went quiet again. You looked at him carefully now, sleepiness slowly fading from your expression as if you realized something in his voice had shifted. “Leon-.“ “Looks better on you anyway,” he muttered softly. The sentence came out rougher than intended, quieter too, like he wasn't used to saying things that honest out loud. Your expression melted right away. And that almost made it worse. “You're being soft right now.“ You whispered with a small smile. Leon huffed quietly through his nose. “Don't start.“ He whispered. “You are.“ You shifted closer, your hand resting against his chest now. “My scary government agent husband is being emotional over a jacket.“ You teased. “It's not emotional.“ He complained. “Leon.“ He looked away automatically, jaw tightening slightly in that familiar way he always did when feelings got too close to the surface. Which only made you smile more.

His fingers tightened unconsciously against your waist. “…Think I just like knowing it's safe here.“ He admitted quietly after a long pause. You stilled. Leon kept his eyes on the rain against the windows instead of looking directly at you. “The jacket.“ He clarified weakly. You let out the softest laugh. “Sure, sweetheart.“ Heat crawled immediately up the back of his neck. But before he could grumble his way out of the conversation, your fingers slid gently against his jaw, guiding his attention back towards you. There was something unbearably tender in your expression now. Not teasing anymore, just love, pure, devastating love. “You know,” you said softly, “you could just say you like seeing me in your clothes.“ Leon stared at you for a second. Then another. And maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the fact you were sitting there wrapped in something that used to belong to a lonely version of him he barely recognized anymore. But for once, Leon didn't dodge it. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I really do.“ The honesty hung warm between you. Your face softened so completely it nearly ruined him. So Leon did the only thing he could do before the moment became too overwhelming. He leaned down and kissed you. Slowly, warmly, like he had absolutely nowhere else to be. And when your hands curled into the sleeves of his jacket while kissing him back, Leon realized he genuinely couldn't remember why he'd ever wanted it returned in the first place.

A week later, though, Leon stole the jacket back. Not because he wanted it, mostly because you'd started getting far too smug about the entire thing. “You're obsessed with me,” you informed him one evening from the couch, wearing his jacket yet again while scrolling through your phone. Leon glanced up from the kitchen, where he was making coffee. “I'm married to you,” he corrected flatly. “That's legally different.“ You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Romance really is alive.“ You joked. “It died the moment you started stealing my clothes.“ Leon complained as he finished brewing the coffee. “You said I could keep it.“ Leon pointed a spoon at you accusingly. “Didn't say permanently.“ You narrowed your eyes immediately, clutching the jacket tighter around yourself like he was about to physically fight you for it. “Leon.“ You said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Honey-.“ “You wouldn't.“ You cut him off. He gave you the smallest shrug.

Then, before you could react, Leon crossed the room quickly and grabbed your ankles. You yelped. “Leon!“ You laughed as he tightened his grip around your skin. “You wanna play dirty?“ He asked calmly, already tugging you across the couch towards him. “Fine.“ He added, hovering above you. “You're literally stealing from your own wife right now.“ You stated between laughs. “You started this.“ You laughed breathlessly as he pulled you upright by the sleeves of the jacket, the oversized leather bouncing awkwardly between you both. And somehow, somewhere in the middle of the struggle, neither of you stopped moving. You just ended up close. Really close. Leon's hands still held the sleeves loosely near your wrists while you looked up at him, trying and failing not to smile.

The apartment was warm around you. Soft music played quietly from somewhere in the kitchen, orangeish sunlight peeked through the curtains as the sun started to leave space for the moon, the lamp beside the couch painting everything in gold tones. Leon looked at you standing there inside his jacket, wedding ring catching softly in the light, just like the night he found you sleeping on the couch, laughter still lingering in your expression. And something in him went painfully tender all over again. Because this was it. Not the missions, not the medals, not the endless cycle of surviving one nightmate after another. This. You stealing his clothes, coffee too late at night, your shared apartment smelling like detergent and some random candle you found on the cabinets around the living room, the sound of your laugh filling rooms that used to feel empty.

