Die with memories, not dreams

Summary:

“My boyfriend holds grudges.”

Another pause.

They looked at each other unsure what to think.  Not understanding. You leaned back slightly in the chair, ignoring the pull on your wrists.

“And trust me,” you added, “you really don’t want to be around when he decides to act on one.”

::::

He trained you to stay alive. How to think fast, move smart, and not freeze when it matters.

So when you get attacked in your shared home. You know he’ll show up. Even if he never really says how much you mean to him.

Words: 4886

You were standing in the kitchen, making yourself something to eat. The spoon moved slowly through the pot. Stirring the sauce as it thickened and swirled with every motion. Steam rose up gently, filling the space with a warm familiar scent that clung to the air.

Your eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. 23:46. It was late – too late for a proper meal maybe – but you were hungry anyway. Just something warm before bed. Something simple.

Music played softly in the background. Low enough to blend into the rhythm of the room. Your hips swayed faintly to the beat without you really noticing. The apartment felt calm in that late-night way. Dim lights and nothing demanding your attention.

The window was slightly open. A cool breeze slipped inside, moving through the kitchen and brushing lightly against your skin. It carried the fresh night with it.

For a moment everything felt relaxed.

But stillness at this hour always felt a little too good to be true. You paused for a second, spoon hovering above the pot. The music kept playing. Everything exactly the same as before but something felt… sharper than it should’ve.

You shook the thought away.

It was just a quiet night. You moved your hand to stir the sauce once more–

Then you stopped.

A sound cut through the room. Small at first. Almost nothing. Then louder.

A crack at the front door.

You froze. The spoon hovered above the pot, forgotten for a second as the music kept playing.

You listened anyway. Nothing followed. No footsteps. No movement. Just silence sitting too heavy in the walls.

“…Probably nothing,” you muttered under your breath. More to convince yourself than anything else. You turned slightly back toward the stove.

Then the second sound hit. Not a crack this time. A slow, deliberate shift. Like something pressing into the door again. Testing it.

Your stomach dropped instantly. This wasn’t the building settling.

You set the spoon down slowly. For a second, you just stood there, listening again. You were trying to understand what kind of something it was. Another faint shift at the door.

That was enough.

You moved.

Quietly, you stepped away from the stove. Your eyes scanning the kitchen in an instant. The room suddenly felt different. Every object more noticeable than before.

Your hand reached for the nearest thing you could use. A heavy kitchen knife.

You didn’t hesitate as your fingers closed around the handle. Music still played in the background. Almost insulting in how normal it sounded.

You turned it off. Silence hit immediately.

Now every sound mattered. You backed away from the kitchen slowly. Careful not to drag your feet. Eyes fixed on the hallway leading toward the entrance.

Hide first. Then see.

You slipped into the darker side of the room. Positioning yourself where the light didn’t fully reach you. Close enough to move fast. Hidden enough to disappear into the space.

Knife steady in your hand. Breathing controlled.

The front door stayed quiet.

And then–

A faint click from the door. Your entire body reacted before your thoughts could catch up.

One step. Then another. The door opened slowly. Like whoever was entering already knew the space too well. That was enough.

You moved.

Fast.

Silent.

You crossed the distance in a heartbeat, slipping out of the kitchen shadow with the knife already raised. No hesitation. No second guessing. Exactly like he taught you.

Aim. Commit. End it quickly.

You struck. The blade came down in a clean movement. But the moment your attack landed, something was off.

No stumble. No real resistance. Just adjustment.

Effortless. Your wrist was caught mid-motion. Firm grip. Immediate control. Before you could even register the shift in power. Your arm was twisted – not painfully but decisively – redirecting your momentum instead of fighting it.

The knife slipped from your hand. Clattered somewhere out of reach.

“—”

You barely had time to inhale. Your balance was gone. A single smooth movement pulled you forward. Then turned you and your feet losing contact with anything stable as your body was guided down to the floor.

Controlled.

The floor met your back in a dull impact. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to stop you.

And then he was there. A steady weight above you, pinning your arms in place with practiced ease. One knee securing your movement, one hand keeping you grounded without pressing too much force.

Silence filled the space.

Then–

“…Good.”

His voice was calm. Close enough that you felt it more than heard it. Your breath hitched. Recognition hit a second later.

“…Hey, darling.”

The tension in your body didn’t vanish all at once. Frustration and relief colliding as you exhaled sharply through your nose.

You tilted your head slightly. And without thinking twice. You reached up. Your hand finding his face. His skin was warm under your fingers. He didn’t stop you.

Just looked down at you – expression steady, unreadable in that familiar way of his. You pulled him down just enough to press a quick kiss to him.

Then another. Small and short. Like a reset button after impact. Only then did he finally speak again.

“You hesitated,” he said. You let out a laugh. Still pinned beneath him.

“You’re heavier than I expected,” you muttered.

A pause.

“…That’s not what I meant.”

That earned the faintest change in his expression. It was almost nothing but enough that you knew he heard you.

You let out a breath, your fingers still resting lightly against his jaw.

“…So,” you murmured, glancing up at him, “how was work?”

A beat of silence. His expression didn’t change.

“Uneventful.”

You huffed quietly.

“Of course it was.”

Your hand slid down slightly, resting against his chest now. Holding yourself after the sudden adrenaline.

“Let me guess,” you added, a faint smirk tugging at your lips, “nothing went wrong. Everything went exactly according to plan and you didn’t break a sweat.”

Another pause.

“…More or less.”

That made you smile again.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

He didn’t react to that either.

But his grip shifted slightly – as he finally eased some of his weight off you. Though he didn’t fully let you go yet.

“You dropped your guard,” he said instead.

There it was. You sighed.

“Hi to you too.”

For a second, neither of you moved. He looked down at you. His eyes fully focused on you.

Then he moved closer.

His other hand caught your wrist – not tightly but firmly enough to guide it away from his face.

“You’re not focused,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him.

“…Excuse me?” You said amused.

His expression didn’t change. “I knew where you would attack.”

That made a faint smile tug at your lips.

“Wow,” you murmured. “Did you come back from your mission just to roast me in my own kitchen?”

A pause.

His thumb pressed lightly against your wrist once. Checking.

“You hesitated,” he reminded again.

You let out a soft breath through your nose, still smiling.

“I didn’t hesitate,” you said. “I recognized you.”

Another beat.

Your fingers brushed lightly against his wrist now. Returning the touch like it was nothing new between you.

“That’s your fault, by the way,” you said casually.

His eyes narrowed slightly. Not in annoyance. In assessment.

“…Explain.”

“You make the same footsteps every time you come home,” you said. “It’s kind of predictable.”

That earned the smallest pause.

“…Noted.”

You hummed softly, almost satisfied.

Only then did he finally release you properly. Slow and controlled. Shifting back just enough to give you space to sit up.

You stayed close for a second longer than necessary.

Just enough time to breathe.

“See?” you murmured, smoothing a hand through your hair. “Progress.”

His gaze didn’t leave you.

“…Debatable,” he said.

That earned another laugh from you.

Before you could think too much about it. You leaned forward again and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. Not teasing this time. A habit more than a statement.

You pressed your lips only for a second before pulling back.

He didn’t react outwardly. But his eyes followed you.

“…You’re distracting,” he said finally.

That made you smile.

“Good,” you replied lightly. “Then my guard’s not the only thing dropping tonight.”

A pause.

Then, as if deciding the moment was already over. He shifted fully back and straightened.

:::::::

“Great,” you muttered while glancing toward the kitchen. “My food’s definitely ruined now.”

Without waiting for a response you turned and walked back toward the stove.

The apartment felt normal again. Almost like nothing had happened. You reached for the pot, giving the sauce a quick stir. Checking the heat.

Behind you, you could hear him move towards you. Steps crossing the room. Always the same.

You glanced over your shoulder.

“You’re staying this time, or–?”

You let the question hang in the air. He stopped a few steps behind you.

“Tonight, yes.”

You nodded slightly to his answer.

“Good.” A small pause.

Then, softer: “I made enough for two.” Silence settled between you again.

“I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

Your hand slowed slightly in the pot. Not stopping. Just enough to show you heard him.

“City?” you asked.

“Yes.”

You hummed quietly, processing it without making a big deal out of it.

“How long?”

“Not sure.”

Of course not. You let out a breath. “Alright. Try not to get into trouble.”

:::::

Later that night, the apartment had settled into a stillness.

The lights were off. Leaving the room in soft darkness. Broken only by the glow slipping in from outside. Somewhere in the distance, the city still moved but it felt far away.

You lay in bed, the warmth of the blankets wrapped around you. Your body slowly relaxing after everything. Beside you, he hadn’t moved much since lying down.

You could tell he was still awake.

It was in the way he breathed. Like he wasn’t fully letting himself rest.

You moved slightly. The mattress dipping under the small movement. For a moment, you stayed where you were. Staring into the dark listening to that familiar breathing beside you.

Then you turned. Slowly, without thinking too much about it you moved closer to him. Your hand found him first. Resting against his chest. The fabric of his shirt was warm beneath your fingers.

You let yourself settle there.

Closer now, your head coming to rest just below his shoulder. Fitting into that space like it was something you’d done a hundred times before. Which you did.

For a moment, he didn’t react. Didn’t pull you closer. Didn’t move away.

Just…watched you silently.

Then, after a second, his arm shifted. It came to rest around you with enough pressure to keep you there. A controlled adjustment. Like he had simply accepted your presence.

Your fingers moved slowly against his shirt until they settled there. Holding onto that steady warmth without thinking. The silence between you wasn’t cold. Just your way of communicating.

“…You should sleep,” you whispered. Your voice softer now, already edged with exhaustion.

A pause.

“I will.”

You were not fully convinced but your eyes are already closing. Your breathing began to slow, matching his without effort. He didn’t move again. Didn’t adjust. Nor pull away.

Just stayed exactly where he was. His arm still resting around you.  Outside, the distant sounds of the city blurred into the background.

Inside, everything felt Safe. And this time, when sleep finally pulled you under–

You didn’t fight it.

:::::

Morning came quietly.

Light filtered through the curtains, stretching across the room.  You didn’t move at first. His arm was still around you. Exactly where it had been the night before.

For a moment, you just lay there, listening to his breathing—steady now. Awake.

Of course. You shifted slightly, enough to look up at him.

“You’re leaving.”

Not a question. A small pause.

“…Yes.”

You nodded faintly. No surprise.

Your hand rested briefly against his chest before you pushed yourself up. The warmth leaving with the movement. The room felt cooler immediately.

He was already sitting up behind you. By the time you stood. He was moving efficient. Like a switch had been flipped back on. You followed him out of the bedroom. Rubbing the last bit of sleep from your eyes as he started gathering his things.

Jacket. Gear. Everything in its place. You reached for it before he did. Picking up his jacket and holding it out to him.

He took it without a word. As he slipped it on you stepped closer. Your hands moving automatically. Straightening the collar, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. A small habit. Unnecessary.

Still he didn’t stop you. Didn’t comment on your behavior.

Just stood there, letting you. When you were done. Your hands stayed for a second longer than needed. Then you leaned in and pressing a quick kiss to him.

Soft and short. A goodbye, nothing more. You pulled back but didn’t move away completely.

“Everything locked,” he said.

You huffed under your breath.

“I know.”

His eyes stayed on you.

“Windows.” You exhaled, just a little amused now.

“Yes.”

“Avoid routines.”

That made you pause for a second. Then a smile crossed your lips.

“Wow,” you said. “You really think I wasn’t paying attention?”

“…I think you get comfortable.”

There it was again. You shook your head to that.

“I’ll be fine.”

His eyes stayed on you a second longer. Then he gave a small nod.

“Stay alert.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Go,” you said softly. “Before you start to miss me.”

A brief pause. Then he turned.

By the time the door closed behind him, the apartment felt different.

Empty.

___________________________________________________________________________

The day went by slowly. It was late afternoon when you said goodbye to the cashier at the small store near your block. Grocery bags hung from your arms as you made your way home. The weight slowly digging into your fingers with every step.

All you could think about was getting inside, dropping everything and making something warm to eat. Maybe putting on a series afterward and falling asleep on the couch without meaning to.

A small smile tugged at your lips at the thought. A quiet weekend. Simple. Exactly what you needed.

“Where is my man when I need him?” you mumbled under your breath as you shifted the bags higher in your arms.

He would’ve taken them without effort.

Of course he would.

You reached your building a few moments later. Letting yourself inside before making your way up the stairs. The hallway was as still as always as you moved closer to your door.

Key in hand, you stopped right in front of it.

For a second, you just stood there.

Then you saw it.

The damage wasn’t obvious at first glance. But once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. A faint mark near the  lock. The frame slightly misaligned. Too subtle to be an accident. Too specific to ignore.

Your grip on the grocery bags tightened. Your expression changed almost instantly – tiredness fading into something sharper.

Awareness.

Slowly, you shifted one bag down and reached for your phone. Your fingers didn’t hesitate this time.

Did you finally bring me flowers?

Send.

The message left your screen.

:::::

Somewhere far away, Hunk’s phone lit up.

He read the message once. That was enough.

Without a single word to his team. He left and nobody questioned it. He was the leader, after all.

But everyone knew where he was going.

Home

:::::

Back at the apartment, you locked your phone and slipped it into your pocket.

Your hand immediately moved to your side. Your fingers brushing against the small knife concealed there. You didn’t draw it yet. Just made sure it was there.

Then you unlocked the door.

And stepped inside.

The silence hit you first. The door had barely clicked shut behind you when something moved—

Fast.

From your left. You reacted before you fully registered it. The bags dropped.

A hand shot toward you—aiming to grab, to restrain—

You pivoted sharply, body turning on instinct. Your arm came up, deflecting the grip while your other hand moved just as quickly—

The knife was in your hand now. No hesitation. You drove it forward. A sharp gasp—shock more than pain—as the blade caught fabric, skin. Not deep, but enough.

Enough to make him stumble back.

You didn’t wait. Step in. Elbow to the ribs. He folded slightly, breath leaving him in a rough exhale as you twisted out of his reach.

Space. Create space. Your eyes snapped up—

—and something slammed into your face.

Pain exploded across your cheek, sharp and immediate. Your head snapped to the side. Balance slipping for a split second as the impact rang through you.

Too slow.

You stumbled but didn’t fall. Instinct kicked in before the pain could settle. The second intruder stepped in, trying to follow up, to finish what he started—

You moved first.

Your hand shot up, catching his wrist mid-swing, twisting hard. His momentum worked against him as you stepped in close, closing the distance before he could recover.

Your knee drove up into his stomach. The air left him in a choked sound as his body folded forward.

You didn’t stop. The knife in your hand flashed again—quick and controlled—forcing him back. Forcing space between you.

He stumbled, disoriented, trying to regain his footing—

You shoved him. Hard enough to send him crashing back into the wall. A dull thud echoed through the apartment as he dropped.

Still.

For a second—

everything went quiet again.

Your breathing was heavier now. Faster.

Your cheek throbbed where he hit you. A dull pulse spreading under your skin.

But you were still standing. Still holding the knife.

Then more footsteps sounded behind you.

You turned just as they rushed you – no time to recover.

A hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back hard enough to rip a sharp cry from your throat. Pain shot through your scalp, forcing your balance off as your vision jolted.

Before you could react, something slammed into your side.

Air rushed out of your lungs as you were driven forward, barely catching yourself before another strike followed. A rough grip caught your arm, twisting it back at an angle that made your shoulder scream.

You struggled—kicked—fought—

But they didn’t stop.

Didn’t hesitate.

Another blow—this time to your ribs—forcing a broken breath from you as your strength faltered for just a second too long.

And that was all they needed.

Something struck your head.

The world tilted instantly. Your vision blurring as your knees gave out beneath you. You barely felt yourself hit the ground. Your grip on everything slipping too fast to hold onto.

Your last thought flickered—

Save me

Then everything went dark.

::::

When you came to, it wasn’t gentle.

Your head throbbed first. Pulsing pain that made it hard to think. Your vision swam as you forced your eyes open, blinking against the dim light.

Wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Your arms–

You tried to move.

Nothing.

Your wrists were bound tight behind the chair. Rough material biting into your skin. Your shoulders protested immediately. Sending sharp pain down your arms as you tested it again.

Tied. Just Great.

You let your head fall back for a second. Breathing slowly through the ache before lifting your head.  They were still there. At least two of them. Maybe more.

Watching you.

“Well,” one of them spoke up after a moment, voice rough, almost amused. “Look who’s awake.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him.

Silent.

“…You don’t talk much, do you?” he added, stepping a little closer.

A small laugh left you.

“Oh, I do,” you said, your voice quieter than usual but steady. “Just not when I don’t like the company.”

That earned a small scoff.

“Careful,” he muttered. “You’re not really in a position to–”

You tilted your head slightly, cutting him off.

“You should probably leave,” you said, almost casually.

A pause.

Then a short, humorless laugh.

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

Your lips curved faintly despite the situation.

“My boyfriend holds grudges.”

Another pause.

They looked at each other unsure what to think.  Not understanding. You leaned back slightly in the chair, ignoring the pull on your wrists.

“And trust me,” you added, “you really don’t want to be around when he decides to act on one.”

::::

For a second there was silence. Then they started laughing at you.

Small at first and then louder. Filling the room with mocking tones.

“Did you hear that?” one of them scoffed. “Her boyfriend–”

The words didn’t finish. They just… stopped.

A dull thud followed.

The laughter died instantly.

“What the–”

No one had heard the door.  But he was there. The second man turned too late and he dropped just as quickly as the first. His voice cut off before it could rise into anything more.

Panic settled into the room. Now they understood.

You barely had time to process what was happening but you could not hide a smile. One moment they had been laughing. Mocking you and the next. Two of them were on the ground, unmoving.

Then a hand grabbed you.

You were yanked back against the chair. Pain shooting through your shoulders as something cold pressed against your throat. A knife.

“Don’t move!” the last one snapped. His voice was unsteady and shaky. His grip tightening like it might give him control.

Your breath caught as the blade pressed closer. Just enough to remind you how little space there was between threat and action.

Your eyes lifted.

And found his.

Hunk stood a few feet away, completely still. Like he had all the time in the world. No wasted movement from him. Just that steady, unreadable look locked onto the man holding you.

“Back off,” the man stammered, trying to sound in control. Though the tension in his voice gave him away. “Or I swear–”

He didn’t finish.

Because Hunk moved.

Fast.

The man behind you tensed. The knife pressing closer against your throat as he tried to pull you back, using you as leverage.

Hunk closed the distance in seconds.

His hand shot out. Catching the man’s wrist before the blade could press any further. The grip tightened instantly before he twisted. With brutal force.

The man’s hold broke with a loud scream.  His fingers losing the knife as it slipped from his hand and hit the floor.

He reacted too late. Hunk stepped in, forcing him away from you. Using his own momentum against him to keep him away from you. The movement was quick.

The man tried to resist, but he didn’t get the chance.

A short struggle.

Then nothing.

His body went slack and dropped to the floor beside the others. The room fell quiet again.

Only your breathing was heard now. Hunk didn’t look at the others. His attention shifted immediately to you.

He stopped in front of you, taking a second to look you over. Your face, the bruise forming along your cheek. The way your shoulders were pulled back by the restraints.

His jaw tightened slightly.

Not much.

But enough.

“Hold still,” he said.

His voice was low.  He reached behind you, fingers finding the bindings at your wrists. There was a brief pause, then a quick motion as he cut through them.

The pressure released instantly.

Your arms dropped forward, the sudden freedom sending a sharp ache through your shoulders as the blood rushed back in.

Hunk’s hand came up without hesitation, steadying your arm before you could fully react. Just enough to keep you from losing balance.

“Easy,” he added. His grip stayed for a moment. Making sure you were stable before letting go.

His eyes moved over you again, more carefully this time.

Checking.

The bruise on your face. Your ribs. The way you held yourself.

“You’re hurt.”

“You should see the other guys,” you muttered. Your voice a little rough as you rolled your shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness.

Hunk didn’t react to the joke.

But his hand came up again. Fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. Careful. Like he tried not to be to ruff with you. He turned your face just enough to get a better look at the bruise forming there.

His touch was steady. Firm enough to keep you still, but not enough to hurt. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Just looked.

Taking it in. Then his thumb shifted slightly. Brushing just beneath your eye in a way that felt… softer.

“You should have left,” he said.

You huffed softly, leaning into his hand just a fraction.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I know.”

There was a brief pause.

Then, without another word he pulled back. He moved to the bathroom to grab a cloth and a bottle of water, anything usable. He returned just as quickly.

“Sit,” he said, though you were already doing exactly that.

The cloth was damp when he pressed it gently against your cheek. The contact made you wince slightly. But his grip adjusted immediately. Trying to be more careful.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

He didn’t answer. But the pressure eased.

His attention stayed on you as he worked. Cleaning the small cuts on your skin, checking your ribs with careful movements.  You watched him for a moment.

“You got my message,” you said quietly.

A small pause.

Then, a slight nod. You smiled faintly at that. Even if it pulled a little at the soreness in your face.

“Told you,” you added under your breath. “I make the best codewords.”

Another pause. His hand stilled for just a second before continuing. As if the words had registered somewhere deeper than he’d show. When he was done. He didn’t move away immediately.

Instead, his hand came to rest briefly at the side of your neck. His thumb brushing lightly against your skin. Not rushed. Just making sure.

::::

“You’re staring,” you murmured after a moment, your voice softer now.

His hand stilled briefly at your neck before he pulled it back.

“I’m checking,” he replied.

You laughted lightly, but didn’t argue. The apartment had gone quiet again. Not tense this time.

You moved. The exhaustion finally catching up to you now that everything had calmed down. Every movement reminded you of it. Your ribs, your shoulders and the dull ache behind your eyes.

Hunk noticed. Of course he did.

“Come on,” he said.

It wasn’t really a suggestion.

::::::

The bedroom was dim, the curtains half-drawn. Letting in only a faint trace of light from outside. It felt quieter in here. Safer.

You sat down on the edge of the bed first. Exhaling slowly as the tension in your body started to catch up with you. Now that everything had stopped, it hit harder. The soreness, the exhaustion, the adrenaline.

Hunk stayed near the door for a moment, like he always did. A quick glance around. Checking. Making sure.

Only then did he move further in.

You watched him as he pulled off his gloves. Setting them aside with the same calm precision he did everything else. Like nothing had happened.

Like this was just routine.

“…You’re bleeding too, you know,” you said quietly, nodding toward his hand.

He glanced down briefly.

“It’s not mine.”

Of course it wasn’t.

You huffed softly, shaking your head a little before easing yourself further back onto the bed. Every movement pulled somewhere, but it was manageable.

“You’re really bad at the whole ‘comforting’ thing,” you added after a second.

He didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he stepped closer. Stopping beside the bed. His gaze moved over you again.

“You’re talking,” he said. “That’s a good sign.” You let out a small breath that almost passed as a laugh.

“Wow. Reassuring.”

A faint pause. Then, without another word, he sat down beside you.

Close. Not distant anymore. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight.  You shifted after a moment. Carefully, inching closer until your shoulder brushed against his side. Not asking. Just… doing it.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t comment. His arm came up a second later, settling around you – steady and firm, like it belonged there.

That was enough. You let yourself lean into him fully this time. Resting your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was slow, unchanged, even now.

You focused on that. Let it pull you down. “…They were loud,” you murmured after a moment, your voice softer.

A pause.

“I know.”

Of course he did. Your fingers curled lightly into his shirt, grounding yourself there.

“You scared them.”  Another pause.

“…Good.”

Simple. But it made you smile anyway. Silence settled again, but this time it was different. Not empty. Not tense.

Just quiet.

Your eyes were already closing.

“Told you,” you murmured. Half-asleep now, your voice barely there, “you hold grudges.”

His hand shifted slightly against your back, a small and steady motion. Not correcting you. Not denying it.

“I remember,” he said. Sleep took you not long after that.

Summary: You feel it before it happens. The danger. The pain. The warning you never asked for.

It keeps you alive. It keeps him alive.

But this time, it almost breaks you. And when it’s over and your body finally gives in.

He’s still there. Protecting you.

Words: 5665

The steady thrum of the helicopter filled the cabin, vibrating through the metal floor beneath you and Leon.

Your head rested against the cold window, eyes closed as you steal a few moments of rest after the mission. The faint reflection in the glass showed Leon beside you. His gaze fixed on you rather than the darkness outside.

His hand held yours firm and gentle. His thumb drawing slow absent circles over your skin.

He sighed.  The flight wouldn’t last much longer. Soon, you’d be landing. Straight into another assignment waiting at the White House. No real break. No time to recover.

It was better that you were asleep.

The last mission had been rough. Harder than most. And Leon already knew this night wouldn’t end anytime soon. Not until everything was handled so you both could finally go home.

If that even happened. His eyes moved on you, his grip tightening slightly. You had done an irreplaceable job at his side out there. You always did. And that was exactly what worried him.

Because no matter how capable or strong you were. You still had that same instinct he did.

To step forward first. To take the hit. To sacrifice yourself if it meant someone else would make it out.

He hated that.

Not because it was wrong. But because it meant you could be taken from him just as easily.

Leon’s jaw tightened faintly. He couldn’t lose you. Not like that. Not at all.

His protective instincts had never really faded. Not since the day he first saw you.

Back then, you had been something entirely different. Not an agent.

Just… someone who needed saving. And from the moment he pulled you out of that place. From those cold walls and sterile lights – something in him had refused to let go.

It didn’t make sense. You had been a stranger. But it hadn’t felt like it. It had felt like losing you would have meant losing something important. Something he hadn’t even understood yet.

Seeing you again after DSO training had been… strange. You weren’t the same person he remembered. You stood taller and stronger. Determined in a way that left no room for doubt. A rookie, officially – but not really.

Not to him.

God, he had tried.

More than once. Tried to talk you out of it. Tried to convince you to stay away from this life. From the danger and constant risk. The pressure that came with it. But you had made up your mind long before that.

And Leon had known it. So instead, he accepted it. He trained you. Took you on missions. Taught you everything he could – not just how to fight, but how to survive.

And you learned fast. Faster than he expected. Somewhere along the way, you stopped being someone he had to watch over–

and became someone he trusted to watch his back.

Someone he relied on.

Someone he–

Leon’s thumb stilled against your hand as your body suddenly jerked slightly against the window.

His eyes snapped back to you.

You were trembling. You were having a nightmare and he definitely knew what it was about.

::::

Darkness swallowed everything.

Cold metal beneath you. The sharp sting of restraints digging into your wrists. Flickering lights overhead, barely holding on.

Voices echoed around you. Distorted and distant.

“Hold her still.”

Your breath hitched.

No– Not again.

You struggled. Panic rising fast and your pulse was pounding in your ears as shadows moved closer. A gloved hand reached for you

“No, wait!”

A sharp sting in your arm….

:::::

You woke with a gasp.

Your body jerked forward. Your breath uneven and your  heart was pounding violently against your ribs as if trying to escape.

For a second, nothing made sense. You were sweating slightly as you tried to steady your breathing.

Suddenly, two strong hands came into your field of vision. Gently but firmly cupping your face.

You flinched, your body jolting again – until you realized it was just Leon.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay.” His voice was calm.

He shifted closer from the window seat, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. One hand stayed at the side of your face while the other wrapped securely around you. He was holding you against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he murmured again.

Before you could say anything, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. The contact made something in you loosen. A quiet breath slipping past your lips as the tension slowly began to fade.

You closed your eyes, leaning into him. Letting his warmth anchor you back in the present.

“I’m sorry…” you mumbled under your breath.

Leon only tightened his hold slightly. His hand moving gently through your hair before he placed another soft, reassuring kiss there.

“You don’t have to be,” he said quietly.

You buried your face in his shoulder and your arms finally moving to wrap around his back holding onto him tightly. You needed this – needed the closeness – to calm yourself down.

Slowly, your breathing began to steady.

You knew you were already close to the White House. The last thing you wanted was to show up like a complete mess.

“The same dream?” he asked after a moment. Still holding you without letting go.

You nodded against him.

“Yeah… the same shit all over again,” you muttered. Your voice sounded tired.

Leon’s thumb moved gently along your cheek. Trying to make sure you know he is there for you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Pressing a soft, grateful kiss to his cheekbone.

:::::

“We’ll be reaching the designated location soon,” the pilot called from the front of the helicopter. His voice cutting through the steady hum of the rotors. He glanced back briefly, his eyes scanning on the two of you for just a second before returning his focus to flying.

You were still holding onto your man. Your face half-buried against his shoulder when you slowly opened your eyes again. The lingering warmth of his embrace made it harder than it should’ve been to pull away – but you did.

You shifted back into your seat, straightening up. Though your hand remained in Leon’s. Your fingers stayed loosely intertwined. Like neither of you was quite ready to let go just yet.

Your gaze drifted over his face, taking in the small details. The faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes were still fixed on you searching, making sure you were really okay.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. You gave his hand a light squeeze. A silent reassurance.

I’m okay. Don’t worry.

For a moment: he looked into your eyes – then a faint, almost tired smile tugged at his lips. Only then did he look away. His attention shifting toward the dark window beside him.

Outside, nothing but night stretched endlessly ahead.

“Five minutes,” the pilot added.

Five minutes until landing. Five minutes until whatever waited for you next. Your grip on Leon’s hand lingered just a second longer before relaxing slightly.

Another mission. Another fight.

This life was tough but you were happy you were not alone in it.

