nessa

The quietness of the apartment felt ominous as Leon walked through the threshold of his home. Every muscle in his body ached from overuse; every wound he had acquired throbbed. His body felt weak and worn down, and as he slipped off his boots and made his way toward the bedroom, his limbs moving like they were stuck in slow motion, he couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to never wake up.

Leon all but threw himself onto the bed, sinking into the plush comforter as his body melted into the warmth. A low groan left his lips as he closed his eyes.

A body shifted beside him, arms wrapping around his torso and pulling him close.

“Are you getting my sheets dirty?”

“Your sheets?” he huffed. “I bought them.”

“Semantics, Kennedy. Answer the question,” you say, peppering kisses along his cheek.

“I’ll do laundry in the morning,” he deflects.

You sigh dramatically, but even in the dim lighting of the room, Leon can see your mouth quirk in amusement.

For a moment, the pair of you lay in silence, entwined together in serenity. The gentle thrum of your heartbeat is the most peaceful sound he’s heard in days, and Leon finds himself adjusting his body so his head is pressed against your ribcage. On instinct, your hands fly up to his hair, your fingers gently combing through his dirtied blond locks, nails softly raking against his scalp. Leon can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest, deep and guttural; the blissful, unfamiliar feeling of finally relaxing washes over him.

“Like that?” you ask.

“Uh-huh,” Leon manages to mumble back. “Feels good.”

He hears you hum in response, your fingers never letting up. He feels warm and tingly all over, his body heavy with exhaustion. It almost feels sinful to let himself relax after everything he had been through in Spain, days of wired, frantic survival, of witnessing ghosts from his past revisit and die. It was wrong to rest. Leon’s chest grows tight with guilt, his gloved hand slowly rising to yours as he gently grips it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what, honey?” you ask earnestly.

Leon doesn’t answer right away; he can’t bring himself to. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, tracing small circles against your skin. He stares at your hand resting in his, at the contrast between your clean fingers and his dirtied gloves, and suddenly he feels painfully aware of how little he deserves you.

“For everything,” he finally admits. “For dragging you into the mess that is my life.”

“Leon, you didn’t drag me into anything,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, no matter what.”

Leon sucks in a shaky inhale, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t disappear on you, someone you can rely on–”

You silence him with a kiss before he can finish.

“I chose you, Leon.” Another gentle kiss against his mouth. “All of you.”

Leon can’t help the whimper that rises in his throat. He holds you close against him, his mind reeling from the violence and depravity that had been the last few days of his life. He isn’t sure he’s slept more than an hour or two since leaving Spain, and his mind feels heavy, like it’s made of lead. Your fingers never stop moving through his hair, and the sheer, unconditional love you have given him leaves his head spinning. The quiet serenity of the moment lulls his tired mind, his eyelids growing heavy as he finally lets sleep take him.

Leon never dreams of nothing. Something is always haunting him, even in his sleep. He had told you this before—a warning when you had moved in. You can tell he’s having a nightmare. His eyelids twitch rapidly, fingers flexing against you as he whimpers into your chest. You’d never be able to understand the pain he’s been through, but at least you could try to help alleviate it. Slowly, you slip out from the bed, your heart clenching as he reaches for you in his sleep.

“Shhhh,” you whisper. “It’s okay, honey. I’m right here.”

You gently stroke his dirtied locks, his body relaxing under your touch. You smile sadly and move down his body. First, you remove his muddied boots, slowly sliding them off. God, you’re going to have to pressure wash the gunk off these things. Your nose crinkles as you set them aside, working your way back up as you remove his belt and holsters. Damn it, he left his guns in the holsters again. You toss the belt unceremoniously onto the floor, carefully placing the guns on his dresser to be dealt with tomorrow. To double-check, you pat down his pockets in case he left anything behind. Unsurprisingly, you find an array of bullets.

