Even though he knew her well-- Right now it was hard to read the emotions on her face. The tears in her eyes threatening to fall... Were those tears of joy upon seeing him again? ( Seeing him alive ) Or perhaps sadness? Anger? All of those options combined? Leon simply did not know, his own confused feelings making it hard for him to make sense of anything, to fully understand anything at the moment.

Oh but the way she reached out only to pull her hand back seconds later-- Ouch. Alright, he guessed she wasn't very happy then. And most likely had a lot of questions too... Which he was afraid he wouldn't be able to answer, for her own safety, it was best if she stayed in the dark about what really happened in Raccoon City.

"Yeah, well, Raccoon City and most people who lived there are... Gone, that's true. But some of us managed to escape. I was one of the lucky ones, I guess." Was he truly? Yes, he had no doubts that actually escaping hell on earth was much better than becoming a bloodthirsty zombie but... What kind of life was he going to lead from now on? What plans did the government have for him? He wasn't quite certain if he could be considered a lucky guy just yet.

If she cared for him any less, she might have accepted the ambiguity of his explanation, simply stepped aside and hurried him along for their long sought reunion. No questions asked, just blissful ignorance upon his return. But Freya did care, immensely, that her very reality shattered and restructured itself around his absence. With no word from Leon following the incident, she had no choice but to assume that he rested among the ruins of the ravaged city; certain that if he survived, he’d have made it known to her. She had never felt more foolish to be wrong. 

“All this time…and you didn’t think to tell me?” The betrayal of it burned hot in her chest, flaring with every shaky, uneven breath. “You had to know what that would do to me.” The evidence had certainly been there for him to see; the gauntness of her cheeks, the exhaustion behind her glassy eyes. Even the way she carried herself spoke of grief that weighed her down to her bones. "And after all, that's all you have to say? That you got lucky?"

Still, no matter her hurt, there was no turning him away. Whatever he survived, whatever the aftermath, she could see enough that it had shifted something in him. All the more reason for her to stand firm in refusing some half-baked truth. He confided in her once upon a time, trusted her enough to let help bear the weight of his burdens. What happened to change that so drastically?

Andie kisses him back in a way that has Gus certain that he’s dreaming.  It’s everything he’s ever desired but always felt just out of reach.  He melted into the embrace as her forehead rests against his.  Suddenly just sharing the same breath was enough, and despite all of Andie’s fears as they stayed just like this he believed they were right where they were supposed to be.  Gus wasn’t sure if he believed in fate, but whatever this was between the felt and awful lot like it.  

It's a give and take of kisses Andie is unwilling to withdraw from, lips seeming to move on their own as they continued to chase after his over and over again. By then she'd long surpassed mere indulgence, toeing the line of greed—greed that wasn't hers alone, if his words were anything to go by.

"Augustus," Andie gasps, a scandalised noise followed by a half-hearted shove that did nothing to create distance between them, "I didn't take you to be such a glutton."

Pot calling the kettle black, really.

The grip on her gun didn’t ease at all, not even if she was not aiming it at him anymore, she could see the way he studied her, taking a step back, both ready to flee if it was needed and uncomfortable by the way he seemed to be looking for something. She was not used to this, someone caring enough for her to bother to find out where she had disappeared to.

She could lie to herself and say she had not missed Drew, probably the one person that crossed her mind every night she spent tossing and turning around in the inflatable bed she had bought. Living a life like theirs not many relationships were ever built, or at least they didn’t last long. Anyone could betray for the right amount of cash. That she had learned the wrong way.

Though much afraid himself, Drew dismissed any need to brace for her rejection. He could only expect to receive the trust he gave himself, after all. And despite the impossible odds they faced, Drew trusted Natalia as he always had—violently, without doubt.

Trust that paid itself off as she moved to close the distance between them, pulling him in by the invisible string that kept them tethered. The very same one that guided him to her in the first place, Drew liked to believe. From there it was all muscle memory; arms encircling her waist with a grounding squeeze, frame folding in on her as if he alone could shield her from the dangers that lay ahead.

This was a bad idea-- Actually scratch that. It was a terrible one. Now more than ever, he should keep his distance. He was about to start working for the government (he'd be a special agent, they'd said-- but why did he feel more like a dog on a leash than anything else?), he didn't have much of a choice in that matter. He'd had to accept that 'offer' in order to keep both himself and Sherry safe. Oh Sherry-- She was the priority, of course and he really hoped those agents would keep their word and protect her. If they ended up using her for some sort of twisted experiment... No, he couldn't think about that now or he would completely crumble.