You sighed softly as you leaned back into your seat, letting your head rest against it. Your gaze drifted to the window, watching the clouds pass by in slow, endless waves as the helicopter cut through the night sky.

For a moment, everything felt almost calm.

You closed your eyes again, just briefly.

A dull headache had started to form, pulsing faintly behind your temples. You had hoped to get at least a little sleep during the flight but that hadn’t really worked out.

Not with your mind the way it was.

Your thoughts began to blur, drifting somewhere between exhaustion and silence-

until the pilot’s voice cut through it.

“Almost there.”

You exhaled, shifting slightly in your seat – when suddenly a sharp chill ran down your spine. It hit you instantly, like being thrown into ice-cold water.

Your eyes snapped open, your body tensing as you tried to make sense of it, to catch what was going on.

But deep down… you already knew.

That feeling. The same one every time. The quiet, unmistakable warning that something was about to go wrong.

Something bad was coming. Your grip around Leons hand tightened without you even realizing it.

But he noticed. He always did. He knew you well enough to recognize the shift instantly. The tension in your body, the way your focus sharpened.

Something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low, already alert. You swallowed; your eyes still fixed on the view outside. The city lights passing far below, distant and indifferent.

“…Something’s wrong.”

Leon didn’t question it.

His posture straightened instantly, his free hand already moving toward his weapon as his gaze followed yours into the darkness.

_________________________________________________________________________

The feeling only grew stronger the moment you landed. It didn’t fade. If anything, it tightened its grip around your chest.

You and Leon moved through the White House side by side.  Everything looked normal.

Too normal. Agents passed by. Staff hurried through the halls. Quiet conversations echoed off polished walls.

But none of it eased the tension building inside you. You made your way toward the meeting room. Your steps slowing slightly without you meaning to. The closer you got, the worse the feeling became. Sharp and pressing, impossible to ignore.

Then–

Everything went dark.

A silence fell over the hallway for a second, before distant noise started to rise.

Your breath caught. Your hands began to go numb. A cold sensation spreading through your fingers as your entire body tensed.

It was happening. Your gaze snapped to Leon, your brows drawn together in clear worry. You didn’t even have to say it.

Something was very, very wrong.

You looked around, trying to make sense of what was happening.

A few people stood nearby, just as confused as you were – murmuring, glancing at each other. Waiting for someone to explain the sudden darkness.

Your gaze moved over them, one by one.

Nothing. No obvious signs. No movement out of place. Everything looked… normal. But you didn’t believe that for a second. Not with that feeling still clawing at your chest.

You started moving again, slow and cautious, your senses sharpening with every step. Leon stayed close behind you. His hand already resting on the holster of his gun, ready.

You reached for your own weapon as well, drawing it smoothly. Your movements precise and controlled.

“Stay sharp, darling,” you muttered under your breath as you followed Leon into the next corridor.

More people had gathered there. Agents, staff, security. They stood in small groups, looking around with growing unease. Waiting for orders or for answers. Some spoke in hushed voices trying to figure out what was going on.

You moved a little closer, your gun rising in front of you. Your grip steady despite the tension building in your chest.

Then–

Your breath caught. Your eyes snapped across the room, scanning again. Faster this time, more focused.

And then felt it crawling in your fingernails.

One person.

Your gaze locked onto him. A man standing slightly apart from the others. Shoulders tense, head lowered just a little too much. To anyone else, he looked shaken. Normal even.

But to you–

Something was off. Your stomach dropped. Your fingers tightened around your weapon.

“…Leon,” you said. Your voice barely above a breath as you stepped just a little closer to him. You didn’t take your eyes off the man.

“That one,” you murmured.

And not even a second later, he turned. Without warning, he lunged at another person whose back was turned. A sharp scream pierced the corridor as she was bitten hard in the neck. Blood spattered and panic erupted instantly.

Chaos broke loose.

People scattered in every direction, screaming and tripping over each other, desperate to escape. But you didn’t stop.

You moved forward with your weapon raised. Every sense on high alert, instincts screaming at you that this was far from over.

:::

By the time you finally reached the President, he was already being fitted into a protective vest. Tension written all over the room.

Jason was standing near a hidden safe behind a painting, pulling out weapons with practiced movements and handing them over to you and Leon.

“Sorry we’re late, Mr. President,” you said, your voice steady despite everything that had just happened.

“Everyone ready?” Jason called out as the last weapon was taken. A few quick nods and thumbs-ups followed. No hesitation. You moved out together, coordinated, pushing through the corridor toward the President’s safe room.

The halls were no longer quiet.

Gunshots echoed as you took down the infected along the way, each movement precise.

You stayed close to Leon, your gun raised as you turned another corner. Clearing it quickly before moving on.

By the time you reached the safe room, things had only grown more tense. You left Patrick behind and followed Jason further down the hall.

There was no time to slow down.

“We split up,” Jason ordered, his voice sharp and controlled as he looked between all of you. “Anything that moves – put it down. Don’t let anything get near the safe room.”

You nodded, tightening your grip on your weapon. With that, Jason and Shen May moved off to cover the sides, disappearing down separate corridors.

You and Leon exchanged a quick glance–

then turned and headed up the stairs together.

You peeked around the corner. Scanning the area carefully before giving Leon the signal that it was clear – for now.

Without hesitation: you both moved forward, quick and coordinated.  Like it was second nature. It always was.

You cleared the next section together. Covering each other’s angles with practiced precision until you stepped into a large, open room.

The space was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the floor–

and filled with movement.

Zombies staggered in the room, slow but relentless.

You didn’t waste a second.

Both of you raised your weapons and opened fire. Taking down the zombies one by one with controlled shots.

You were finishing off another figure when that familiar  feeling hit. Something was rushing straight toward Leon.

“Leon, tak–” you started, but the words caught in your throat as the zombie lunged at him.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath. Adrenaline pumping as you sprinted forward, every instinct screaming to reach him in time.

With a precise kick you slammed into the zombie, knocking it off Leon.  It hit the ground hard–

but you were already there. You planted your foot firmly against its throat, pinning it down as you raised your gun and fired.

One clean shot.

The body went still.

“Don’t you dare touch him…” you muttered under your breath. Your voice low and sharp before your attention snapped back to Leon.

You stepped toward him quickly. Reaching out and grabbing his hand, pulling him back up onto his feet.

“You okay?”

He steadied himself, his grip tightening briefly around your hand before letting go.

“Yeah,” he said, a little breathless. “I’m good.” His eyes met yours for a second longer than usual.

“Stay close to me,” he said, more serious now. You huffed lightly. “You were the one on the ground.” A faint smirk flickered across his face.

“Yeah. Not happening again.”

“Better not.” With that, you both raised your weapons again. Finishing off the last of the infected on the floor with precise shots.

___________________________________________________________________________

You were trailing behind Leon as you walked down the underground hall where a large U-boat was waiting. You barely listened to what the captain was saying about it. How advanced it was, how reliable.

Your thoughts were somewhere else.

Still stuck on the last few hours, where you had to fight for your life once again. A zombie outbreak… in the White House.

It didn’t make sense. Something about all of this felt off. Your gaze shifted ahead, watching Shen May and Jason as they walked in front of you. You couldn’t quite figure them out.

It wasn’t that they weren’t capable agents – far from it. But something about them felt… suspicious.

You hadn’t brought it up to Leon yet. But maybe now you’d find the chance.

You picked up your pace just slightly, closing the small distance between you and Leon.

“Leon,” you said quietly. He glanced at you immediately, slowing just enough to fall into step beside you.

“What is it?”

You hesitated for a second, your eyes flicking ahead toward Shen May and Jason before lowering your voice a little.

“…Something’s off.”

That was all it took.

His expression shifted.

“Yeah?” he asked. You nodded slightly.

“I can’t explain it. But… them. This whole situation.” You exhaled. “It doesn’t feel right.” Leon didn’t brush it off. Didn’t question it anymore.

Instead, his gaze moved ahead, more focused now.

“…Alright,” he said after a moment. “We stay sharp.”

A small pause. Then his hand brushed yours.

Barely.

“Stick with me.”

Your fingers twitched slightly at the contact, but you didn’t pull away.

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” you murmured. That earned you the faintest hint of a smile from him.

::::

You and Leon followed a few steps behind Shen May and Jason as they led the way into a small conference room aboard the submarine. The walls were bare metal, the lighting low and the hum of the engines thrummed through the floor.

Jason began explaining the plan, but as expected, most of it was vague. “We’ll investigate the source of the breach from here. That’s all you need to know for now.”

Shen May added nothing more than curt nods, her eyes scanning the room like she already anticipated trouble.

Leon leaned slightly toward you, whispering, “They’re not saying much.”

You nodded, your unease growing. “That’s… all they told us. Nothing concrete about the mission itself.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figures. Classified. Typical.”

The two agents finished their briefing, exchanged a few quick words with you and left without another glance. The door sealed shut behind them, leaving only you and Leon in the quiet room.

You exhaled, letting your shoulders relax just a fraction. The tension in the corridor had followed you in. But now it felt manageable. You glanced at Leon. His eyes, usually so guarded, softened as they met yours.

“Now that it’s just us…” you began, but your voice trailed off, unsure how to start.

He gave a small half-smile. “Yeah?”

You stepped a little closer, feeling the warmth of him beside you. “I don’t know… I just feel like there’s more going on than they’re letting on. I can’t shake it.”

Leon’s hand brushed against yours again, firm but gentle. “Then we watch each other’s backs. That’s all we can do right now.”

“Yeah. I count on you.” A light smile curved your lips. “By the way, darling… your jacket is suiting you well.” You reached out, letting your fingers trace over the leather. Moving slowly up toward his chest, then tilting your hand toward his face.

Leon’s eyes flicked down at your hand, then back to yours. The hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You look really handsome. You knew I love this jacket the most, didn’t you?”

He caught your gaze, a warmth lighting his eyes. “I might have guessed.” His hand moved up to your cheek. His thumb tracing gentle over your skin. “And I love that you notice these things.”

You leaned in slightly, heart fluttering. The hum of the submarine faded into the background. For a moment, it was just the two of you. The warmth of his hand, the quiet intimacy of a room suddenly too small.

You tilted your head, lips hovering just a breath from his. “Leon…”

His eyes locking with yours. Heartbeat pressing against yours.

And then–

A sharp metallic clang echoed down the hall, breaking the spell. Both of you froze.

Your chest tightened, an instinctive shiver running down your spine. That same low, uneasy pulse – the one you’d come to trust – spiked in your head. A dizziness teased the edge of your vision, and a sharp throb formed behind your temples.

Something was coming. Something bad.

You grabbed Leon’s arm, your grip firm. “Leon… something’s wrong,” you whispered, voice tight but urgent.

His eyes flicked to yours, instantly alert. “Where?”

Before you could answer, the lights flickered and dimmed, the hum of the submarine shifting into an uneasy vibration

“Let’s go. We need to find out what’s going on.”

You nodded slowly and fell in step behind him as you left the room. Your steps were cautious, each one measured as you tried to pinpoint the source of that nagging sense of danger.

As you both approached the U-boat’s control room. You ran into Jason again. The scene that greeted you made your stomach twist. Dead bodies sprawled across the panels, motionless and eerily silent. Your eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, scanning for anything that might still pose a threat.

Jason’s eyes moved over the bodies scattered across the control panels, his expression hardening slightly.

“…We’re not alone down here,” he muttered under his breath.

Then his gaze snapped to you and Leon, voice turning sharp and commanding.

“Anything that moves—take it out. Don’t hesitate.”

Leon gave a short nod. “Understood.”

You tightened your grip on your weapon, the unease in your chest growing heavier by the second.

“We split up,” Jason added. “Find any survivors.”

Leon didn’t argue. He just glanced at you briefly.

“You’re with me.”

“Always,” you answered quietly.

::::

The two of you moved out together. Stepping into a narrow corridor leading deeper into the submarine. It was too quiet.

Only the low hum of the engine filled the space but even that sounded… wrong now. Your steps slowed.

That feeling came back. Stronger this time.

A sharp pressure built behind your temples. Your breath catching slightly as your senses stretched too far, trying to grasp something you couldn’t yet see.

“Leon…”

He glanced back immediately. “What is it?”

“…I don’t know yet,” you murmured. “But something’s here.”

Then–

A faint sound. Scratch. You both froze. Another one.

Closer this time. Leon slowly raised his knife. Eyes scanning the dark corners of the corridor.

“…Hear that?” You nodded. Your ability spiked.

Not a warning–

A flood.

Your vision blurred for a second as the signal hit all at once. Too many movements. Too many directions. Your stomach dropped.

“Hun–”

Something moved. A rat darted out from the shadows.

Then another.

And another. The floor came alive.

A swarm burst forward, pouring out from vents, pipes, cracks in the walls. Filling the corridor in seconds. Hundreds of them. Their bodies overlapping, screeching, claws scraping violently against metal.

Your breath hitched.

Too much. Your ability spiraled out of control, trying to track every single one at once. Pain shot through your head.

Your knees nearly gave out.

“Hey – stay with me!” Leon grabbed your arm instantly, steadying you before you could collapse.

“I–” your voice broke slightly. “Too many… I can’t–”

The swarm rushed forward. Leon didn’t hesitate.

“Move!” He pulled you back fast, forcing your body to react even when your mind lagged behind. You stumbled with him, gripping onto his arm as he dragged you toward the next section.

The rats flooded after you. Fast and relentless.

“Up!”

Leon grabbed onto the overhead mesh and pulled himself up, then immediately reached down for you.

“Give me your hand!”

Your vision swam, but you forced your arm up. He caught you instantly, pulling you up beside him as the swarm rushed beneath your feet.

You clung to the metal above, your arms trembling. Not just from the strain, but from the overwhelming pressure in your head.

The rats piled below you, jumping trying to reach.

Your breath came uneven.

“Leon…”

“I’ve got you,” he said firmly. “Don’t look down.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to steady yourself.

Think. Focus.

Leon dropped down briefly, smashing a pipe open. Water began flooding the floor quickly, spreading across the metal surface.

Your eyes widened slightly despite the dizziness.

He grabbed a cable next cutting into it with quick precision.

“Hold on!”

He jumped back up beside you just as the exposed wire hit the water.

A violent surge of electricity shot through the flooded floor.

The swarm convulsed instantly.

High-pitched screeches filled the corridor as the rats thrashed, bodies jerking uncontrollably before going still.

Silence. Your ears rang faintly.

But your body–

Your body gave out. The tension snapped all at once.

Your grip slipped.

“Hey–”

Leon caught you immediately, one arm locking around you as you sagged against him. “I’ve got you,” he said, pulling you close and keeping you steady.

Your head dropped briefly against his shoulder, breath shaky.

“…too much…” you whispered. “It was everywhere…”

His hand moved to your back.

“I know,” he murmured. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

You nodded weakly, holding onto him as your senses slowly calmed. Though the echo of that overwhelming feeling still stayed in your head.

:::::

Silence slowly settled over the corridor, broken only by the faint crackle of dying electricity.

Leon still held you close, his arms firm around you as if letting go wasn’t even an option. His eyes searched your face. Focusing on how pale you’d become, the worry in them impossible to hide.

There wasn’t much he could do.

Your ability – something you never asked for – was pushing you to your limits again and all he could do was keep you upright. Keep you close, hope it was enough. And he hated it.

Hated how helpless it made him feel.

His grip tightened slightly, almost unconsciously. Like if he just held on a little stronger, it might somehow keep you from slipping away. But it didn’t change anything. He couldn’t take the pain from you. Couldn’t quiet whatever storm was raging inside your head.

And that feeling–

It dragged him back.

Back to a place he never really left.

To Raccoon City.

To the chaos. The screams. The people he couldn’t save.

His jaw tightened.

Why did it always feel like this? Like no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he fought, it was never enough. Why could he never protect the people that mattered to him… the way he was supposed to?

His gaze softened again as it fell back on you, his hand moving up to your face, thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“…I’ve got you,” he murmured quietly, more to himself than to you. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” you whispered, your voice faint. “I’m holding us back again.” His expression tightened instantly.

“Hey–no,” Leon said. His hand cupping your cheek a little more securely. “Don’t say that.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still gripping his jacket weakly. “I can barely stand, Leon… if this keeps happening–”

“It won’t,” he cut in gently. “And even if it does, we deal with it. Together.”

Your eyes flickered up to his. “I’m supposed to have your back… not slow you down.”

A quiet exhale left him. Almost like he was holding back.

“You are,” he murmured. “You always do.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, slower this time. “You warned me. Back there… more than once. I’m still here because of you.”

Your grip on him tightened slightly at that.

“You don’t see it, do you?” he added quietly. “You think this–” his hand moved slightly. Gesturing to you, to the strain you were under “ –makes you weaker.”

You swallowed, saying nothing.

“It doesn’t,” he said. “It’s the reason we’re still standing.”

The words settled somewhere deep in your chest. Easing some of that tight pressure that hadn’t just come from your ability.

Your breathing slowly steadied. Your body still leaning into his but no longer on the edge of giving out.

“…still feels like I’m falling apart sometimes,” you admitted quietly.

His lips pressed together for a moment before softening again. “Then fall apart with me there and not alone.”

Your eyes softened at that, something warm flickering through the exhaustion.

“…you’re really not letting go, huh?”

A faint, tired smile tugged at his lips. “Not a chance.”

Your eyes slowly lifted to meet his again. He was already watching you. Every line of his face softened. As if you were something fragile he didn’t want to break.

A small, nervous smile curved your lips. You leaned in just slightly, keeping the movement gentle. He responded immediately. Closing the last space between you and your lips met halfway in a soft kiss.

Your hands moved naturally. Yours gripped the lapels of his jacket, feeling the warmth and texture beneath your fingers.

The kiss deepened just a little and his other hand slid to the small of your back. Pulling you closer. Your free hand threaded lightly through his hair, holding him with the same careful insistence he held you.

Your lips moved slowly against his, opening just enough to let his mouth nudge yours in tiny, teasing rhythms. The touch was electric, but soft.

Even as the kiss became more confident. Your hands stayed connected. His movements guided yours, every brush and pull a quiet conversation was an exchange of trust and care.

When you finally eased back, your foreheads rested together. Your hands stayed. His still on your cheek. Yours gripping his jacket. Both of you reluctant to break contact.

A soft, shy laugh escaped your lips.

“…I needed that,” you whispered.

Leon’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Me too,” he murmured. His arm still wrapped securely around your waist.

For a long moment, you simply held each other, letting the tension of the day slip away. Just for a while.

After a few quiet minutes, he whispered softly, “You ready to take down the bad guys with me again?”

You nodded slowly, a determined spark in your eyes. “Yeah… let’s take down these pieces of shit.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “That’s my girl.”

___________________________________________________________________________

When you both finally made it home exhaustion hit you all at once. It settled deep in your bones.

After taking down Jason in his final form. You had barely been able to stand. The mission alone had been enough. The constant strain of your ability. The overload of it all had pushed you far past your limits.

At least it was over. For now.

You had already signed off for a few days of vacation. Not that it would last long. These days it felt like everyone was going B.O.W. shopping and somehow you and Leon always ended up right in the middle of it.

A quiet breath left your lips as you let yourself sink back onto the mattress in your shared bedroom. Your body relaxed instantly against the familiar softness. Muscles finally giving in after hours of tension.

For a moment, you just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Letting the silence settle around you.

And this should be the time that you felt asleep. At least that was the plan. You just didn’t.

Your mind kept running.

Fragments of the mission flickered behind your eyes. The noise, the chaos and the overwhelming rush of your senses. Your head throbbed faintly. A dull reminder of everything you had pushed through.

You turned your head slightly, glancing over at Leon. He looked just as worn out, though he tried to hide it like always.

“…You sleeping?” you asked quietly.

He let out a small breath, shaking his head. “Not even close.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah… same.”

Silence fell again but this time, it felt restless.

You pushed yourself up slowly. Running a hand through your hair. “I don’t think I can stay in here right now.”

Leon looked at you, already knowing where this was going. “Yeah?”

You nodded, a small spark returning to your eyes. “Let’s go for a ride.”

There was a brief pause. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. “Thought you’d say that.”

::::

Not long after, you were outside.

The cool night air hit your skin instantly. It cleared your head just enough to make you breathe a little easier.

Leon’s bike stood waiting, dark and familiar under the dim streetlights.

He swung a leg over it first, then glanced back at you. “You good?”

You nodded, stepping closer before climbing on behind him. Your arms wrapped around his waist naturally. Your body pressing against his back as if it was second nature.

“Always,” you murmured.

The engine roared to life beneath you. The vibration humming through your body.

And then you were moving.

The city stretched out before you, streets mostly empty at this hour. Lights glowing softly against the night. The wind rushed past you. It was cool against your face, tugging at your clothes.

You leaned into him slightly, your grip around him tightening just a little. Out of comfort.

Leon’s hand briefly left the handlebar, reaching back to rest over yours for a second. Giving it a small squeeze before returning his focus to the road.

You smiled softly against his shoulder. The ride was smooth. Steady.

The sound of the engine. The rhythm of the road and the quiet understanding between the two of you. It was perfect.

You let your head rest against his back. Eyes half-closing as the tension slowly slipped away with every passing streetlight.

“…This helps,” you murmured.

Leon tilted his head slightly, just enough for you to know he heard you.

“Yeah,” he called back. “Knew it would.”

For once, there was nothing chasing you. Nothing waiting around the next corner.

Summary: You were supposed to be on vacation. Instead, you end up in another bioweapon outbreak. This time on Alcatraz. As an IVTRU agent, you know how to survive situations like this. What you don’t know how to handle?

Running into Leon S. Kennedy again. Fighting side by side is easy. Ignoring the tension between you isn’t. And when a near-death moment leaves no room for denial, you’re forced to face the truth-

Maybe the most dangerous part of this mission…

Is him.

Words: 5784

The last thing you expected on your paid leave was bioterrorism. Your job normally involved stopping things like that before they became international incidents.

You worked for the International Viral Threat Response Unit – IVTRU for short. A multinational organization created for one very specific problem: viruses that should never exist outside of laboratories.

Bioweapons.

Illegal research.

Outbreaks that governments preferred not to talk about publicly.

When things went wrong – when viruses escaped, when black-market labs got careless, when entire facilities went silent. IVTRU was the team sent to deal with it.

Preferably before the world noticed.

You had spent the last several years doing exactly that.

Shutting down illegal research facilities. Extracting scientists who knew too much. Cleaning up viral incidents that would have caused global panic if they had reached the news.

It wasn’t a job that left much room for normal life.

Or vacations.

Which was exactly why your supervisor had forced one on you. Mandatory leave, they called it. You called it exile from the field.

Apparently, surviving three back-to-back outbreak operations meant you were “overdue for psychological recovery time.” Their words, not yours.

So here you were.

In San Francisco.

Ocean air. Tourist crowds. Historic landmarks.

And absolutely none of your usual problems.

For the first time in months, you had turned off your work phone. No encrypted calls. No emergency briefings. No late-night messages telling you another virus had appeared somewhere in the world.

You had every intention of keeping it that way. Today’s plan had been simple.

A ferry ride. A quiet walk around Alcatraz Island.

Maybe dinner somewhere along the waterfront afterward. A normal day.

At least, that was the idea.

:::::

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

That was your first reaction to the disaster unfolding in front of you. You had come to the island for the ocean breeze. A quiet break before exploring the old prison halls of Alcatraz Island. Instead, the moment you stepped inside, you found yourself in the middle of another zombie outbreak.

So much for a peaceful vacation.

The first infected slammed into the cell bars with a guttural snarl, fingers clawing through the gaps toward a group of terrified tourists. Another staggered down the corridor, blood soaking the front of his shirt as he lunged for the nearest person.

Panic spread instantly. People screamed. Someone tripped over a fallen backpack. A tour guide shouted for everyone to run while trying – amd failing – to  sound calm.

You didn’t move. Years in outbreak zones had taught you something important. The first moments were always chaos.

You scanned the hallway automatically. Two infected near the cells. One dragging itself from the stairwell. Another already on the ground tearing into someone who hadn’t moved fast enough.

Your jaw tightened. Yeah. Definitely infected.

“What a great day of my vacation,” you muttered under your breath as you picked up the gun from a fallen guard. The weight of it felt familiar in your hand.

Without hesitation, you raised it and fired twice. The bullets punched cleanly through the zombie’s skull right in front of you.

Just like morning training.

The body dropped.

Across the corridor, the sharp crack of more gunfire echoed through the prison halls. You glanced up just in time to see three figures fighting their way through the swarm of infected.

One woman moved with frightening precision, dropping zombies with clean shots while a tall man covered her flank. A brown-haired woman guided terrified tourists toward the exit behind them.

They moved like a trained unit.

Efficient

Definitely not tourists.

Good.

At least someone else here knew what they were doing. Unfortunately, that also meant the situation was about to get a lot worse. The infected didn’t seem interested in giving anyone breathing room.

One of them slammed into you from the side before you could react.

“Ah—!”

The impact drove both of you backward into the broken floor. You hit the concrete below hard, rolling across the damp ground of what looked like an old sewer tunnel beneath the prison.

The zombie landed beside you with a snarl. You groaned.

“Fantastic.”

It lunged. You fired. The body dropped at your feet.

For a moment the tunnel fell silent except for the distant echoes of gunfire above. Then another figure dropped down from the opening above.

You spun, gun raised–

Only to freeze when the woman from upstairs straightened in front of you. Her gun was gone. Instead she held only a knife in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Her eyes flicked to the corpse.

Then to you. “Civilian?” she asked.

You brushed dust off your jacket.

“Something like that.”

She glanced at the pistol in your hand. “…Right.”

Somewhere deeper in the tunnel, something moved in the darkness. A low growl echoed through the sewer. She tightened her grip on the knife.

“Looks like we’re not alone down here.”

You sighed. “Of course we’re not.”

And without another word, the two of you started deeper into the tunnels beneath Alcatraz. Neither of you knew yet that someone else was moving through those same tunnels.

Someone you unfortunately had a habit of running into whenever the world decided to end.

__________________________________________________________________________

The tunnel beneaf was darker then you expected. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, echoing through the narrow sewer corridor under Alcatraz Island. The air smelled damp and metallic.

You adjusted your grip on the pistol as you and the woman moved carefully through the darkness.

She walked slightly ahead, flashlight in one hand and the knife ready in the other. You never seen that woman before but she looked like she walked through a lot of shit herself if she moves like she does. “So,” you said quietly, “do vacations here usually involve zombie outbreaks?”

She snorted faintly.

“First time for me too.”

That confirmed it. Not a civilian.

“Of course it is,” you said dryly. “I’m guessing you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.”

Your sarcasm came naturally. At this point it was more instinct than attitude.

“Something like that,” she replied.

Fair.

You hadn’t exactly given her a better answer either.

You both moved slowly through the sewer. You listened carefully, catching a sound just ahead, somewhere around the corner. With a brief nod, you both pressed yourselves against the wall, ready to strike whatever was coming.

Jill moved first.

Her attack was fast and precise.

The person instantly reacted. He blocked her strike and they moved into hand in hand combat. It was your time to move with a raised gun you stepped from the corner to confront the stranger. Just that it was not stranger.

“…No. Absolutely not.”

The light shifted just enough to reveal his face.

Blond hair. Blue eyes.

You let out a slow breath through your nose.

Jill stilled. “…Leon?”

Recognition settled in. She pulled back, lowering her knife, though her posture remained tense. He straightened slightly, as if nothing had happened.

“Well, what do you know… Jill Valentine.”

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head.

“…You’ve got to be shitting me.”

That got his attention.

Leon’s gaze shifted and paused the second he really looked at you. Recognition hit.

“…No way.”

You crossed your arms, already done with this situation. “Don’t.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think you’d end up here.”

“I didn’t plan to,” you shot back. “That was kind of the idea.”

A low growl echoed through the tunnel, cutting the moment short. Leon glanced past you into the darkness, expression sharpening instantly. “Guess that answers that.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, raising your gun again. “Vacation’s officially over.”

Jill looked between the two of you, clearly picking up on the history. “You two know each other?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Unfortunately. Every time I meet him the world goes to hell.”

Leon let out a quiet breath, almost amused. “That’s a little dramatic. And not exactly accurate.”

A sound echoed again closer this time.

Jill’s focus snapped back instantly, her grip tightening on the knife. “We can sort that out later.”

“Fine by me,” you said, raising your gun.

Leon stepped forward, weapon ready, his tone turning sharp. “Stay alert.”

You glanced at him briefly.

“When am I not?”

A beat.

“…Don’t answer that.”

Then a zombie moved toward you, its movements slow and uncoordinated. Jill stepped in without hesitation and drove her knife cleanly through its skull. It dropped instantly.

Silence followed. For a moment, no one moved. Then Leon reached into his jacket and pulled out a spare pistol, offering it to Jill Valentine without a word. She took it, checking the magazine with practiced ease before chambering a round.

“Thanks.”

A small nod. “Figured you’d need it.” A faint sound echoed through the tunnel.

Not a growl. Something… wetter.  All three of you stilled.

Further down the corridor, a lone zombie stumbled into view, dragging one leg behind it.

Then–

Something dropped from the water. Fast. Silent. Claws slammed into the zombie, pinning it to the ground. It didn’t even get a chance to react before it was torn apart.

The sound of tearing flesh echoed through the tunnel. You didn’t move.

The creature lifted its head slowly. Exposed muscle twitched under the dim light, its long tongue flicking out as it tasted the air. Leon’s hand lifted slightly.