Your fingers curled lightly against the front of his shirt. “You okay there, sweetheart?“ You asked softly. Leon blinked once, pulled back from his thoughts. “Yeah,” he murmured. Then his grip on the jacket shifted. Instead of pulling it away from you, Leon tugged you forward instead, wrapping the leather around both of you as your body collided gently against his chest. You smiled immediately. “There he is.“ You teased. “Shut up.“ But there was no real bite to it. Never with you. Leon lowered his head until his forehead rested briefly against yours, his arms settling around your waist beneath the jacket while your hands slid up his chest. Warm, safe, real. You looked impossibly soft like this, dangerously easy to love. His nose brushed lightly against yours before he muttered quietly, “Still mine.“ Your grin widened unconsciously. “The jacket or me?“ Leon kissed you before answering as if that was enough of an answer. The kiss was slow, deep, smiling against your mouth when you laughed softly into it. And somewhere between your fingers curling into his shirt and the familiar weight of the jacket wrapped around both of you, Leon realized something almost embarrassing in its simplicity:

For a moment, the apartment fell silent again. And then Leon stared down at the tiny backpack in his hands a little too long. You noticed instantly. His fingers tightened around one of the straps as his expression softened into something dangerously emotional, the kind he tried to hide whenever he realized Sammy was getting older. Six years old. Somehow. You still remembered him small enough to fit against Leon's chest with one hand supporting his entire back. Now he was talking about classmates and playgrounds and wanting to pick his own shoes because he was 'basically grown up'. It made your chest ache in the strangest way possible. “You okay?“ You asked quietly. Leon huffed a laugh through his nose without looking at you. “He's too small for school.“ You smiled faintly. “He's six.“ You said, brushing your fingers through Leon's hair. “Exactly.“ You looked down where Leon was still holding the backpack, gently taking it from his hands before he could reorganize it for the eleventh time. “He's gonna be fine.“ Leon leaned back against the table with crossed arms, unconvinced. “What if he hates it?“ He asked, concern written all over his face. “He won't.“ You reassured. “What if another kid is mean to him?“ He added. You let out a quiet sigh. “What if he gets nervous and we're not there?“ You stepped closer, resting your hand against his chest. “He has you,” you said softly. “Your son thinks you can fix literally anything.“ Leon's expression cracked a little.

Sammy suddenly appeared in the doorway again, wearing his sneakers on the wrong feet. “Do I look cool?“ You immediately smiled. Leon, however, looked genuinely devastated. “Oh my God,” he whispered under his breath. You burst out laughing. “What?“ Sammy frowned. Leon crouched in front of him, carefully removing the sneakers and placing them on the right feet. “You look very cool, buddy.“ Sammy beamed proudly. Then, much quieter, he asked: “…What if nobody talks to me tomorrow?“ The room softened immediately. Leon's hands paused against the shoelaces before he looked up at him. And despite all the fear sitting in his own chest, his voice stayed warm. “Then you go talk to them first.“

The night wrapped the apartment faster than it used to, or maybe it was you. The dishes were done, the lights were off, and the only sound left was the soft rain tapping against the windows outside your bedroom. You were half asleep against Leon's chest when the door slowly creaked open. Tiny footsteps padded across the floor. Leon lifted his head immediately. Sammy stood in the doorway, clutching his dinosaur plush slightly against his chest, his hair messy from tossing around in bed. “…Papa?“ Leon's entire expression softened at once. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured. “What's wrong?“ Sammy shifted awkwardly on his feet. “I can't sleep…” You lifted yourself from Leon's chest and moved the blanket back before either of them could say another word. “C'mere.“ Sammy climbed onto the bed instantly, settling right between the two of you with the plush trapped under his arm. Leon wrapped one arm around him automatically, pulling him close against his side while you brushed your fingers through Sammy's messy hair. For a few quiet seconds, nobody spoke. “What if tomorrow is bad?“ Sammy whispered, breaking the silence. Leon glanced at you briefly before looking back down at him. “It won't be.“ He reassured. “But what if I don't know what to do?“ Sammy asked, toying with his dinosaur. “You'll figure it out.“ You said, placing a soft peck on his temple. “What if everyone already has friends?“ You felt the way Leon's arm tightened slightly around him. “Buddy,” he said softly, “half those kids are probably scared too.“ Sammy looked unconvinced. “They are?“ He asked, barely looking up at your husband. “Yeah.“ Leon rested his chin lightly on top of Sammy's head. “Some of them are probably pretending not to be.“ The room fell quiet again. You could practically hear Sammy thinking. “…Were you scared on your first day?“ Leon let out a quiet breath through his nose. “Terrified.“ For some reason, you couldn't tell if Leon was talking about school or Raccoon City R.P.D. Sammy lifted his head lightly, looking properly at Leon finally. “Really?“ Leon hummed in response. “What happened?“ Leon's expression briefly twitched, something only you could notice. “I survived. Barely.“ That earned a tiny laugh. You smiled against the pillow as Leon continued. “I got lost once.“ He explained. “No, you didn't.“ You whispered, already smiling at the memory of 6-year-old Leon. “I absolutely did.“ He scoffed. “You were literally in the classroom next door.“ You said between quiet laughs. “I was six. That was basically another country for me.“ Sammy giggled harder this time, the nervous tension finally starting to loosen from his shoulders.

