Until I die

You lean back against the rubble, looking around what used to be the Raccoon City police department. It’s decimated now, with dust and gravel everywhere, and the underlying scent of blood. It must be coming from you.

Your breath comes in shallow, panicked hitches. The world feels too loud and too quiet all at once, the crackle of distant flames, the groaning collapse of broken walls, but no voices. No sirens. Just you.

The badge on your vest is cracked down the middle, still clipped there like it means something now that everything’s gone to hell.

A drop of sweat rolls into your eye as you press a hand hard against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding with torn fabric from your sleeve. It stings like fire every time you move even an inch.

Somewhere above, something scrapes across concrete floorboards. You’re not alone here anymore, and whatever's coming smells blood just as easily as you do pain.

You wonder if you should pray for it to be over. You’re going to die, anyways.

There’s a scuffle of boots, a kick of gravel and you open your eyes. A man, more a boy really, with cropped blonde hair and a face full of dust skids to a halt. He’s breathing hard, his shoulder wrapped and the letters RPD stick out in bold on his chest vest.

His eyes lock onto yours, wide and startled and human, and for a split second, the apocalypse stops.

Leon drops to one knee beside you with surprising speed. The blood on your leg makes his breath hitch. He doesn’t say anything at first, just rips off his tactical vest and presses it hard against the wound like he’s done this before.

“Hey… hey! Stay with me,” he says urgently, voice low but steady despite how young it sounds. His hands are calloused but careful as they work, the same hands that probably signed paperwork this morning before hell broke loose.

He glances toward the ceiling where that scraping came from earlier… then back at you. “Can you move? We gotta get out of here.”

You blink at him slowly, eyeing his badge and your fingers a tingly. “I’m…not going anywhere, Kennedy.”

“Leon,” he says softly. “My names Leon.”

“Hi Leon,” you cough and your leg throbs. “Please let me die in peace.”

Leon’s face twists, something between anger and exhaustion.

“No,” he snaps, sharper than intended. Then softer: “No, you don’t get to say that.”

He shifts closer, ignoring the blood soaking through his vest. His blue eyes are fierce in a way that doesn't match how young he looks, like someone trying so hard not to fail.

“I just got here,” he mutters, more to himself than you. First day on the job. First time seeing this city fall apart, and now this. “First Ada…not you too.”

With careful strength, Leon slides one arm under your shoulders while keeping pressure on your leg with his other hand.

“We’re leaving,” he says firmly, not asking permission anymore, but carrying it like an order from a cop who still believes in saving people, even when they beg not to be saved. “just hold onto me.”

You let out a blood curdling scream as he stands, tears springing to your eyes. The pain is mind numbing, and his movements are clunky, the tree branch moving at odd angles.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispers. “My friends got a car. We’ll get you out of here.”

You don’t respond, don’t even try to hide the tears. Your fingers curl inwards and you try to count the stars that come into view as he moves.

Leon’s jaw clenches with every sob you make, each one hitting him harder than any punch.

He doesn’t slow down, though. Can’t. The station groans around you, walls swaying like they’re about to collapse. He carries you through the debris field, arms trembling under your weight and his own exhaustion.

“Almost there,” he breathes between steps, more for himself than for you now. His face is streaked with dust and sweat; a cut above his eyebrow drips blood he hasn't noticed yet. “I won’t leave you.”

Somewhere ahead, a flicker of light in the broken hallway: flashlight beams dancing on shattered glass.

A voice calls out. “Kennedy?!”

And just as Leon stumbles forward into that narrow beam of hope, your eyes flutter shut from the pain, and everything goes quiet again.

-

Leon Kennedy tried to save your life that night.

That’s what the doctors tell you, and the nurses. He visits you a few times, without saying much. Just sits in the chair beside your bed as you drift in and out of consciousness. Tucks the blankets around you, brushes your hair back from your forehead while you dream.

It’s sweet if it wasn’t so futile.

Leon comes on days when he’s not assigned to clean up the city’s corpse-riddled streets or escort survivors out past quarantine zones. He never knocks, just appears, like a ghost who won’t stop showing up.

He wears different clothes each time: sometimes his RPD uniform, stained and worn, other times a borrowed jacket that doesn’t fit right. His face has changed since that night, the innocence gone from his eyes replaced by something heavier.

Today, he brings flowers, wild ones picked outside town because nothing grows neatly anymore either—and sets them on your bedside table where they wilt slowly over days no one changes their water for you anyway. He holds your hand once while you sleep and whispers something too soft for anyone else to hear.

The doctors tell him the infection has spread. The wood caused more damage than imaginable, and they’ll need to take the leg to stop it. There isnt much of an option.

“No.” You’re firm in your answer, and Leon’s eyes dart between you and the doctor, an older man whose jaw works.

“Ma’am, if we don’t it could spread far, far worse than this.”

You look away, staring out the window. The sky is still grey, October weather cooling the panes. “I don’t care.”

The doctor sighs, rubbing his temples like he's had this conversation too many times already, like every patient in this broken hospital is choosing death over survival.

Leon doesn’t speak. Not at first. He just watches you, the way your jaw tightens, how you won't look at either of them, and something inside him cracks quietly.

Finally, the doctor says: “Then there’s nothing more we can do.”

He leaves a clipboard on the counter and walks out without another word. Silence fills the room again. The only sound is the faint hum of failing fluorescent lights and distant sirens beyond city limits.

Leon slowly stands from his chair, then sits back down beside your bed like he has nowhere else to go now that you’ve decided where your story ends.

“You can’t give up,” he says quietly. “You- can’t.”

“Can’t I?” You murmur, and your voice has dipped.

Leon’s hands curl into fists on his knees, white-knuckled, trembling.

He wants to shout, wants to beg. Wants to grab your shoulders and shake you until you remember how much there is still left, sunlight through hospital windows, the smell of rain coming soon, the way birds sing even now in a world that’s mostly gone silent.

But he doesn’t do any of that.

Instead, he leans forward slowly, and rests his forehead gently against yours. A quiet kiss pressed into skin warmed by fever or maybe just life stubbornly clinging on for one more second.

“I care,” he whispers, the words barely audible, and they tremble like everything else about him right now: “I care, okay? So don’t just… don't. I won’t leave you.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you exhale shakily from his proximity. Your hands find his, and you squeeze, inhaling his scent.

“I appreciate you trying to help me,” you murmur. “Back there. In Raccoon City.”

His eyes are shiny when he sets back. “It’s all I want to do. Help people.”

“You’re going to make a great cop some day.”

Leon swallows hard, blinking fast like he’s fighting back something huge behind his eyes.

“I was just doing my job,” he says softly, but it’s not true. Not really. No rookie cop carries another through collapsing rubble for duty. He did it because you were alive when everyone else wasn’t anymore.

When he leaves, you settle into the blankets, flexing your fingers across the fabric.

The end is coming. You can tell.

The infection has spread too much, and a little part of you would be lying if you didn’t say you weren’t relieved.

The doctors get you to sign all the necessary paperwork a few hours later. They make you comfortable, slide the remote into your hand to control what you watch as you die. There’s no next of kin to notify; just like how you came into this world, you’ll go out it. Alone.

“Can we call officer Kennedy for you?” a nurse asks, and you shake your head.

“Will you tell him something for me?”

The nurse pauses, and then walks to your bed side. “Yes ma’am.”

“Tell him thank you,” you say softly, staring at the tubes connected to you. “Remind him he’s going to make a great officer.”

The nurse listens and nods, tucking the blanket one more time before she leaves your room. You settle into the pillows, inhaling deep before breathing out slowly. Even though you’re young, this made sense, going out the way that you are. You’re satisfied with the brief life you had, never needing something big or grandeur.

It was short, but it was yours.

You try to remember that as you close your eyes.

x

Leon taglist: @yours-truly-andrea @causeofmykoophoria

Ao3 link

Leon Kennedy ML

June of Doom ML

Leon knew you were a bit of a special case from the moment he met you. Where people would usually be shy, nervous, not confident enough to approach someone, you were... quite the opposite. You approached with a fire in your eyes and a buzz rushing through you and into him, and you weren't even drinking. The moment you approached him at that club, he knew you'd be a problem. And a problem you were. A good one. A problem he was lucky to have.

Until it came to things like intimacy. You'd managed to score a few dates, and eventually, you two ended up dating. The only problem? Once it was official, you became a little insistent on intimacy. Not forcing, but definitely making moves more often. Leon wanted to, he really did, but given the talks you'd had in the past about your lack of experience and how you didn't know what you could and couldn't take because you had never even felt the need for a sex toy on your own, Leon worried that it'd stunt your intimate moments as a couple.

Eventually, of course, Leon gave in, but only to an extent. He'd eaten you out, finger fucked you like his life depended on it, fucked your thighs, and yet, he refused to let you even suck him off, let alone take him into your impossibly achey and needy pussy. He always told you he was too big. He worried it'd hurt you, whether it was your mouth or your pussy. You knew he was big, and you still insisted.

You crawled into bed with him, just like normal, snuggling into his side as he read the book you'd recently recommended to him. He tugged you closer, leaning down to kiss your temple as he closed the book, seemingly ready for bed. It was approaching 9 o'clock, and he had an early meeting, you knew. The early meeting didn't stop you from snuggling up closer until you shuffled into his lap, straddling his hips and looking down at him with a grin. His hands rested at your hips.