Don’t move. You froze. Beside you, Jill held her aim but didn’t fire. The Licker moved.

Its claws clicked against the concrete as it crept toward you. Trying to find his next pray.

Closer.

Closer.

You could hear it now. The wet rasp of its breathing, the faint scrape of bone against stone. Your grip tightened on your weapon.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. It stopped just a few feet away. Its head tilted. Its tongue flicked out again. Searching. For a second, it felt like it knew.

Then–

It changed his direction. Toward Jill. You moved – just enough –

Your foot slipped.

“—”

You stumbled forward, straight into Leon. The sound echoed. Too loud.

The Licker’s head snapped toward you. It screamed–

And lunged. Gunfire exploded through the tunnel.

Jill fired first. You pushed off Leon instantly, regaining your balance as you raised your weapon. “Die you peace of shit.”

“Move!” Leon snapped. You fired.

The creature stumbled–

Leon finished it with a clean shot. The body hit the ground hard. Silence rushed back in. You exhaled slowly, lowering your weapon just slightly.

“…I hate this vacation.”

Leon glanced at you.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I can tell.”

___________________________________________________________________________

You fell into step beside them, boots echoing softly against the damp concrete as you moved deeper beneath Alcatraz Island. The tension didn’t disappear.

It just changed. Less immediate danger into more questions.

You could feel it in the way Jill Valentine kept glancing at you. She didn’t ask right away.

But eventually–

“Alright,” she said, breaking the silence. “You’re not a tourist.” You huffed. “That obvious?”

She gave you a look. “You handled yourself too well. And you weren’t surprised.”

Fair. Leon watched you from the corner of his eyes. He already knew where this was going. You exhaled through your nose.

“International Viral Threat Response Unit,” you said. “IVTRU.”

A short pause. Jill’s brows pulled together slightly. “Never heard of it.”

“Not surprising,” you replied. “We don’t advertise.”

Leon let out a quiet breath. “…International oversight,” he muttered.

You shot him a look. “Don’t sound so excited.”

“I’m not,” he said flatly. You almost smiled. Jill crossed her arms slightly as she walked. “So what are you doing here?”

You gestured vaguely around the tunnel. “Not this.”

Leon huffed quietly. “Vacation?” he asked. You gave him a pointed look. “Yes. That thing normal people get.”

Another step. Water dripped somewhere ahead. Jill shook her head slightly. “You picked the wrong place.”

“Clearly.” The tunnel opened up slightly ahead, the concrete walls giving way to a passage. Something about it felt… off. Leon slowed first.

You noticed it a second later. A section of the wall. Wind came out of it. Not original construction.

Jill stepped closer, flashlight sweeping over the surface. “…Hold on.” You moved up beside her, studying it. Hidden seams. Slight irregularities.

Your expression shifted. “Well,” you muttered. “That’s not suspicious at all.” Leon reached out, running his hand along the stones.

“There’s something behind this.” Jill nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat. Then she glanced between the two of you. “Ready?” You adjusted your grip on your weapon. “When has that ever mattered?”

Leon gave a quiet, almost amused exhale. “Fair point.”

:::

You three moved into the tunnel that had just revealed itself. You and Leon took the lead, Jill right behind you. After a few steps, Jill asked once more. “You two never answered my question.”

“Which one?” you asked, tone light but sharp. “How you know each other.”

Leon slowed, glancing at you. “Work,” you said finally. “Same line of work. Different countries.” He added casually, “We’ve crossed paths before.”

“More than once,” you muttered, a hint of dry humor in your voice. Jill’s brow furrowed. “And every time it ends like this?”

“More or less,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the uneven tunnel ahead. Leon tilted his head, calm as ever. “We get the job done.”

“Eventually,” you shot back. A pause. “You tripped,” he said, voice low enough that only you heard. “…You want to bring that up right now?”

“I’m just saying,” he replied, unbothered.

“It was wet,” you muttered. Jill let out a faint, amused breath. “Good to know that’s the weak point.” You rolled your eyes.

“I hate both of you.” Leon glanced at you, the smirk tugging at his lips. “Noted.”

The tunnel closed a little, forcing you closer together. Your shoulder brushed lightly against his as you stepped forward. Neither of you moved away immediately.

“So… you two really do know each other well?” Jill asked, her tone more serious now.

“Yes.”

Jill shook her head slightly, a trace of a smile breaking through. “I can see that.”

::::

You followed the narrow passageway until it finally opened up into what looked like an underground facility.

The shift was immediate. Rough stone gave way to metal walls, dim overhead lights burning bright as if they had been maintained in years.

None of you said anything at first.

You stayed close together. Your instincts kicking in. Every step was careful – like something could come at you from any corner.

Your gun was already raised, finger resting near the trigger. Just in case.

“It looks clear… for now,” Jill said in a low tone as you stepped into another room.

You gave a small nod, eyes still scanning. “Yeah. But don’t relax yet.”

Nothing here felt safe. You moved further into the room, checking the scattered equipment and monitors, searching for anything that might tell you what this place was.

Leon stepped up beside you, doing the same. Close enough that you were aware of him without looking.

Before you could say anything–

A loud metallic clang echoed behind you.

You spun around instantly. A heavy gate had slammed shut, cutting off the way you came in.

“…What the hell?” you muttered.

“Jill, you okay?” you called out, stepping closer to the barrier.

She moved up on the other side, weapon raised. “Yeah, I’m fine. But what the hell is going on?” You shook your head slightly. “I don’t know.”

Leon stepped up beside you, eyes already scanning for alternatives. “Looks like we’re not going back that way.”

You let out a breath, already accepting it. “Yeah… seems like it.”

A beat.

Then you looked at Jill again.

“Take care. We’ll meet up again – find another way around.”

She nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. Stay safe.”

“Always.”

With that, she stepped back, turning and disappearing down another corridor. Her footsteps fading into the distance.

Silence settled again.

You stood there for a second longer before turning back around – right into Leon.

Closer than expected.

“…Well,” you said, stepping back slightly, “guess it’s just us now.”

He gave a small nod, expression calm but focused. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You sighned. “Yeah. And it never ends well.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”

“Barely,” you shot back.

For a second, there was something almost lighter in the air–

Then it was gone.

You exhaled, glancing down the only open path ahead. “Let’s keep moving. This place is seriously starting to piss me off.”

Leon nodded in agreement. “Can’t argue with that.”

You both raised your weapons again and moved forward, stepping into the dim corridor. You scanned the area carefully. The last thing you wanted was to draw attention to yourselves in a place like this.

The corridor split again. Something about it felt off.

Still, you moved forward. Bad idea. The moment you stepped into the next passage, your breath caught.

Shapes clung to the walls ahead, twitching slightly in the light.

Then one of them shifted. Exposed muscle. Clawed limbs. A long tongue flicking out.

More followed. A small group of Lickers, hanging there like they’d been waiting.

Your grip tightened on your weapon.

“…Shit.”

That was all the warning you got. Their heads snapped toward you. Then they screamed.

“Run–!” Leon’s voice cut through the moment as they dropped from the walls all at once.

Instinctly you turned and ran. Boots hitting the ground hard as the lickers scraped violently behind you. You spun briefly, firing shots from your gun. One Licker dropped dead.

There were too many. “They’re getting closer!” you called, breath sharp as you pushed forward. “I noticed!”

One of them lunged. Leon grabbed your arm, yanking you sideways just as claws tore through the space where you’d been a second before.

You stumbled into him, barely catching yourself before pushing off again. “Thanks–”

“Keep moving!” You fired again over your shoulder, hitting another but the rest kept coming. Relentless, closing the distance with every second.

Your lungs burned. Your pulse pounded. The corridor stretched ahead with no clear exit.

“…This is bad,” you called.

“No kidding.” Another scream echoed behind you – closer now.

Too close. You tightened your grip on your weapon.

“Got any brilliant ideas?” Leon didn’t answer immediately. Just kept running, scanning ahead. Then–

“There!”

A door at the end of the corridor.

Not open.

But maybe–

“Go!” he shouted.

You pushed harder, ignoring the burning in your legs. Closer. Closer–

You reached the door–

And hoped it would open.

:::

With a heavy breath, you slammed the door shut together with Leon. You both shoving your weight against it. The Lickers screeched on the other side. Their bodies crashing violently into the metal. You both were close as you leaned against it. You were exhausted, but you held yourself together well enough.

“Why did I choose this job… Jesus,” you muttered under your breath. A laugh escaped Leon as he glanced at you. You frowned slightly, pushing yourself off the door. “…That’s not helping.”

“No,” Leon admitted quietly. You turned, finally taking in the room you had just stumbled into.

It felt different from the others.

A large glass Capsule dominated the center. Thick reinforced panels, metal framing, tubes running along the walls like veins feeding into it.

A tank.

Your stomach dropped slightly. “…You’ve got to be kidding me,” you murmured. Leon stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he studied it. “Containment chamber.”

You let out a slow breath, tension settling back into your shoulders.

“…Fuck.”

___________________________________________________________________________

If you had known the day would end like this, you would have stayed at your hotel.

The tank wasn’t bright. Dim emergency lights flickered weakly above, casting distorted reflections across the glass. It only made things worse as the water kept rising with every second. Someone had locked you in here.

And they were trying to drown you.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you rushed to the control panel, fingers moving quickly over the interface, trying to override the system. Nothing.

Again. Still nothing.

“It’s not working,” you said, breath uneven, adrenaline flooding your system.

You weren’t dying here. Not like this. Not in some hidden lab under Alcatraz Island.

“We’ll find a way,” Leon said, but even he sounded less certain than usual. That alone made your stomach tighten. Frustration surged through you and you slammed your fist against the panel.

“Damn it–!”

The water had already risen past your waist, cold and heavy. It was slowing your movements. Leon stepped closer to you. The space between you shrank as the water climbed higher – chest level now. He caught your wrist, firm enough to stop you. Forcing you to look at him.

“I’m here,” he said, voice steady despite everything. “It’s okay.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself – but your heart wouldn’t slow.

“What do we do?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. It had been a long time since you felt like this – cornered and unsure. “What do we do, Leon?” you asked again like saying it twice might make an answer appear.

For a second, he didn’t respond. He let go of your wrist, your hand falling loosely back to your side as the water rose higher, pressing in around you.

Then his hands moved to your face, forcing your gaze back up to his.

“Stay with me,” he said.

You looked into his eyes.

The ones you had never quite been able to not look at. Maybe you never wanted to admit it. How much you noticed him, how easily your attention drifted back to him. No matter the situation.

But right now… Right now, you were glad he was here. Your eyes flickered upward–

And suddenly they widened.

There. A cable, hanging loose from a partially exposed vent near the top of the tank. Your way out.

“Leon–” you breathed, hope hitting you all at once. “Leon, I think I can get us out of here.”

He frowned slightly, confused at first – then followed your look upward.

“…Oh.”

“Help me,” you said quickly, urgency cutting through your voice. “Help me reach it.”

Your tone shifted to firm and focused. An order.

“Yes, ma’am.” Then he moved.

His hands found your hips holding you. He lifting you up without hesitation. The movement was smooth despite the water weighing both of you down. His arms bracing beneath you as he held you high enough to reach. You grabbed onto the edge of the vent, fingers slipping slightly from the water before finding purchase.

“Hold me steady,” you muttered.

“I’ve got you,” he replied instantly.

You focused on the cables, heart still racing. Red. Blue. Yellow–

Green.

Your fingers hovered for a second as you traced where they led, trying to make sense of the mess. You pulled one slightly, testing it.

Nothing. Another. Still nothing.

Seconds stretched. The water kept rising.

“Y/N…” Leon’s voice came from below. “I really don’t want to rush you, but the water’s still coming up.”

“I know,” you snapped softly, frustration creeping in. “Just – hold on.” You adjusted your grip, trying again, forcing yourself to think.

Then you looked down. Too close. Your faces were only inches apart now. Closer than they had ever been. Even in the middle of all this–

Your breath caught slightly. His eyes were already on you. But something else was hiding in it.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked quietly. Your voice dropped without you meaning it to.

“Can you see where the green cable is going?”

Barely more than a whisper.

::::

He tried to look away, but it was nearly impossible.

The way you hung there, lifted by him. So close – just inches apart – made it impossible not to notice. Every subtle movement, every flicker in your expression, pulled at thoughts he had kept buried for far too long. Memories of the missions you’d shared. The moments you’d crossed paths before, all of it pressed into his mind at once.

If the circumstances were different… maybe this could have been the perfect moment. But it wasn’t. Not yet. Not while the water was rising and the clock was counting down.

His focus had to remain sharp.

For both of your sakes.

He let his gaze flick toward the room, scanning quickly, and there – just a glimpse – the green cable stretched toward the door. A line to freedom.

Then his eyes returned to yours. Still impossibly close. Still dangerously intimate. The unspoken tension hung between you, heavier than the water rising around you.

Finally, his voice came almost a whisper:

“It’s connected to the door.”

His words barely carried over the rushing water.

You nodded, letting the brief closeness linger for a heartbeat before your focus snapped back to the task at hand.

“Fuck this.”

You yanked the cable with all your strength, ripping it free in one sharp motion to cut the connection locking the door.

The panel sparked and groaned, then the door slid open.

Water, which had moments ago threatened to swallow you whole, surged through the doorway and gushed out of the tank. Rushing away almost instantly.

You let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. Shoulders slumping as the adrenaline began to fade. You let your face fall against Leon’s neck, exhaustion finally catching up with you. A long, shuddering breath escaped your lips.

“We did it,” you murmured.

He was still holding you firmly, arms wrapped around you like he didn’t want to let go. “Yeah… we did,” he replied, his voice low. His grip tightened slightly, almost as if he was struggling to release you.

You lifted your head, adrenaline and excitement surging back. “We did it! Fuck– yes!” you shouted, throwing your arms into the air in a victory gesture.

Leon let out an amused laugh, shaking his head slightly. Your gaze fell back to him. And that’s when it hit you – he was still holding you.

And he hadn’t looked away.

He was memorizing your face, eyes locked on yours. “Leon?” you asked, a small note of confusion in your voice.

“Yeah,” he murmured, husky.

“Leon, you can–” you began, but the words caught in your throat the moment you saw him. The man you’d faced countless dangers with. The one you’d always told yourself was just a colleague. A friend.

A convenient lie.

Because right now, none of that mattered. So you did the only thing that felt natural.

Without thinking, you leaned in. Your lips collided with his – hot and urgent.

He responded instantly, matching your movements, as though he had waited just as long as you had.

Your hands moved instinctively – one threading through his hair. Fingers tangling in the strands, the other pressing against his shoulder, holding him close.

Your legs shifted, wrapping around his waist slightly as he guided you back toward the center of the glass capsule. Your back pressed against the smooth surface, heat radiating between you, but it didn’t matter.

He kissed you again and again, each one more urgent than the last. Lips moving in sync with yours. His hands holding you tightly. There were no thoughts now. No logical explanations. Just the feel of his mouth on yours, the way his breath caught when you nipped his bottom lip. The way he groaned low in his throat when you pressed your body closer to his.

When you finally broke for air, it was barely a pause. He could not get enough. “You driving me crazy.” And before you could even reply, his lips were back on yours, deeper this time.

One of his hands slipped behind your neck, tilting your head just so, deepening the kiss. The rush of heat and emotion exploding in your chest was overwhelming. Something you realized you never wanted to miss again.

It ignited a fire inside you, a spark you hadn’t even known was waiting, and it was impossible to ignore. Time didn’t exist. Only the two of you, locked in the heat and chaos of that stolen, desperate moment.

::::

When you finally pulled apart to catch your breath, your faces remained close – too close to pretend it hadn’t just happened.

You were both trying to process it.

Carefully your fingers slipped from his hair down to his cheek. Your thumb brushed over the corner of his lips. Tracing the warmth still lingering there before your hand settled gently against his face.

Your gaze flickered between his eyes and his mouth.

“…Just making sure,” you murmured softly.

Then you leaned in again. This time, the kiss was soft. Like you needed to feel it again. To know it was real.

To make sure this wasn’t just adrenaline or a near-death illusion.

Gladly it wasn’t.

When you pulled apart once more. Leon slowly set you back on your feet – but didn’t let go right away.

His hands lingered at your hips, keeping you close. Meanwhile yours slid down to his chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

Then a small smile tugged at his lips as he looked at you.

“So… does this mean you’ll finally stop blaming me for all the bad things that happen when we meet?”

You raised a brow, a faint smirk forming as well.

“Well, considering the situation we were just in, Mr. Kennedy…” you said, voice laced with dry amusement, “…I’d say that’s still highly debatable.”

His smile widened just slightly.

“Come on, babe,” Leon said. A hint of teasing slipping in. “You’ve gotta admit… not everything about this is bad.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard for a split second by the nickname.

Then your expression shifted. A smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, really?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly. “That what you’re going with?”

His grip at your hips didn’t loosen. If anything, it felt a little more intentional now.

“Just saying,” he added, shrugging lightly, “could’ve been worse.”

You let out a long breath.

“…I might consider that,” you said after a moment, voice softer but laced with that same dry humor. His brow lifted slightly. “Might?”

You leaned in just a fraction. Not enough to kiss him again, but close enough to make your point clear.

“Depends,” you added, eyes flicking briefly to his lips before meeting his gaze again, “on whether you take me out somewhere that doesn’t involve near-death experiences.”

“Deal,” he said without hesitation. “If we make it out of here.”

You rolled your eyes faintly. “Wow. Real reassuring.” He laughed. “Hey, I’m being realistic.”

You shook your head.  “Sure you are.”

Distant noise. Metal shifting somewhere in the lab.

You both felt it at the same time. Your hand slipped from his chest as you stepped back, grabbing your weapon again.

“…Back to reality,” you muttered.

Leon nodded, but his gaze stayed on you for just a second longer.

“Rain check on that?” You glanced at him over your shoulder watching him for a second.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Kennedy.”

__________________________________________________________________________

The hotel room was quiet. Only the soft murmur of the television filled the space playing somewhere in the background. Morning light filtered through the curtains, warm and golden, signaling the start of another day.

For once, there were no alarms. The fight against B.O.W.s was over – at least for now.

Leon sat at the edge of the bed, a half-finished drink resting on the table beside him.

You were still asleep. Curled against him, tucked safely in his arms like you had no intention of leaving anytime soon and honestly, neither did he.

The blanket was loosely draped over you, half of it slipping off onto the floor, but he didn’t bother fixing it. You were warm and close enough.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck. Your steady breathing brushing softly against his skin, tickling slightly.

A smile touched his lips. Carefully, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. He didn’t want to wake you. Not yet.

You deserved the rest. And if he was being honest–

He wanted just a little more time like this.

Then–

His phone started ringing. The screen lit up.

Hunnigan. Leon exhaled. Careful not to disturb you, before reaching over and picking it up. He hesitated for half a second.

Then accepted the call.

“Report.” That was the first thing she said.

“The scientist is dead, but the situation’s contained – for now,” Leon replied dry. “We’ll need a full sweep, but the immediate threat is handled.”

“And the… additional agent?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand shifted slightly against your arm, thumb brushing absentmindedly over it.

“She’s good,” he said finally. “Helped a lot.”

A brief pause followed.

“I assumed as much,” Hunnigan replied. “We’ve already received partial reports. Your ‘vacation ally’ seems… highly capable.”

Another pause – just long enough to feel intentional.

“And… close cooperation, I assume?” she added, her tone still professional but just barely.

Leon’s jaw tightened slightly. “We got the job done.”

“Good Job Agent Kennedy. We’ll be expecting you tomorrow morning.” With that, the line went dead, and the phone fell silent once more.

:::::

“Are you done listening to phone calls?” he whispered into your skin, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Your eyes met his, half-lidded, still heavy with sleep.

“Mhhh… maybe,” you murmured, voice still thick with tiredness.

He chuckled quietly. Catching you like this – vulnerable but still sharp – was one of the little things he cherished. “I like that I’m a highly capable agent,” you added with a soft laugh.  Teasing just enough to make him grin.

“Of course you are,” he said. Then, after a pause his question slipped out. Careful but full of intent. “What about working with me?” It had been on his mind since yesterday.

He couldn’t handle a long-distance thing with you. He wanted you close. Always. You shifted slightly, voice raspy but firm. “You know I don’t want to leave IVTRU.”

“I know,” he murmured, trailing gentle kisses from your shoulder up toward your neck. “But… you could transfer temporarily. IVTRU working with us, helping the American agency. Cooperation stuff.” Your head tilted back slightly as his lips brushed along your skin, feather-light and tantalizing.

“Mhhh… maybe that’s a good idea,” you replied. “…Then you finally get to take me out on that fancy bike you’re always riding.” Leon let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Summary: Somehow, you end up back in the RPD. With two Leons. One is your husband: older, tired and way too protective. The other is his rookie self: confused, stubborn and definitely not prepared for you calling him “cute.”

Words: 4814

If you ever tried to explain what you had just witnessed, people would probably think you were crazy. Truthfully, you could barely believe it yourself. One moment you were fighting alongside your husband Leon against a group of BOWs. The next second he was gone. And somehow – impossibly – another Leon S. Kennedy stood only a few steps away from you, looking just as confused as you felt.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The younger Leon blinked, lowering his gun slightly as he studied your face.

“Oh– hey,” he said, sounding more relieved than suspicious. “There you are.”

You frowned.

“…There I am?”

He stepped closer, clearly relaxing now that he had recognized you.

“I thought I lost you back there,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You really shouldn’t run off like that. This place is dangerous enough already.”

You stared at him.

Run off?

Back there?

Leon glanced past you briefly, scanning the street before looking back at you with the same earnest concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

It took you a second to answer because the man standing in front of you was Leon.

Just… younger.

Softer around the eyes. Less tired. The badge on his uniform still looked new.

Your heart skipped.

“…Leon,” you said slowly.

“Yeah?” he replied immediately.

“…How long have we known each other?”

Leon frowned slightly, like that was a strange question.

“Uh… since the gas station,” he said. “Remember?”

Your brain caught up instantly.

Right.

That meant this version of Leon had already met the younger you.

Which meant the man in front of you had absolutely no idea that the person he was talking to right now was–

“Well,” you said, trying to sound normal, “that explains a lot.”

Leon tilted his head, confused.

“Explains what?”

A low groan echoed from somewhere behind him. Leon’s head snapped toward the sound immediately.

“Stay behind me,” he said automatically, raising his gun again.

You didn’t argue.

Two figures stumbled out from between the parked cars at the end of the street. Then another. And another.

Zombies.

Leon cursed under his breath.

“Of course,” he muttered.

The first one lunged.

Leon fired once. The shot echoed through the street as the zombie dropped instantly. You moved before the next one could reach him, drawing your weapon and firing cleanly.

The body hit the pavement.

Leon glanced at you in surprise.

“…Nice shot.”

“Thanks.”

More shapes shambled closer.

“Okay,” Leon said quickly, stepping back toward the street leading to the police station. “We should move. R.P.D. isn’t far from here.”

You nodded.

Together, you started retreating down the street, taking shots when the infected got too close. Leon moved carefully but efficiently, covering angles and checking corners.

Despite how young he looked, his instincts were already there.

By the time the large front doors of the Raccoon City Police Department came into view, both of you were breathing a little heavier.

Leon shoved the doors open and gestured you inside.

“Go.”

You slipped into the building as he turned to fire one last shot before following you in and slamming the doors shut behind him.

Silence fell over the main hall.

___________________________________________________________________________

For a moment, neither you nor the young officer beside you spoke.

The quiet inside the hall felt almost unreal after the chaos outside. Rookie Leon lowered his gun slightly, though his shoulders stayed tense as he scanned the room.

“Okay…” he muttered under his breath. “That’s a little better.”

The large statue in the center of the hall stood exactly as you remembered it. The balcony above. The split staircase.

For a second you simply looked around, trying to steady your breathing. Then you noticed someone standing near the statue.

His back was turned toward the entrance. Tall. Broad shoulders. One hand resting near his holster in the relaxed but ready way that came from years of habit.

Your heart immediately recognized the silhouette before your mind could catch up.

Leon noticed him a second later.

His gun lifted again.

“Hey!” he called cautiously. “R.P.D.! Don’t move!”

The man didn’t react right away. Then the door closing behind you must have caught his attention because he was already on his way over.

His eyes landed on you the moment you both stepped in.

Something in his face softened instantly. He reached you both in seconds.

“You okay?”

His voice was low and calm. The focus completely on you.

You nodded quickly.

“I’m fine.”

He stopped in front of you, his gaze briefly scanning your shoulders, your arms, like he was making sure you were actually unhurt. His hand brushed lightly against yours.

Only then did he glance past you. And notice the younger version of himself standing there.

Rookie Leon had gone completely still. His eyes moved slowly between the two of you.

Then back to the older man.

“…Okay,” he said after a long pause.

“…Why does that guy look exactly like me?”

The older Leon studied him quietly. Not surprised.

More like someone recognizing an old memory playing out exactly the way it once did. A faint breath left him, almost amused.

“…Yeah,” he said.

“I remember this.”

Rookie Leon blinked.

“You remember what?”

The older Leon tilted his head slightly, looking his younger self over – the fresh uniform, the nervous stance, the confusion written all over his face.

For a moment something almost fond crossed his expression.

“…My first night here,” he said.

Then he looked back at you again. “You found him already.”

Now rookie Leon’s brain officially stopped working.

“…Hold on,” he said slowly.

His finger lifted, pointing between the two of you.

“…You two know each other?”

___________________________________________________________________________

You smiled at the question, your eyes flicking to your husband standing right beside you. He caught the glance from the corner of his eye, already anticipating what you were about to do.

“Don’t you dare, Y/N,” he grumbled under his breath, keeping his gaze firmly on you.

But you had other plans. Your attention shifted back to rookie Leon, who was still waiting for an answer.

“Yes, we know each other,” you said simply – which, of course, answered absolutely nothing for him.

“That’s it?” he asked, completely bewildered. Older Leon raised an eyebrow slightly. “What kind of explanation are you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” rookie Leon admitted, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Maybe something about why you look exactly like me… but, like… twenty years older?”

You snorted softly, barely suppressing your grin. Stepping away from your husband’s side, you moved toward his younger self. Both of them watched you intently, curious and a little wary about what you were doing.

You circled rookie Leon once, taking in his features and the undeniable charm of his youthful face.

“You really were cute,” you said, your voice light and teasing. Younger Leon’s face flushed instantly. His eyes fixed on you. “You look so young,” you added casually, letting the words hang. Older Leon sighed softly at your comment, clearly trying not to react.

“How… how am I supposed to react to that?” his younger self stammered, glancing at your husband for guidance. Since you were still standing close.

“Just accept it as it is,” older Leon grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose in quiet exasperation.

He shook his head slowly, letting out another sigh. “…Some things never change,” he muttered, his calm but pointed gaze briefly flicking to you.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he added.

You laughed quietly, letting rookie Leon stew for a moment.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, leaning slightly toward him. “But can you blame me? It’s hard not to… when you look like this.”

Rookie Leon’s knees nearly buckled. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, desperately trying to look anywhere but at you.

:::

Meanwhile, you stepped away from Leon’s younger version and moved back toward your husband.

“So… how did we end up here?” you asked, turning your attention to him. Older Leon let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Honestly… I don’t fully know,” he admitted. You nodded slowly. “We should probably focus on finding a way out first.” With that, you began roaming around the main hall, searching for anything useful.

Both Leons watched as you moved away from them.

Older Leon’s eyes followed you, and he quickly noticed that his younger self couldn’t look away basically staring you down. That earned a low grunt from him.

“Stop staring,” he said, his voice deep and gruff.

“I’m not staring,” rookie Leon blurted out. Though he couldn’t hide the blush spreading across his face.

Older Leon already knew better.

He knew exactly what his younger self was seeing. He remembered it all too well. How beautiful you looked, how easily you caught his attention. How he had started falling for you long before he even realized it.

Maybe rookie Leon didn’t understand it yet.

But he would. And even now, after all these years, older Leon still couldn’t take his eyes off you. He might have grown a little grumpier over time, but he couldn’t imagine his life without you.

“Just a piece of advice,” he said quietly. “Don’t mess it up.”

His voice was calm but firm. He meant every word. He had nearly lost you more times than he cared to remember. Once because of drinking, another time because he had underestimated the danger.

“What do you mean by that?” rookie Leon asked, confused.

Older Leon glanced toward you.

“She’ll become the most important part of your life someday,” he said simply. “Don’t fuck it up.”

That silenced his younger self. Both men watched as you sat down on the stairs, flipping through old documents you had found on a nearby desk. Your hair fell slightly forward as you focused on reading.

Still–

You could feel their eyes on you.

You knew they were talking about you.

After a moment, you looked up, catching your husband’s gaze. You gave him a bright smile.

For a brief moment, everything felt quiet.

As quiet as it could be in a situation like this. Inside the RPD, back in Raccoon City, reliving a nightmare you had already survived once before.

But this time, you weren’t alone.

And that small difference made the moment feel almost peaceful.

Almost.

Because it didn’t last.

The first thing you noticed was the change in your husband’s expression. Then rookie Leon realized it too.

Behind you, a zombie had fallen from the upper floor and was already stumbling in your direction.

Your eyes widened in horror when you turned around – just as it lunged.

The impact sent you tumbling down the stairs, the creature clawing at you as you struggled to keep it from sinking its teeth into your neck.