They’re dumped alongside the guns, and once you’re satisfied that his pockets aren’t full of anything that would poke his eye out in his sleep, you crawl back into bed next to him.

Leon senses your warmth immediately, rolling over to be closer to you, arms outstretched. You snuggle closer to him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. God, he stinks to high heaven, but you can look past the filth for tonight. At least he’s alright.

“Thank you for making it home,” you whisper to his unconscious form. “I can’t do this without you.”

Leon responds to your whispered admission with a grunt. You stifle a giggle as you silently thank the stars for bringing him back to you.

The late morning sun filters through the curtains as Leon finally opens his eyes. He squints, trying to adjust to the light as he sits up. It’s a jolting transition, one he always struggles to adapt to. The transition from survival to peace is always a rocky one.

“Morning,” you greet from the doorway, the scent of coffee following you.

Leon grunts in response, a sleepy smile on his face.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he rasps.

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?” you ask, handing him the mug.

“Hey, I can love two things.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his quip.

“You’re awful.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, taking a sip. “But you love me.”

“I do,” you admit. “Would love you more if you didn’t smell like literal death, though.”

Leon hesitates before sniffing at his shirt. You’re right. He smells atrocious.

“Can’t believe you even let me in the bed smelling like this,” he says, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“You did promise to do laundry.”

“I did,” he says, rising from the bed. He glances down, only to find the white sheets stained with grime.

“Perhaps burning them would be more sanitary.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” you agree solemnly.

Leon laughs, feeling some of the tension finally drain from his shoulders. Together, you strip the bed, tossing the filthy sheets into a pile with a promise to deal with them once he’s bathed.

“I’ll be out in a bit,” he says, resting a hand on your shoulder before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“By all means,” you tease, wrinkling your nose. “Take your time.” Despite the jab, you return the kiss, smiling against his skin.

Steam curls around him as hot water pounds against aching muscles, washing away layers of dried blood, dirt, and sweat. He scrubs until his skin turns pink, watching muddy water swirl toward the drain. He lathers shampoo into his hair once. Then twice, just to be certain. He lingers beneath the spray until the water gradually loses its warmth, his forehead resting against the cool tile.

The transition from missions to domesticity is always jarring. Leon closes his eyes, and he can see the abominations he faced. He can hear Ashley’s screams for help. He can smell the stench of gore. He takes a deep breath, only to be greeted with the soft smell of soap. He has to remind himself that he’s safe. He’s home now.

After putting a dent in the water bill, Leon finally shuts the shower off. He wraps himself in a fluffy towel and goes through the motions of getting ready. He sighs blissfully as he slips into his favorite pair of gray sweatpants, scrubbing his teeth until he’s positive you won’t be able to smell the raw fish and snakes he ate out on the field. Once he’s satisfied you won’t find him disgusting, Leon makes his way to the kitchen.

The smell of fresh coffee and pancakes drifts through the apartment, drawing a rumble from his stomach. He pauses in the doorway, quietly watching as you hum to yourself while flipping a pancake in the pan. You catch him out of the corner of your eye and smile.

“I just brewed a fresh pot,” you announce proudly. “And I think I actually managed not to ruin any pancakes this time!”

“Mmm, look at you,” he teases.

He slips an arm around your waist, drawing you in for a kiss. Your lips are soft against his, warm and familiar, and Leon can’t help but melt into the affection. When you pull away with a smile and return to the stove, he lingers for a moment, quietly admiring you. He’d do it all again if it meant coming home to you.

“Oh, can you grab the plates?” you ask.

“You got it.”

Leon maneuvers around you to retrieve the dishes before setting them on the counter. You shoo him to the dining room, smacking at his hand as he tries to steal a bite. A moment later, you follow with a plate stacked high with fluffy pancakes, butter slowly melting beneath a generous drizzle of syrup.

“Ta-da!” you declare, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Welcome home. Officially.”

“Thank you, honey.”

Leon feels his lips curl into a genuine smile as he looks up at you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Leon.”