“…Are you scared too?“ Sammy asked after a few seconds of silence. The question lingered in the darkness. Because yes, you knew Leon was. Not because Sammy was starting school, but because somehow the years had slipped through his fingers without permission. Because yesterday, Sammy had been small enough to fall asleep on Leon's chest after midnight feedings. Because now he was growing into someone louder, taller, braver. More independent. Leon stayed quiet for just a second too long before pressing a kiss to the top of Sammy's head. “A little.“ He admitted softly. Sammy turned slightly in his arms. “Why?“ Leon smiled faintly. “Because you're growing up too fast.“ The words made something ache inside your chest. Sammy frowned sleepily, like he didn't fully understand. “I'll still come home after school.“ Leon laughed quietly, his eyes suddenly looking suspiciously glassy in the dim light. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.“ Another silence settled over the room, softer and warmer. Sammy's breathing slowly started evening out where he lay curled between you both. And then, without anyone asking him to, Leon started singing. Quietly, soft enough that it barely rose above the rain outside. The same old song he used to hum during sleepless nights when Sammy was a baby. The same one he sang after nightmares, fevers, thunderstorms, and scraped knees.

You felt Sammy instantly curl closer towards the sound of his voice. Leon kept singing anyway, one hand rubbing slow circles against Sammy's back even after his eyes had fully closed. You looked over at him in the darkness. At the tenderness written all over his face, at the way he still looked at Sammy like he was the most important thing Leon had ever been trusted with. And as his voice softened into the final lines of the song, you realized something quietly devastating. Tomorrow would be Sammy's first day of school. But Leon would always be the one singing him to sleep, no matter how old he got.

The next morning, Leon had barely slept. You knew that before your eyes were even fully open because when you reached across the bed at six in the morning, his side was already empty. A loud crash echoed from the kitchen down the hallway immediately after. Then:

“Sammy, buddy, sit down while you eat-.“ “I AM sitting.“ “You are literally standing on the chair.“

You smiled tiredly into your pillow before dragging yourself out of bed. The second you walked into the kitchen, chaos greeted you like every single day since Sammy arrived. Your son sat at the table in his tiny school uniform with his backpack already on, even though you weren't leaving for another forty minutes. His cereal has somehow ended up everywhere except the bowl itself while Leon rushed around the kitchen like he was preparing for a military operation instead of a six-year-old's first day of school.“You packed two lunches.“ You pointed out. Leon froze mid-step. “…Did I?“ He asked, confused. “There's another one in your hand.“ He looked down, following where you pointed. “…Oh.“ Sammy giggled loudly from the table. “I told you Papa was nervous.“ He announced dramatically. “I'm not nervous.“ Leon argued immediately. “You checked my backpack three times.“ Sammy said, giving him a look. “Four.“ You corrected. Leon shot you a betrayed look while you walked over to Sammy, fixing the collar of his uniform where it had folded awkwardly under the backpack straps. The sight almost hurt. His hair was still messy from sleep, his sneakers were untied, and his front tooth was slightly crooked now that the other one had fallen out last month. And yet somehow he still looked old enough for school.