Both Leons reacted instantly.

They sprinted toward you.

Rookie Leon raised his gun and fired a clean shot, the bullet dropping the zombie immediately.

At the same moment, your husband grabbed you under your arms and pulled you to your feet, positioning you right behind him. His body moved instinctively in front of yours, shielding you from any further danger.

Your husband didn’t move for a second, his body still shielding yours as he scanned the hall for any more movement.

“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly, his voice low but urgent.

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “No… I’m okay.”

His grip on your arms tightened for just a moment longer, as if he needed to be sure you were actually standing there before he finally let go.

Rookie Leon lowered his gun slowly, staring at the now lifeless zombie on the stairs. His chest was still rising quickly from the sudden burst of adrenaline.

“That thing came out of nowhere…” he muttered.

Older Leon didn’t answer right away. His eyes moved over you one more time, checking for any sign of injury before he finally stepped aside.

“Told you to stay alert,” he said quietly, though there was no real anger in his voice. Just the tension of what could have happened.

You exhaled slowly, brushing some dust off your clothes.

“Well,” you said after a moment, trying to steady yourself, “that’s one way to ruin a peaceful moment.”

Rookie Leon glanced between the two of you, still processing what he had just seen. The way older Leon had moved without hesitation… the way he had pulled you behind him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He looked back at the older version of himself for a moment, then toward you again.

“…You really weren’t kidding,” he murmured quietly.

Older Leon didn’t need to ask what he meant.

___________________________________________________________________________

Before anyone could say anything else, a low groan echoed through the main hall. Then another. The sound of dragging feet followed from the upper floor. All three of you looked up at the same time. Several figures appeared along the railing above. Zombies leaning forward, their arms hanging limply before one of them lost its balance and dropped over the edge. The body slammed onto the marble floor below with a sickening crack.

Older Leon’s expression hardened instantly.

 “…Not good.” Another one fell. Then another.

“Move!” he ordered.

You didn’t hesitate. The three of you spread out instinctively as the first zombie staggered toward the stairs.

You raised your gun and fired. The shot echoed through the hall as the zombie dropped, but two more immediately took its place. One lunged straight at you. You stepped back, trying to keep distance. A gunshot rang out beside you.

The zombie collapsed before it could reach you. You glanced over your shoulder just enough to see your husband lowering his weapon. “I had it,” you muttered.

“I know,” he replied calmly. “Still doing it.”

Another zombie stumbled down from the stairs, crashing right between the two of you. You both reacted at the same time. You kicked it back while Leon fired, the bullet dropping it instantly.

Rookie Leon watched the exchange for half a second too long before another zombie grabbed at his jacket. “Shit–!” He shoved it back and fired, the recoil forcing him a step backward.

The creature dropped. But more were coming. Two from the hallway. Three from the stairs.

Older Leon stepped slightly in front of you without even thinking. You nudged his shoulder with your elbow.

“Leon.”

“I know,” he muttered.

“You’re doing it again.”

“I’m aware.” Another zombie lunged at you from the side. You ducked under its arm and drove the butt of your gun into its jaw, staggering it long enough for Leon to finish it with a shot.

“See?” you said, breath a little uneven. “I can handle myself.”

“Never said you couldn’t, honey.”

Rookie Leon definitely heard that one. His head snapped toward the two of you for half a second before another zombie forced him to refocus. The three of you moved together through the hall, gunshots echoing against the high ceilings.

Another zombie stumbled toward you. You fired once. Missed. Before you could fire again, Leon stepped forward. He grabbed the zombie by the shoulder, and shoved it away from you before finishing it with a point-blank shot.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “That one I had.”

“You hesitated.”

“For half a second.”

“That’s half a second too long.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

Across the hall, rookie Leon stared for a moment. The way the two of you moved together… the way you covered each other without speaking… it was like watching two people who had done this hundreds of times.

Another zombie walked down from a room upstairs. Rookie Leon reacted first this time, firing cleanly. The creature collapsed at the bottom.

Finally – silence returned to the hall. You and older Leon both caught your breath, your chest still rising from the fight. Older Leon’s eyes immediately flicked to you, scanning quickly. Checking for cuts, bruises, anything that might have gone unnoticed.

“Are you really okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low but tense.

You stepped closer, reaching up to place your hands gently on his face. “I’m fine,” you said softly, your thumbs brushing against his jaw. “I’ve got you, just like always.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and a quiet sigh escaped him. “Good,” he murmured, pressing his forehead briefly to yours. “I need to know you’re really okay.”

“Don’t worry so much, honey,” you said gently, offering him a small smile. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.” He huffed quietly, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Pretty sure the wrinkles came from dealing with you.”

You pulled your hands away from his face, placing one over your chest in exaggerated offense. “What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. Though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

Leon just gave you a look, one brow lifting slightly. “You know exactly what it means.”

You scoffed softly, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. “Unbelievable. I don’t even know why I married you.”

Leon didn’t miss a beat. “Because I’m charming.”

You snorted. “Debatable.”

Meanwhile, Leon’s younger self observed the interaction between you and his older self. The teasing didn’t escape him, but neither did the way older Leon looked at you. Like you were the most important thing in the room.

Rookie Leon tilted his head, studying the two of you. “So… I have a wife in the future?”

The question made both of you look up at him. You stepped forward, a bright smile lighting your face, making his heart skip a beat. “Yes,” you said softly, taking a small step closer. “You marry me in the future.”

Your husband moved closer, his hand resting gently on your back, keeping you close. You leaned slightly into him, just enough to let him feel your presence without breaking the moment.

Rookie Leon stood a few steps away. His arms crossed, watching. “…So… you two really work well together,” he said finally, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I can see why he doesn’t let anyone near you.”

Older Leon glanced at him. “Exactly.“

You chuckled softly, letting your hand squeeze his back lightly. “See? He knows what’s important.”

Rookie Leon tilted his head, studying both of you. “Alright… I get it. Future me’s lucky. Really lucky.”

Older Leon gave a short laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Not luck. Just careful choices.”

You smiled up at him. “And maybe a little stubbornness,” you added softly.

Rookie Leon raised an eyebrow. “Huh. I guess I’ll have to live up to that someday.”

“Yeah, you should,” older Leon said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You nearly screwed it up three times already.”

“You still do,” you added teasing him. Letting your eyes sparkle at him. Your husband just rolled his eyes at that and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “You still love me, though.”

„I do.“

___________________________________________________________________________

You finally made the decision to look for the markings that would open the secret passage beneath the statue.

Moving cautiously across the floors you were all too aware that zombies could be lurking around any corner. The large room stretched before you, dimly lit and cluttered with overturned furniture and drawers. You began rifling through them, searching for anything that might be useful. A key, a map, anything.

Meanwhile, both Leons were also on the move, methodically checking doors and cabinets, their weapons at the ready. Rookie Leon lingered a few steps behind older Leon. Curiosity getting the better of him. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “So… how did we end up with her? Hard to picture myself married.”  

Older leon glanced up to his younger self. “Give it time. You will understand it soon enough.”

Rookie Leon huffed quietly and leaned against the table. His gaze drifted across the room to where you were crouched beside another cabinet, pulling open drawers one after another.

“She doesn’t look scared,” he muttered after a moment.

Older Leon followed his gaze. “…She usually isn’t.” Younger Leon watched you a little longer, clearly impressed. “That’s… kind of incredible.”

A faint smirk appeared on older Leon’s face. “Yeah. That’s part of the problem.”

“Problem?”

“You’re going to fall for her.”

Rookie Leon crossed his arms slightly, still watching you move to the next desk. “Does that mean I fall first?” Older Leon let out a breath at that.

“You don’t stand a chance.” His younger version snorted under his breath. “So what, I win her over somehow?”

Older Leon raised an eyebrow. “Win?” Older Leon shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Kid… that’s not how that works.”

Rookie Leon frowned slightly. “Then how does it work?”

Your husband watched you for another moment before answering. “You argue. A lot.”

Rookie Leon smirked. “And who wins?”

“She does. She is as stubborn as you.”

His younger self glanced back toward you again and let out a laugh.

“…Yeah. I can see that.”

:::

Your husband closed the drawer in front of him with a dull thud and straightened slowly. For a moment he didn’t say anything, just watching his younger self as if weighing something in his mind.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.

“Kid.”

Rookie Leon looked up.

Older Leon rested his hands on the edge of the desk beside him, leaning forward slightly. The usual dry humor had faded from his face.

“Listen to me for a second.”

That alone was enough to make rookie Leon pay attention. He pushed himself off the cabinet he had been leaning on and turned fully toward him.

His gaze flicked across the room for a moment.

You were still searching. Pulling open drawers one by one, occasionally brushing dust off old papers. Completely focused.

Only then did he continue.

“When it comes to her… pay attention.”

Rookie Leon frowned slightly.

“What do you mean?”

Older Leon exhaled through his nose.

“I mean don’t take her for granted. Not once. Not when things get easier. Not when things get hard and definitely not when you think you’ve got everything figured out.”

His younger version studied him carefully now.

“That sounds oddly specific.”

Leon gave a quiet, humorless huff.

“Because it is.”

Silence hung between them for a second.

Then rookie Leon asked the question that had been lingering in his mind since the moment he saw the two of you together.

“…Does she get hurt?”

Older Leon’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead his eyes drifted back toward you again. Watching you.. He watched you for a long second.

Then he nodded once.

“Yeah.”

Rookie Leon’s expression sobered.

“Bad?”

Older Leon rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

“Sometimes.”

He paused again before continuing.  “And every single time it feels like your heart stops.” His younger self just nodded slowly.

“…But she’s still here.” Your husbands’ eyes softened slightly.

“Yeah.”

A quiet moment passed between them before rookie Leon spoke again. “So what do I do?” Older Leon glanced at him.

“You stay sharp. You watch her back even when she doesn’t ask you to. And when she decides to run straight toward danger–”

Rookie Leon smirked.

“Which she definitely will.” Older Leon’s mouth twitched.

“You go with her.”

“Got it.”

Older Leon studied his younger self. As if debating whether to say anything else. In the end he simply nodded once, satisfied enough.

::::

Across the room, you finally got a key that could help you progress a little. “Finally.” You mumbled when you hold the key up to you husband. For a brief moment, everything felt… calm.

A small smile was going onto his face. When suddenly the lights start to flicker.

Once.

Both Leons noticed immediately.

Rookie Leon glanced up toward the ceiling. “That doesn’t look good.”

Older Leon’s expression tightened slightly. He had seen enough strange things over the years to recognize the feeling creeping into the air. The same strange pull they had felt when everything started.

His eyes shifted toward you.

“Y/N.”

You watching him, noticing the tension in his voice.

“What?”

Before he could answer, the air around you seemed to distort slightly, like heat waves rippling through the room.

Rookie Leon straightened. “Uh… is it just me or—”

The floor beneath you hummed faintly.

Older Leon’s hand reached for yours without hesitation. “Looks like time’s fixing itself,” he muttered.

Your brows pulled together. “Already?”

He squeezed your hand gently.

“Guess we don’t get to stay for the reunion.”

Rookie Leon watched the two of you, confusion written across his face as the room around you slowly began to blur at the edges.

“…Wait.”

Older Leon glanced back at him one last time.

“Take care of her.”

Rookie Leon nodded instinctively.

“I will.”

For a brief second the two of them simply looked at each other.

Same eyes. Same stubborn expression. Then the world shifted again. The key you where holding fell to the floor with a sound. You were gone.

___________________________________________________________________________

It was surprising to you. One moment you where back at the RPD talking to another younger version of your husband and the next your back where you left off. For a second you thought you maybe hit your head when you where fighting some BOWs but when you let your eyes wander to your man, he just had the same expression on his face.

It was not a dream.

Your hand was still wrapped tightly in Leon’s.

Then Leon exhaled quietly, running a hand over his face as if trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

“…Well,” he muttered, voice rough. “That was weird.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed softly. “Just a little.”

Leon leaned back.

“…He really didn’t know yet,” he said quietly. You tilted your head. “Know what?”

Leon glanced at you again.

“About us.”

Your smile softened.

“Well… you didn’t know either back then.” He hummed under his breath. “Yeah. Guess not.”

The room fell quiet again, the kind of comfortable silence that only came after years together. Then Leon reached out, his hand sliding gently to your waist, pulling you a little closer without thinking.

“You know,” he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “watching him look at you like that…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Leon shook his head lightly.

“Like he was trying to figure out why he couldn’t stop.”

You laughed softly.

“Sounds familiar.”

Leon looked down at you then, something warm settling in his eyes.

“…Yeah,” he murmured.

For a moment he just stood there, studying your face the same way he had done hundreds of times before. Then his hand moved up, brushing lightly against your cheek.

“You’re still the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said quietly.

Your heart softened at the words. “You know,” you teased gently, “rookie you would be shocked to hear you say that.”

Leon snorted.

“Good.”

You laughed again, but before you could say anything else his hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you in.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your breath catch. Like he had been holding himself back for far too long after this day. The kiss deepened almost immediately, slow at first but filled with a kind of urgency that sent warmth rushing through you.

His hand slid from the back of your neck down to your hips, gripping you firmly as he pulled you flush against him. There was no space left between your bodies now.

You answered the kiss just as eagerly.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, threading through the soft strands as you held onto him. Pulling him even closer like you had no intention of letting him go. His lips pressing more firmly against yours as a quiet breath escaped him.

It was the kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

His grip on your hips tightened. After everything that had happened earlier. After the split second where he thought he might lose you again. This felt like the only thing that mattered.

Like he still couldn’t quite believe you were really here.

That you were his.

The kiss was intense. His mouth moving against yours again and again like he needed the reassurance. Needed the proof that you were still with him. Still safe and still right here in his arms.

Just the two of you.

When he finally pulled back. He let out a sigh.

“…Let’s never do that again.”

You smiled softly.

“No promises.”

Leon groaned to your response.

Summary: The first thing you do after finally being cured from the virus is fall asleep in the car.

Your husband, Leon, keeps stealing glances at you while he drives. The streetlights pass slowly over your face and his jacket is draped around your shoulders.

He is glad your still with him.

Note: For my own sanity, I seriously need more fluffy RE9 Leon content. SOS.

Words: 2001

To call this day beyond shitty was an understatement.

Not only did you have to fight against another kind of fucked-up Wesker clone, because apparently the world would never be free of that man’s shadow. That wasn’t even the worst part. No. As if that wasn’t enough, you also had to endure another day in Raccoon City.

Raccoon City.

The one place you had promised yourself you would never come back to. The ruins still felt haunted, even in daylight. Every street corner carried memories you didn’t want to unpack.

But in the end, you came back for your husband Leon.

You came back because somewhere in this decaying graveyard of a city was a lead. A file. A sample. Something that might help you find a cure for the virus slowly eating you and him away. And if there was even the smallest chance, you were going to take it.

And now you were here with your husband. Both of you fighting, coughing up blood, dizzy and barely steady on your feet but it was all worth it.

You had finally found the cure. Because of Grace.

For the first time in what felt like forever you felt amazing. The fear that had followed you for months, maybe longer, wasn’t suffocating you anymore.

You hadn’t felt this good in so long.

And you couldn’t have been happier.

__________________________________________________________________________

You were sitting among the ruins where you had just fought Victor until his last breath. Dust still lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood.

Your body screamed exhaustion at you from every direction. Every muscle ached. Your lungs burned. Even breathing felt like work.

You just wanted to sleep. You had enough.

“I’m so done,” you finally let out, closing your eyes for a second – just a second – as if that alone might make the world stop spinning.

He notices before you fall over.

He kneels in front of you.

“Hey. Don’t close your eyes on me like that.” His tone is worried.

“I’m just resting my eyes a little.”

He huffs quietly. “Yeah? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

He brushes dust off your shoulder, checking your pulse in the process. Just to make sure.

You catch his hand with yours, slowly opening your eyes to look at him. Gently, you press his hand against your cheek, leaning into the warmth of his skin.

“Leon–” You pause, your voice trembling from exhaustion. “I’m so happy we made it. I thought… I really thought I was going to lose you.”

Leon looks at your exhausted frame.

“You almost did.”

It’s the truth.

You nearly watched your husband. The love of your life, die right in front of you.

“But you didn’t,” he continues, softer now. “I’m still with you.”

You smile faintly at that and let your eyes close again, just for a second.

“Doesn’t mean you get to pass out in a biohazard zone,” he adds, though there’s no real bite behind it.

“Yes, sir.” You gave him a tired grin.

With a sigh, he picked you up in his arms and held you there while you waited for rescue. His grip was steady despite his own exhaustion, like putting you down simply wasn’t an option.

A few steps away, Grace watched the two of you interact. As if she were witnessing something fragile in the middle of everything.

“Well,” she muttered, glancing at the ruined building behind you, “next time someone says ‘routine investigation,’ I’m transferring departments.”

You huffed a weak laugh against Leon’s shoulder.

Leon shook his head slightly. “You’ll get used to it.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “That’s not comforting.”

In the distance, the low hum of approaching rotors cut through the night air.

Rescue.

Grace looked toward the sound first. A rope dropped from above, and a soldier descended swiftly from the helicopter.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy?” he called out as his boots hit the ground.

Leon’s gaze sharpened immediately. “Who’s asking?”

The soldier stepped closer, stopping right in front of you. “I have a message from Captain Redfield.”

You barely registered what was said. The words  floated somewhere above you. Very far away and muffled. You were out cold anyway.

___________________________________________________________________________

When you woke once more, it was time for the medics to check you over — to make sure there were no wounds or anything more serious. You let the procedure happen without protest. All you wanted was to go home and finally take the rest you’d been dreaming of.

When they finally let you go, you were relieved. You said goodbye to Grace, who was sitting right next to you. Leon spoke his final words to her as well before lifting you from the open back of the ambulance.

You didn’t resist. You didn’t want to fight it anymore.

All that mattered was that he was here with you, and that you were finally safe… finally free from the virus.

When you finally reached his car, he opened the passenger door and carefully helped you down into the seat. One hand steady at your waist to make sure you don’t get hurt.

You let yourself sink into the leather with a long, heavy sigh. Every muscle in your body relaxed at once. The exhaustion finally catching up now that the danger had passed.

Leon moved around to the driver’s side and slid in beside you. For a moment, he just sat there with both hands resting on the steering wheel. You watched him quietly.

His eyes were rimmed with fatigue, faint shadows beneath them. His posture was straight out of habit rather than strength. Shoulders tight like he was still waiting for something else to go wrong.

“You’re getting old, darling,” you muttered softly in his direction. A tired smile tugging at your lips.

He let out a quiet huff – not quite  a laugh.

“Yeah?” he replied, starting the engine. His voice sounded tired. “Pretty sure I just carried you out of there.”

He glanced at you briefly, one eyebrow lifting just slightly.

“Don’t think I’m the one we should be worried about.”

But there was no real bite in his tone. Only relief.

His hand lingered near yours on the console, close enough to touch – just in case.

You roll your eyes faintly at his reply. Too tired to argue properly.

“Mm. Still old,” you murmur while shifting in your seat to get comfortable. “I saw you wince when you lifted me.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

He snorts under his breath, pulling the car onto the road. “That was tactical strain management.”

“Sounds old.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

You smile to yourself, watching the passing streetlights blur across the windshield. The ruins of Raccoon City fade slowly behind you, swallowed by darkness and distance.

“You know,” you mumble again, your words beginning to drag slightly, “when we get home… you’re making tea. And I’m not moving for at least a week.”

“Tea?” he replies. “After everything we just—”

But when he glances over to finish the sentence, he stops.

Your head has tipped toward the window.

Your eyes are closed.

Your breathing has evened out.

Mid-talk. Just like that.

Leon exhales slowly through his nose, something between a sigh and a quiet laugh.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he mutters softly.

:::::::

When you reached the city you still where deep asleep. At the next red light, the car comes to a gentle stop. The glow washes over your face in red and gold, and he looks at you once more.

Just looks.

There’s dried blood near your hairline. A faint crease between your brows even in sleep.

He reaches over without thinking and turns the heat down slightly. The air was too warm – you always get overheated when you’re exhausted.

When the light turns green, he accelerates slowly. Carefully. Every bump in the road, he eases over it. Every pothole, he swerves around. The last thing he wants is to wake you.

Another red light.

Another glance.

This time longer.

He shrugs off his jacket with one hand while the car is stopped, movements slow. Leaning across the console, he drapes it gently over your shoulders. You stir faintly but don’t wake up.

His fingers linger for a second near your collarbone before he pulls away.

A siren wails somewhere in the distance.

Instantly, his posture shifts. His hand twitches toward the gun at his side. His eyes scan the mirrors, the dark sidewalks, the empty intersections.

But then you shift in your sleep.

Your head tilts slightly toward him instead of the window.

And just like that, his shoulders ease.

His hand leaves the weapon and instead settles over yours on the console.

Your fingers move instinctively, curling weakly against his. You don’t wake up.

You don’t have to. He swallows, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

He’s faced bioweapons that could level cities. Faced monsters that wore human faces. Faced death more times than he can count.

But this?

This scares him more. Because you’re soft. You’re warm and you’re his.

And you’re something he could lose. The light turns green again. He drives.

Slower than usual. When you finally reach the quiet stretch of highway, the city nothing more than a shadow in the rearview mirror, he glances over one more time.

Your breathing is steady.

Peaceful.

He doesn’t wake you when he pulls into the driveway.

He turns the engine off. The world goes quiet.

And for a long moment, he just sits there – watching your chest rise and fall. Peacefully.

___________________________________________________________________________

The engine ticks softly as it cools.

Leon watches you for a moment longer, memorizing the slow rise and fall of your chest. The way his jacket has slipped slightly down one shoulder.

He reaches over and adjusts it. Fingers brushing your skin.

“Always said you weren’t tired,” he murmurs under his breath.

He steps out first, moving around the car quietly. The night air is cool, calmer than the city ever was. When he opens your door, he does it slowly.

He leans in.

One arm slides behind your back. The other beneath your knees.

He lifts you carefully, like he’s done a hundred times before – except this time there’s no urgency or bioweapons.

Just you.

Your head falls against his shoulder instantly, body molding into his without resistance. Your hand grips weakly at the fabric of his shirt even in sleep.

His chest tightens.

He nudges the car door shut with his foot and walks toward the house. Even exhausted, he carries you like you weigh nothing.

At the door, he pauses just long enough to adjust his hold.

You mumble something incoherent against his collarbone.

He freezes.

“…I’m here,” he whispers immediately, before you can even wake fully.

Your grip relaxes again.

Inside, the house is dark and quiet. Safe. He moves through it carefully, not bothering with the lights. He knows the layout by memory.

When he reaches the bedroom, he lowers you onto the bed. One hand stays behind your back until you’re fully settled against the mattress.

You turning slightly toward him. He crouches beside the bed for a moment instead of standing up.

Then he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead.

His lips move down to your hairline, then finally to your cheek. A second kiss.

“You scared me,” he murmurs quietly, more confession than accusation.

You shift toward him, like your body knows he’s there. He exhales through his nose, resting his forehead briefly against yours.

He’s faced monsters without blinking.

But this – this soft, sleeping version of you – makes his hands tremble just a little.

After a moment, he carefully removes his jacket from your shoulders. He puts a blanket over you instead and brushes his thumb once more across your cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

Summary: You’ve been trying to make Shuji Hanma stop smoking for years. It works… semi well. He still smokes whenever he feels like it, just to get on your nerves. But every once in a while, he tosses the cigarette away without a word and pulls you into a kiss instead.

Words: 1712

“You’re such an asshole, Shuji. I clearly knocked out more guys than you did, and you still stole the last one from me just because you couldn’t stand losing with that stupid, oversized ego of yours.”

“Shut up, Y/N. You’re annoying.” It was something Shuji Hanma had called you since childhood. It was more of a habit then a real insult against you. His bloody knuckles fumbled with a crushed cigarette pack as he walked right beside you. Both your faces were marked with bruises, but neither of you seemed to care. His other hand dug through his pockets, searching for his lighter and failing.

Maybe because you stole it.

Because you wanted him to quit smoking.

“Y/N,” he sighed.

“What?” you answered, still a little grumpy.

“Where’s my lighter?” His tone was exhausted from the fight, but still demanding.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You tried to play it cool, but he caught the small smile forming on your face.

“Stop playing around,” he murmured, annoyed and still waiting for his deserved cigarette to be lit. You glance at the cigarette between his fingers, then back up at his face. Bruises bloom along his cheekbone, dried blood at his lip. His knuckles split and swollen. You cross your arms, jaw tightening. “You don’t need it,” you say flatly. “You’ll survive without one.” Your look stays on him a second longer than necessary. “You just fought half the city, Shuji. That should be enough for tonight.”

He lets out a quiet laugh like you’ve just said something amusing instead of challenging him. The cigarette stays between his fingers as he steps closer, close enough that you can smell the smoke clinging to his clothes.

“Enough for tonight?” he echoes, head tilting slightly. His eyes rake over your face on your own bruises like he’s counting them. “Since when did you start deciding that for me?”

He leans in just enough to crowd your space, smirk tugging at his mouth. “You always do this,” he adds softly. “Stealing my stuff anyway.”

For a split second, something quieter flashes in his gaze before it’s gone again. “Give it back,” he murmurs. “Or are you planning on babysitting me all night?”

You scoff, refusing to back away even when he crowds your space. “Someone has to,” you mutter. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself.”

Your hand moves instinctively toward your pocket, fingers brushing the familiar shape of the lighter. “I took it because—”

Because you don’t want to bury him someday.

But before you can finish, Hanma’s hand is already there.

Quick. Confident. He hooks two fingers into your pocket and pulls the lighter out like it was always his to take. The motion is practiced — like he’s done this a hundred times before. Maybe he has.

“Yeah,” he says, lips curling into a satisfied grin. “You’ve always had bad timing.”

He flicks the lighter open, the flame sparking to life between his fingers. The cigarette finds his mouth a second later, and he lights it without breaking eye contact with you.

Inhales.

Slow.

Smoke spills from his lips as he exhales, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Still stole it, though,” he adds lazily. “Kinda cute.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, glaring up at him.

It doesn’t faze him. If anything, his grin widens. Smoke coming from the corner of his mouth as he exhales.

“Yeah,” he says easily. “You’ve been saying that since we were kids.”

He leans a little closer, close enough that the smoke drifts right between you. “Never meant it then either.”

“Stop smoking already.”

The words leave your mouth quietly.

For a moment, the only sound is the city below and the faint crackle of the cigarette between his fingers. Hanma doesn’t answer right away. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, the familiar smirk nowhere to be found. Something that makes your heart beating.

“You’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” he mutters, rolling his eyes as if annoyed, but he doesn’t step away.

If anything, he steps closer.

Close enough that you can feel the warmth off him, smell the smoke mixed with sweat and iron. His gaze flicks down to your mouth, then back up.

“You always say that,” he adds quietly. “Like it’s gonna make me listen.”

Your jaw tightens. “One of these days,” you say, “you’re going to—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

The cigarette stays between his fingers as he reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist before sliding up to tilt your chin.

His mouth meets yours.

The kind of kiss that feels more like a challenge than an apology.

When he finally pulls back, it’s barely an inch. Close enough that you can still feel his breath.

“See?” he murmurs, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You finally stopped complaining.”

You glare at him, heart beating faster than it should. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles softly, knocking his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he says. “And you still worry.”

The cigarette burns forgotten between his fingers, smoke drifting upward as the space between you stays close.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Put it out, please?” you try once more. It sounds more defeated than you’d ever let it on a normal day.

He sighs out loud, narrowing his eyes as they meet yours again. For a moment, he just watches you. The way you’re looking up at him, your soft hair moving in the warm summer breeze.

“What do I get for that?” he asks, breaking the quiet between you. His smirk is bright as day when the words leave his mouth.

“Why would I need to give you anything?” you laugh, reaching up to snatch the cigarette from his fingers. He easily lifts it higher, far out of your reach. “Don’t even think about it, doll.”

“Mean as always,” you mutter under your breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

Your gaze drifts away from him, settling on the empty street where you’ve both stopped. You can feel his stare on you. You know him too well – his mind is never at rest.

When you turn your attention back to him. You can already tell he’s up to something. But before you can step away, his reflexes are faster than yours.

The lit cigarette that had been between his fingers a second ago drops to the dirty street below. His hand moved to your face in an instant.

“You’re an annoying woman.”

The next second, his lips crashed onto yours again. Your eyes widened in surprise. “Shuji, wh—” you tried to speak, but the words were swallowed when he kissed you harder this time, a little more force behind it.

For a moment, you resisted out of pure reflex. Then your lips began to move with his, finding a rhythm as you finally gave in.

Maybe because he threw the cigarette away for you. His body closed the remaining distance between you in a heartbeat. One hand sliding firmly behind your back as he pulled you against him. There was no space left to breathe.

Your fingers tightened in the nape of his hair, gripping hard, keeping him just as close. The rhythm between you turned heated. His hand at your back tightened. It was almost like he was trying to replace one addiction with another.

When you finally pulled away you were breathless. Your lips were swollen from the intensity of his kiss, your pupils widened as you looked up at him.

“You look tired, doll,” he murmured, his voice low and slightly rough. “Don’t know what you mean.” You replied just as sly as him which made him smirk.

Your chest is still rising unevenly when your gaze drops past his shoulder.

The cigarette lies forgotten on the pavement, its faint glow already fading, smoke dissolving into the night air.

You look back up at him.