& Leon couldn't lose his composure-- couldn't turn into a mess of tears and raging emotions when he was standing at her doorstep. Freya's doorstep. He knew he shouldn't be here, he should turn around and walk away but now that Sherry had been taken away, he felt completely lost. And his heart began to yearn for home... His home wasn't a place though. It was a person.

It was Freya.

(But would she be happy to see him? Would she want to exchange any words with him after she'd been the one to put an end to their relationship? He was fucking nervous. )

After much contemplation, he knocked on the door-- there were so many things he'd like to say, so many apologies to make but as the door opened, the only word that left Leon's mouth was a weak:

"... Hi."

The knock upon the door was so soft, it was barely perceptible. Or perhaps she hoped for its absence—hoped to be left alone.

These days, Freya didn't make for very good company; never fully present, unreceptive to people's attempts to provide comfort or support. It was useless, after all. Her grief was one none could understand, and she didn't have it in her to explain. Not when she could barely make sense of it herself.

Still, she could make the distinction between withdrawal and outright dismissal, and the latter was simply not something she could stomach, even at her very worst. So with lazy, fatigued steps, Freya moved towards the entrance of her home, bracing herself for the strain of entertaining another.

Nothing in the world could have prepared her for who awaited her on the other side of the door.

At first, Freya could do nothing but stare. As if she'd resigned herself to the idea that, sooner or later, she would lose her mind enough to conjure his illusion. She would have taken anything, even false or fleeting, to quell the perpetual ache in her chest.

But this was different. This was no image born from memory. If it had been, his eyes would still be the vibrant blue that held an ocean's depth of hope and optimism. He would have held himself steady, with that quiet confidence that had even her believing she could accomplish anything. He would have worn that soft, boyish grin that had her heart aflutter no matter the circumstance. The person that stood in front of her lacked every fundamental aspect of what she remembered her Leon to be, but he was real.

"Leon?" name choked out painfully, vision blurring with tears unshed. Freya reached out instinctively, though just as quickly drew her hand away, stumbling backward as if the very touch of him would burn. It was written all over her face—relief, confusion, hurt, anger. Above all, pure and utmost love that neither time nor distance could have erased. Not even the possibility of death. She didn't know how to reconcile any of it.

"Fuck, fuck," Gus curses under his breath as he stubs his toe. So much for trying to quietly sneak out into the kitchen. His eyes move to her sleeping frame in the dark and all but holds his breath as she begins to stir awake. It's only when she turns on the bedside lamp that he feels like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Don't be stupid," he says with a sleepy smirk, crossing the room to place a quick kiss to her lips just because he could. In that moment he hopes to stop any doubts or fears creeping up on Andie dead in their tracks. "I'm hungry and I'm still learning to navigate your room in the dark. Sue me," he chuckles.

Before she can even think of one of her trademark quips to return, Gus' lips are on hers and her brain is short circuiting at the casualness of his demeanour; domestic and affectionate in a way she's never known. She doesn't know what to do with it—doesn't know how to hold a good thing in her marred hands.

Still, somewhere between her explosive confession and finally giving into the thinly veiled sexual tension that hung over their friendship, Andie determined herself to try. It's the very least she owes him, given the patience he's lended her time and time again.

This time, it's Andie moving in to close the distance between them, lips finding Gus' again in a much more firm and decisive manner. The way she kisses him is utterly indulgent. Unhurried, as if they have all the time in the world. She doesn't stop until she's sure he's in a daze, and even then, she stays in his proximity.

Natalia was not expecting visitors, and she was definitely not expecting anyone to find her. When the security cameras she had set up picked up someone managing to break in she picked up her gun aiming to find them, without making a noise she found herself standing behind them, she pulled the safety off, pressing the muzzle to the back of the man’s neck. 

Threat of the firearm now gone, Drew shifted on his feet, a mindful forewarning of his movement before he turned to fully face her. There was no helping nor hiding his wandering eyes, searching for any sign of injury or hurt, no matter how minor. Only once he was satisfied to find none did he finally meet her gaze, warm and steady despite their current standing. Though, judging by her tone of voice, the sentiment had certainly not been returned.

He chuckled despite himself, a short breath of a noise but sincere all the same. "You didn't make it easy, I can tell you that much." But he could only joke so much, the latter question at hand snapping him back to the reality of the situation.

In another version of reality, her words would have tugged at something in him. Drew had never sought to be unkind. He was softer, once. More forgiving. Pieces of himself from his past life that he relinquished once it came time to ensure others' survival. Matters of niceties now only seemed arbitrary.