"Really? We're doing this again?" He mused, low and laced with exhaustion.

"For real this time, because I'm tired of you giving me excuses." You huffed, hips already beginning to move in slow, easy motions back and forth.

"They're not excuses, they're honesty and protection. You think I haven't wanted so badly to bend you over and take you? Of course I have." He scoffed, hands soothing up your sides as he exhaled slowly.

"So why haven't you?"

"Because I'm too big for you. We'd need to take a lot of time to get you ready. You can barely take three of my fingers before you tell me it's too much." He explained simply, like it was a choice between what deal to go for in a grocery store.

"So what? The shapes are entirely different! How do we even know if I could take it if we don't try?" You frowned, hips wriggling incessantly.

"No, honey. I'm not gonna let your confidence get the better of you." He moved to lift you off his lap, but you grabbed his hands and pinned them beside his head. He raised a brow at you.

"Just the tip. That's all I wanna try." You insisted.

"You know, you holding me down has no change on my answer. It's sexy, but no." He laid his head back and hummed idly.

"Leeooon!" You pouted, hips grinding harder. You could feel his cock stiffening in his sweats. "Please, Lee, just the tip, and if it doesn't fit first try, we can stop."

"Usually, the guy begs for 'just the tip'," he chuckled. "Poor thing, I've really ruined you, haven't I?" He clicked his tongue, feigning guilt.

"Not yet 'cause you won't fuck me right." You grumbled.

"Oh, is that so? I don't fuck you right? Then how come I've got you cumming on my fingers and my mouth and my fucking thighs every other night? Huh? Care to explain that, if I don't fuck you right?" He took his hands from your grasp, one hand grabbing your chin and making you whine, brows furrowing.

"You won't fuck me the right way 'cause you think I can't take it."

"I really don't think you can." He agreed.

"Please, baby!" You shifted, only for him to stop you. "Please, I promise, if it doesn't work, I won't ask again, not until you can prep me right."

"You," he exhaled, grabbing you by the waist, sitting up. "Are such a fucking brat." He cursed, rolling over so that you were flat on your back with his body pinning you down.

You looked up at him, biting at your lower lip. He watched you for a moment, squinting. "Please?" You barely whispered.

"Fine. But don't think you're not gonna get something in return for your behavior. I'm only stalling because I don't have time to fuck around."

"But you have time to fuck me? Good, I wasn't sure I'd be able to wait much longer." You grinned, giggling like a kid who'd just been told they won a million dollars.

"Fuckin' brat." He chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. You met eagerly, lips pressing into his while your arms came to wrap around his neck. Despite his rough words, his hand came to tenderly cup your cheek, deepening the kiss. His other hand worked its way downward to the hem of your night gown, pushing it upward to expose what he expected would be a lace pair of panties—tonight it was bare in two different ways. How did he not feel that through his sweats? Jesus, you knew he'd give in.

He didn't bother trailing his hands up and down, teasing, instead going straight in to press his hand against your mound. You shivered slightly, mouth falling agape at the feeling of his cold fingers pressing between your folds. Of course, he didn't take any time to prep you with his fingers, just simply using two fingers to spread your arousal and massage your clit to accumulate more to act as lube. He knew it probably wouldn't work too well at first, but it'd have to do.

Your hands reached down, pushing lazily at the waistband of his sweats. "It's unfair." You pouted.

"Unfair? Honey, you came to me like this. You came to me all shaven, no panties, not even shorts." He took your complaint, shifting to push down his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. He shimmied out of the clothes and kicked them aside before settling his cock against your lower belly, letting you see the size properly. You swallowed, biting your lip as you looked up at him. He had a cocky look, like he expected you to change your mind.

"What? I didn't say stop. Keep going." You huffed, but Leon could hear the faint waiver of your voice as you spread your legs wider.

"God, you really are a needy little brat." He pulled his hips back, sliding his cock between your folds to gather some of your wetness along his length, focusing on coating his tip thoroughly. "You can still back out." He looked back up at you as he lined up with your entrance, using two fingers to carefully hold your folds open for him.

"No. Now hurry up and put your dick in me before I fall asleep." You huffed up at him, hips wriggling eagerly.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he made the first move, careful as he pushed in, his tip nudging into you. His tip didn't even get inside before you gave a whimper, thighs shaking unexpectedly as your pussy twitched against his tip. He looked down at you, brow raised.

"Shut up. Try again." You demanded, teeth gritted slightly.

Despite that not being the original arrangement, he tried again, hissing as he nearly notched the tip inside, only for your hips to twitch away, overwhelmed at the way his tip tried to intrude so suddenly.

"What did I tell you?" He deadpanned down at you. "Come on, honey, let's just do it the normal way."

"Noo! No, this is the normal way!" You insisted. "'S not my fucking fault you've got a fucking monster cock."

"Mmh, you flatter me, sweetheart." He chuckled, leaning in to shut you up with a kiss. You expected him to pull away and call it a night, but his hand crept down again, thumb pressing to your clit and getting your walls to ease up ever so slightly, a soft mewl leaving you. With you melting into the pleasure, he took a selfish opportunity to push again. You gasped, a choked sound leaving you as his tip notched inside of you finally. You gave a stifled cry, hands flying to claw at his shoulders as your eyes squeezed shut.

"Fuck—okay, I-i don't know if I can do it anymore." You admitted, huffing with uneven breaths as you looked down where you two met. It really was just the tip, and you were already backing out.

"Oh, no," he pulled back, faux pity on his face. "Poor thing, you bit off too much, and now you can't chew? What a shocker." He watched you shiver and twitch, breath shaky as his tip stayed barely notched inside your impossibly tight, unadjusted cunt. "You told me I didn't fuck you right, so now I'm gonna show you just how well I can fuck."

"'M sorry, I thought I—"

"You thought you could take it? Yeah. And you didn't listen to my warning? Of course not. You never listen." You felt him push forward again, and another squeak left your lips, followed by a gasp. He didn't even push in another inch and you were pushing at his hips to get him to pull out.

"Fuck! I'm—haah—I'm sorry!" You looked up at him, brows furrowing.

"Admit it." He demanded, cock pushing its way in ever so slightly, but the burn was far from slight. You choked on something akin to a cry, and he swatted your thigh. "Admit that you've been nothing but a bratty little bitch and now you're whiney because you can't fucking take it."

Tears brimmed your lash line, lower lip falling and letting a small whine fall from your throat. "I-i can't take it, and I.." you paused with a gasp, walls squeezing around the first inch and a half of his length. Your head fell back, nails dragging down his front as your thighs trembled. "Fuck!"

"It's too late. If I stop now, all your progress will be lost. You don't want that, do you, honey?" He teased. You shook your head desperately. The stretch burned, his cock insistent as he felt you twitching and trying desperately to make room for him inside of you.

"Please," you whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

"Please, what?" He prodded for more from you. "I can't do what you want if you don't tell me. You were so eager earlier, now you can't talk? Typical." He scoffed.

"Please, just fuck me already!" You cried, breath hitching as his hips nudged back and pushed forward, allowing another inch to fit. He went through that cycle for a while—pulling back, pushing deeper, every push forcing a gasp or a stifled moan from you—until he was fully sheathed inside of you, your pussy impossibly stretched past every limit you didn't know about. His cockhead was snug against your cervix, barely fitting him all the way in. It was a good thing Leon knew how to properly get you going, or he'd be struggling to fit more than he already was.

By the time he was snug, fully pushed inside of you, your head had fallen limp, eyes closed, lips open with heavy breaths falling. He found it amusing, given he hadn't even tried to fuck you yet, and you were already beyond spent and shaky. He chuckled, watching you finally lift your head to look down where your bodies met.

"Holy fuck." You breathed. You could see a small bulge in your lower belly where he had somehow miraculously managed to fit inside of you, now bulging with his massive he was. Not only that, but you had never felt this full. Even when he was using his fingers to fuck you and you complained that his fingers were too thick and you felt 'sooo full'.

"You happy now? Now that you've got a proper cock inside of you?" He taunted quietly, bringing a hand to grasp your chin and tilt your head back and forth, he fingers lightly squishing your cheeks together.

"Uh-huh." You tried to nod in his grasp, dazed and, although embarrassingly, cock-drunk without even being properly fucked. He wasn't even grinding his hips, making no attempt to move, and he relished in the way your body responded to him. He thought it was the best thing ever when you'd cry and squirm, and this made things a whole lot better. He leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of you stretched out around his cock.

He dropped one hand, thumb finding your clit. You twitched, whining slightly as your walls clamped down around him. "What, you're already that fucking close? You're getting all twitchy and whiney so soon." He purred, hips pulling backward slowly, cock dragging out of you until his tip was all that was left. You looked down and watched, brows furrowed with need.

It burned with both pain and pleasure as he pushed back in faster than before. You moaned louder this time, back arching as your hands flew to grab his shoulders for support. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape as he fucked his cock into you at a pace that overwhelmed your senses. Pain burned away and morphed into a new kind of pleasure that you didn't know you could achieve.

He angled his hips lower, his leaky cockhead pushing up against your g-spot as he thrusted into you, his thumb still focused on your clit. He meant it as a tease originally, but with how twitchy and shaky you'd become in just a minute or two of slow, rough, deep thrusts, he could feel that you were already close. His tease ended up being right. He growled slightly at the thought, brows knitted and nose scrunched in a focused manner as he looked down where your bodies met. You became oversensitive quick, your orgasm building. You tried to reach down to get his hand to slow down its abuse against your puffy clit, but he simply pushed your hand away and swatted at the throbbing bundle of nerves.