He follows your gaze without you saying a word. A small, knowing smirk touches his lips.

“See?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb lightly along your jaw. “Didn’t need it.”

The words hang between you.

Not a joke this time.

You study his face, searching for the usual deflection but find nothing.

You tilt your head slightly, closing the small distance again.

The final kiss is slow. His hand settles at your waist, holding you steady.

When you pull back, it’s with a faint smile.

The cigarette is out.

And he doesn’t reach for another.

___________________________________________________________________________

Or at least that’s what you used to think after all the time you had spent together. Not only did he keep smoking, he seemed to enjoy doing it just to annoy you every single day. Even years later, it was still the same argument and it didn’t sound any different than before.

And yet, neither of you would have wanted it any other way.

“Shuji, at least open a window.”

He leans back in his chair. Cigarette balanced lazily between his fingers. He watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “You said you were used to it,” he replies smoothly.

“I said I tolerate it,” you correct.

The apartment smells faintly of smoke and expensive cologne and late nights. Money you both could swim in even though you knew it was not really honest money either. He doesn’t come home with bruised knuckles anymore. He doesn’t need to.

Shuji doesn’t fight.

He orchestrates.

Phone calls at odd hours. Quiet meetings. Names you don’t repeat. He moves people like pieces on a board, watching the chaos unfold from a distance.

You learned early not to ask too many questions.

But you learned something else too.

No matter how late it gets, no matter how dangerous the game becomes.

He always comes back to you.

“Regretting it?” he asks one evening, smoke slipping from his lips as his eyes flick toward you.

You shake your head.

Life with Shuji Hanma was never going to be simple. Never going to be safe. It was a part of him.

And somehow you stopped trying to change that.

Instead, you walk over and take the cigarette from his fingers. With a light smirk you take a small drag yourself. Just to watch his eyebrows lift in surprise.

You don’t fight about it anymore.

Charakters: Mikey, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, Ran, Rindou, Hanma, Shinichiro

Synopsis: You’re the one who laughs at their jokes, scolds them when they’re reckless, and just… exists. Quietly, subtly, you slip into their lives, and one day, they notice: the way you care, the way you tease, the way you handle chaos like it’s nothing.

And suddenly, it hits them. They don’t just like you. They want you. Mornings together, lazy nights, a life built around you.

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

You’re not even fully awake when the knock comes.

It’s soft at first, almost unsure. Then again – barely louder. You sigh, push yourself out of bed and shuffle to the door, rubbing your eyes.

When you open it, the tiredness washes out of you instantly.

“Mikey?”

He stands there like he’s been through a storm. His shirt is ripped at the shoulder, there’s dirt on his knees, blood dried on his cheek. His hair is messy, sticking to his forehead from sweat. The porch light makes the bruises on his jaw stand out even more.

For a second, he just looks at you. No joke. No grin. Just that blank, tired stare he only gets when he’s hit his limit.

You step back immediately. “Come in.”

He walks inside quietly, like he’s trying not to disturb anything. You watch his steps – he’s favoring one leg. Not limping exactly, but close.

You close the door, take a breath and turn to him.

“What happened?”

He shrugs, staring at the floor. “Fought some guys who were messing with one of my members.”

Your brows pull together. “Was it worth it?”

He doesn’t answer.

Which is answer enough.

You grab the first aid kit and gesture to the couch. He drops onto it, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands like he’s not sure how they got so messed up.

You sit beside him, open the kit and reach for his face. “Hold still.”

He does. More obediently than you expected.

You start with the cut on his cheek. It’s shallow but messy. When the disinfectant hits, he flinches slightly.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s fine.”

His voice is tired. Bone-deep tired.

You clean his skin slowly, working around the dirt and dried blood. He doesn’t move. His eyes stay on yours the entire time you work.

And when you finally speak again, the words just spill out.

“You can’t keep doing this, Mikey.”

He barely reacts.

“You’re going to walk in one day with something I can’t fix.” Your hands pause on his cheek. “And I don’t… I don’t want that.”

His gaze shifts slightly. “You worried?”

“Yes,” you say, louder than you mean to. You set the cotton pad down and sit back a little. “Of course I’m worried. You come here beat up, acting like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing to me.”

He blinks slowly. Like the thought is new.

You reach for his hands next. His knuckles are torn open. You take one gently, turning it palm-up to check for glass.

Your touch is careful. You’re trying not to hurt him.

He watches you work in silence.

The room is quiet except for your soft movements and the faint rustle of bandages. The lamp casts a warm glow over both of you, making everything feel strangely calm despite the situation.

At some point, you notice your hands shaking just a little.

He notices too.

“Why are you shaking?” he asks softly.

You freeze. Then you exhale.

“Because, Mikey… I never know if you’re going to walk away from a fight. And I hate waiting to find out.”

You didn’t mean to say it. But once it’s out, you don’t take it back.

His expression changes, not dramatically, just subtly. His eyes soften, his shoulders drop a bit.

You finish wrapping his last knuckle and close the first aid kit. He flexes his fingers slowly, looking at the white bandages with a strange, thoughtful expression.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then he breaks the silence.

“You always do this,” he says quietly. “Take care of me like this.”

You look over at him. “And you always come here hurt.”

He huffs out a soft breath.

You stand to put things away, but Mikey reaches out and lightly grabs your wrist. Nothing forceful. Just enough to stop you.

Your heart jumps a little, but you turn to him.

His voice is low, calmer than before.

“…Thank you.”

It’s simple. But something about the way he says it lands deeper than any dramatic speech ever could.

You sit back down beside him. He doesn’t let go of your wrist right away, like he forgot his hand was still there. When he finally does, his fingers linger for a second longer than necessary.

He looked at you.

The crease between your brows from worry. The tired look in your eyes. The way you’re sitting close enough that your knees almost touch.

And suddenly everything fits together in his head.

You opening the door for him every time he knocks. You treating his wounds without complaint. You scolding him but never walking away. You staying up with him on nights like this.

He realizes he likes this. He likes you. Not just as someone who helps him after fights, not just as a friend.

He likes the way it feels to be cared for by you. He likes how steady and real it is. He likes how you look at him like a person, not a symbol.

He wants more of it. More nights like this, except without the blood and bruises. More mornings where you’re the first face he sees. More days where he doesn’t have to pretend he’s fine.

He doesn’t think the word “future,” not directly. But the feeling settles in his chest anyway, simple and quiet:

I want her around. Not just now. Not just tonight. I want her with me. For good.

He leans back on the couch, relaxing for the first time that night.

“You’re staying a little longer, right?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

You raise an eyebrow. “Why? You scared to be alone?”

“...Maybe.”

You sit beside him again, closer this time.

Mikey doesn’t say it out loud. Not yet.

But in that small, quiet living room with your knee brushing his—

He knows. He wants you. Not just in this moment, not just as someone who patches up his wounds.

He wants you as the person he comes home to. The person he trusts. The person he chooses.

And the thought isn’t scary.

It feels right.

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

It’s nothing obvious directly. Just you being… you.

You bring him leftover food because you “accidentally made too much.” You remind him to drink water when he’s studying too long. You poke fun at him for staying up reading manga until 3 a.m.

It’s all small stuff – nothing that screams romantic. But he notices every single thing.

He always has.

::

The moment it hits him starts as something simple.

He’s sitting on the floor of his room, sorting through a stack of Toman paperwork and manga in a hopeless attempt at organizing both. His hair is sticking up in every direction from running his hands through it too many times.

You show up because you promised to bring him a new snack you discovered.

And you walk right in, sitting beside him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Your hair is a mess,” you say, reaching over to fix it before he can protest.

He freezes. Not because you’re touching him, you have done that before. It is because there’s something different about the moment.

You’re talking about something you saw on the way here, rambling without pause. He hears your voice, but the words blur together. Your fingers brush through his hair, soft and careful, like you do it all the time.

And he just… stops.

Stops sorting. Stops thinking about work. Stops pretending he isn’t affected by you.

He just looks at you.

And it hits him so suddenly it almost makes him swallow wrong.

Oh… oh shit. I want this. I want this all the time.

Not the hair fixing specifically. But the closeness. The ease. The warmth of having you next to him like you belong there.

His heart drops straight to his stomach, and his face gets hot enough to melt plastic.

“Chifuyu? You okay?” You tilt your head at him, still gently flattening a stubborn strand of hair.

He blinks out of it too quickly, almost jerking back. “Y-yeah! Fine! Totally! Great!”

You raise an eyebrow. “…You sure?”

“Yep!” He clears his throat. “Perfectly fine! 100% normal! Absolutely not weird!”

You stare at him for a beat too long, and he wants to bury himself under the manga pile.

After that, everything feels different to him.

You hold his sleeve to get his attention? He blushes.

You tease him about something? He laughs too loud.

You brush crumbs off his cheek? He nearly short-circuits.

Every time you walk into a room, he stands up straighter without realizing. He starts thinking things like:

I wonder what she’s doing later. Would she like this manga? Should I get her something too? Does she think about me like this?

And then the most dangerous thought of all:

I want her to stay with me. Not just now. But in the future too.

He imagines small things, nothing dramatic. You sitting beside him on the couch while he reads. You feeding Peke J treats. You teasing him about being a cat dad. You and him sharing instant ramen during late-night talks.

A calm life. A shared life. One where he wakes up to you and comes home to you.

He doesn’t picture some movie romance. He pictures everyday moments.

The idea doesn’t scare him. It comforts him.

And every time you smile at him, it hits him again:

I want this forever.

___________________________________________________________________________

Mitsuya Takashi:

You’re sitting on the couch in his apartment, legs tucked under you, mending one of his shirts that ripped during a scuffle. You insisted he let you fix it this time so he could actually rest for once.

He’s pretending to read, but really, he’s just watching you.

You’re concentrating so hard – eyebrows furrowed, tongue poking out a little. Holding the fabric steady like it’s something precious. His shirt, something he didn’t even think twice about… yet you’re treating it with such care.

He smiles to himself.

“You know,” he says softly, “you don’t have to do that. You can give it back.”

You shake your head immediately. “Nope. You’re always repairing everyone’s clothes. Let me help you for once.”

Your voice is casual, but the warmth behind it hits him unexpectedly. Your care. Your gentleness. Your quiet insistence on taking stress off his shoulders.

And suddenly, he’s hit with this wave of realization—

I want this for the rest of my life.

Not just the mending or the helping… but you. Your presence. Your effort. Your love tucked into small, everyday moments.

You finish the last stitch, holding up the shirt proudly. “Ta-da! See? I didn’t ruin it.”

He laughs softly. “Looks perfect.”

You hand it to him, and when your fingers brush his, he feels the smallest spark. One he’s felt a million times, but tonight it lands deeper.

You curl up beside him, leaning into his side like it’s second nature, and he instinctively wraps an arm around you.

“Thanks for always taking care of me,” he says quietly, almost under his breath.

You tilt your head up, smiling. “Of course. That’s what partners do.”

Partners.

The word lingers in the air, warm and right.

And that’s when it clicks for him fully – not in a loud moment, but in the soft steadiness of you against him:

He wants you in his future. He wants a home with you. Sunday breakfasts. Shared chores. Maybe matching rings.

He rests his chin on your head, breathing you in.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, “partners.”

But what he really means is forever.

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

Ran notices things when he shouldn’t.

That’s how it starts.

You’re standing across the room during a Bonten meeting, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, listening. You’re not supposed to be here. You don’t interrupt or don’t act impressed by power.

Someone raises their voice. Someone else laughs too loudly.

Ran’s attention slides to you without him meaning it to. He checks your expression automatically, like a reflex he hasn’t learned to control yet.

You look calm. Alert. Unmoved.

It’s unsettling.

::

Later that night, the building is quiet in that heavy way it only gets after things are already handled.

Ran’s at the sink, rolling his sleeves up to wash the blood from his hands when you appear in the doorway.

“You’re bleeding,” you say, pointing at his wrist.

He glances down. “Looks like it.”

You walk over and take a cloth, pressing it to the cut. Your touch is steady, like this is something you’ve done before.

“That was reckless,” you say after a moment. Just stating a fact.

Ran watches your face instead of his wound.

“You’re not mad?”

You shake your head. “I know who you are. I knew when I stayed.”

That settles something in him.

Most people hesitate. You don’t.

From then on, he starts adjusting things—quietly.

He keeps you out of rooms where things might turn ugly. He positions himself between you and raised voices. He ends meetings faster if you’re waiting.

You notice, even if you don’t comment.

::

A few weeks later, you catch him watching you from across the room while you’re talking to someone else.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t look away.

He tilts his head, lips curling slightly.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear.

“How inconvenient it is,” he says calmly, “that I don’t see a future anymore unless you’re in it.”

You blink, then scoff under your breath.

“Well,” you say, arms crossing, “you better wife me up then.”

For a moment, Ran just stares at you – like he’s weighing the idea.

Then he laughs.

“Yeah,” he says, hand settling at your waist, thumb brushing your side, “sounds like a plan.”

And it isn’t a joke.

Because Ran Haitani doesn’t say things lightly. And when he decides something?

It’s already done.

__________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

The club is loud.

Bass rolls through the floor, lights flashing in slow pulses. From the upper level, Rindou leans against the railing, drink untouched in his hand.

Below, the crowd moves as one.

And then there’s you.

You’re on the dance floor, laughing, caught up in the music. Not reckless—just enjoying yourself. You don’t notice the looks you’re getting, and that only makes it worse.

Rindou’s eyes stay on you longer than they should.

“She looks like she’s having fun,” Ran says beside him, voice lazy.

Rindou exhales. “Yeah. Too much.”

Ran hums, watching the way Rindou doesn’t look away. “Didn’t think you liked crowded places.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’re you here?”

Rindou doesn’t answer.

A guy drifts a little too close to you. You laugh, stepping aside without missing the beat.

Rindou’s grip tightens on the glass.

Ran notices immediately.

“You always watch exits,” Ran says casually. “Now you’re watching her.”

Rindou clicks his tongue. “She forgets where she is when she’s having fun.”

Ran’s eyes narrow slightly. “That concern sounds personal.”

Rindou finally looks at him. “Drop it.”

Ran glances back down at you, then smiles slowly.

“You don’t talk like this about anyone else,” he says. “You don’t worry.”

Rindou’s jaw tightens.

“She doesn’t belong in places like this,” he mutters.

Ran lets out a quiet laugh. “…Oh.”

Rindou stiffens. “What?”

“You are in love,” Ran says simply.

Rindou scoffs. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Mm,” Ran replies. “You’re watching her like she’s something you can lose.”

The words hit heavy.

Rindou looks back down at you. The lights flash over your face as you laugh again—open and happy.

Something shifts in his chest. Not panic. Not fear.

Decision.

“I don’t want her swallowed by this place,” he says quietly.

Ran’s smile turns knowing. “Yeah. Thought so.”

::

Later, you find Rindou near the bar, cheeks warm from dancing.

“There you are,” you say. “Why’d you disappear?”

He studies you for a second longer than usual.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you grin. “I was having fun.”

He nods once.

Ran walks past, smirking. “Try not to fall in love, little brother.”

Rindou ignores him.

He leans closer so you can hear him over the music.

“You don’t have to be down there if you don’t want to,” he says.

You laugh lightly. “I wanted to. With you.”

That’s it.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just clear.

Rindou reaches out, fingers wrapping around your wrist.

“Stay close tonight,” he says.

You tilt your head, smiling. “Planning on keeping me?”

His mouth curves into a small, serious smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

And for the first time, Rindou doesn’t look away from the thought:

He’s in love.

_________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

Hanma always thought people were predictable.

Push them hard enough, they break. Corner them, they beg. Throw chaos at them and they scatter. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s why fights are fun – everyone shows their true face eventually.

Except you don’t.

The street’s already tense when it starts. Too many people, too much noise, that itchy feeling in the air that says someone’s about to do something stupid. Hanma’s grinning like always, hands loose at his sides, waiting for the spark.

You’re next to him, stretching like this is warm-up instead of a brawl.

“Try not to get lost,” you tell him.

He snorts. “You saying that to me?”

“You’re the one who gets distracted.”

That earns a sharp laugh. He likes that – likes that you talk to him like you’re not afraid of what he is.

The first punch flies and everything explodes.

Hanma dives in headfirst, laughing when knuckles connect, when bodies hit the ground. This is where he’s supposed to be. This is where things make sense. He’s mid-swing when he catches movement to his left and—

You drop someone. Clean and fast.

He blinks, just for a second.

Then another one. You twist out of a grab, slam an elbow back, and the guy folds. You look over at Hanma like you’re checking if he’s watching.

“Keep up,” you call.

Something sharp twists in his chest.

Interest.

The fight keeps going, but Hanma’s attention keeps drifting back to you. Not because he’s worried – you don’t need watching. It’s the opposite. You’re enjoying this. Same grin, same energy. You’re not surviving the chaos; you’re playing in it.

That’s dangerous.

When it finally ends, the street’s a mess. People groaning, others running, adrenaline still buzzing under Hanma’s skin. He wipes blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and laughs.

“That was good,” he says.

You walk past him, barely winded. “You got sloppy.”

He barks out another laugh. “Did you see yourself?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I was great.”

He watches you like he’s trying to figure something out – and that annoys him, because he doesn’t like thinking during fights.

Later, when things quiet down, you’re sitting nearby, checking your knuckles. Hanma leans against a wall, eyes on you without trying to hide it.

Most people around him want protection. Or status. Or they’re just chasing the thrill until it scares them.

You don’t want anything from him.

You just keep up.

“You’re insane,” he says finally.

You glance up. “I know.”

There it is again – that easy back-and-forth, like you’re not standing next to someone dangerous, like you’re not supposed to flinch.

Hanma realizes something then, slow and unpleasant.

If you walked away, things would get boring again.

That pisses him off.

He doesn’t like needing people. Doesn’t like the idea that someone could change the game just by being there. But watching you laugh, bloodied knuckles and all, he knows the truth whether he likes it or not.

You’re not a side act. You’re not temporary. And you’re definitely not replaceable.

He steps closer, grin sharp, eyes bright with something reckless.

“Don’t disappear,” he says. Not a request. Not a joke.

You smirk. “What, you’d miss me?”

Hanma tilts his head, considering.

“…Yeah,” he says. “Probably.”

And that’s when it clicks.

He’s in love the way he does everything else – loud, dangerous, and all in.

And whether you know it yet or not?

You’re already part of the chaos.

___________________________________________________________________________

Shinichiro Sano:

Shinichiro doesn’t remember when he bought the ring.

That’s the problem.

It’s small, simple, nothing flashy. Something practical. Something that made sense at the time. He’d seen it in a little shop while wandering, hands in his pockets, thinking about nothing in particular – until suddenly he wasn’t.

Now it’s sitting in his palm, catching the light from the open garage door.

He turns it slowly between his fingers, brows furrowed.

This is ridiculous, he thinks.

He hasn’t even asked you anything. Hasn’t said the words out loud. He’s older, he’s messy, his life is loud and unpredictable. And yet here he is, holding a ring like it belongs to a future he hasn’t dared to imagine properly.

Would she even want this? Would she really choose me?

The thought makes his chest tighten.

He closes his hand around the ring, sighing.

::

The sound of footsteps pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Shin?” your voice calls.

He looks up – and there you are, standing in the doorway of the shop, sunlight behind you, smiling when you see him.

“Hey,” you say. “You said you’d be done soon.”

He forgets what he was worrying about.

Just like that.

You walk closer, glancing around the garage like you always do, commenting on something half-fixed, half-forgotten. You’re comfortable here. With him. Like you belong.

And that’s when it hits him.

He doesn’t want a perfect future. He doesn’t need certainty.

He just wants you in his life – in the mornings, in the mess, in the quiet moments when everything finally slows down.

You notice him staring.

“…What?” you ask, amused.

He rubs the back of his neck, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips.

“Nothing,” he says. Then pauses. “…Actually, that’s a lie.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He opens his hand just enough for you to see the ring resting in his palm.

“I don’t know when I bought this,” he admits softly. “And I don’t know if I’m ready… but I know I don’t want a future where you’re not in it.”

For a second, the world feels very quiet.

He looks at you, nervous but sincere.

“So… yeah,” he says, chuckling under his breath. “Guess I’m asking if you’d stay.”

Not perfectly. Not easily.

But with him.

And as you smile—really smile—Shinichiro knows one thing for sure:

Confusion or not, fear or not, he wants to choose you every day.

Summary: You never meant to join the Akatsuki and you never meant to catch Obito’s eye. You’re strong, fearless, and a healer unlike any other… but even you can’t ignore the way he watches you.

When an ambush leaves you injured after protecting him, Obito loses control, killing without mercy — then holds you close, refusing to let go.

Words: 6570

When Obito asked you to join the Akatsuki, you didn’t know who he really was. He introduced himself as Madara, his glowing red Sharingan eye piercing through the mask. At first, you were confused, instinctively holding your kunai closer to your chest, bracing yourself in case he attacked. You had never seen anything like his abilities before.

Deep down, you knew you had no chance against him. Not that you weren’t strong, or incompetent – but the way he faced you, the weight behind his question, told you that this was no one to joke with.

“Why do you want me?” you asked carefully, keeping your voice steady so as not to provoke him.

“I need your abilities,” he replied simply, his gaze fixed on you through the mask.

“And what if I don’t want to join your… crazy organization? You think I don’t know who you are?”

Silence followed. The wind stirred through your hair, but you didn’t relax under his stare. Still defensive. Still watching.

Then he laughed. Dark. Unnerving.

Without another word, he moved, vanishing in a swirl of shadows. Your eyes widened as you searched desperately for him, forcing yourself not to show your fear.

Slowly, you took a step back from where you had been standing – right into him. You jumped as you felt his gaze burn into your back. With a slow, deliberate motion, you turned your head toward him.

“You have no other choice,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the air.

You knew.

You knew that if you tried anything – even a single misstep – you would die. Terror gripped every inch of your body as you faced the undeniable truth: he could end your life in a second, without you even moving.

So you agreed. A small nod of your head. Your kunai slipped from your hands, and you let your arms fall to your sides, sliding the weapons into your side pocket.

“Good decision,” he said, his tone calm, almost approving.

You already knew to that time. You going straight into hell, or so you thought.

___________________________________________________________________________

Your first months in the Akatsuki was more chaotic than you had ever expected.

Not only were you paired with Tobi – how he insisted on calling himself in the organization, but Tobi acted like a complete idiot, which made you laugh more than anything. Especially when you got a mission with Deidara. He grew more and more irritated with him every time you three spend time together.

You, on the other hand, took your job seriously. You smiled quietly as you tended to your new comrades’ wounds, even when it wasn’t strictly your responsibility.

Still, you began to enjoy your time there, finding ways to bond with the others in your own unique way. Your ability to make people smile, or to throw a clever jab while proving a point, made everyone feel more comfortable around you.

To your surprise, even the most stubborn members of the hideout couldn’t help but be affected by it.

Especially Obito.

He was surprised when you laughed out loud at his stupid jokes or the ridiculous things he did to fool everyone else who didn’t know him. At first, he had thought you were the type to quit easily—just like when you first met in the forest.

To his surprise, you were completely at ease in the most dangerous criminal organization. You cared for others, healed them when needed, and weren’t shy about joking around with him.

You had intense chess games with Itachi whenever he was around. You spoke with Kisame about his home, never realizing how effortlessly you had everyone wrapped around your finger. Even Kakuzu showed a hint of softness when you discussed politics with him. And Obito watched it all unfold right in front of him.

It was… different.

It was as if you had the power to change the entire room the moment you walked into it. And it confused him. There was a feeling building inside him, one he couldn’t name. Somewhere deep, deep down, he knew he was scared of it.

You were dangerous to him.

The way your hair fell into your face when you concentrated on the cards in your hand – he  hadn’t even realized he could read your expressions that well. Which, of course, always ended with you losing to him. But you didn’t care. You laughed so freely whenever you managed to trick him even once, or when you demanded a rematch only to lose all over again.

You were so goddamn dangerous.

The way your eyes sparkled when you learned a new jutsu and finally mastered it, or how your face glowed in the moonlight during night watch… he didn’t know what to do with you.

And it only got worse.

Because the very next mission proved just how dangerous you truly were to him.

It wasn’t even a real fight – just a routine scouting job. Something simple. Something he shouldn’t have cared about at all. But the moment you stepped back into the hideout, complaining loudly about Deidara’s explosions, he saw it.

A thin trail of blood on your cheek.

You didn’t even notice.

But Obito did.

His body reacted before he could think. He was at your side in a blink – too fast, nothing like Tobi's usual goofy movements.

“You’re hurt,” he said, voice low, almost harsh behind the mask.

You touched your cheek, blinking in surprise. “Huh? Oh. Just a scratch. Nothing serious.”

But Obito’s hands twitched like he wanted to grab you and check himself. He didn’t. Instead he reached into his cloak and practically shoved a small medical kit into your hand.

“Fix it,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, since when do you care?”

He stiffened. Deidara snorted. “Since never. Tobi’s just being dramatic again.”

Obito glared at him – one of those real glares that weren’t part of the Tobi act. Then he turned back to you, softer for a heartbeat.

“It could scar,” he said, quieter now.

And you smiled. A small, warm smile that shouldn’t have hit him so hard. “It’s sweet that you’re worried.”

“I’m not—” He stopped because even he didn’t believe it.

You laughed gently, brushing his arm as you walked past him. For you, it was just a touch. For him, it felt like someone had reached inside his chest and pulled.

It was nothing. A scratch. A moment.

But for Obito, it was the first time he realized how scared he was of losing you – even over something so small.

___________________________________________________________________________

To prevent that from happening again, he decided to force you into some extra training during your next mission together. It was just the two of you this time. The task was simple: gather intel on the next jinchūriki target.

You were heading toward a small village known for its information trade—quiet, discreet, the kind of place where secrets were worth more than money. You had heard about it before, long ago, but never had a reason to visit until now.

So when you reached the outskirts of the village, Obito suddenly stopped in front of you. Caught off guard, you almost crashed into his back.

You steadied yourself with a huff. “A little warning would be nice.”

He didn’t turn around. “Training.”

You blinked. “Here? Now?”

“Yes.” His voice left no room for argument.

You stepped beside him, eyeing the quiet treeline. “You dragged me halfway across the country for intel, not a workout.”

Obito finally looked at you, the single Sharingan glowing beneath his mask. “Consider it a necessary precaution.”

“Against what?” you challenged.

His gaze fixed on you for a moment too long. “Against you getting yourself killed.”

You scoffed. “I don’t die that easily.”

“That’s what worries me,” he muttered under his breath – so quietly you almost missed it.

Before you could respond, he flickered forward, stance sharpening. Gone was the easy, goofy persona he showed the others. This was the real Obito, the one who only ever stepped out around you.

You smiled, sliding a kunai into your hand. “So you’re in the mood to fight,” you teased. “Fine. Don’t blame me if you end up on the ground.”

He exhaled a laugh – short and amused. “Prove you can put me there.”

In a flash, you vanished.

He reacted instantly, pivoting as your kunai struck from above—but you were faster. You twisted behind him, chakra humming, forcing him to block with more strength than he expected.

Your blade grazed his cloak.

Obito’s eyebrow lifted beneath the mask. “Point for you.”

“More than a point,” you shot back, dropping low and sweeping your leg toward his ankles.

He leapt just in time.

You grinned. “You’re getting slow.”

For the first time since stopping, he looked truly engaged. You felt his chakra spike, heavy and sharp like a shift in the air.

“Again,” he said.

And the forest exploded into movement.

__________________________________________________________________________

The fight stretched on longer than either of you expected.

Your feet skidded across the forest floor as you dodged another strike, your palm brushing a tree trunk to redirect your momentum. Obito appeared behind you in a blur—you blocked with your forearm, sending a controlled burst of chakra through the contact point. He absorbed it, boots digging into the dirt.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you backed down.

You moved dangerously fast, pushing him harder, sharper, testing the limits of his reactions. He matched you step for step, Sharingan spinning, eyes tracking every shift in your muscles.

When your kunai clashed for the fifth time, the force of the impact sent sparks flying between you.

Both of you froze for one breath – then another – only the pounding of your hearts in the quiet air.

Finally, you lowered your weapon, chest rising and falling in even, controlled breaths.

“That’s enough,” Obito said, though he sounded less certain than he wanted to.

You twirled your kunai once before sliding it back into your pouch. “You’re not bad,” you teased lightly.

His eye narrowed. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

He almost – almost – sounded like he wanted to laugh.

But the moment quickly faded, replaced by that familiar tension he carried only around you. He stepped past you, brushing his shoulder against yours just enough to make your pulse spike.

“Night is almost here,” he said. “We set up camp. Then we take shifts.”

You followed him deeper into the clearing, setting your pack down beside a fallen log. The sky had already darkened into deep violet, stars flickering to life above the treetops.

By the time the small campfire crackled to life, you could feel the exhaustion tugging at your limbs.

Obito sat across from you, one knee bent, arms resting loosely atop it. He watched the flames, but his attention kept drifting back to you, tracing your silhouette in the firelight.

You pretended not to notice.

“Who takes first watch?” you asked.

“I will,” he said immediately.

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I can—”

“No.” His tone was calm, not commanding–quietly firm. “You used more chakra than I did. Rest.”

You frowned slightly but accepted it, stretching out near the fire.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

Obito stayed sitting upright, back straight, gaze fixed on the dark treeline. His hand rested loosely near his weapon pouch, body ready to move at the slightest sound.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than the crackle of burning wood.