You felt Leon appear beside you a second later. Without saying anything, he crouched down in front of Sammy and started tying his shoes carefully. The movement felt so automatic, so practiced. Sammy kept talking the entire time. “And if I make a friend, can they come over someday? And do you think my teacher likes dinosaurs? What if there's a class pet? Can we get a class pet too?“ Leon smiled softly as he tightened the laces. “One crisis at a time, buddy.“ Sammy grinned. Then his expression faltered slightly. “…What if nobody sits with me?“ Leon's hands rested on his tiny knees for half a second before he looked up. “Then someone else is probably waiting for you to sit with them first.“ Sammy considered that seriously. “Oh.“ You watched Leon carefully smooth down the fabric over Sammy's knees, like he was trying to memorize every detail before the day officially started. Your chest tightened. Because this was it. No more daycare, no more tiny toddler backpacks, no more first words or first steps. Now it was spelling tests, school photos, and scraped playground knees. Leon stood again, exhaling slowly before grabbing his phone. “Okay,” he announced. “Picture time.“ You laughed instantly. “Leon-.“ “Nope. Mandatory.“ Leon cut you off. Sammy groaned dramatically while Leon crouched beside him, pulling him close for the photo anyway. At the last second, Sammy wrapped both hands around your and Leon's neck instead, making a funny face. And something about it completely destroyed you both. You saw it happen in real time. The way your expressions softened, the way you held Sammy just a little tighter. Like you wanted to freeze this exact version of him forever. “Alright,” Leon mumbled after clearing his throat. “C'mon, buddy.“ Sammy grabbed your hand with one side and Leon's with the other as the three of you headed for the front door together. And for a brief second, before the day truly began, he still felt small between your hands.

The drive to school felt strangely quiet. Not because Sammy had stopped talking, he absolutely hadn't. He sat in the backseat rambling nervously about dinosaurs, lunch boxes, playgrounds, and whether kindergartners were allowed to run “as fast as Sonic”, while Leon gripped the steering wheel like he was transporting classified government documents, just like he did when you brought Sammy home for the first time. You caught him glancing at the rearview mirror every few seconds. Checking on Sammy, making sure he was still smiling. The closer you got to the school, the quieter Sammy became. By the time the building finally came into view, he had gone completely silent. Colorful drawings covered the fences outside. Tiny backpacks bounced everywhere as children rushed towards the entrance, holding their parents' hands. Some looked excited, some looked terrified. And suddenly, Sammy's small fingers wrapped tighter around the straps of his backpack. You noticed instantly, just like Leon did. He parked the car before turning around in his seat. “Hey.“ He said gently. Sammy stared out the window. “… There are a lot of kids.“ He said quietly. “Yeah.“ You said, turning around as well to look at him. “…What if they're all smarter than me?“ Leon's face softened immediately. “Buddy, it's the first day. Nobody knows what they're doing yet.“ Sammy looked down at his hands. “What if I do something wrong?“ Leon unbuckled his seatbelt without hesitation and climbed halfway into the backseat just to be closer to your son. The sight alone made your heart ache. He reached over, fixing the collar of his uniform where it had twisted. “Listen to me,” Leon said quietly. “You do not have to be perfect on your first day.“ Sammy finally looked at him, then at you. “You just have to try.“ You reassured him. The nervousness on his face didn't disappear completely, but it loosened enough for him to nod.

A few minutes later, the three of you stood outside the school gates together. Sammy stayed pressed close against Leon's side now, one small hand clutching his fingers slightly while kids rushed around you in every direction. Leon looked down at him. “You remember what to do if you're nervous?“ Sammy nodded weakly. “Take deep breaths.“ He said quietly. “That's right.“ Leon nodded. “And if another kid is alone?“ You asked, looking down at him as well. “Say hi first.“ Sammy answered, a little bit more confident. Leon smiled softly. “Exactly.“ You crouched down next to Sammy, straightening the front of his uniform one last time while Leon brushed his thumb gently across the back of Sammy's hand. The teacher near the entrance started welcoming students inside. And that was it. The moment. Sammy's grip tightened again for one final second before he looked up at Leon with wide, nervous eyes. “Will you still be here later?“ Leon looked like the question physically hurt him. “Buddy,” he said softly, kneeling in front of him. “We'll always come back for you.“ Sammy threw his arms around his neck instantly. Leon held him so carefully that it almost looked painful. One hand against the back of his head, eyes closed for just a second too long. Then he kissed Sammy's forehead and forced himself to let go. “Go show them how awesome you are, okay?“ Sammy nodded. And finally, finally, he turned and walked towards the school doors after hugging you tightly.

You watched Leon the entire time instead of the building. The way his eyes followed every step, the way his hands fixed uselessly at his sides like some part of him still wanted to run after Sammy and bring him back home. Right before disappearing inside, Sammy suddenly turned around. Then waved at both of you with the biggest smile yet. Leon's entire face broke apart into something unbearably soft as he waved back immediately. And even after Sammy disappeared through the doors, Leon kept staring at the entrance in complete silence. You slipped a hand into his. “He'll be okay.“ You whispered. Leon swallowed hard without looking away. “I know.“ But his voice sounded like he was trying to convince himself, too.