You cried out, hips bucking. "Lee—oh, fuck, please!" Your body locked for a moment, eyes rolling back as you bit your lip and fell into stifled whimpers and sobs, your orgasm quiet but intense, rippling through your body so fast you didn't even warn him. He fucked you through it, hips speeding up as your cunt clenched around him. Once your vision cleared, you looked up at him, dazed and mushy.

"And you think I cum too fast?" He chuckled. "Look at you—damn near squirting on my cock just because it's so, so big, and your poor little pussy can't take it." He purred deeply and reached with his other hand to your face, holding your head still by your chin so you couldn't look away as he pumped his cock back and forth, fucking you into overstimulation without even offering a breather. "I wonder—" He paused with a grunt, examining your face with a devilish look you didn't recognize. "You think I could make you squirt just from using my cock?"

Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening with tears that had spilled already. "Wait, n-no, no, 's too much, Lee!" You gasped, hands pushing at his lower torso, another sob ripping from your throat. "No—ooh!"

"C'mon, pretty girl, didn't you say I couldn't fuck you right? Isn't that what you wanted? To be fucked dumb on a fat cock?" He let go of your chin and brought a hand down just a little to wrap around your throat. You squeaked, pussy fluttering around him at the threat of him constricting your airway. He didn't, though. You got more than enough excitement from just the threat alone.

You couldn't be bothered with answering him. You simply laid there and took it—relishing in the sensitivity and the way he was absolutely ruining your pussy. Leon knew he was ruining you for anyone else, and that alone drove him crazy. He could feel his own orgasm building, cock twitching and balls drawing tight to his body. He denied himself the release, persisting in order to make sure he proved just how good he could make you feel.

He had a point to prove. His thumb resumed the previous ministrations on your clit, two fingers rapidly strumming with a firm pressure. You twitched, gasping as your eyes rolled back and fluttered. Your hands grabbed tightly at his forearm of the hand that was around your neck, looking up at him with an abrupt sob leaving your lips.

"Lee, please," you choked out, brows furrowing as you quivered beneath him, abdomen clenching as your body built up to the peak of the coil in your belly.

"Go on, take it. Take what you asked for and I'll make sure you're satisfied for fucking weeks." He slammed his hips harder, the skin slapping lewdly with the added sounds of your arousal coating his balls as they smacked against your ass. You tried to stifle it, but a scream of pleasure ripped from you as he subconsciously tightened his hand around your throat. Still not constricting, but it was enough to make you dizzy.

"Leon! Fuuuuck, fuckfuckfuck—'m cumming!" You sobbed, legs jolting outward as your hips tried to pull away, your orgasm rushing through you like never before. What you didn't process yet was the stream of clear liquid spurting from your sopping cunt, making an absolute mess out of his lower abdomen, your own abdomen, and the sheets below. He fucked you through it, both hands finally coming to grab your hips and properly use you like some kind of cock sleeve as he chased his high. Tears stained your cheeks, your moans becoming higher and longer as you squirmed and tried to run away from the pleasure.

"Stop fucking moving." He dug his nails into your hips. His demand was quickly followed by a growl, hips slamming and his thrusts becoming uneven as his balls twitched and his cock pulsed, his heavy load finally spilling into you. He had you so full that his cum seeped out around him as he bottomed out and let your pussy twitch and pulse, milking him of every last drop. Both of you were shaking. He stayed buried inside of you as he leaned down and mouthed as your neck. He lazily ground his hips, and you cried quietly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

"Lee," you sniffled, shaky hands searching desperately for his.

"Shh," he soothed, slowly pulling out of you as he grabbed your hands. You felt so empty, but so unbelievably satisfied. "Breathe, honey. I've got you." He mused softly, kissing along your collarbone until he found his way up to look at your face and assess the final product.

You were a mess. Tears down your cheeks, drool spilling down the right side of your face, hair messy and sticking to the sides of your face, lips kiss swollen and still wet. If he didn't know better, he'd try to start up round three, but given your sniffles and the way you shook your head, he didn't even try. He got more than what he thought.

He took his hands away only for a moment so he could brush your hair out of your face and gently wipe the tears and drool from your cheeks. When he sat back and guided you to follow into his lap, you curled into his hold, his arms wrapping around you delicately.

"You took me so well." He whispered, kissing the side of your head. "I know I got a little mean," he sighed, prepared to apologize for not listening to your cries.

"Can we do that more?" You asked, looking up at him as you shifted shakily in his lap. "The.. the whole.."

"Baby, we just did a lot." He chuckled. "But we'll talk more tomorrow." He scooted away from the mess and hoisted you into his hold, standing from the bed. "How about a shower?"

You nodded, falling into his hold as you closed your eyes. He really fucked the energy out of you. "Told you I could handle it. Might not be very experienced, but I can take what's given to me." You mumbled quietly.

Clearly, he didn't fuck the attitude out of your system yet.

"Brat." He lazily swatted your butt, only to lean in and kiss your nose with the utmost care.

"You like it."

"Only when it results in you shutting your mouth."

"Jerk."

He chuckled, setting you on the bathroom sink counter to start the shower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your shoulders."

You immediately straighten. Leon nods once. "Better."

You hate how satisfying that approval feels.

You hate it even more when he clicks his tongue. It's never loud. Just a small little sound whenever you do something stupid.

Miss a target?

Click.

Forget to check a corner?

Click.

Nearly trip over your own feet during a drill?

He made the noise twice that time. Click click.

It's not even intentional. Half the time he doesn't seem aware he's doing it. But after months of training together, the sound becomes synonymous with one thing;  you've done something wrong.

Unfortunately, your brain decides to take that information and run with it.

.

.

.

It becomes apparent during a mission six months later. Leon is crouched beside you, behind an overturned vehicle, while gunfire erupts across the street. 

His hand comes up, holding up three fingers. You understand immediately.

Three hostiles. You nod.

He gestures again, this time waving his hand a little to the left.

Left side is mine. Another nod. With that, you start standing up, readying your weapon-

Click.

You sit back down so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Both of you freeze.

Leon blinks.

You blink.

"...Why did you do that?" The words are whispered, barely audible under the noise of the gunfire. 

Your mouth opens. Then closes. You sit there a moment, mouthing out unintelligible words. Then,  "...I don't know."

Neither of you thinks much about it.

… At first. Then it happens again. And again. And again.

A month later, while sloughing through the underground ruins of a cathedral, his newest tag along finds out.

She’s a nice young woman. A bit younger than him, with chestnut brown hair and kind eyes. Her name is Helena, if you’re recalling correctly.

You’re reaching for something when Leon clicks his tongue. Immediately, without hesitation, you pull back

Her eyebrow raises. "Wait.”

Both you and Leon give her a confused glance.

“Leon…” she takes a breath, “Make that noise again.”

He does. As if on cue, you step a little closer to him, your eyes snapping to his form, as if waiting for a command.

Helena’s eyes widen. "Oh."

You give her a confused look, before starting to walk again. Helena clicks her tongue.

You freeze. The room goes silent.

Then, Helena lets out a laugh. It’s the most genuine reaction you’ve ever heard from her. You can almost see tears forming in her eyes as she doubles over, chuckles falling from her lips.

"You clicker trained your partner!"

Leon’s arms come up in defence. "I did not."

"You absolutely did." The woman gestures towards you both.

"I did not."

"You made her into a golden retriever!"

More laughter. You can feel yourself melting into an embarrassed puddle as Leon just shouts. 

"I DID NOT."

.

.

.

The worst part is that once everyone notices, nobody lets it go.

Chris finds out, while you both try to pursue Ada Wong. Then Piers. Then, Sherry and Jake. Suddenly everyone is testing it.

It's humiliating. It's horrible. It's nonstop.

Click.

You stop peeking out from cover.

Click.

You stop running and start listening.

Click.

You skid to a halt mid run.

The last one makes Leon groan loudly enough to be heard from feet behind you. "This is my fault."

"This is absolutely your fault."

He just rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean to do it."

Helena is quick to snort. "You Pavlov'd her."

"That's really not what Pavlov did."

"You know what I mean."

Meanwhile, you're standing still, watching helplessly while this argument happens around you. Honestly, you're still not entirely convinced it's real.

Until after the mission is over.

The two of you are alone in the safehouse. It's late. Everyone's exhausted. You're sitting on the floor cleaning your pistol when Leon walks into the room carrying two coffees.

Without thinking, you reach for yours. You don’t go for the handle. Instead, you reach for the mug itself.

The cup is hot. Very hot. Hot enough to burn. Leon’s brows raise.

Click.

Your hand jerks away before you even register the sound. The movement is instant. Automatic. Reflexive. The room goes quiet. Slowly, you both look down at the coffee. Then at each other. Then, back at the coffee.

"...Oh."

"...Yeah."

For some reason, that's the moment it finally hits him. Not necessarily because it’s funny, or because everyone keeps teasing him, no. It’s because he realizes how much you've trusted him.

For months.

Every correction. Every lesson. Every warning. Every tiny click of his tongue. Somewhere along the way, your brain decided that sound meant safety.

To listen to him. That he's trying to help.

The realization hits Leon right in the chest.