“You fought well today.”

You blinked, turning your head toward him. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was,” he admitted reluctantly, eyes still scanning the shadows.

You smiled softly. “Thank you.”

The forest hummed. The fire flickered. You felt sleep tugging at you, warm and heavy.

And Obito… Obito felt something he couldn’t name tightening in his chest as he watched your eyes drift closed.

___________________________________________________________________________

The fire crackled softly, glowing amber against the dark forest. You lay on your side, one arm tucked beneath your head, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. The warmth of the flames brushed over your skin, pulling you slowly toward sleep.

Obito remained perfectly upright across from you. Back straight.

But every few moments, his gaze drifted to you again.

He watched the way your breathing steadied, the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the faint shimmer of moonlight on your hair. You looked peaceful — too peaceful for the life you led… for the life he dragged you into.

And that rattled him in ways he didn’t understand.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. The forest stayed quiet, but his attention never once slipped. Every small sound made his body tense slightly — a shift of wind, a creaking branch, distant animal calls.

Finally, you stirred.

“Aren’t you supposed to wake me for my shift?” you murmured, voice soft and sleepy.

“I will,” he said quietly.

You opened one eye, staring at him across the flames. “Madara… you haven’t slept at all.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You froze.

His voice was low and sharp, but there was something raw buried beneath it — something unguarded that you’d never heard from him before.

“…What?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t answer immediately. The fire popped. The forest shifted. His breathing deepened, like he was choosing a battle he didn’t want to fight.

Finally, he spoke.

“My name,” he said slowly, “is Obito.”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, the world around you felt unusually still.

“…Obito?” you repeated, as if testing the weight of the word. “But you… you told me—”

“That I was Madara.” His voice dropped lower. “That was necessary.”

You stared at him — at the masked figure who had dragged you into the Akatsuki, threatened you, pushed you, trained you, watched you.

And now he was giving you something he had never meant to give anyone.

Something real.

“Why tell me now?” you whispered.

He stared into the fire instead of answering. You watched the glow reflect in his single visible eye, the Sharingan swirling faintly in the light.

Only after a long silence did he speak again.

“Because you’re not as blind as the others,” he said. “You would have figured it out eventually.”

That was a lie — not a cruel one, but a protective one. You felt it.

But before you could say anything, he added under his breath:

“And… because keeping the truth from you is becoming harder than I anticipated.”

Your eyes softened in surprise.

The great, terrifying leader you believed in— the masked man who claimed to be Madara Uchiha— had just admitted something almost human.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the shift in the air between you.

___________________________________________________________________________

The first pale light of dawn filtered through the treetops, painting the clearing in muted golds and greys. You stretched, rolling your shoulders and flexing your fingers as if shaking off the remnants of sleep. The forest smelled of damp earth and smoke from last night’s fire.

Obito was already awake, sitting just a few paces away. He hadn’t moved much during the night. You noticed the subtle tension in his posture, the way his single eye followed you.

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you picked up your pack and began checking your gear. But he spoke anyway.

“You pushed yourself yesterday,” he said. His voice was low, calm. “Don’t overdo it today.”

You smirked, adjusting your glove. “You mean, you pushed me yesterday. Don’t act like I’m the one who got tired.”

He allowed a faint huff, almost like a laugh, before his eye shifted back toward the trees. “Maybe… but you didn’t back down once. That’s impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Impressive? Coming from the great Madara Uchiha?”

“Not Madara,” he corrected again quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. “…Obito.”

You smiled softly. There was something almost human in that moment, a pause in the dangerous rhythm that usually surrounded him. “Obito,” you repeated. „Sorry. Need to get used to it.”

He didn’t respond, but the slight tilt of his head told you he heard it – and that it mattered.

You stepped closer, brushing past him to put out the last embers of the fire with your boot. He didn’t move away. If anything, he stayed a second longer than necessary, as if making sure your shoulder didn’t slip into the ashes.

When you finally straightened, he rose with you.

“Ready?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “I’ve been ready since yesterday.”

He gave a quiet exhale – the closest he ever got to a sigh – and motioned for you to follow. “Stay close.”

You didn’t argue this time.

The two of you walked side by side through the thinning forest, morning mist curling around your legs. Birds stirred in the branches overhead, but otherwise the world was quiet.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

You watched the way he moved. Controlled steps, always scanning ahead, shoulders relaxed but prepared. He was different like this. Less masked monster, more… someone real. Someone dangerous, yes, but not distant.

“You watched the whole night,” you said softly after a while. “Did you even sleep at all?”

His eye flickered toward you. “Didn’t need to.”

That was a lie – but a practiced one.

“You know,” you muttered, brushing some leaves from your cloak, “most people would’ve just kicked me awake and gone to sleep.”

He gave a quiet hum. “You’re not most people.”

You blinked, surprised by the blunt honesty. “Is that your way of saying you like having me around?”

“No,” he replied instantly. Then, after a beat: “…It’s my way of saying you’re… useful.”

You snorted. “Wow. I’m flattered.”

He didn’t look at you, but you swore the corner of his mask tilted just a little, the hint of a suppressed smile.

The trees thinned, and the outline of rooftops and narrow streets appeared through the haze.

The village.

From afar it looked quiet, sleepy even – lanterns still lit, smoke curling steadily from the chimneys. But something about it felt… off. Too still. Too controlled.

Obito stopped at the treeline, holding an arm out diagonally in front of you – not touching, but close enough that you felt the warmth of his sleeve.

“Eyes up,” he murmured. “Stay alert here. This place makes a living out of secrets.”

You nodded once. “Understood.”

He lowered his arm and began walking again. You followed, boots crunching lightly on the gravel path.

As you stepped into the village, you glanced up at him, whispering:

“So… no splitting up today?”

His gaze didn’t leave the narrow street ahead.

“No,” he answered. “Stay where I can see you.”

You grinned. “Worried?”

“No,” he said again. But this time, the lie was obvious.

The two of you slipped deeper into the village – unaware that several sets of eyes were already following your steps.

Target acquired.

___________________________________________________________________________

You and Obito walked side by side at first, but the crowd grew thicker as villagers began their daily routines – merchants raising shutters, children running past, voices layering over each other in a low hum.

For a moment, you let your gaze wander.

A stand selling herbs caught your eye – rare ones, ones you hadn’t seen in ages. Healing herbs you could use. Without thinking, you stepped toward the stall.

Just a few steps. Just a second.

When you turned back…

Obito wasn’t behind you.

You blinked, surprise pricking your chest. “Obito?”

You stepped into the flow of people again, scanning faces, masks, cloaks – but he wasn’t there. The street suddenly felt too loud, too unfamiliar.

You weren’t scared. Not really. But something twisted in your stomach anyway.

Then–

“(Y/N).”

His voice cut through the noise like a wire.

You turned, and there he was pushing through the crowd with far more urgency than he liked to show, single eye burning beneath the mask. When he reached you, his hand shot out and grabbed your forearm, not harshly, but firm enough that you felt the tremor under his glove.

“Don’t wander off,” he said sharply.

You raised an eyebrow. “I was gone for, what, thirty seconds? I just saw herbs I could use—”

“That isn’t the point.” His grip tightened briefly, then loosened, like he caught himself. “I looked away, and you were gone.”

You stared at him for a moment, really stared. Was that… worry?

You tried to ease the tension with a small smile. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he lifted his free hand slowly, hesitantly and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. His fingers barely grazed your temple.

Your breath caught.

He paused there for a second too long, thumb lingering near your cheek as if memorizing the shape of you. Then he pulled his hand back abruptly, his posture snapping back into something stiff and guarded.

“Stay close,” he murmured, voice lower than before. “I need to… keep track of you.”

You swallowed, warmth blooming in your chest. “Obito?”

“Hm.”

“You don’t have to panic. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eye softened — just slightly — but enough for you to see it.

He turned away quickly, muttering, “Good. You better not.”

You walked beside him again, closer than before. Close enough that your shoulders brushed every few steps.

And this time, Obito didn’t move away.

___________________________________________________________________________

You and Obito found the information broker in a cramped little room behind a tea shop. She gave the intel quickly — a location, a timeline, a few warnings — and Obito paid her in silence, his presence alone intimidating enough to keep her honest.

When the door shut behind you both, you exhaled. “That went surprisingly well.”

Obito hummed in agreement.

As you walked toward the village gate, you tucked the scroll into your cloak. The morning sun was warm, the streets busy, and for the first time today, you felt like the mission might actually go smoothly.

Once you crossed the bridge leading out of town, the noise behind you faded into quiet forest paths.

You felt the tension slipping out of your shoulders.

Obito walked beside you in silence for a while before speaking.

“…What herb did you see earlier?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“In the market. Before you… wandered off.” His tone was flat, but the way he said it carried the tiniest tease.

You smiled. “You were paying attention?”

“I always pay attention,” he replied. “Especially when you disappear in a crowd.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “I’m not fragile, you know.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Then why the panic earlier?”

“I wasn’t panicking,” he said too quickly.

You laughed softly. “Sure.”

He didn’t answer, but his eye flicked toward you, sharp and warm all at once.

You continued down the trail, the path growing narrower as the trees grew denser. Sunlight flickered between branches, painting shifting patterns on the ground. It almost felt peaceful.

Almost.

But something in Obito’s posture changed — so subtly you wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t know him by now. His steps slowed. His shoulders straightened. His hand drifted closer to the weapons at his side.

You glanced at him. “What is it?”

He didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he looked at you — really looked — and his voice dropped to a low murmur:

“Don’t turn around.”

Your breath hitched.

“…Why?”

His eye hardened, a calm darkness settling behind it.

“We’re being followed.”

The forest suddenly felt colder.

But his hand brushed yours — grounding you — a silent don’t be scared.

“They’ve been there since we left the village,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

You swallowed, heartbeat quickening. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be,” he replied gently. “But… stay close to me.”

You took a slow breath, stepping just a little closer until your arm brushed his. He didn’t move away.

Not this time.

___________________________________________________________________________

Obito slowed, his steps deliberate. You could practically feel the shift in the air – chakra signatures tightening around you like a net.

“They’re close,” he murmured.

“How many?” you whispered back.

His eye narrowed. “Enough to be annoying.”

The leaves rustled — once, twice — and then the world exploded.

A figure burst from the trees behind you, blade drawn. You spun, kunai flashing, blocking the strike inches from your neck. Another rushed Obito’s side; he dodged easily, countering with a clean, fluid motion that sent the attacker flying.

There were more. Five. Six. Maybe seven.

You didn’t have time to count.

They moved fast – too fast for ordinary bandits.

“Information brokers don’t use shinobi this skilled,” you hissed, parrying another strike.

Obito didn’t answer, already fighting with controlled brutality.

You matched him, weaving between blows, your movements sharp and precise. You weren’t helpless, not even close. You healed and fought, dodged and struck, every step controlled.

But then –

One of them rushed Obito from behind.

You saw it before he did.

“Obito!” you shouted, hurling yourself toward him.

You slammed into his side, shoving him out of the weapon’s path. His eye widened in shock as you pushed him.

He didn’t need your protection – but you didn’t care.

The blade meant for him sank into you instead.

Pain ripped through your side as the steel bit deep, the world tilting sharply. A gasp tore from your throat as blood surged warm beneath your hand.

Obito’s world stopped.

For a single heartbeat, the forest fell silent.

Then?

Everything inside him snapped.

His Sharingan spun violently, a whirl of red hatred.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t curse. He didn’t hesitate.

He moved.

The first attacker didn’t even have time to scream before Obito ripped through him with terrifying precision. Another tried to retreat – Obito appeared behind him in a swirl of space, blade slicing clean across the man’s throat.

There was no mercy. No restraint. Only killing intent – pure rage.

You stumbled, clutching your wound as the world blurred. The last man ran.

He didn’t make it two steps.

Obito caught him by the collar and slammed him into a tree so hard the bark cracked. His voice was low, dangerous, trembling with fury you’d never heard from him:

“You touched her.”

The man barely choked out a breath before Obito crushed his throat with one hand.

Silence.

Just the ragged sound of Obito’s breathing and the soft drip of your blood on the forest floor.

He turned to you slowly – like he was afraid of what he’d see.

When he reached you, he dropped to his knees so fast the earth shook beneath him.

“(Y/N)…” His voice cracked – the slightest break, but enough to make your heart twist. “Why did you do that?”

You gave him a weak smile. “You were open.”

“I’m never open,” he snapped, but his hands trembled as they hovered over your wound.

You reached for him instinctively, your fingers grasping the edge of his glove.

His breath hitched.

Then he pulled you into him almost desperately – one arm anchoring around your waist, the other pressed firmly over your wound as chakra flared, trying to stop the bleeding.

He held you so tightly you could hardly breathe.

“You shouldn’t have protected me,” he whispered against your hair, voice shaking with a storm of emotions he couldn’t hide anymore. “I can handle myself. I don’t need –”

“You,” you murmured, voice faint but steady, “are worth protecting.”

His hands froze.

Then his forehead came to rest against your shoulder, his breath unsteady.

“Don’t…” His voice was barely audible now. “Don’t ever do that again.”

But the way he held you –

Close. Terrified. Desperate.

– said he knew you would.

And he knew he couldn’t stop you.

___________________________________________________________________________

When you tried to walk again, your legs gave out before you could stop them.

Obito caught you instantly — one arm beneath your knees, the other cradling your back. His movements were abrupt, as if you might vanish if he didn’t hold onto you tightly enough.

You wanted to protest, say you could walk, but when he lifted you against his chest, the world tilted and your vision blurred.

“Don’t,” he ordered before you could speak. “Just— don’t.”

His voice was low, trembling with a fury that wasn’t directed at you… but at himself.

Obito moved fast, faster than you’d ever felt him move before, leaping through trees, his grip never loosening. Every time you winced or sucked in a breath, his arms tightened protectively.

You whispered, half-dazed, “Obito… I’m okay.”

“No,” he snapped. “You’re not.”

The forest began to thicken and finally he stopped near a half-collapsed stone shrine – hidden by vines and moss. It was safe.

He gently lowered you to the ground, but his hands lingered on your body like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Your breath shuddered as pain flared again. He let out a sound – not a growl, not a curse – but something raw and quiet that made your heart twist.

Then the sky opened.

Rain began to fall in soft sheets, pattering gently against the shrine’s broken stone. Obito cursed under his breath and immediately shifted you farther beneath the structure’s roof. Shielding you from the downpour with his own body until he was sure you wouldn’t get soaked.

“Sit still,” he murmured, kneeling in front of you. “I need to see the wound.”

His gloves were off in seconds, tossed somewhere into the shadows. His fingers were warm, steady despite the rage simmering beneath his skin.

When he peeled away your torn clothes and saw the depth of the cut, something inside him shattered again.

“Idiot…” he breathed. “You absolute – stupid – reckless –”

“Obito,” you whispered, touching his wrist lightly.

He stopped. Just stopped – like your touch froze him from the inside out.

His eye softened, then hardened again immediately as he pressed his hand over the wound. Chakra flowing through his palm. His healing wasn’t elegant like yours – it was forceful, raw, driven by emotion rather than technique.

Pain sparked through your body and you hissed. He flinched.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m trying – I’m trying not to hurt you.”

You smiled through the pain. “It’s okay… you’re doing good.”

His head lowered, a curtain of rain-dampened hair falling over his mask. You could hear his breathing – uneven, strained.

“Don’t say things like that,” he muttered. “It makes it worse.”

“Worse?” you echoed softly.

His fingers trembled again… barely.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pressed more chakra into your wound, sealing muscle, stopping the bleeding, every stroke of his energy careful – too careful for someone who claimed not to care.

Seconds stretched into long minutes.

Finally, the bleeding stopped. You exhaled shakily. Obito stayed kneeling in front of you, hands still hovering just inches from your skin, as if afraid to break contact.

The rain softened outside, turning into a quiet mist.

You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek. A gesture soft enough to shatter anyone, but especially him.

“Obito,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

Slowly… painfully slowly… his head lifted.

His single eye met yours – full of everything he tried so hard to hide.

Fear. Anger. Relief. Something deeper. Something he wasn’t ready to name.

“You scared me,” he said, voice rough. “More than anything ever has.”

Your chest tightened. “I didn’t mean–”

“You protected me,” he cut in, voice cracking on the last word. His breath shook. “I don’t need protection. But… gods–”

He choked on whatever came next and abruptly leaned forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, gripping your cloak like he was anchoring himself.

You felt him – the storm of him – trembling against you.

“You can’t do that again,” he whispered, broken and honest. “You can’t get hurt because of me.”

“Im Sorry…” you only could say to him.

__________________________________________________________________________

The air grew colder with each passing minute. You shivered despite yourself.

Obito noticed instantly.

Without a word, he reached behind himself and unclasped his cloak. The movement was sharp, almost irritated – at the weather, at your injury, at himself. But when he draped it over your shoulders, he did so with a gentleness that contradicted everything about him.

The fabric was still warm from his body heat. His scent settled around you like a second heartbeat.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered.

“I’m fine,” you lied with a small smile.

His eye narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He adjusted the cloak, pulling it tighter around you. Fingers brushing the side of your neck as he did. That small contact sent a shiver down your spine – not from the cold this time.

Obito paused. Watched your reaction. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

Then pain flared through your side. Burning, punching the air right out of your lungs.

You gasped and instinctively doubled forward.

Obito moved so fast you barely saw it – hands catching your arms, steadying you before you collapsed.

“Hey– hey, don’t do that.” His voice cracked. Actually cracked. “Breathe. Look at me.”

You tried to wave him off. “I’m– I just moved wrong. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.” His grip tightened, but not enough to hurt. Enough to keep you from falling apart.

Your vision blurred for a second.

Obito’s breath hitched in panic. Then he lifted you, guiding you back down onto the stone floor with a slowness that felt almost reverent.

“You should’ve told me it still hurt like this,” he said, kneeling beside you. “You shouldn’t push yourself.”

You managed a faint laugh. “You worry too much.”

He stared at you like you’d said something impossible. “Of course I worry.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

His own eye widened, as if realizing too late what he admitted. But as you winced again, his instinct overrode everything else.

“Lie back,” he ordered softly, supporting your shoulders. “Please.”

You did – because the pain wouldn’t let you argue.

Obito immediately slid behind you, pulling you gently against his chest so your weight didn’t press on your wound. His arm settled around your waist, careful but firm.

Your breath steadied.

“Is this… okay?” he asked, voice low, almost afraid of the answer.

You relaxed against him, feeling his heartbeat against your back. Warm.

“…Yeah,” you whispered. “It’s perfect.”

Obito exhaled shakily into your hair.

He held you a little tighter – not enough to hurt, but enough to tell you everything he couldn’t say out loud.

And for the first time since the ambush, he let himself believe you were safe.

Even if it was only because he was holding you.

___________________________________________________________________________

At some point you weren’t sure when exhaustion finally pulled you under. Warmth. Steady breathing. The rise and fall of Obito’s chest beneath your cheek.

When you finally blinked awake, the world had darkened into the deep blue of approaching night.

Obito was still there.

Still sitting with his back against the stone wall. Still holding you like you were something precious he wasn’t allowed to drop.

But he was no longer relaxed.

His muscles were tight.

His eye was wide awake.

His breath, too shallow.

You shifted slightly. “Obito… you haven’t slept, have you?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to. You could feel the tension vibrating through him.

You slowly pushed yourself upright, ignoring the dull ache in your side. His arm shot out immediately to steady you.

“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse, sharper than he meant it to be.

You placed a hand over his.

“Obito. Look at me.”

He didn’t.

His gaze stayed fixed somewhere near the edge, scanning the shadows as if the world might collapse the moment he blinked.

You moved closer, stepping in front of him.

“Obito,” you whispered again. “Look at me.”

Slowly, he lifted his head.

His eye met yours.

And for a heartbeat, you forgot the cold entirely.

He looked exhausted. Haunted. A storm wrapped in flesh and bone.

“You should rest,” you murmured.

“I can’t,” he said quietly.

“Why not?”

His jaw tightened. Rain slid down the edge of his mask.

“Because if something happens while I’m asleep—” His breath broke. “If you get hurt again –”

You cupped his face without thinking, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask and pulled it from his face.

He froze.

Absolutely still.

Your thumb caught a droplet on his cheekbone. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Maybe not.”

You leaned in closer. “But I know you won’t let it.”

Before he could react, you captured his mouth with yours. His breath hitched sharply, and for a heartbeat he froze, caught in a shock.

Then his hands moved instinctively, one pulling the back of your head in his direction, the other resting against your waist. The rain pattered around you but all you could feel was him. The steady heat of his body and the thrum of his heartbeat.

You kissed him deeper and more passionate than before. He nibbled gently at your lower lip, and a sharp gasp escaped you as you tried to keep up with him. His mouth claimed yours with an urgency that made it clear he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – pull away. Every protective instinct, every raging emotion he had kept bottled inside poured into the kiss.  

When you finally parted, both of you gasping softly. His eye closed for the briefest moment. The storm around you – the rain, the chill, the distant echoes of danger – faded into nothing.

“You shouldn’t…” he whispered, “…you shouldn’t have done that.”

“I couldn’t help it,” you murmured back, fingers brushing his jaw. “I needed you to feel it.”

His lips twitched and he let you lean into him again.

___________________________________________________________________________

You leaned against Obito, letting your body relax fully against his chest. Every beat of his heart beneath your ear felt like a steady anchor, grounding you after the chaos of the ambush.

Obito’s arm curled around you, tightening slightly as if he could hold the world together in that embrace. He rested his chin lightly on the top of your head, brushing strands of wet hair away with gentle fingers.

“Stay still,” he murmured, voice low and gruff. “I need to make sure you’re really okay.”

You hummed softly, nestling closer. “I’m fine… as long as you’re here.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, and another, slower one to your temple. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispered. His lips brushed your hairline, a quiet promise.

You shifted slightly, enough for him to pull you tighter. His nose pressed into your hair, inhaling the scent of rain and earth and you. He murmuring against your scalp, “Stay here… don’t move. Not even a little.”

You smiled faintly against him. “I won’t.”

Hours seemed to stretch as he stayed awake, vigilantly watching the forest outside the shrine while keeping you wrapped against him. Occasionally, he would brush your hair back, press another kiss to your head, or murmur softly.

“I’ve got you,” he said once very quietly into the night. “No one’s touching you. Not tonight. Not ever.”

You sighed, allowing yourself to finally let go of the tension you had carried since the ambush. Your hands rested lightly on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body.

“I know,” you whispered. “And I trust you.”

For the first time since the chaos began, Obito let a small, almost imperceptible exhale of relief escape. He kissed the top of your head again, letting the rain and the night and the danger fade into nothing.

Summary:

You grew up knowing Itachi Uchiha — the quiet prodigy everyone whispered about, the boy who always seemed just out of reach. You were his opposite: warm, open, a little too kind for your own good. Though you never spoke much as children, you always felt something in the way he looked at you… something he never let himself show.

Years later, during a rare snowfall in Konoha, you meet him again. You see the same calm, unreadable face — but this time, he stops. Watches you. Lets you get close.

Words: 2889

Warning!!!: Extremely Soft Content (For the Softies Among Us!) :3

The first time you met the infamous Itachi Uchiha was at school.

You were sitting in the front row — a little ray of sunshine, or so your teacher liked to say. You never minded talking too much or trying to make your friends smile when the lessons grew dull. You liked to think of yourself as someone who made the day a little brighter.

You weren’t the smartest in the class, but you tried. You cared. You helped when others struggled, and somehow that always seemed enough.

Itachi, on the other hand, was the opposite of everything you were. He was quiet, distant, and impossibly gifted. He didn’t need to try; he just was. You never really spoke, but you noticed him. Everyone did.

Most of the other children whispered about him, about the Uchiha clan. About how strange he was or about how he never played with anyone. But you never joined in. You didn’t see the “Uchiha prodigy” they all talked about. You just saw a boy who looked tired sometimes, as if he carried something too heavy for someone his age.

You smiled at him once. He didn’t smile back, but something in his eyes flickered. Like a single spark catching light in the dark.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment would stay with him.

___________________________________________________________________________

After that first year, you and Itachi rarely spoke, but your paths crossed often enough. Konoha was large, yet somehow small. You’d see him leaving the academy early for training with the Uchiha or sitting beneath the shade of the same tree after class.

He never seemed lonely, exactly just away with his mind. As if there was a thin line drawn between him and the rest of the world, one he didn’t quite know how to cross.

Sometimes, when you passed him on your way home, you’d offer a small greeting. “Good afternoon, Itachi.”

He’d incline his head, politly but not unkind.

There was something comforting about that. You never thought too deeply about him, not yet. He was simply Itachi Uchiha: the quiet boy who excelled at everything. The one who carried himself with the composure of someone twice his age.

You grew up like that. Side by side, but never close.

As the years went on, the village changed. The rumors about the Uchiha clan grew sharper. You learned to recognize the tension in people’s voices when they mentioned his name. But to you, Itachi was still just the boy from the academy. The one who always returned your greeting, even when others pretended not to see you.

You didn’t realize how much that small, steady thing mattered until it stopped.

He was gone more often — on missions, you’d heard. A prodigy rising through the ranks of the ANBU. The glimpses you caught of him were short. A calm face, eyes that didn’t belong to someone your age.

And then, one winter morning, it snowed.

_________________________________________________________________________

He’d noticed you long before you ever noticed him.

Noticed — that was the right word. He didn’t watch you. He didn’t stare, or imagine anything of the sort. He was simply aware of you. A presence in the classroom that softened his days.

You were loud in ways he could never be. Laughter ringing bright against the stillness of the room. Your voice full of warmth that made others gravitate toward you. You didn’t have his burden or knowledge. Yet, you moved through the world as if it didn’t weigh on your shoulders.

It fascinated him.

Sometimes, when you bent over a textbook, hair falling forward. He would find his gaze drawn to the way your face burrowed in concentration. You were not the kind of beauty that demanded attention, but because there was life in you, unguarded and effortless. It made him stare.

You were kind, too. Not performative, not loud about it — just naturally good. You noticed when others struggled. You smiled when others fell silent. You had that rare ability to make the space around you better.

And Itachi… did not know what to do with that.

At first, he dismissed it as curiosity. Then, as something more dangerous — distraction. He couldn’t afford that. Not with the expectations pressed onto his shoulders, not with the path his father was already carving for him.

But even when he tried to ignore it, your presents stayed.

The sound of your laugh.

The way you always greeted him, no matter how curt his replies became.

The faint scent of pine and winter air that seemed to follow you after training.

It was nothing — it had to be nothing. He reminded himself of that countless times.

Yet somehow, you became the quiet thought that returned to him in the spaces between missions. The only one that didn’t demand anything of him.

When he saw you helping another student, when you brushed dirt from a classmate’s knees and smiled as if kindness cost you nothing. That was when he first understood why people said Uchiha only love once.

Because it wasn’t something you chose.

It simply happened.

Like a single snowflake landing on your palm — melting before you can decide whether to hold on or let go.

___________________________________________________________________________

Years passed.

Missions blurred together, names turned into reports. He stopped thinking about seasons; time existed only between orders and silence.

Until that morning.

Konoha was wrapped in white. The snow fell slowly. He was walking through a side street on his way to the Hokage’s tower when a familiar sound reached him. A soft bristles scraping across stone.

You.

You were sweeping the walkway in front of a small house, hair catching snowflakes that melted the moment they touched you. The motion was simple but it made him stop.

You hadn’t changed much. The same quiet determination in your movements, the same warmth that seemed to ripple outward without effort. For a long moment, he simply watched you. The way the snow touched your cheek. The way your breath fogged in the cold.

You looked up then, sensing rather than seeing him. Your eyes met his for only a heartbeat. You smiled.

Something shifted inside him. Something deep inside him. Recognition.

This, he realized, was what the elders meant when they said Uchiha love only once. It wasn’t passion or possession. It was permanent. A single moment carved into the heart so deeply that no time, no distance, could erase it.

He lowered his gaze first. Duty pulled him forward, as it always had. But he stayed. The sweep of the broom, the peace on your face, the snow falling between you.

For the first time in years, he had felt still.

And that stillness carried your name.

___________________________________________________________________________

The snow fell steadily, each flake drifting silently to the ground, but he hardly noticed. He could only see you.

You were walking toward him now, sweeping forgotten in your hands, small puffs of breath rising in the cold air. And you weren’t just moving, you were warm in a world that felt so cold.

His chest tightened. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to speak. Every instinct told him to remain still, to let the moment exist untouched.

You stopped a few feet away, eyes locking with his. He could see everything in your expression: curiosity and patience. You had approached him, and yet it felt like the universe had slowed just for this.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The snow brushed against your shoulders, danced along the strands of your hair, and everything about this moment felt unreal.

He studied you silently: the faint curve of your lips. The warmth in your eyes, the quiet confidence that came from simply being yourself. And for the first time, he realized he had fallen.

Uchiha love only once. He had known the words, dismissed them for years. But now, standing there, watching you, he understood. This — this glance, this presence. That was all he had ever wanted. All he could ever love.

You took a step closer. Your cheeks pink from the cold. He noticed every detail: how your hand lingered over the broom, the faint scent of pine in the air. The small smile you offered him without speaking.

He didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away. And he didn’t need to.

The world had narrowed to the distance between you. Two souls, recognizing something they had always known.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. No words, no movement, just that shared understanding. And in that silence, Itachi felt the weight and the wonder of it all: he will love once, and it will be you.