The apartment felt wrong without him. Too quiet. No cartoons in the background, no toys abandoned in the hallway, no tiny voice asking a thousand questions at once. Just the soft tapping of keyboards and the occasional turning of paper as you and Leon worked through the pile of mission reports spread across the dining table. Or at least… You were working. Leon had been staring at the same page for nearly ten minutes. You looked up from your laptop slowly. “…Babe.“ No response. Leon sat slouched in his chair with a pen resting against his lips, eyes distant and completely unfocused. “Leon.“ You said, reaching out your hand and gripping his. “Hm?“ He snapped out of his thoughts. “You've read the same sentence six times.“ His eyes flicked downward immediately, like he'd just been caught committing a crime. “I was reading.“ He excused himself. “You were dissociating.“ Leon sighed quietly, dropping the pen onto the table before rubbing a hand down his face. You couldn't help smiling a little. “You're worrying again.“ You said quietly. “I'm not worrying.“ Leon argued immediately. “You alphabetized crayons yesterday, honey.“ You reminded him with a soft chuckle. “That was practical.“ He said. “You checked the school lunch menu online.“ You added. “What if Thursday really is fish stick day? You know he hates fish.“ You laughed softly as Leon leaned back in his chair with a groan. “I just…” He exhaled slowly. “What if he got scared and didn't tell anyone?“ Your expression softened. “He's okay.“ You said, rubbing random patterns on the back of his hand. “What if he needed us?“ That one hurt a little more. Because underneath all the anxiety was the real problem: for the first time, Sammy was somewhere Leon couldn't immediately reach him for an entire day. You stood from your chair and walked over quietly before resting your hands against his shoulders. “He's probably talking someone's ear off about dinosaurs right now.“ Leon huffed out the faintest laugh. “…Yeah.“ He whispered. “Or correcting the teacher about T-Rex facts.“ You laughed. “That's definitely happening.“ Finally, some of the tension eased from his face and shoulders. But only a little. His eyes drifted towards the clock again, barely seconds later. “There are still three hours until pickup.“ Leon looked genuinely offended. “I wasn't checking the time.“ He said too fast. “You absolutely were.“ He crossed his arms like a sulking child. “…I miss him.“ The quiet honesty in his voice made your chest ache. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against his temple. “He's gonna come home and tell you every single detail.“ Leon smiled faintly. And somehow, that seemed to help more than anything else.

By the time you and Leon arrived outside the school, dozens of children were already spilling through the front gates in loud, chaotic waves. The entire sidewalk buzzed with excited voices, backpacks bouncing everywhere as parents searched through the crowd for familiar faces. Beside you, Leon looked seconds away from climbing the fence himself. “You need to relax.“ You said, sliding a hand into his. “I am relaxed.“ He retorted. “You've been standing on your toes trying to look over the crowd for five minutes straight.“ You whispered. Leon ignored you completely, eyes scanning every child that exited the building. And then, a familiar tiny blond head appeared in the middle of the crowd. “Papa! Mama!“ Both of you turned instantly. Sammy came running across the pavement at full speed, backpack bouncing wildly against his back. “Hey! Calm down, don't run.“ Leon said automatically, already squatting down with his arms open just in time to catch him. “I came back!“ Sammy announced proudly with the biggest grin imaginable as he threw himself against Leon's chest. Leon laughed softly, wrapping both arms around him immediately. “Yeah,” he murmured, holding him a little tighter than necessary. “I can see that.“

Relief washed across his face so visibly that it almost made your chest hurt. Like some irrational part of him truly hadn't believed everything would be okay until Sammy was back in his arms again. You crouched beside them, brushing messy hair away from Sammy's forehead. “How was it?“ You asked with a small, proud smile. “So fun!“ Sammy said instantly. “I painted, ate cakes, oh! And I have a new friend!“ Leon blinked. “You do?“ The surprise in his voice was so genuine you almost laughed. “Yeah! His name is Lucas.“ And just like that, you watched half of Leon's worries disappear. “See?“ You whispered smugly. Leon rolled his eyes slightly before helping Sammy back onto his feet. “What else happened today, huh?“ That was apparently the only invitation Sammy needed. Words exploded out of him instantly. “There was this HUGE box of markers and one kid cried because he missed his mom, but then the teacher gave him stickers and Lucas likes dinosaurs too and I got to sit by the window and-.“ Leon listened like every single word was life-changing information. Completely focused, completely soft. His hand never left Sammy's shoulder as the three of you started walking back towards the car together.