He looks away first, which is unusual. He's never been particularly good at hiding things from you.

"What?" you ask.

His jaw flexes slightly. "Nothing." 

"You're being weird."

A pause. "...You listen to me."

Your brow furrows. "Usually? Duh?"

"No, I mean..." He exhales softly. "You really trust me."

The words make you freeze for a moment. He hands you the coffee carefully this time, turning it so that you can grab the handle. His shoulder bumps yours when he sits beside you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. He feels warm beside you.

Then, Click.

Your head immediately turns toward him.

Leon bursts out laughing. It’s the happiest he’s sounded in days.

You drop your head into your hands.

Are you embarrassed? Definitely.

Would you change it for the world?

Never.

2014, Upstate New York

The air inside the cathedral is thick enough to swallow you, a heavy, velvet silence saturated with the scent of melted beeswax and ancient, dust-covered stone. 

Outside, the East Coast gray is drizzling a miserable, cold mist onto the pavement, but in here, the world feels muffled—like you’ve stepped into a tomb.

You’re sitting in the third row of polished oak pews, your head tilted back to track the way the dim light filters through the stained glass. High above, a ceramic saint looks down with an expression of eternal, frozen empathy.

Nice gig if you can get it, you think dryly. Standing on a pedestal all day, getting praised just for looking concerned. 

Despite the snark, there’s a strange, resonant peace in your chest. 

It’s not a religious hum; it’s just the absence of noise. 

For a few years there, the silence used to be your enemy—it was the space where the screams of the people you couldn't save and the cold, wet sound of the lives you’d taken liked to play on loop. 

Back then, you’d looked at the high rafters and wondered if the fall would be quick. 

But that shadow has lifted. You’ve accepted the bill for staying alive.

The soft scuff of leather shoes on stone interrupts your thoughts. A priest, looking like he’s composed of nothing but wrinkles and good intentions, slides into the pew beside you. He doesn't look at you directly, just settles in with a weary sigh that suggests he’s been carrying the sins of the parish all morning.

"Do you need anything, child?" he asks softly. "A confession? A light? Or just a listening ear?"

You offer a small, lopsided smirk, your eyes still fixed on the altar. "Honestly? I just like the ambiance. The acoustics are great for thinking"

The priest chuckles, a dry, papery sound. "It is a sanctuary for many reasons. Tell me... do you believe? In God?"

"I don't," you say, the answer coming out steady and blunt. You turn your head then, meeting his eyes. "And you? I assume the collar means you’re a fan."

"I believe," he says, unfazed by your directness. "I have to. Why don't you?"

"I've spent a lot of time in the dark, Father. I've seen enough raw, pure evil to know that if there is a God, He’s definitely not benevolent." 

You lean back, the wood creaking under your weight. "And I’ve done enough evil myself that if He is just, I’m going straight to hell. It’s better for my sanity to think of this place as a beautiful lie. A nice bit of architecture for people who need to sleep at night."

The priest flinches slightly, his fingers nervously twitching toward the crucifix hanging from his neck. "It is never too late to be saved. Mercy is infinite, if you only ask."

"I don't need saving," you reply, your voice softening into something surprisingly gentle, almost playful. 

You reach out, tracing a scar on your knuckle—a souvenir from a job in Spain you’d rather forget. "I made peace with who I am. I know these hands are never going to be clean. No amount of holy water is washing the blood out of these pores."

The priest’s breath hitches. He looks at your hands, then back at your face, a flicker of genuine bewilderment—maybe even a touch of primal fear—crossing his features. He’s realized he’s not talking to a lost soul; he’s talking to a professional.

"Then why stay?" he whispers, his voice trembling. "If you believe you are damned, why continue?"

"Because someone has to," you say, standing up slowly. You feel the weight of the Glock tucked into the small of your back, a familiar, grounding presence. "Think of it this way: the world is full of sheep, and it's full of wolves. I’m a guard dog. And guard dogs get blood on their fur so the sheep can sleep in peace."

You pull your jacket tight, the cold from the stone floor seeping into your boots. You look at the old man one last time, offering a sharp, knowing grin.

"Keep me in your prayers, Father. For all it's worth." You turn toward the heavy oak doors, the light from the street beginning to spill in. "The guard dog is going on the hunt."

As you walk away, the priest remains frozen in the pew, staring at the empty space where you sat. You step out into the rain, the gray mist hitting your face. You’re stained, you’re tired, and you’re probably going to hell—but as you head out, your step is light. 

The sheep are sleeping, and you’ve got a job to do.

──────•✦•──────

2014, Colorado

The air in this Colorado diner smells like burnt coffee, stale grease, and the slow, agonizing rot of Leon’s own dignity. It's the kind of place where the waitress doesn't ask questions because she’s seen enough misery to fill a textbook.

Leon stares into the amber depths of his glass, his vision slightly blurred. The "static" he once told you about has become a roar, a deafening white noise that only drowns out when he’s three sheets to the wind. 

He’s been here for days—or maybe weeks. Time is a fluid concept when you’re trying to forget the sound of an explosion turning your entire squad into a memory in the middle of Washington, D.C.

Inside me, an animal seethes, he thinks, the glass trembling in his hand. But mostly, it’s just tired. Tired of being the guy who survives the explosion.

The bell over the door jingles, a cheerful sound that feels like a physical insult. He doesn't look up, but he recognizes the heavy, disciplined footfalls. 

Chris Redfield. 

The man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders as if it were a light rucksack. Beside him is Rebecca Chambers, looking far too bright and hopeful for a world that loves to crush people like her.

"Leon," Chris says, his voice like gravel. He slides into the booth opposite him. "You look like hell."

"Thanks, Chris," Leon mutters, finally lifting his gaze. His blue eyes are bloodshot, hooded with a weary, jagged bitterness. "I was going for 'distinguished hermit,' but I guess I missed the mark. What do you want? I'm fresh out of world-saving today."

Chris doesn't mince words. He lays out the file: Glenn Arias. An arms dealer, the A-Virus, a plan to turn the Great Lakes into a petri dish. He describes how Arias escaped a government smartbombing—one meant to end him, but which instead only succeeded in turning his wedding day into a massacre.

Leon lets out a sharp, bark-like laugh that contains zero mirth. "The government bombs a wedding, and I'm supposed to care? I’m supposed to jump back into the meat grinder for the guys who sign the orders?" 

He gestures vaguely at the empty bottles on the table. "I’ve had enough of being the janitor, Chris. Find someone else to mop up the blood."

"Leon, it's not about the government," Rebecca pleads, leaning forward. "It's about the people who are going to die. Arias is using a virus that stays latent until a trigger is released. Thousands of people—"

"People die, Rebecca," Leon interrupts, his voice flat. "That’s the one thing they’re really good at. Especially when guys like us are around."

His mind drifts, unbidden, back to the Amazon. Back to you. 

The dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn't, he thinks. 

He remembers the heat of your skin in that maintenance alcove, the way you looked at him before you vanished into the green. You were right. It’s a meat grinder. And he’s finally decided to stop being the wrench.

"We're done here," Leon says, reaching for his glass. "Go find a hero. I'm just a guy having a drink."

The peace—if you could call this pathetic stupor peace—shatters with the sound of a screeching van outside.

Suddenly, the diner’s front window explodes inward in a shower of glittering glass. Leon’s instincts, honed by years of surviving the impossible, kick in before his brain even registers the threat. He’s off the stool and behind the counter before the first spray of automatic fire shreds the walls.

"So much for a quiet afternoon," he snarls, his hand instinctively reaching for his holster.

A man named Patricio, an informant Leon knows too well, stumbles through the back door, clutching his chest. He’s riddled with holes, his blood painting the floor a bright, mocking red. 

He collapses at Leon’s feet, gasping about Arias, about a kidnapping, about a debt he can’t pay.

"Leon... please..." Patricio wheezes, his eyes rolling back as he bleeds out on the dirty linoleum.

"Damn it, Patricio," Leon mutters as the adrenaline begins to purge the alcohol from his system. 

Great. Now I’m covered in glass and informant blood.

Through the smoke and the chaos, he sees María—Arias’s enforcer—grab Rebecca. Chris is pinned down by heavy fire from a Gatling gun mounted on a truck outside. Before Leon can move, they’re gone, the van peeling away with a screech of tires.

Silence falls over the diner, broken only by the hiss of a punctured soda machine. Leon stands up slowly, his breath coming in ragged hitches. He looks at the dead man on the floor, then at Chris, who is already checking his gear.

The guilt—that old, familiar animal—claws at his ribcage. 

"I really hate my job," Leon mutters, wiping a smear of glass from his cheek. 

He looks at Chris, his gaze hardening into something sharp and dangerous. The drunk is gone; the bloodhound is back. "Fine. Let's go catch this bastard. But I'm choosing the music on the ride to New York."

He feels the weight of the mission settling back onto his shoulders, heavy and certain. He’s back in the grinder. 

But as he steps over the threshold of the ruined diner, he can’t help but wonder if, somewhere out there in the world, you're watching the same horizon.

──────•✦•──────

2014, New York City

The streets of Manhattan have become a literal concrete graveyard, but Leon doesn’t have time to mourn the scenery. The mission has been a blur of high-octane chaos: trucks dispersing the A-Virus trigger gas, the NYPD being eaten alive by their own precincts, and a motorcycle chase that definitely shaved five years off his life. 