___________________________________________________________________________

You moved your hand slowly from the broom to his face. Your fingers barely touched his cold skin, but warmth spread from your fingertips. For a fleeting moment, his heart felt lighter than it had in years, and it was beautiful.

He wanted to hold you close. To stay with you, just like this.

His eyes traced the lines of your face, taking in the way your hair caught the snowflakes, how your expression held a calm certainty he had rarely seen. He wanted to say something, to break the quiet, but every word felt heavy. Nothing could match the simplicity and perfection of this moment.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned just a fraction closer, your eyes never leaving his. The corner of your lips lifted in the faintest smile once more.

A single word escaped you, barely audible over the soft hush of falling snow:

“Hello.”

Itachi’s chest tightened. His mind, usually so precise and controlled, felt like it had been emptied. The warmth of your hand, the softness of your gaze. It all pressed against him in a way he had never allowed himself to feel.

He wanted to move, to close the distance. Feel your presence fully. But he didn’t. He stayed still, letting the moment, letting you decide how close to step. Because he had learned that some things — some people — couldn’t be rushed. Some moments were meant to stretch, infinite and fragile.

And so you simply stared at each other. The falling snow weaving around you like a quiet blessing. In that shared space, Itachi felt the depth of everything. He had always denied himself that.

You were here with him.

___________________________________________________________________________

Itachi’s mind was spinning in circles. You were so close. Your eyes, flecked with light snow. You looked stunning, and his chest tightened at the sight. He wanted to move closer, to hold you in his arms. To finally give in to the feelings he had spent years suppressing. How could you capture his heart so completely, so quickly? He didn’t know.

Inside him, two voices warred. One screamed, urging him to close the distance: Hold her. Kiss her. Let yourself feel it. The other whispered, insistent and cold: Don’t. Remember your duty. Nothing else matters.

His body remained frozen. Every instinct of discipline, every lesson of control, reminded him not to be distracted, not to falter. Only duty counts. Every expectation must be met — except your own. Don’t. Don’t let yourself… he told himself. And yet, his mind, calling over and over to simply be with you.

He didn’t know what to do.

You were right in front of him. The tilt of your head, the subtle rise and fall of your shoulders as you held his gaze, the way your hand rested lightly against his cheek.

Stay still. Maintain control.

Control had always been fragile around you. He wanted to lean close3. To let his cheek brush yours ever so slightly. And yet… the thought terrified him.

Too close. Don’t let this get complicated. Duty. Distance. Silence.

Still, he couldn’t pull his eyes away. Every second of hesitation stretched into eternity. Every heartbeat reminded him how completely he had already fallen.

You are dangerous. Not because you would hurt him — he knew you never could — but because you made restraint impossible.

And finally… he let himself give in.

___________________________________________________________________________

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He leaned in, and you met him halfway, pressing your hand firmly to his cheek and tugging him closer.

Your lips touched, soft at first and then more insistently. If all the months of unspoken longing and quiet glances had to come out at once. His hands went to your waist, steadying you. You pressed into him, tilting your head, deepening the kiss. Every movement was deliberate but hungry, like you both had been waiting your entire lives for this.

All that existed was the warmth of your hands, the way his lips moved against yours. The way your fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He could feel the tension he had carried for years melt away in the heat of the moment. Replaced by something raw. You didn’t pull back. You didn’t hesitate, letting him explore the closeness he had always denied himself.

When you finally broke apart just slightly, foreheads resting together. Breaths connecting, he felt his chest heaving and his heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with danger or duty. His hands remained on your waist, your hand still on his cheek. He realized with clarity what he had been feeling all this time: desire, longing, and a love that could not be controlled.

No words were necessary. The press of your bodies, the heat of your skin against his said everything.

For the first time, he let himself fully feel it. You were here. You were his.

___________________________________________________________________________

For a moment, the world didn’t exist. There was only this: you and him.

He finally exhaled, small and controlled, as if testing the air. Testing the reality of the moment. His hands remained on your waist, holding you close.

You brushing a stray snowflake from his hair. He let himself watch, memorizing every detail. The curve of your smile and the light in your eyes.

“It shouldn’t be like this…” he murmured, more to himself than to you, voice low. “But… I can’t stop.”

You didn’t speak. You only pressed closer, a quiet agreement. A subtle claim that he hadn’t realized he needed.

Then slowly he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His expression calm but impossibly heavy with feeling. “You… are dangerous,” he said, voice soft but steady. “For someone like me.”

A small laugh escaped you. Soft and warm. He felt the tension ease just slightly. But the pull between you remained.

Finally, you spoke once more, voice soft:

“Why did you wait so long?”

Itachi’s gaze didn’t leave from yours. He was calm, but there was a subtle tension in his shoulders, in the way his hands holding at your waist.

“Because… I needed to be certain,” he said. His voice was low, almost like a confession wrapped in control. “Certain that it wasn’t just a passing feeling. Certain it was… this.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a snowflake from his hair. “And now?”

“Now,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I know I can’t ignore it. Not for another second.”

You tilted your head, eyes searching his. “Even with… everything else?”

He hesitated, the usual restraint flickering for just a moment. “Even with everything else,” he admitted. “Some things… can’t be avoided.”

Your hand left his cheek to lightly touch his arm. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said. “Not if you’ll let me stay.”

He studied you, the weight of the world in his eyes, and then allowed the smallest hint of a smile. “Then… stay.”

You laughed softly, warmth spreading through the air between you. “I will,” you whispered.

Part 1 here / Part 2 here

Summary:

You wake up in the real world with no memory of the Borderlands — but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing.

Or someone.

When you run into Chishiya again at the hospital, neither of you remember the lives you shared before… but something pulls you toward him anyway.

A familiar look.

A familiar phrase.

A heartbeat that matches yours for no reason at all.

Words: 6199

The sound doesn’t register at first.

Just heat.

Just the silence in the air and the way dust lifts from the ground when Chishiya drops.

You don’t even think.

You’re on your knees beside him, fingers already pressing where the blood seeps through his hoodie. The smell of smoke burns your throat. Somewhere behind you, Usagi calls Arisu’s name, panicked—but it’s distant, like another world.

“Chishiya,” you whisper. “Hey, look at me.”

He opens his eyes slowly. A small exhale. “That was... unfortunate,” he mutters, breath hitching.

You choke out a laugh. “Unfortunate? You’ve been shot, you idiot.”

He tries to smirk but it falters halfway. “You should... run.”

You shake your head, pressing harder against the wound. “Not happening.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracks. “Don’t tell me to leave you. Not now. Not when we’re this close.”

Tears sting behind your eyes. You shake your head. “Don’t. Don’t talk.”

“Bossy,” he murmurs.

“Alive,” you counter. “Stay that way.”

Arisu and Usagi moved in, kneeling beside you. “Chishiya, are you okay?” Usagi’s voice shook.

“Was better once,” he muttered, breath hitching as he clutched his bleeding side with your help.

Arisu’s hands hover helplessly, looking between you and the spreading blood.

“We have to get him out of here—”

“There’s no time,” Usagi cuts in, glancing toward the empty street. “The Queen’s still alive. If we don’t finish this now—”

You shake your head hard. “Go! I’ve got him!”

“Y/N—” Arisu starts, but you cut him off.

“Go! Please!” Your voice breaks on the word. “I can keep him breathing. You two have to end this.”

They hesitate—just a moment.

Then Usagi nods once.

She grabs Arisu’s hand. “We’ll come back,” she promises.

“Just go,” you whisper.

Their figures blur in the distance as they run.

And then it’s only you and Chishiya.

You drop your gaze back to him. His breathing’s uneven.

Your hands won’t stop moving—press, release, check, repeat. As if motion alone can hold him together.

Blood seeps between your fingers. You tear a strip from your sleeve and fold it twice before pressing it against the wound.

“Stay with me,” you whisper. “Just keep breathing, okay?”

He doesn’t answer at first.

Then a soft exhale. “You’re… shaking.”

“So are you.”

“Fair enough.”

You huff a broken laugh. “Don’t try to sound calm. It’s weird.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes flicker toward you. “I’m trying not to waste energy.”

“Then stop talking.”

“I’ll… consider it.”

You can still feel the pulse.

You keep your palm there, not to count beats anymore, but to keep him tethered.

Minutes slip by—maybe five, maybe fifty.

Somewhere, another explosion rolls through the distance.

The sound fades, replaced by the wind.

You focus on the small things:

his eyelashes clumped with heaviness.

The way his hoodie sticks to his collarbone,

the tiny twitch in his fingers every time you press the cloth tighter.

When you finally speak again, your voice is barely audible.

“You’re going to be fine.”

Chishiya doesn’t argue this time.

He just breathes. Slow and shallow, eyes half-open, watching you like he’s memorising every line of your face in case the light takes it away.

You press your forehead to his for one breath, just long enough to feel that he’s still warm.

__________________________________________________________________________

You sit with him propped against the wall, your hands still pressed to his side.

Each breath he takes shudders a little, but it’s there. Steady enough that you match it with your own.

“Still with me?” you whisper.

A faint hum. “For now.”

You give a weak smile. “That’s good enough.”

He studies your face for a long time. “If this ends… if we actually get out—what then?”

You glance at him. “Then we live.”

He huffs quietly. “That simple?”

“Doesn’t have to be complicated. Eat something that isn’t canned. Find a real bed. Maybe—” You hesitate, looking down at the blood on your hands. “Maybe see each other again. Somewhere that isn’t falling apart.”

He blinks, slow. “You’d want that?”

You meet his gaze. “Yeah. You?”

He looks away, as if thinking costs him effort. “I’ve never been good at… the after. But—” his lips twitch “—maybe I could try. Once.”

You laugh softly, a sound that breaks halfway through. “You always make survival sound like an experiment.”

“It is,” he murmurs. “Variables. Outcomes. Unknown factors.”

His eyes find yours again. “You’re the unpredictable one.”

“Flattering,” you say. “And here I thought I was your bad influence.”

He almost smiles. “That too.”

The silence stretches, comfortable this time. Somewhere far off, you can hear Arisu and Usagi’s voices, smaller and smaller until they fade completely.

The wind carries only the creak of metal.

You reach out and brush over his cheek. “You should rest.”

“If I sleep now, I might not wake up.”

“Then don’t sleep,” you say.

He tilts his head, studying you again, like he’s memorising the shape of your voice. “You’d really find me again?”

“I will,” you promise. “Even if you don’t remember.”

Something flickers in his expression—uncertainty, maybe hope. “Then I’ll believe you.”

You lean closer before you can think twice. “Good,” you whisper, and press your mouth to his.

The kiss is careful, almost weightless; the taste of sweetness lingers between you. For a moment, the world around you falls silent. His fingers brush your jaw, weak but deliberate.

When you pull back, your foreheads stay together. “That’s for when you forget,” you murmur.

He exhales against your skin, the faintest trace of a smile. “I’ll take it.”

You stay like that until the first firework rises somewhere beyond the clouds, lighting the ruins in white and gold.

Then the air hums again, and the voice begins to speak.

Those who wish to remain in this world may stay.

Those who wish to return… may leave.

You feel him squeeze your hand, faint but sure.

He doesn’t need to ask what you’ll choose.

Still, you turn toward the light, raise your free hand, and flip it off, a little higher than necessary.

“Yeah,” you say, voice rough but certain. “I decline.”

A faint chuckle escapes him. “Elegant as ever.”

You look down at him, smiling through the tears. “Let’s go home.”

He nods once. “Home.”

The light swells around you both—warm this time, almost gentle—and then there’s nothing but white.

___________________________________________________________________________

Beeping.

A steady, rhythmic sound that doesn’t belong to the Borderland.

You blink against the light.

The ceiling above you is white—too white.

Your chest rises and falls without pain. There’s a soft weight of a blanket across you, the smell of antiseptic and cotton.

For a long moment you just stare, waiting for the next explosion, the next siren, the next impossible voice.

None come.

A nurse moves past your bed, murmuring something to another patient.

Outside the window, there’s sunlight.

Not the harsh light of a broken world—real sunlight.

You sit up slowly, the sheet whispering across your skin. Your hand shakes when you lift it; an IV tube trails from your wrist.

Your reflection stares back from the metal rail at the side of the bed: pale and bruised.

Human.

Alive.

Someone down the corridor laughs. Another sobs quietly.

The world feels too loud.

When you glance to the left, a pair of beds sit by the window. What happened you asked yourself.

You don’t remember anything. But you should. This is what your mind is telling you. Something you forgot.

You pull the IV line free with care, slide out of the bed, and find your balance on bare feet.

The floor is cool.

You wander down the corridor until you see a vending machine humming at the far end, its light buzzing faintly against the white walls.

Your hands fumble through the pocket of the hospital robe for change that isn’t there.

You laugh under your breath, the sound small and strange in the quiet hall.

“Need help with that?” a voice asks—soft, even, familiar in a way that makes your heartbeat stutter.

You turn.

He’s standing a few feet away. His face pale, lips dry, eyes the same impossible calm shade you remember from somewhere you shouldn’t remember. For a moment, you forget to breathe.

“I—uh—was just…” You gesture weakly at the machine. “Trying to see if it still works.”

He steps closer, glances at the panel, presses a few buttons with his free hand. The machine whirs to life, rattling softly.

A bottle of water drops into the tray.

He crouches a little to grab it and holds it out to you.

“Here.”

You take it slowly, your fingers brushing his. The contact is nothing—a fraction of a second but it’s enough to light up every nerve in your hand.

“Thank you,” you manage.

He studies you for a moment, head tilted slightly. “You look like someone I’ve seen before.”

Your heart catches. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “You too.”

He gives a small, almost self-conscious smile. “Strange.”

“Déjà vu,” you offer.

“Maybe.” He glances down, then back up.

“I’m Chishiya.”

You glance at him, not meaning to. There’s nothing extraordinary about the way he stands: one hand in the pocket of his hoodie, weight shifted slightly to his good leg. But something in it feels… right. Familiar in the same way a heartbeat is.

He notices you looking. “What?”

You blink. “Nothing. Sorry. You just—uh—you don’t look like you belong in a hospital.”

He tilts his head, faint amusement flickering behind his eyes. “You either.”

You laugh quietly, the sound catching you off guard. It’s the kind of laugh that feels remembered rather than spontaneous. “Maybe we both wandered in by mistake.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, studying you for a moment longer than he probably should.

Neither of you move. The vending machine hums between you like it’s filling the silence so you don’t have to.

Finally, you break it. “You said your name was Chishiya, right?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Y/N.”

He nods slowly, repeating it under his breath—as if testing the sound. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

There’s an ease to the way he says it, a tone that shouldn’t exist between strangers. It’s soft, familiar, a kind of shorthand born from lives you don’t remember sharing.

You smile back. “Nice to meet you too, Chishiya.”

A beat passes. Then another.

You catch yourself before saying something strange. It’s good to see you again. You don’t know why that line sits on your tongue, but it does. You swallow it down and open the bottle instead, the cap cracking softly in the quiet.

He leans a shoulder against the wall, watching you without meaning to stare. “You sure you’re okay walking around like that? You’re supposed to rest.”

You shrug, eyes on the bottle. “Couldn’t sleep. The silence felt… wrong.”

He nods once. “Yeah. Same.”

You look up, surprised. “You too?”

“I keep expecting… noise,” he admits. “Like something’s missing when it’s quiet.”

That strikes something deep inside you—an echo of gunfire, a flash of light—but it passes too quickly to catch.

“Maybe we were at the same place,” you say softly. “When… whatever happened, happened.”

He considers that. “Could be.”

Another pause. Neither of you seem eager to end it.

Finally, you take a small step back. “Well. Thanks for the water.”

He gestures toward the machine. “Anytime.”

You start to walk past him, but your shoulder brushes his, a brief touch that feels too natural. He turns slightly at the same moment you do, and for a second you’re close enough to feel his breath against your cheek.

Neither of you speak. You both just stop, eyes locked, the rest of the world fading into a soft blur.

It’s not recognition. It’s not memory.

It’s something older—an instinct, a gravity.

You step back first, clearing your throat. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

You try to smile, and he mirrors it.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” you say.

“I hope so,” he replies, quiet enough that it sounds like a secret.

You nod once, then turn down the corridor. The soft squeak of your footsteps follows you, but for a long moment you can still feel his gaze on your back.

When you reach the corner, you look over your shoulder.

He’s still there—hands in his pockets now, expression unreadable—but when your eyes meet again, he gives a tiny nod, like an echo of something you both used to do.

You can’t help it. You smile.

And this time, he smiles back.

The moment passes.

You disappear around the corner, heart steady but louder than before.

Behind you, the vending machine hums, the fluorescent lights buzz, and Shuntaro Chishiya stands in the quiet hallway wondering why the world suddenly feels less empty.

__________________________________________________________________________

You don’t sleep that night.

The hospital is too still.

Every sound feels sharp—the click of nurses’ shoes, the shuffle of blankets from other rooms, the faint hum of machines that refuse to stop.

You lie on your side and watch the pale light from the hallway crawl across the floor.

Every time you close your eyes, you see a flash of white hair.

You see a hand reaching for yours through smoke.

Then it’s gone, like a dream that refuses to stay.

By morning, your body aches with exhaustion, but your mind won’t stop circling that hallway encounter. The way his voice had felt like something familiar, the look in his eyes when you said goodbye.

I hope so, he’d said.

And you’d believed him, without knowing why.

___________________________________________________________________________

Later, when the nurses start their rounds, you slip out again.

The corridor is washed in sunlight this time, the windows open just enough to let in the smell of rain from the night before. It’s quieter now, softer. You walk slowly, tracing your fingers along the smooth paint of the wall, letting your thoughts wander.

You find him before you mean to.

He’s sitting at the end of the hall, a paper cup of coffee balanced carefully in his hand, eyes half on the window. He doesn’t notice you at first, lost somewhere else—his expression calm like someone who’s always a step removed from the world.

You hover for a moment, unsure if you should disturb him.

Then, as if sensing you, he glances up.

“Morning,” he says simply.

You smile, a little shy. “Hey. You’re up early.”

“I could say the same.”

He gestures toward the chair beside him. “Sit.”

You do, the plastic creaking quietly beneath you. For a moment, neither of you talk.

You just watch the rain-soaked city through the glass.

People walking with umbrellas, buses groaning along the street, life moving as if nothing extraordinary ever happened.

“Feels weird,” you say at last.

He tilts his head. “What does?”

“Being alive,” you answer, voice small but honest. “It doesn’t feel like I earned it.”

He considers that. “No one earns it,” he says after a beat. “We just… keep it, if we can.”

You glance at him. “That’s a surprisingly hopeful thing to say.”

“I didn’t mean it to be.”

But the corner of his mouth curves just slightly, and you can’t help smiling back.

___________________________________________________________________________

A nurse passes by, smiling faintly when she sees you sitting together. “It’s nice to see you two talking,” she says warmly. “Most patients here just stare at the TV all day.”

You exchange a look with him, half amused, half awkward. When she walks away, you both laugh quietly under your breath, and the sound feels natural—like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

___________________________________________________________________________

Time stretches easily between you.

You talk about small things—about how the hospital coffee tastes like burnt water, about how neither of you remember much from the accident.

When you try to recall what exactly happened, the memories slip away before they form.

“It’s strange,” you admit. “It’s like there’s a blank space in my head. I know something happened, but… it’s just gone.”

He nods slowly. “Same here. I remember light. And a sound. Then nothing.”

You study him for a moment. “Does it bother you?”

He shrugs lightly. “Only when I try to remember. Maybe it’s better not to.”

“Why?”

“Because if it was something bad,” he says quietly, “forgetting might be the only mercy we get.”

You look away, the weight of that settling in your chest.

But when you glance back at him, he’s already watching you—not coldly, just with that same detached curiosity you can’t quite decipher.

And yet, under it, there’s something softer. Something that feels like trust, even if you’ve never earned it.

___________________________________________________________________________

You end up sitting together until the nurse insists you both go back to your rooms for lunch.

He stands first, offering you a hand without thinking.

You take it.

Warm skin, steady grip. The moment your fingers touch, that familiar electricity hums through you again. An echo of something your body remembers even if your mind doesn’t.

You both hesitate.

Then you smile, and so does he, faint but real.

“Guess I’ll see you around again,” you say.

He nods. “You make that sound like a certainty.”

“It feels like one.”

He studies you for a moment longer, then lets your hand go.

“Then I’ll hold you to it.”

You walk away first, heart unsteady but lighter somehow.

And somewhere behind you, Shuntaro Chishiya watches you disappear down the corridor, his fingers still tingling from where your hand touched his.

He doesn’t know why that simple contact feels like something he’s been missing his whole life.

___________________________________________________________________________

That small spark he’d felt when he first touched you is nothing compared to the explosion burning inside him now.

The steady rhythm of your lips against his felt like something remembered, not discovered.

He didn’t understand how it could feel so natural to hold you, to fit you against him as if it had always been this way.

Your body pressed closer, your lips finding his again and again, lost in a need that felt older than either of you could name.

He tilted your head slightly, a quiet urgency in his touch.

The kiss deepened as he guided you back until your shoulders met the wall behind you, the cool surface grounding the warmth spreading through you.

His breath mingled with yours, uneven and heavy.

Your hand moved on its own, fingers threading instinctively through his hair, soft and slightly tangled beneath your touch.

He drew in a sharp breath, as if the simple contact startled him, and for a heartbeat the world stopped around you.

No hospital, no past, no reason—just the rhythm of two people rediscovering something their bodies already knew.

You pulled him closer without thinking, the space between you gone in an instant.

His mouth claimed yours, desperate and unyielding, every kiss pulling you deeper than the last.  His breath hitched against your lips, the sound raw and grounding all at once.

You could feel his heartbeat hammering through his chest, matching your own in chaotic rhythm.

Every kiss went on as if time had no meaning, neither of you knowing how to stop. You stayed, pressed between the small hospital cabinet, utterly drawn to each other, and neither of you understood why.

___________________________________________________________________________

Your hands trembled when they found his face, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw as if trying to memorize it.

He pulled back only a fraction, just enough to look at you, breath ragged, eyes searching yours like he was trying to remember something he’d already forgotten.

Neither of you spoke. The silence between you pulsed with the same rhythm as your hearts, uneven and loud in the stillness of the room.

He leaned in again, slower this time, his forehead brushing yours. The heat between you hadn’t faded, but something softer began to rise beneath it—something that felt terrifyingly familiar.

Your hand slipped down to his chest, feeling the wild thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

It steadied gradually, and so did yours.

He stayed close, his breath catching once more before it finally evened out.

“This feels…” he started, voice rough, almost disbelieving, “…like I’ve done this before.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. I was thinking the same.”

The words hung there.

He didn’t move away. Neither did you. You just stood there in the quiet hum of the machines, the sterile light painting both of you in pale gold.

For a moment, it didn’t matter that you were strangers.

___________________________________________________________________________

He exhaled slowly, the edge in his breathing finally easing.

For a few long seconds, you stayed like that.

Then, as if remembering where you were, you both let out the same shaky laugh.

It was quiet, breathless, almost embarrassed—but it loosened something in the air.

“Not exactly the place for this,” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

You huffed softly, trying not to smile too wide. “That’s because I’m trying to breathe.”

His expression softened, that teasing glint fading into something warmer. “Right. Breathing’s important.”

“Apparently.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, like the space between heartbeats.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with careful fingers. The touch was feather-light but enough to make you still.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, the words barely more than a breath. “Yeah. I just don’t understand any of this.”

“Neither do I.”

His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer before he stepped back slightly, though his hand hesitated before dropping from your waist.

“It’s… strange,” he said. “You feel familiar. Like I should know your name before you tell me.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound laced with something softer. “Maybe you did.”

“Maybe,” he echoed, eyes still on you.

A soft knock at the door broke the stillness. A nurse peeked in, a knowing smile crossing her face when she saw the two of you standing close.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said gently. “You’re supposed to be resting, not—well—whatever this is.”

You flushed immediately, stepping back as Chishiya gave the faintest, unbothered shrug.

“Noted,” he said simply, tone calm as ever.

The nurse smiled, shaking her head before closing the door again.

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other—half embarrassed, half amused.

You finally whispered, “Guess we got caught.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. “Worth it.”

That made you laugh again and somehow the tension melted into something else entirely.

___________________________________________________________________________

It had been a few weeks since you’d both left the hospital.

Recovery had been slow—physically, mentally—but life had a way of moving forward whether you were ready or not.

You hadn’t meant to run into him again.

But ever since that day, your mind kept circling back to it—the quiet hallway, the kiss, the strange sense that you were missing a whole lifetime with him.

And maybe that’s why, when you learned he actually worked here now, you didn’t even hesitate before showing up.

A paper bag rustled in your hands as you stepped through the hospital’s main entrance. The faint smell of coffee and something sweet drifted from it.

You’d told yourself it was a simple visit—just a small thank-you, a friendly gesture.

But your heartbeat had other ideas.

The receptionist greeted you warmly when you asked for him.

“Dr. Chishiya?” she said with a smile. “He’s finishing his shift. You can wait for him near the staff lounge.”

You thanked her and made your way down the familiar corridor.

It looked different in daylight, brighter, less haunted—but you still remembered every turn, every sound.

And when you reached the lounge, he was there—coat off, sleeves rolled up, leaning against the counter as he read something on a clipboard.

He didn’t notice you right away.

You stood in the doorway for a few seconds, watching him. The fluorescent light caught in his hair, softer now, and his expression—focused and calm. Yet somehow, just seeing him made the world tilt slightly back into place.

When you finally spoke, your voice came out gentler than you expected.

“Busy saving lives?”

He looked up instantly, and that familiar flicker of recognition crossed his face.

“Depends who’s asking,” he said, setting the clipboard aside.

You lifted the small paper bag between you. “Someone bringing a peace offering.”

His gaze dropped to it, then back to you, one eyebrow raised. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you said with a small smile, stepping closer. “But I wanted to. I figured even doctors need real food sometimes.”

He accepted the bag, peeking inside. “You remembered what I like.”

You frowned lightly. “You never told me what you liked.”

For a moment, you both just looked at each other.

Something unspoken passed through the air again—soft, warm, familiar.

Then he smiled, faint but genuine. “Guess you guessed right, then.”

You sat down on the edge of the nearby bench as he opened the bag, pulling out the small pastry you’d brought.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a pause between heartbeats.

“So,” you said finally, “how’s work?”

He shrugged, breaking a piece of the pastry and offering half to you. “Same as always. People come in broken, we try to fix them.”

You took it, smiling softly. “And how’s that working out?”

He looked at you then—really looked, eyes calm but bright. “Depends who walks through the door.”

Your heart tripped over itself at the simplicity of it.

He wasn’t flirting; he wasn’t teasing. It was something quieter—honest in a way that made your chest ache.

You broke eye contact first, focusing on the pastry in your hand. “You always say things like that?”

“Only when they’re true.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Still not sure if you’re a doctor or a poet.”

“Both are about observation,” he said, and you couldn’t help smiling wider.

The conversation lingered there — threaded with something that neither of you could name but both could feel.

When you finally stood to leave, you turned toward him one last time.

“Same time next week?” you asked, half-joking.

He gave you that small, quiet smile again. “I’ll be here.”

And somehow, you already knew you would be too.

___________________________________________________________________________

The visits had become a rhythm.

Every few days, you found yourself walking the same corridor. Past the same vending machine, the same window with the crooked blinds, the same faint hum of hospital air-conditioning.

Each time you told yourself it was the last. Each time you came back anyway.

Sometimes you brought coffee.

Sometimes pastries.

Sometimes nothing at all—just a reasonless pull that told you he should be there, and he always was.

He never seemed surprised to see you.

Just that small, knowing smile, like he’d been waiting.

Today, you leaned against the doorframe to his office, watching as he finished scribbling a note into a patient file.

He glanced up before you could speak. “You’re early.”

You shrugged. “Guess I was bored.”

His lips twitched faintly. “You really shouldn’t make a habit of hanging out in hospitals.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to.”

That made him chuckle under his breath—a rare, quiet sound that still managed to make your chest tighten.

He pushed the file aside and nodded toward the chair across from him. “Sit.”

You did, folding your hands in your lap. For a while, the only sound was the faint ticking of the wall clock.

He finally broke the silence, leaning back slightly. “You keep showing up. I’m starting to think you enjoy my company.”

You smirked. “And if I said I do?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Then I’d say you have questionable taste.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, grinning. “But I always did like a challenge.”

The words slipped out before you could think about them.

And as soon as they did, something in him stilled.

His expression didn’t change much—but the air shifted, almost imperceptibly.

He blinked once, slowly, as if the words had brushed against something buried deep inside him.

“What?” you asked softly. “Did I say something weird?”

He shook his head a little, as if clearing a thought. “No. Just… I think I’ve heard that before.”

You frowned, searching his face. “From who?”

He hesitated, eyes flickering to the side. “I don’t know. Maybe a patient.”

You smiled faintly, though your chest felt strangely tight. “Or maybe I just have very unoriginal lines.”

“Maybe,” he said, but his voice sounded distant now—quiet, thoughtful.

You tilted your head, half teasing. “What are you thinking about?”

He didn’t answer at first. When he did, it was barely above a murmur.

“You’re trying to rush the end again.”

The words stopped you cold.

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard right. “What?”

He looked faintly surprised himself, as if the sentence had slipped free without his permission. “I don’t know where that came from.”