“And tomorrow,” Sammy continued excitedly, “Lucas said maybe we can play dragons at recess.“ Leon opened the car door for him with a faint smile. “Sounds serious.“ He said. “It IS serious.“ Sammy answered, throwing his backpack into the backseat before entering the car. You laughed quietly while Leon buckled Sammy's seatbelt, and Sammy kept talking a mile per minute. Leon stayed standing beside the door for a second longer, just watching him animatedly ramble about his day. Then he looked at you. And the expression on his face said everything. He was okay. Sammy was okay. And somehow, despite how terrifying it had felt this morning, the world hadn't ended just because your little boy had taken his first step into it alone.

By the time you got home, Sammy was still talking. Barely pausing to breathe between stories as he kicked his shoes off near the door and followed Leon around the apartment like an overly excited shadow. “And then Lucas traded me the green crayon because I gave him the blue one first. And Papa, did you know one girl brought a frog backpack? A REAL frog backpack-.“ He explained excitedly. “A frog backpack?“ Leon repeated seriously as he unpacked Sammy's lunchbox. “Yeah! And tomorrow we might play dragons.“ Sammy repeated as he climbed the counter chair to sit next to Leon while he washed the lunchbox. “That sounds dangerous.“ Leon said, completely ignoring the fact that it was probably the third time Sammy mentioned the dragon's playtime. You laughed softly from the front door as you picked up Leon's shoes and Sammy's sneakers to put them into the drawer. Like father, like son. You thought to yourself. Leon looked lighter now. Not completely free from worry, you doubted he ever would be, but calmer. Like getting Sammy back home smiling had finally allowed him to breathe again.

Dinner turned into more stories, bath time turned into even more. By the end of the night, Sammy could barely keep his eyes open anymore. He lay curled up across Leon's chest on the couch in his dinosaur pajamas, still mumbling sleepy half-sentences about markers and recess with Lucas. “And then… we had cake…” Leon brushed gentle fingers through his hair. “Sounds like a pretty good day, buddy.“ Sammy nodded weakly against him. A few seconds later, he was asleep. Completely out. You smiled from the doorway while Leon looked down at him with an expression so unbearably tender it almost hurt to witness. Six years later, and he still held Sammy with the same careful gentleness he had the night nurses first placed that tiny baby into his arms. Like he was precious, like he was everything. Leon adjusted the blanket over Sammy instinctively before glancing up at you. “He got heavier.“ He whispered dramatically. You snorted quietly. “He's six, old man.“ Leon rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. Carefully, he stood from the couch with Sammy asleep against his shoulder and carried him down the hallway. You followed close behind.

The bedroom nightlight cast everything in soft gold as Leon lowered Sammy into bed, tucking the blanket around him with practiced hands. For a second, both of you just stood there watching him sleep. The messy hair, the flushed cheeks, the tiny hand still clutching the dinosaur plush. Leon's expression softened impossibly further before he leaned down to press a lingering kiss against Sammy's forehead. “Good job today, buddy.“ He whispered. Something inside your chest cracked quietly. Because this was it. The late-night feedings, the first words, the scraped knees, the nightmares, the lullabies, the first day of school. Every version of Sammy had existed right here inside these walls. And somehow, through every terrifying new step, you both had loved him with your entire souls. You quietly reached for Leon's hand once the bedroom door clicked shut behind you. The apartment was dark again, peaceful. Leon exhaled slowly before pulling you gently against him in the hallway, resting his forehead against yours. “We survived.“ He murmured. You smiled faintly. “Barely.“ He laughed softly under his breath before kissing you. Slow, warm, familiar, the kind of kiss built from years of exhaustion, teamwork, and loving each other through every impossible stage of life. When he pulled back, his arm stayed wrapped securely around your waist. “He's growing up too fast.“ Leon admitted quietly. You rested your forehead against his chest. “I know…” For a moment, neither of you spoke. Somewhere down the hallway, Sammy coughed in his sleep. Leon's eyes immediately flicked towards the bedroom door on instinct alone, making you laugh quietly against his shirt. “Paranoid dad.“ You whispered. “Occupational hazard.“ He corrected. You tilted your head up just enough to kiss him again.