He’d spent the last twenty minutes playing a game of chicken with infected Cerberus dogs while weaving a Ducati through gridlocked traffic, eventually using a well-placed grenade to turn a tanker into a very expensive Fourth of July display.

I really need to stop getting into situations where things are chasing me, Leon thinks, his lungs burning as he breaches the side entrance of Arias’s skyscraper. Maybe I’ll take up gardening. Plants don't have teeth. Usually.

He moves through the service corridors, his gun raised. The facility is a maze of glass and cold steel, humming with the quiet, expensive sound of a madman’s ambition. His head is pounding with the remnants of a hangover that has been forcibly evicted by adrenaline.

He rounds a sharp corner, his eyes scanning for the tactical vest of a Silver Dagger or the glint of a zombie’s eye. Instead, he hits a wall of dark, wiry fur.

Two massive, gangly dogs—roughly the size of small ponies and covered in coarse, jet-black coats—hit him with the force of a freight train. Leon’s back slams into the polished floor, the air driven from his lungs in a wheezing grunt. Before he can even reach for his knife, he’s pinned.

The dogs aren't the skinless, mutated horrors he’s used to. They look healthy, powerful, and terrifyingly intelligent. Their jaws are inches from his throat, snapping with a rhythmic, percussive force. He can feel the hot, humid spray of their saliva on his neck, hear the low, vibratory growl that sounds like a chainsaw idling in their chests.

Well, Leon, his inner monologue dryly observes, at least they have fur this time. It’s the little things.

He braces his forearms against their heavy, muscular chests, his heart hammering a frantic, agonizing rhythm against his ribs. The stench of wet fur, iron, and old concrete fills his nose. 

He’s completely pinned, his boots skidding uselessly on the slick floor, every raw tactical instinct screaming that he’s cornered. He’s ready for the bite, the tearing of his flesh, the cold reality of meeting the end of the road in a nameless, windowless hallway inside a madman's skyscraper.

"Striga. Mara. Out."

The voice is calm. It’s cool. It’s a low, raspy velvet sound he hasn't heard in three agonizing years, but it hits him significantly harder than the dogs did.

The two massive beasts immediately cease their throat-vibrating snarling. With a synchronized, fluid grace that speaks of terrifyingly rigorous training, they step back away from his chest. They don't relax, though; they remain coiled like spring steel, their yellow eyes fixed directly on Leon’s throat as if begging for a single, solitary reason to reconsider.

Leon gasps for air, his lungs burning as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. His blond hair is a matted, chaotic mess, a stray lock falling directly over his eyes. He shakes his head to clear his vision, looking up, and the breath he just managed to catch hitches violently in his throat all over again.

You are standing five feet away, silhouetted against the blinding, sterile LED lights of the corporate corridor. You’re aiming a rifle directly at the center of his chest, your grip rock-solid, your posture completely relaxed yet absolute. 

You look exactly the same as the day you vanished, right down to the cold, unreadable expression on your face.

But as Leon’s tracking eyes dial in on the mechanics of the weapon, his tactical brain registers a crucial, glaring detail: your trigger finger is resting flush along the metal receiver, perfectly indexed. You’re holding him under a dead-red sightline, but you aren't preparing to fire. 

It’s a professional’s discipline, but coming from you, it feels like an unspoken mercy.

Leon stares at you, his mind instantly becoming a frantic, messy scramble of stale Colorado bourbon, the suffocating humidity of the Amazonian rain, and the lingering, phantom heat of a desperate kiss he never quite managed to forget.

For the last three years, he had lied to himself. He had sat in dark, dingy bars from D.C. to Tokyo, staring into the amber depths of a glass, telling himself that he wasn't thinking about you. 

He had forced himself to believe that you were just another temporary operational contact, another passing shadow in a life that was already overcrowded with ghosts.

But the truth was a completely different, much uglier beast. 

You plagued his dreams. 

On the rare nights when the nightmares of Raccoon City or Tall Oaks didn't take over, his subconscious would drag him right back to the edge of the Amazon river, back to the heavy scent of tropical rain and the terrifying vulnerability of holding you in the dark. 

He had spent hours wondering if you had even survived the fallout of that syndicate collapse. He had even broken protocol once—just once—and used a secure DSO terminal to run a ghost-search for your known aliases, only to come up with absolute zeros.

It turns out it’s remarkably hard to find an assassin who technically doesn't exist on any government census.

And now, here you stand. 

Right in the middle of a global bio-terror crisis, looking down the sights of a rifle at him. 

Leon feels a wild, toxic mixture of lingering anger swirling in his gut—anger that you had vanished without a trace, anger that you had left him to drown in his own static—but beneath that, dominating everything else, is a profound, suffocating sense of relief. 

You're alive. You're right here.

"You know," Leon starts, his voice a rough, gravelly scrape as he slowly hoists himself up to a sitting position. "Usually, when people haven't seen each other in three years, they start with a 'hello' or maybe a text. The high-caliber rifle feels a little aggressive for a reunion."

You don't lower the weapon, your finger remaining steady against the receiver, but your eyes narrow into a sharp, mocking glint.

"Last time we spoke, Kennedy, you were busy explaining the logistics of federal handcuffs," you reply, your voice cutting through the corridor with a dry, merciless edge. "Forgive me if I skipped the text message. I wasn't sure if you wanted to grab a coffee or read me my rights."

Leon flinches slightly, the lopsided smirk fading from his lips as the ghost of the Amazon rain settles heavily between you. 

He slowly raises his hands, though he doesn't let go of his gun, his fingers hovering near the trigger guard. 

He watches you, his blue eyes searching yours for a spark of the girl in the dark room, or at least a hint that you aren't about to put a bullet in his heart. 

The feral animal in his chest is pacing, but it’s not snarling. It’s curious. It’s hopeful.

"So," Leon says, trying to regain some semblance of his "suave" agent persona while sitting on his ass in front of two giant hounds. "Are we going to do this the hard way, or do I get to stand up before your pets decide I look like a chew toy?"

The metal of your rifle is cool against your palms, a grounding weight as you watch Leon scramble to his feet. He’s a little more ragged than the last time you saw him. The stubble is thicker, the shadows under his eyes have moved in permanently, and he smells faintly of a distillery.

You whistle once, a low, sharp note. Mara and Striga melt back to your flanks, their dark, wiry coats brushing against your tactical trousers. They don't take their eyes off him, but they stop the low-frequency vibration in their chests that usually precedes a buffet.

Leon doesn't waste time. The moment he’s upright, his gun is leveled at your chest. You don't flinch. You just keep your rifle centered on his sternum, your finger resting lazily outside the trigger guard. It’s a standoff—a very familiar, very depressing reunion dance.

Look at him, you think, your inner monologue providing its usual dry commentary. Still charmingly disheveled. Still has the same hairstyle and same haunted eyes. Some things never change. Unfortunately.

"What are you doing here?" Leon demands. 

His voice is hard, the softness from the Amazon buried under layers of professional scar tissue. 

You tilt your head, a ghost of a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Visiting an old client, Kennedy. Just doing some follow-up work. Making sure client satisfaction is high. Turns out, Glenn Arias is a very difficult man to please."

"I'm not in the mood for games," he snaps. He’s wired, his pupils blown wide, the 'static' in his head probably screaming at a volume that would deafen a normal person.

You let out a long, weary sigh and lower your rifle just a fraction, though you keep the barrel angled toward his knees. "I'm here for Arias and Gomez, Leon. They’ve gone far too long without someone putting a sufficient amount of lead in their bodies. Consider me an overdue debt collector."

Leon doesn't lower his gun. He tracks the movement of Mara’s tail with a flick of his eyes before locking back onto you. "And who’s paying the bill this time? The Connections? Or is this another 'exit interview'?"

"Are you trying to figure out whose side I'm on, Leon?" you ask, your voice softening, losing the sarcastic bite. You tilt your head like a curious bird. "Whether I’m the girl you kissed or the monster who killed her father?"

"Can you blame me for asking?" he counters, his grip tightening on the gun. "Last time we did this, you vanished into the jungle after telling me your life story was a body count."

You look at him—look really intently. You see the guilt he’s carrying. You see the weight of the badge he’s still trying to honor, even when the people giving him orders are just as dirty as the ones he’s hunting.

"Neither," you state simply, the playfulness draining away into something cold and absolute. 

You take a step forward, ignoring the way his finger twitches on the trigger guard. Mara and Striga move with you, two shadows at your heels.

"The government bombs a wedding to take out one arms dealer, and they call it 'collateral damage,'" you say, your voice low and vibrating with a quiet, fierce empathy. "Arias uses a virus to turn a city into a graveyard for revenge, and he calls it 'justice.' To me? It’s all the same meat grinder. I’m just here to put a stop to it before more innocent people are killed.."

You stop just a few feet from him, the muzzle of his gun inches from your heart.

"I’m a violent dog, Leon. I told you that. But even a violent dog knows when to protect the flock."

The silence in the corridor is heavy, broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of the chaos outside and the steady breathing of your hounds. You watch the conflict play out behind Leon’s eyes—the soldier battling the man, the trauma battling the memory of the woman he met in the jungle.

Slowly, painfully, the tension leaves his shoulders. He exhales a breath that sounds like it’s been trapped in his lungs for three years. He lowers the gun, the barrel pointing at the floor.