You swallowed, a strange pressure building in your chest. “It sounded like something you’ve said before.”

“Maybe.” He frowned, gaze dropping to his hands. “It just… felt right.”

You tried to smile, but your voice was unsteady when you whispered, “That’s not the same as winning.”

At that, his head lifted sharply. For a moment, neither of you breathed.

Something in his expression flickered—recognition, confusion, ache—and then it was gone.

He looked away, forcing a quiet laugh. “Déjà vu. Must be the coffee.”

You nodded, but the chill stayed with you long after the moment passed.

When it was time to leave, you stood slowly. “See you in a few days?”

He nodded, but his voice was softer than usual when he answered. “Yeah. A few days.”

As you walked away, you didn’t notice that he whispered something to the empty room—words that didn’t feel like his own but slipped from his mouth anyway:

“You really did like a challenge.”

He sat there for a long time after you were gone, staring at his hands as if trying to remember why that sentence felt like a promise.

________________________________________________________________________

The next time you visited, something already felt different.

He wasn’t at his desk this time.

Instead, he was standing by the window of the staff lounge, hands in the pockets of his coat, staring out at the afternoon light like he was trying to solve a puzzle only he could see.

He turned the moment you stepped inside.

No smile this time.

Just a steady, unreadable look that made your breath catch.

“You’re early,” he said quietly.

“Couldn’t help it,” you murmured.

He studied you like the words meant more than they should. Then he nodded toward a bench.

“Sit with me for a moment?”

You did.

The room felt too still.

Your heartbeat sounded loud in your ears.

He spoke first.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last time.”

You swallowed. “The challenge thing?”

He shook his head. “No. The other part.”

His gaze held yours, unwavering.

“You repeated something I said. Something I’ve never said to you here.”

Your chest tightened.

“I know.”

A long silence.

He didn’t look confused anymore.

He looked… certain.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Do you remember anything? Even a little?”

You hesitated, fingers twisting together in your lap.

Then you nodded slowly.

“Not clearly,” you whispered. “Just… moments. Feelings.”

You looked down, searching for words.

“It’s like I know you. Like I’ve known you longer than I’ve been alive.”

His breath caught—just slightly, but enough to make your own do the same.

“Me too,” he said.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t a confession.

Just the truth.

You lifted your gaze again.

He was closer now, without you noticing when he’d moved.

“I hear things,” he continued, voice low. “Phrases. Your voice calling my name, but not here. A different place. A different… world, almost.”

He exhaled shakily.

“And it’s always you.”

The room felt too small.

Your heart felt too full.

“Sometimes,” you whispered, “I see flashes. A rooftop. Smoke. Running. Pain. But I’m not afraid.”

Your throat tightened.

“Because you’re always there.”

He didn’t look surprised.

He looked devastated in the softest way possible.

Like someone who had been missing something essential and had just found a piece of it.

“Then we’re not imagining it,” he said.

“No,” you breathed. “We’re not.”

Another silence stretched — warm, electric, trembling around the edges.

You didn’t know who leaned in first this time.

Maybe neither of you did.

Maybe you just met in the middle, drawn by the same invisible thread that had been tugging at you since the moment you opened your eyes in this world.

His forehead touched yours, soft and steady, familiarity blooming through your chest like a memory you couldn’t name.

“It feels like we’ve done this before,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes, his voice barely more than a breath.

“It feels like I’ve been waiting to find you again.”

And in that quiet moment, you leaned in as if you’d done it a thousand times before, pressing your lips gently to his.

The kiss was sweet.   

He responded just as slowly, moving with a tenderness that made time seem to soften around the two of you.

you both finally understood:

You didn’t remember each other.

But you knew each other.

___________________________________________________________________________

The years that followed didn’t feel like years at all.

More like a continuation of something that had started long before either of you could remember.

Your first coffee outside the hospital turned into a habit.

A habit turned into a routine.

A routine turned into a life.

And now—

The early morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen window, warm and golden, brushing over the soft fabric of your robe as you leaned against the counter.

The scent of tea filled the air. Outside, the world was just waking up.

Footsteps padded into the room.

“Morning,” Chishiya said, voice still sleep-rough, hair slightly mussed in a way you’d come to love more than you ever admitted aloud.

You smiled. “You’re awake earlier than usual.”

He shrugged, moving beside you to pour his own tea. “Only because somebody stole all the blankets.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you blaming your wife for your temperature issues?”

He considered that with a faintly amused expression. “Yes.”

You nudged him with your shoulder, and he let the corner of his mouth lift. Not a full smile—those were still rare, still treasures—but a soft one reserved only for you.

Your gaze drifted to the simple silver band on his hand, the matching one on yours glinting in the light.

Even now, years later, it still felt unreal.

Not because the marriage was unbelievable—but because the rightness of it still surprised you sometimes.

Chishiya followed your gaze, lifting your joined hands slightly. “You’re staring,” he said quietly.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

You let out a breath, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“About how none of this should make sense… but it does.”

He was silent for a moment.

Then his thumb brushed over your ring, slow and deliberate.

“Maybe it’s not meant to make sense,” he murmured. “Maybe some things just… return to us.”

You closed your eyes. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against your shoulder—it all felt achingly familiar.

Like a memory you couldn’t quite reach but felt in every breath.

“When I first met you,” you whispered, “I felt like I’d lost you and finally found you again.”

“I know.”

He rested his cheek lightly against your temple.

“I felt it too. Like we’d already lived a whole life together before this one.”

You smiled softly. “Maybe we did.”

He didn’t argue.

He never did about that.

Instead, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your fingers—an echo of a thousand other gestures neither of you remembered but somehow knew.

And as the sunlight grew brighter, filling your little kitchen with warmth, he whispered:

“However many lives we get… I’ll find you again.”

You leaned into him fully, your heart settling with a quiet certainty that had followed you both since the beginning.

“Then we’ll keep finding each other,” you murmured.

And in this life—this gentle, ordinary, beautifully real life—

I just noticed we passed 1k followers and i’m honestly kind of stunned?? thank you so much to everyone who’s been here, liked, reblogged, or just silently followed along — it really means a lot. 💕

I also wanted to say sorry if things have been a bit slow here lately. i’ve been super exhausted and trying to juggle real life stuff (aka: finding a job so i can level up to adult premium). i do have a list of things i want to write and post — it’s all there, it just… needs time.

Thank you for your patience and kindness, seriously. i promise i haven’t forgotten about this blog (or you guys), just trying to get my energy bar back up.

stay cozy and take care of yourselves too. :3

Summary: You’re dating Danny Olsen — sweet, quiet, maybe a little weird. You ignore the odd hours, the suspicious stains, the way he always knows too much about the local murders. Until one night, you catch him in the kitchen at 2 a.m., cleaning knives that definitely didn’t come from your drawer.

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even flinch. Just looks at you with those soft blue eyes and says, “I could never hurt you.”

Words: 2875

You’d never been the type to go for quiet guys. At least, not until Danny Olsen.

There was just something about him—something steady. While everyone else in your friend group filled silences with nervous chatter, Danny never seemed to need the noise. He sat back, listened, and when he finally spoke, it felt like his words actually mattered.

You liked that about him. You liked the way his eyes followed you across a room, sharp but warm, like you were the only person who ever deserved his attention. You liked the way his hand always found yours under tables or how he learned to drink his coffee the same way you did just so he’d “never mess up your order.”

Sure, he was odd sometimes. He’d vanish at weird hours, claiming he couldn’t sleep and went for a drive. Sometimes he came home with cuts on his hands or bruises on his knuckles. Once, you found a shirt of his shoved way down in the laundry basket, stiff with something that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

He said it was from helping a friend fix his car. You didn’t question it.

Because at the end of the day, Danny was still the guy who made you grilled cheese at 2 a.m., who remembered your mom’s birthday, who kissed the crease of your forehead whenever you were stressed. He was the guy who left notes in your coat pocket that said things like Don’t forget to eat lunch today or You’re the best part of my day.

You didn’t fall in love with him all at once. It was slow, like every little red flag got buried under something warm, something safe. Until you didn’t see the warning signs anymore.

At least, not until tonight.

The bed was empty beside you when you woke, which wasn’t unusual. Danny sometimes got restless at night, wandering around the apartment until he tired himself out. What was unusual was the faint sound of water running paired with the muted clink of metal.

You shuffled out of bed, hair sticking up, eyes half-shut, muttering something about how if he was doing dishes at 2 a.m. He could go ahead and fold the laundry while he was at it.

The light in the kitchen was too bright against your sleepy eyes. You blinked a few times before the scene in front of you registered.

Danny stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, shoulders relaxed, like this was the most normal thing in the world. His hands moved slowly, rinsing blood off a hunting knife. Beside him on the counter sat a mask you recognized instantly—long white face, hollow black eyes.

Ghostface.

For a long moment, you just stared. Your brain fumbled for explanations, excuses, anything that wasn’t my boyfriend is Ghostface.

And then, because you were exhausted, running on maybe four hours of sleep, your mouth moved before your brain could stop it.

“…I am not awake enough for this shit.”

Danny’s shoulders stiffened. His head turned slowly, like he’d been expecting a scream but got something else entirely. His eyes found yours across the kitchen— unflinching, but softer at the edges when he realized you weren’t bolting.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” he asked, voice low and rough, like he was almost amused.

You leaned against the doorframe, rubbing your face with both hands. “No. I’ve also got to say…if you drip blood on my clean floor you’re scrubbing it up. I mean it, Danny.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, knife still in hand, as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. Then—he laughed. Just a sharp exhale, a huff of disbelief.

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Yes.” You crossed your arms. “Because bloodstains don’t come out of tile grout, and I am not spending my Saturday on my hands and knees with bleach because you don’t know how to use a cutting board.”

Danny tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He set the knife down carefully. The blade gleaming under the light, and reached for the dish towel—the good one, of course.

You pointed a finger at him. “If you wipe murder blood on that towel, I will become your worst nightmare.”

Now he laughed for real, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

“No, you’re unbelievable,” you shot back, opening the fridge and grabbing a water bottle like this was just another Tuesday. “Who even does their serial killing at this hour? It’s two in the morning, Danny. Some of us like sleep.”

He watched you twist the cap off, blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “You’re not screaming.”

“Oh, I’m screaming,” you replied, chugging half the bottle in one go. “Just inside. Loudly. There’s a whole Broadway performance happening in here.” You tapped your temple. “But I’m too tired to run right now, so.”

Danny leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. He was smirking now, but there was something softer underneath it. Something dangerous, sure, but not directed at you.

“I’d never hurt you,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

You swallowed a mouthful of water and raised a brow. “Sure. But if you smear corpse blood on my cheek, I will hurt you. Don’t test me.”

That earned another laugh from him—louder, looser this time. The sound echoed in the small kitchen, and you weren’t sure if it comforted you or made the hair on your arms stand up.

“God, I love you,” he said.

You capped your water and gestured at the counter like a teacher scolding a student. “Then love me enough to bleach the kitchen before I wake up tomorrow. And don’t you dare use my good sponge. I mean it.”

He just smirked once more after that. You rolled your eyes at his reaction. You muttered something about men are exhausting, and shuffled back toward the bedroom.

Behind you, his a small laughter followed. Chasing you down the hall like a promise.

_________________________________________________________________________

By the time you crawled back under the covers, you were already half-asleep again. The water bottle sat abandoned on the nightstand, and the faint smell of bleach drifted down the hallway.

You must have dozed, because the next thing you felt was the mattress dipping, careful and slow. Warmth pressed in behind you, an arm snaking around your waist.

Danny buried his face in your hair, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for hours. His chest was solid against your back, heartbeat steady, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who’d just been wrist-deep in blood.

“You’re insane,” you mumbled sleepily, voice muffled against your pillow.

His chuckle vibrated against your spine. “I’m insane? You just caught your boyfriend cleaning knives in the middle of the night, and the only thing you threatened me with was a towel.”

“Because I meant it,” you murmured, shifting so you could glance at him over your shoulder. “I have three towels, Danny. Three. If you touch the good one again, you’re a dead man.”

His smile softened at that, the kind of look you weren’t supposed to see from someone like him. Dangerous and tender all at once.

He pressed a kiss against your temple, lingering there. “I’d rather face a dozen cops than piss you off.”

“Damn right,” you muttered, already half-asleep again.

Danny held you tighter, nose brushing against your hair. “You don’t have to stay,” he whispered, like the thought had only just occurred to him. “If you’re scared of me…you can walk away.”

Your eyes cracked open just enough to meet his. Tired, unamused, but honest.

“Danny,” you sighed. “If I was scared of you, you’d be sleeping on the couch right now. Shut up and go to sleep.”

For a moment, he just stared at you—like you’d said something no one ever had before. Then he laughed quietly, tucked his face back into your hair, and let out a breath that was almost…relieved.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words warm against your skin.

“Mmhm. Love you too,” you yawned. “Now if I wake up tomorrow and this place smells like a murder scene, you’re buying me new candles.”

Danny kissed the back of your head at this response. His arm stayed firm around your waist, his grip grounding, like no matter what he was out there in the dark…in here, he belonged only to you.

___________________________________________________________________________

“You’re not even gonna ask?” he murmured into the dark.

You rolled onto your side to face him. His hair was damp at the ends from washing up. His hands scrubbed raw and pink. In the faint glow of the streetlight through the blinds, he looked younger, softer — except for the faint smear of red still caught under one fingernail.

You stared at it, then up at him. “Ask what? If you’re Ghostface?”

His jaw flexed. “If you’re scared.”

You let out a tired sigh, pushing a piece of hair out of your face. “Danny, you’re terrifying, obviously. But I’m also exhausted. Fear can wait until morning.”

He blinked, then actually smiled. “I dont know how i deserve you.”

“You saying that like it’s an insult,” you teased. “And you’re the one bringing knives into my kitchen.”

He exhaled and finally reached for you, his palm finding the curve of your hip. “You should be running. You should be screaming at me. And instead you’re…” He trailed off, eyes searching yours.

“Instead I’m telling you to clean the counters,” you said softly. “And also not to touch my good towel.”

Danny’s thumb traced idle circles against your side. “You really aren’t scared of me.”

You tilted your head, studying him. In the dim light his blue eyes looked almost vulnerable. “I’m scared of what you do,” you admitted. “But you? You’ve never hurt me. You’ve never even raised your voice at me. You’re still Danny.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He leaned in just a fraction, close enough for you to feel his breath ghost across your lips. “You don’t know how badly I want to keep you,” he whispered. “Even if it means burning everything else down.”

Your heart kicked hard, but your mouth still found a smile. “Then stop talking like a movie villain and kiss me already.”

His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, careful and warm, and he closed the distance between you.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t. You kissed him back, slow and sure, your fingers curling into his shirt. He tasted like mint and metal and something wild under the surface. His mouth though moved against yours like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His voice was a low rumble. “You’re going to ruin me,” he said.

You smirked, eyes half-lidded. “Good. Now go to sleep before you start quoting horror movies at me.”

He laughed, softer this time, and kissed you again — a lingering press of his lips to yours, like a promise he had no right to make.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting lazy stripes across the kitchen. You were perched on a stool at the counter, rubbing your eyes and nursing a mug of coffee. The faint smell of burnt toast connected with the lingering tang of bleach from last night’s “cleanup.”

Danny emerged from the bedroom, still in his sleep shirt, hair mussed in a way that made him look impossibly soft. But there was an edge to him you hadn’t noticed before—the kind that made you simultaneously want to hug him and worry he might disappear in a storm of chaos.

“Morning,” you said, voice rough, sipping coffee. “Did you actually clean the counters, or are we still living in a crime scene?”

He smirked, leaning against the doorway. “I did. Don’t worry. Not a single knife left drying on the counter.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Good. And the towels?”

“Safe. I even bought a spare sponge,” he added, almost proudly. “One just for…other work.”

You blinked. “Danny Olsen, this is why I love you. Also why I’m terrified of you.”

He walked over, sitting on the stool next to you, his hand brushing yours casually. “I get that,” he said quietly. “I’m terrifying. That’s…part of who I am.”

You leaned your chin on your hand, looking up at him. “Yeah? Care to explain?”

Danny sighed, eyes tracing the counter’s edge, as if the words were heavy. “You saw last night,” he said. “I’m…not someone who can stop what I do. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to pretend it’s nothing, that it’s controllable. But it’s not. Ghostface…that’s me. The one no one can catch. The one who’s out there when the world’s asleep.”

You blinked, processing. Then you smirked. “And yet somehow you’ve managed to be my boyfriend, cook my breakfast, and not murder me. Impressive multitasking.”

He chuckled, dark but warm. “It’s…you. You’re the only reason I haven’t completely lost it. You make me human when everything else is just…chaos.”

You swallowed, suddenly quiet. The weight of his confession pressed on the edges of your chest, but it didn’t make you run. Instead, you reached for his hand. “Danny…that’s…a lot. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re terrifying, yes. But you’re also Danny. And I love him too.”

His eyes softened, a dangerous vulnerability flickering across his face. Then, before you could overthink it, he leaned closer and kissed you. Slow and Gentle. There was no rush, no fear—just a promise tangled in the warmth of his lips.

When he pulled back, he looked at you. “You’re insane,” he murmured.

“And yet somehow perfect for you,” you replied, smiling. “Now finish making breakfast before I start threatening you again.”

Shaking his head, he leaned in for one last quick kiss before finally turning his attention to the stove. You watched him, sipping coffee, and realized that living with a killer didn’t feel terrifying this morning—it felt like home.

__________________________________________________________________________

Danny slid scrambled eggs onto two plates, his movements precise, almost too careful for someone who’d been elbow-deep in blood less than twelve hours ago. He set one plate in front of you and took the stool across, his fork tapping idly against the edge as if he couldn’t quite settle.

You raised an eyebrow. “You look like a man rehearsing a speech.”

He didn’t deny it. “Maybe I am.”

“Alright,” you said, propping your chin on your hand. “Out with it.”

Danny stared at his plate for a long moment before speaking. “It didn’t start with the mask. Everyone thinks Ghostface is some faceless thing, some monster that just…appeared. But before that mask, before the reputation… it was just me.” His gaze flicked up to yours. “A kid who couldn’t control the anger. Who realized hurting people felt…easier than being powerless.”

You didn’t flinch, though your coffee suddenly tasted bitter. “So you kept going.”

His shoulders lifted in a humorless shrug. “It’s addictive. The rush, the control, the fear in their eyes. And the more I leaned into it, the less I could be…anything else. Until you.”

That last part came out smaller like a secret he wasn’t sure he should say.

You exhaled slowly. “So I’m supposed to believe I’m what keeps you grounded? That the big bad Ghostface makes breakfast and buys sponges just for me?”

Danny’s mouth quirked. “Sounds ridiculous when you put it like that.”

“Because it is ridiculous,” you said, though your lips curved too. “But…also kind of sweet, in the most messed-up way possible.”

His fork stilled. “You should hate me.”

“Probably,” you admitted, swirling your coffee. “But I don’t. I love you. Even if it scares me sometimes. Even if I don’t fully understand why.” You looked at him, steady. “I’m not saying I’m fine with what you do. But I’m not leaving either.”

Danny stared at you like you were something fragile he didn’t deserve to touch. Then he leaned forward, reaching across the counter to cradle the side of your face in his hand. His thumb brushed your cheek, gentle, grounding.

“You’re the only good thing I’ve ever had,” he said quietly, almost reverent. “And the only thing I’ll never let go.”

Your heart twisted, equal parts warmth and warning. You leaned into his touch anyway. “Then don’t. But Danny…you have to promise me one thing.”

His brow furrowed. “Anything.”

You tilted your head, eyes glinting. “Leave blood on my counters again and you’ll find out exactly how scary I can be—with cleaning products.”

That broke the tension—he laughed, really laughed, the sound low and unguarded. And when he kissed you across the counter, it wasn’t the soft brush of last night, but hungry, certain, like he was claiming you the way he claimed everything else in his life.

Summary:

You only wanted to get your grandmother out of the city before it fell apart. Simple plan. Then you ran into him — Crypto, the one person who manages to make chaos look calm.

Now you’re evacuating side-by-side, your grandma and his mom gossiping like old friends, and somehow you have become the topic of conversation. It’s hard enough surviving Solace City, but surviving their matchmaking might actually be harder.

By the time the night ends, you’re not sure what’s burning brighter — the skyline behind you, or the feeling you get every time he looks your way.

Words: 6181

You step into the apartment, the familiar scent of old books and polished wood hitting you immediately. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a second, everything feels normal. It feels like the world outside hasn’t started tipping on its edge. Your grandmother is sitting in her favorite armchair, knitting needles in motion, eyes sharp and unbothered.

“Finally decided to show up,” she says without looking up. Her voice is calm, measured, the kind that makes you feel both exasperated and comforted at the same time. “What took you so long?”

“Gran,” you start, dropping your bag with a soft thud, “we need to go. Now.”

She hums, not slowing her knitting. “Go where? And why? The elevator’s probably still working.”

You run a hand through your hair, exasperation rising. “Because staying here is not safe! They’re evacuating everyone in the sector, and… you can’t just sit here like nothing’s happening.”

She glances at you finally, one eyebrow raised. “Sit here? I’ve lived in this building for fifty years. I think I can handle a little… uncertainty.”

“Uncertainty?” you repeat, voice rising slightly. “Gran, it’s more than uncertainty. Things are… changing. We have to leave before it gets worse!”

She chuckles softly, setting down her knitting. “Child, you worry too much. If the city really wanted to fall apart, I’d be long gone by now.”

You let out a frustrated sigh and kneel to pick up the small bag of supplies you brought. “Look, it’s not about whether you’ll survive. It’s about making sure you’re somewhere safe before you have to deal with… well, anything unexpected.”

She taps her temple lightly with a finger. “I’ve dealt with the unexpected plenty of times. I can handle another day or two here.”

You groan and throw your hands up. “Fine. But I’m not leaving without you. We’re going together, whether you like it or not.”

She tilts her head, assessing you for a long moment. “You’ve got spirit,” she says finally. “I’ll go — but only because stubbornness runs in this family, and I can’t let it win entirely.”

You exhale, half in relief, half in disbelief, as she stands gracefully from her chair. Despite her age, her movements are confident, deliberate, like she’s walked this path a thousand times before. “Good. Now grab your things — and try to keep up,” she adds with a wry smile, already moving toward the door.

You follow, your heart a little lighter despite the tension in the city outside. This is going to be… interesting.

___________________________________________________________________________

You start gathering your bag and double-checking the supplies, but your grandmother isn’t hurrying. She moves at her own measured pace, humming softly as if nothing outside could touch her.

“You know,” she says, pausing to adjust the strap of your bag, “I don’t envy you, rushing around like this. You’d think the world was ending.”

“You wish,” you mutter, sliding your arm through the bag’s strap. “But maybe it kind of is. Sector evacuations aren’t exactly optional, Gran.”

She tilts her head, eyes scanning the hallway with mild interest. “Optional, yes. Smart, maybe. But panicked?” She snorts. “Never that.”

You can’t help but smile despite yourself. “Of course not. Panicking isn’t in your vocabulary.”

Her gaze drifts out the window. You follow, and your stomach drops at the faint orange flash far across the city — an explosion, distant but unmistakable, lighting up the skyline. The sound arrives seconds later, a muted boom rolling softly through the buildings.

“See?” you murmur, pointing. “This isn’t optional anymore.”

She studies the plume in the distance with calm, deliberate interest, as though evaluating a painting. “Hmm. I suppose you have a point. Very well. Let’s be off.”

She gathers her coat, slipping it on with a grace that belies her age. You fall in step behind her, shoulders tense with anticipation. The hallway is quiet, the usual ambient hum of the building now carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

As you descend the stairwell, your grandmother keeps up a running commentary. “Do you always have to act so frantic? You rush about as if the city itself will chase you down these stairs.”

“I like to be prepared,” you reply, gripping the railing. “Unlike some people I know.”

She laughs softly, a sound both warm and teasing. “Some people have the luxury of calm. You’ll learn it one day.”

The stairwell opens onto the main corridor connecting the buildings, and that’s when you notice them. Across the way, emerging from a similar stairwell, are two figures escorting a woman wearing a mask over her face. Her movements are calm, deliberate — every step measured, every glance composed.

And then your eyes meet two familiar pairs — the green-goggled man and the stern figure trailing him. Crypto and Caustic freeze mid-step. Their expressions shift from focused urgency to genuine surprise.

“You…” Crypto breathes, his voice low, incredulous. “You’re here?”

“Looks like someone’s multitasking,” Caustic adds dryly, his gaze flicking from you to your grandmother and back. “I didn’t expect you to be involved in this… personally.”

You can’t help but smirk, feeling a mixture of pride and exasperation. “Surprised? You’re in Solace City, evacuating your mother, and yet somehow you didn’t anticipate running into me.”

Crypto straightens slightly, adjusting his drone controls reflexively. “I… didn’t expect to see another Legend here. Especially not you.”

“Noted,” you reply, shifting your bag on your shoulder. “We’re all just trying to make sure our families get out safely. Nothing dramatic.”

Meanwhile, your grandmother and Mystik have started talking, their conversation flowing effortlessly despite the new arrivals. Your grandmother gives Mystik a subtle nod, her voice calm but teasing.

“You’re still stubborn,” your grandmother says.

“And some things never need to change,” Mystik replies, her tone calm even behind the mask.

Crypto clears his throat, still trying to process the revelation. Caustic mutters something under his breath about planning for contingencies he didn’t expect. You glance at them both, amused, before returning your attention to your grandmother, who’s walking confidently toward the exit.

For a moment, the corridor is silent but charged — two stoic women exchanging words, two Legends sizing each other up across generations, and you in the middle, balancing calm, duty, and a touch of satisfaction at having surprised two of Solace City’s most calculating minds.

___________________________________________________________________________

You start guiding your grandmother down the main corridor, keeping a careful eye on the stairwell exit ahead. Your grandmother, true to form, walks seemingly unconcerned by the presence of Crypto, Caustic, or even the masked Mystik.

“You know,” your grandmother begins, her voice low but sharp, “I’ve always wondered why you’re still single. You’ve got brains, skill… though maybe too much attitude for most people to handle.”

You scowl, gripping your bag tighter. “Excuse me? I’ve got plenty of attitude and charm. Some people just… aren’t ready.”

A soft chuckle comes from across the corridor. Mystik steps a little closer, mask in place, her tone calm but teasing. “Your grandmother has a point,” she says, voice smooth behind the mask. “Though I imagine it takes someone very brave to keep up with you.”

You narrow your eyes and fold your arms. “I can hear you, you know.”

“Good,” your grandmother says, smirking at Mystik. “Then we know she’s paying attention. Someone should keep her humble from time to time.”

Mystik lets out a quiet laugh, tilting her head at you. “Consider it mentorship. Besides, it keeps things interesting for the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You two are conspiring, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” your grandmother says, leaning slightly on her cane for emphasis. “Someone has to guide you before you embarrass yourself in front of the entire city.”

“And I’m just lucky enough to have another teacher join in,” you mutter, feeling equal parts exasperated and entertained.

Mystik gives you a small nod, approving yet playful. “You’ll learn. Or at least, we’ll make sure you think you’re learning.”

You glance at Crypto, who’s standing a little ways behind, adjusting his drone and trying to hide a faint smile, clearly bemused by the entire exchange. Caustic, unsurprisingly, has a resigned expression, muttering something about old women being worse than the city itself.

The three of you continue down the corridor, the playful teasing echoing softly as you lead your grandmother toward the exit. Somehow, despite the underlying tension of the evacuation, the corridor feels lighter — like the calm of two seasoned women outmatching everyone else, even you.

___________________________________________________________________________

The city outside feels eerily hollow. The usual noise — traffic, chatter, neon advertisements humming in the air — is gone, replaced by the low whine of distant engines and the occasional crackle of power lines sparking in the wind.

You and Crypto take point as the group moves down the narrow street toward the evacuation zone. The air feels heavy, carrying the faint scent of ozone and scorched metal — not fire exactly, but the residue of something gone wrong.

Your grandmother walks beside Mystik like they’re on a casual stroll, utterly unbothered by the tension in the air. Caustic follows a few steps behind, silent but vigilant.

Crypto checks his drone feed with quick, practiced motions. “The path ahead’s clear,” he says, voice clipped. “We should move fast — the last ship leaves in ten.”

“Then we’d best keep these two chatterboxes alive,” Caustic mutters, gesturing to the older women.

“Chatterboxes?” your grandmother echoes, affronted but amused. “I’ll have you know we’re walking faster than you are, Doctor.”

Mystik hums in agreement. “Perhaps he’s just not used to keeping pace with women who know what they’re doing.”

You bite back a laugh. “You’re really going to antagonize the guy carrying half our supplies?”

“Of course,” your grandmother replies smoothly. “It keeps him humble.”

Crypto glances over at you — that quiet, unreadable look again — before nodding toward the next alley. “Shortcut through here,” he says.

As you follow, your shoulder brushes his — a brief, unintentional touch, but enough to make you both pause for half a second. You murmur, “Sorry,” even though you’re not sure why it feels like something worth apologizing for.

“It’s fine,” he replies, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “You… handle yourself well.”

You blink, caught off guard. “You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t mean—” He stops himself, a faint flicker of embarrassment behind his calm tone. “I just meant—it’s good to have another professional out here.”

You grin. “Uh-huh. Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Behind you, Mystik and your grandmother are clearly watching, voices low but unmistakably teasing.