"You really have a knack for showing up when things are at their worst," he mutters, a tired, lopsided smirk finally breaking through his mask. It’s the Kennedy you remember—awkward, slightly cheesy, and stubbornly good.

"It’s a gift," you chirp, the sarcasm returning like a familiar old friend. "I’m like a guardian angel, but with two very hungry dogs. You look like you could use a hand, hero. Or at least someone to tell you your hair is a mess."

Leon huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been a little busy. If I'd known you were coming, I would've brought treats. For the dogs. Not for you."

"For sure," you tease, whistling for the hounds to sit. "Now, are we going to stand here all day or are we getting the job done?”

His heart tugs when he sees you curled up on the couch. You've fallen asleep waiting for him again. Credits roll on a movie playing on a low volume. The shadows on your face are sharp compared to your softened features. Your brow loose, lips relaxed in that content frown you make when you're deep in REM. It's an expression he's found himself jealous of at times. You sleep so easily— hardly any nightmares compared to the ones that scar him more often than they don't. But stronger than that jealousy is a relief for your sense of safety.

He can't bring himself to wake you. It's late, and he knows your sleep starts to become more irregular when he's away. He can’t bear to take any more from you. Even as he thinks so, he can hear your stern voice fighting with him. You're not being selfish for wanting comfort, Leon.

Easier to say than to feel. He's still learning.

The plush blanket has slipped slightly off of you in your sleep. He pulls it back over your waist and tucks it in again. Your socks poke out of the bottom of the cocoon. You always keep your place cold for him, because he runs warm. Part of him wonders if it's just an excuse to be closer to him. He smiles at the thought as he lays a kiss on your head. A small hum rumbles from your throat in your sleep, as if even when unconscious, you can’t help but voice your happiness at the affection.

Leon pulls himself from you and trudges to the bathroom to clean himself up. He doesn't take his time. He ensures the very basics happen. The muck from his body, his soul, spins down the drain as he washes. The scent of your body wash replaces the sweat, the horror. He loses count of the amount of sighs of relief that the hot water pounding at his sore back gives him.

He throws his clothes in the washer. Brushes his teeth. Now three acts of the most minimum care he can take without passing out from exhaustion.

Once he's dressed in sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, he doesn't crawl into bed. The cold sheets are unwelcoming. Crisply made, as if you had yet to touch them since you'd woken this morning. If you’d even slept in them at all. Leon thinks it's a ridiculous idea to curl up in that ghost of you, when you're warm and real in the next room. His already aching back be damned.

He returns to the living room. Your face is still relaxed, deep in sleep. Your cheek squished against a soft pillow, arm shoved underneath and hanging limply off the couch cushion. It's undeniably cute, and for the first time in days he feels a sense of peace. Happiness, even. There's no monsters here. Just you in an old shirt of his, glowing in the light of the TV screen.

He kneels on the floor and places another whisper of a kiss on your forehead, waiting a few seconds to see if you happen to stir. It's barely an attempt to wake you; sleep has its hold on you. He doesn't fight it.

He still longs to be close to you. To replace the cold fingers from abandoned facilities with your warmth. 

The sofa is really only built for the both of you when you're half on top of each other. He refuses to even attempt to wiggle his way in there right now. Maybe if it was a night after a week of him being at home, when he knows you've slept well, he’d do so. When everything is lighthearted, and you'd put on a faux pout when he wakes you from your slumber. And you’d cuddle into him anyway, clearly more comfortable with him squeezed onto the crowded furniture with you.

Leon retrieves the other pillow on the couch from next to your socked feet. He's a little too envious of the one you're currently hugging. For now, its twin will do. He scoots the coffee table further from the couch to make space for his tired body. The cheap laminate is cold, but he's slept on worse. He muses that he'd probably be able to get a full eight hours on a bed of spikes as long as you're next to him.

It's a ridiculous sight, his massive form settling down on the floor next to you like a golden retriever waiting by your side. Meanwhile, you're cozy as ever in the plush cushions above him. 

For Leon, it's more than enough. knowing you're safe and sound.

He takes one last risk, one that almost seems like higher stakes than the hell of work he's just been through. To reach up and rest his palm on top of your hand. It’s well worth the reward. His fingers curl at your wrist to feel your steady pulse. The rhythm slows his own heart to a leisurely pace. He studies the rise and fall of your shoulders, his own syncing alongside it without even trying. Sleep drags his eyelids shut before he knows it, and just like that, Leon Kennedy is domesticated once again.

But he didn't wake up, instead, he shifted again on his side, as a strained groan escaped him as his body tensed beneath the blankets.

God, you hated this. You hated seeing him like this. Hated how helpless it made you feel, knowing there was nothing you could do while nightmares held him captive.

You didn't know what he saw in those nightmares. All you knew was that he kept calling your name, clutching your torso mindlessly and pulling you tighter against him as if letting go would destroy him.

Even when pain stung through your body from the force of his grip, you never stopped him. You couldn't. Not when he held onto you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart; not when your heart barely held itself together when leon was like this.

And you hated every second of those dreams where he had to endure this alone. Hated whatever unseen thing haunted him enough to leave him trembling in his sleep, calling for you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

You wished you could tear those nightmares apart with your bare hands, annihilate whatever was hurting him, whatever had left wounds deep enough to follow him even into sleep.

But you couldn't. All you could do was hold him through it, whisper reassurances into the darkness, and feel utterly helpless every time another nightmare dragged him under.

"Please... don't..." Leon's voice cracked as he turned to your side wrapping his big arms against your waist. "Don't go..."

Your chest tightened all over again. “I won’t,” you whispered, your lips trembling as you said his name. “Leon... I’m here. I’m here forever.”

"I can't lose you..." His breathing hitched, as sweat dripped down his face onto the pillow, "Not you..."

A tear slipped from the corner of his closed eye. And that broke you. Without thinking, you moved even closer to him; lowering your hands and cradling his face against your palms. "Leon." His name came out trembling from your lips "You don't have to be afraid."

Another tear slipped free from his eyes, and your heart broke again; shattering itself in edged shards etching and stinging painfully in your chest and gently, you lowered your head and pressed soft kisses against his tears before they could disappear into his skin.

"Leon..." you whispered. You didn't know if he could hear you. You weren't even sure if the words could reach him through whatever nightmare had trapped him. But you said them anyway. "This nightmare... nothing in this entire world can separate me from you." Your voice dropped softer as you rested your forehead against his shoulder, your hand slowly trailing through his damp hair. "They can't separate what beats inside me. They can't separate what runs through my veins." A shaky breath escaped you. "And you, Leon Scott Kennedy..." Your fingers tangled gently in his hair. "You are the reason for my entire existence. Even my heartbeat doesn't feel like it's in my control when you're not near."

You leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss against his hairs. "I love you." Your eyes closed as you held him a little tighter. "I won't go." Then you press another kiss onto his damp forehead. "Never." Then slowly you slide down your hand and hold onto his trembling fingers.

Just then, as if he had heard you, his entire body jerked awake. Leon shot upright with a sharp gasp, breathing hard, but you didn't let go.

Instead, you clung to him like a koala, your hands instinctively wrapped tightly around his arms.

As your eyes darted on him; his eyes were wild and unfocused, darting around the room in panic. For one horrible second, he looked completely lost.

Then as his finally adjusted to the darkness of the room his breathing started to slow and his eyes drifted downards as he saw your hands gripping his; and then his face tilted towards you and he saw the concern written all over your face. "Hey," you said softly your eyes softening. "It's okay."

Leon stared at you completely lost then, before he could spiral back into whatever fear had chased him awake, or speak anything else that would panic him; you cupped his face and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips.

The movement silenced him instantly and a soft exhale escaped him. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. "I'm not going anywhere," you whispered.

His eyes closed for a brief moment and relief washed across his face so visibly it hurt to see. Slowly, he opened his eyes and his hands found yours. "You promise?" Leon asked so quietly; and in a voice you didnt recognize for a moment that was his.

You nod and gently squeezed his fingers. "I promise."

Hearing that Leon finally relaxed under you and the tension slowly left his shoulders.

His breathing finally slowed and when he settled back down beside you, he pulled you tightly against his chest like he needed the reassurance that you were real.

This time, when sleep finally found him again, it came peacefully. You held him close, tucked securely against his chest, clinging to him as though you could shield him from every nightmare waiting beyond the dark.

Slowly, your breathing matched his, and as you comfortably held him against you; it felt as though your ribs were his and his were yours; and finally two heartbeats finally rested within the same quiet rhythm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 am.

Usually you‘d pleasantly realize that you still have a few hours of sleep ahead of you and lay back down with that warm feeling in your stomach. Not today, though. Today you were plagued with nerves you‘d imagine Leon feels during one of his missions. The usual warm and comfortable feeling replaced with dread for the unavoidable you‘d have to face today - a university presentation.

Granted, it was a little silly. You know as much. You were also aware that it was ridiculous of your body to act like it‘s going through a second Raccoon-City incident. On the other hand, if rationalizing with yourself would‘ve helped with the anxiety, your suffering would‘ve stopped a long time ago.

A soft sigh escaped your lips. What now? You could try and sleep a little more. Then again you‘d been trying to sleep properly since 11pm with no luck. Everytime you finally fell asleep, you woke up 2 hours later in a panic. You tried to sleep again, but were instead stuck in that weird state where you‘re kind of sleeping but also not and you‘re permanently aware of the anxiety you‘re feeling.

Distracting yourself it is. You were just about to open Tiktok when a notification caught your eye.

„Good morning, sweetheart. Have a great day!“ Leon. Of course.

He was usually awake at that time of day due to his training. This week he was on vacation, so he’d probably be free to talk right now. An involuntary smile found it‘s way onto your face. I could talk to Leon, that would probably help. You were about to click on the notification, when you stopped yourself. Smile dropping slowly.

He knows your sleeping schedule. If you were to answer now, he‘d know something was amiss. He would ask if everything is alright and why you‘re awake. You would probably say you just had trouble sleeping but he would know better.  He‘d hear it out of your voice or just simply somehow know it and question you until you cave. Then you‘d have to explain to your bioterrorism fighting boyfriend who experiences the horrors biweekly that your body won‘t let you sleep because of a university presentation. In a rather small class as well.

So what now? You should probably just scroll away on Tiktok until it‘s unavoidable that you have to get up and get ready. Maybe I could pretend to be sick? Then I wouldn‘t have to go. You‘d really like to talk to someone right now. So you clicked on the chat. „Good morning my dear, have a great day, too!“

Gnawing on your lip you stared at the chat. Sure enough, not even a minute later the call notification popped up. You hesitated for a second. Should you really answer? Well, you had to. There was no going back really. If you didn‘t, he‘d worry and come straight to your apartment, meaning you‘d inconvenience him even more. 

„Hello Baby!“ Leon greeted cheerfully. He was slightly out of breath and from the birds chirping in the background you deducted that he was on one of his morning runs. 

There’s this effect Leon had on you that you’ve been observing for a while. He always manages to make your most vulnerable side appear, wether he intends to or not. So, of course the sound of his voice made you immediately tear up. You didn’t even realize that you wanted to cry. How silly. 

Take a deep breath.

Don‘t sound shaky, don‘t sound shaky, don‘t sound shaky.

„Good Morning, Leon.“ That wasn‘t so bad.

„What‘s wrong?“

Oh, damn you.

You could practically hear the frown in his voice. It would endear you if you weren‘t so awfully embarrassed about yourself. 

„Nothing, why? Are you on your run right now?“ You tried to make your voice sound more cheerful, but Leon was in a sense like a tracking dog. Once he‘s sniffed out a trace, he doesn‘t let go of it.

„What‘s wrong?“ You sighed. „It‘s- It‘s nothing, Leon. Really. It‘s kinda silly.“ Leon hummed. You could hear how he stopped to pause from his run. 

„Did you have a nightmare again?“ Oh, of course. That‘s where his mind would go first. The actual traumatizing, life changing event you had lived through, not public speaking. Now you felt even more ashamed. „Want me to come over?“ He offered so earnestly. Your Heart soared a little. Your embarrassment grew even deeper. You would really like for him to come over, though, you realized.

„No, no nightmare.“ You swallowed. Why did your voice grow even more shaky all of a sudden? Why did your body betray you so? You didn‘t even react like that when your old university city suddenly got flooded with the undead. You were even much more confident talking to Leon back then. Why did a presentation have to make you shut down so greatly?

„I- it‘s- Leon it‘s really silly, but please don‘t laugh.“ You sounded on the verge of tears. Maybe this was a mistake. You should‘ve just suffered in silence until it was over and then shut away in your room until the anxiety ebbed away. Then you could spend the evening with Leon like nothing happened. But now you involved him, so there was no backing out of it anymore. You felt utterly embarrassed.

„I would never laugh.“ You could hear the slight alarm out of his voice. Great. Now You’re embarrassed, ashamed, anxiety ridden and felt guilty for worrying your boyfriend. „So, um-„ you started, trying to find the right words. „There‘s this presentation today that I have to do and-„ you cut yourself off, not sure how to continue. The other side of the line stayed quiet as you tried to find the right words. Oh no, he was probably judging you.

The unbearable urge to explain yourself washed over you. „I- I know it sounds silly, Leon and if I had a say in this I would just sleep like I normally do and go to university like I normally do but, but- I- I can‘t help feeling this way I really can‘t. I‘m shaking and my stomach is hurting and I feel like throwing up and I seriously considered dropping out to avoid this the last 3 days and-„

„Can you open the door for me, Baby?“

You blinked. „W-what?“

„Please open the door, I would like to sit down my feet are hurting a little.“ He smiled softly while saying that, you could hear that.

You hurried to open the door and sure enough, there he was. He was a little sweaty and out of breath but he had the same lopsided smile on his face he usually has and had such a soft look in his eyes and most importantly he was here. To comfort you with your ridiculous problem.

At first your lip started to quiver. You tried to find words, but all speech has abandoned you. Then tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to blink them away at first. Your vision just grew more blurry. 

You lost yourself. A sob escaped your mouth. A heartbreaking sob as it seemed, as Leons face immediately contorted in pain.

„Oh, my girl.“ He said under his breath and immediately pulled you in for a hug. Leon hushed you quietly, rubbing your back slowly as he shuffled inside and closed the door. Your hands clamped down on his shirt. 

„I- I‘m sorry. I don‘t even know why I‘m reacting so strongly.“ You hiccuped. „I- I‘m just so scared, Leon. Isn‘t that silly? I saved you from that weird hat guy in Raccoon City but am too scared to talk in front of people.“ Leon gently maneuvered you back to your bedroom.

„So first of all,“ he started as he sat you down on your bed. „I saved you a lot of times, too. Besides, I had that under control.“ You let out a little scoff, your lips forming a slight smile. Leon knelt down in between your knees, softly placing a hand on your cheeks. „Second of all, you have nothing to be sorry for. I have weird fears, too.“

He paused for a moment „I can‘t drive in the rain without panic, for example.“ He laughs slightly at himself, as if to make light of his fear and you couldn’t help but to frown. 

„But that‘s because of Raccoon City. That‘s not silly. You have a valid reason for that.“

„Yeah, but your fear stems from somewhere too, doesn‘t it? You have it for a reason as well.“ His thumb gently stroked along your cheek. Your first instinct was to disagree. To argue, that that‘s not comparable at all, but he didn‘t let you speak. „Regardless, I keep driving even though it rains and you’ll be able to present even though you‘re scared.“ Your hands clenched into fists. Everything in your body wanting to reject his trust in you. „But what if I do it badly?“

„Doesn‘t matter. You‘ll have done it and that‘s something to be proud of in itself.“ You couldn‘t bare to look into his eyes anymore. He really did believe in you. He really shouldn‘t. „I don‘t know, Leon…What if I can‘t do it?“

„Then you tried and the next time will work for sure. That‘s also something to be proud of. I will be proud of you, anyway.“ You could see his eyebrows furrow from the corner of your eye. He moved his head to be in your line of sight again. „Come on, you‘re my brave girl, aren‘t you?“ His smile, so earnest and bright, replaced the cold and dreading feeling in your stomach with warmth. You even managed to smile a little as well. Maybe you really were able to do it. 

„There you are!“ He practically beamed. „And after you‘re done, we‘ll have a nice day, full of stuff you want to do.“ He promised. „Even do a lord of the rings marathon while eating like a hobbit?“ You teased. Leon groaned playfully. „Yes even that.“

„Then I guess I‘ll be brave.“

——————

You were brave. At least the whole walk to your university you were. Leon offered to drive you, but you knew he had other stuff to do and you wanted to clear your head anyway. It worked surprisingly and for a short moment you were convinced that everything wouldn‘t be so bad.

That stopped the moment you sat down in class. The reality hit you again and regret started seeping in. You should‘ve called in sick.  No, you thought, then I would‘ve just shoved the problem back. So you had to be brave. 

Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.

It was a disaster. In your eyes at least. You kept shaking, sweating and stumbling over your words. So, once class was finally over you were feeling even worse than this morning. 

It‘s fine, you told yourself, it‘s over now. You’ve done it. The day could only go better now.

And then it started raining out of nowhere on your walk back home. Not just raining, no, pouring. It wasn‘t supposed to rain. You didn‘t bring anything with you to shield you from rain. You were completely soaked through after 5 minutes. 

Still shaken up from the presentation and upset over the sudden rain you didn‘t notice the branch blocking your way, which then resulted in you knocking your head against it. Hard. Awesome. 

Your vision blurred for a moment. Instinctively your hand shot up and returned with your fingers dyed red. In disbelief you watched as the rain washed the blood from your fingers. 

Just get home, you thought, just get home and it‘ll all be fine.

As you were waiting for the traffic light in front of your apartment complex to turn green, a truck passed you by. Still dazed from the hit on your head you forgot to step back as he drove through the puddle right in front of you. The water suddenly pouring over you made you flinch back, snapping you back into reality. You really wanted to cry. 

So here you there, in front of your apartment door, hands shaking too hard to even be able to open it, tears streaming down your face along with a lone trail of blood. 

Suddenly the door opened and you flinched. 

„Oh, Baby.“ Looking up you’ve found yourself face to face with Leon, his face completely laced in worry. „I‘m so sorry, I just came back from doing errands and wanted to come pick you up.“ He moved closer, seemingly to hug you, but you stepped back. „Don‘t, I don‘t want to get you wet.“ You muttered, looking back down at the floor. Hopefully he doesn‘t see the wound.

His shoulders slumped, you realized through the corner of your eyes and just imagining the kicked puppy face he currently had made your heart hurt a little. You couldn‘t bare any of this any longer. You just wanted to hide away in your room for the rest of the day.

You tried to squeeze past Leon and even though he let you in he grabbed your arm gently to keep you from hiding from him. „Talk to me, what happened?“ 

The tears were streaming freely down your face now. „I- I was trying to be brave I really was, Leon.“ He studied your face. His eyes widened as he looked at your forehead. „You‘re bleeding!“ Immediate alarm went through his body. A hand cupped your jaw to keep you from moving as he used the other to keep the hair out of your face, studying the wound intently. 

„I hit my head.“ You murmured. Leon took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. The last thing you needed was him panicking as well. „Alright, it‘s alright. I‘ve got you now. Let‘s get you dry and take care of that wound, sweetheart.“

His hand gently grabbing yours, he lead you towards the bathroom and sat you down on the toilet. „Alright.“ He said more to himself as to you. He rummaged through the cabinets, retrieving a towel. „Here, dry yourself off, I’ll be right back.“

You stared at the towel on your lap, but couldn‘t bring yourself to move. Why did everything always have to go wrong for you? Why couldn‘t a single thing just simply work out for you? Were you cursed?

Leon came back with a set of clothes and paused in the doorway. 

You only realized he was calling your name when he was right in front of you, his warmth snapping you out of it. „Come on, let me help you. Lift your arms. We need to get these clothes off of you before you get a cold.“ You did as he told. The whole process was a daze for you. Before you could really process everything you were wearing a set of fresh and warm clothes. Leons clothes, you realized. The ones you kept in your closet for him. They still smelled a little like him. 

He was currently using the towel to gently dry your hair. „Is this alright?“ He asked. He‘s so sweet, you thought, so sweet and gentle. Tears welled up in your eyes once more. You didn‘t deserve this.

„I‘m sorry, Leon.“ You croaked out. The gentle tug on your hair stopped. His face suddenly appeared in front of yours. „Don‘t say that. You have nothing to be sorry for.“

His eyes fell on the wound on your forehead again. „Let‘s get that taken care of and then watch lord of the rings.“ He disappeared for a second once again, returning with the first aid kit you usually keep for him.

„This will sting a little, but I‘ll be quick. I promise.“ 

You flinched as he disinfected the wound and he hushed you gently. „I know, I know, I‘m sorry.“ Then, with one quick motion he put a wound pad on it. 

„There, all done!“ He exclaimed all proud. Your hand reached up again, feeling around the Pad. Your eyes softened „Thank you.“

He extended a hand towards you. „Come on, then. Movie Time. And we have some food waiting for us. 

Your Hand, still slightly shaking, grabbed his and he pulled you to your feet. He‘s so warm. You found your bedroom already set up for the first movie. Leon laid down, petting the spot next to him.

Cuddling up to him you feel warmth spread across your body. The shaking slowly subsiding. Leon put an arm around you to pull you closer.

„Thank you, Leon. Really. I‘m sorry I was acting so si-„

Leon frowned. "I'm sorry…" was all he was able to mutter out past his lips. "I didn't… I wasn't meaning to…"

He had been trying to go sober for a while now. You had been with him long enough to know when he was a light drinker, a heavier drinker, to an alcoholic. After a ruined vacation, he seemed to be really trying to drink less. Some days, he wouldn't do so well.

"How'd you get home?" You asked softly. You didn't want to startle him.

"Taxi." He mumbled.

You smiled. It was an assumption you already made seeing as you didn't hear the engine of his bike, the one he left with that morning. "Good. We can go pick up your bike tomorrow, okay?"

Leon nodded and took more steps forward, before he collapsed on the couch next to you. "I didn't mean to-"

"I know, Leon. I know," you reassured him as you raised your hand to run them through his hair. Soft. "Do you want me to help you get ready for bed?"

Leon sighed and shook his head, yet winced after it caused his head to slightly throb. "No, no… I can do that…"

As you pressed a kiss to his stubble cheek, you stood up. "I'm going to get you some water and ibuprofen. I'll meet you in the room, okay?"

Leon shook his head and stood up slowly after you. "I want… you to kiss me more…" he slurred slightly, yet his voice was so low and shy.

"Tilly is waiting in the room for you. I'm sure she'll make sure to give you many kisses while you wait for me."

Matilda— Tilly, for short— is the little black cat that followed Leon home one day. He didn't want to keep her, but she had basically claimed him as her own. You would sometimes tease Leon by saying that she was the real reason he wanted to go sober.

Leon smiled slightly. "I guess I'll take some kitten kisses… as long as you promise to give me more, too?"

You let out a small chuckle. He was definitely gone, but sober enough to know when to stop, to know to get a ride home, to accept the help when given to him. You were proud of how far he had come, despite the crash and disappointment in himself you knew he'd feel the next day. You just needed to make sure he was aware of just how strong he was.

"I promise."

He can remember in detail the first time you both met. In his hand was a piece of paper, the name "Munchkins Cafe" was scribbled. He looked back up to see the large sign above the door. "Munchkins Cafe" was written in large bubbly font. 

"I made it." Leon grumbled and shoved the note into his pocket. With a deep sigh, he pushed his hair back before grabbing the cafe door and pushing it in. A small bell rung as he stepped inside.

"Welcome!" The interior immediately made him feel welcomed. Faint conversations went on around him as he looked around, thankfully it didn't seem so busy. The cafe smelt amazing, Leon felt as if he could start drooling any minute. He caught himself first, and realized he really should order. 

"Hi! Do you know what you'd like?" The person behind the counter greeted. 

"Uh… Could I try the… Cheesecake muffin? With a small hot chocolate." 

"Of course! The cheesecake muffin is a really good choice. It's my favorite item right now. Your total is $5.30," Leon shuffles around his pocket before finding a 10 dollar bill. "And your order number is 36, we'll call it out when it's ready!" Leon gave a quick nod before stepping out of line. He found a small booth by the window. He glanced to the watch on his wrist, 3:28pm. He felt out of place, plushies scattered around and lots of pink decor filled the cafe. 

He had heard a few of his coworkers talk about how much their wife's loved the place so he decided why not. What he didn't realize is just how cutesy this place would be. Leon didn't have many experiences going to cafes but he thought it was just usually coffee and a few sweets. God, he must look so strange here. 

"Order 36!" The calling of his number snapped him out of his thoughts. Scooting out of the booth, Leon headed to the pickup counter. 

"I hope you enjoy!" It was the same worker that took his order. 

"Thanks." She were still in the process of putting down the hot chocolate as Leon reached out to grab it. Their fingers made brief contact before Leon froze. A jolt of electricity stunning the poor man. It was like a fairy tail, the shock that all those romance movies had been teaching him about. Leon looked towards the worker, eager to see his true love. 

You watched as the young man in front of you froze, no longer trying to take the drink from your hands. 

"Sir?" Your words broke him from his trance. 

"O-oh right. Sorry." His face flushed pink before grabbing his items and swiftly turning around and heading back to the booth. 

"Huh…" You muttered to yourself before turning your attention back to the customer in line. 

"Hi! Do you know what you'd like?" 

While the guy behind the counter was quite attractive, you really didn't think about it again. He on the other hand, was replaying this scene over and over in his head everyday. That jolt of electricity. It meant something. You just must've not reacted because you were on the job. It might've come off unprofessional of course. Or maybe you were nervous he didn't feel the jolt and didn't want to get turned down. But he knew that you were meant to be his, but now he had to figure out what to do.

It didn't take long for him to figure out your shifts. You worked every Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. Usually from 11am to closing at 7pm. You didn't have a car, do you walked instead and to Leon's great worry, you lived in the not-so nice neighborhood in an apartment, 4th floor. Leon himself was already familiar with the street since he was frequently tasked with rounds there. 

How could you live somewhere so dangerous. His stomach churned with the thought of something happening to you. A young, beautiful person. What if a not so nice guy set his sights on you? Well he couldn't allow that of course. He decided he'd walk you to and from work, he could step in if any scoundrel decided to make a move. 

As unaware as you typically are, it really didn't take you long to notice someone had started following you every morning and evening. They never walked too close behind you, and wore a hoodie so their head was covered. At first you just tried to convince yourself that they just happened to be going in the same direction, on the same days, at the same times. But it was getting really hard to feel that way when you noticed the same figure whenever you went out with your friends or to get groceries. Oh, it didn't help that there was a mysterious dark car showing up outside your building every night as well. Some mornings you would go to leave and find a bouquet of flowers laying on your door mat. This went on for a few weeks before you finally confided in your best friend. It was getting harder to leave your apartment, your mom had started dropping off your groceries for you. Thankfully you had some PTO saved up and started using that instead of going to work.

"I really think you should go to the police hun." Your best friend wrapped her arm around you, letting you rest your head on her shoulder.

"I mean… They really haven't done anything. Maybe it's a misunderstanding?" She shook her head. 

"They haven't done anything. Yet. I can go to the station with you if it would make you feel better." You shrugged and pulled away.

"No, it's okay. I know you're busy. I'll go tomorrow, I promise."

"Call me after?" 

"Of course."

The next day you spent a little more time in getting ready. It was the first time that week you'd really looked at yourself in the mirror. 

"I have eye bags." You sighed before grabbing your bag. A quick peak outside your window, no black car in sight, you decided it was time to leave. 

The RPD was unusually busy today. Many calls were sending his follow officers out and the ones who weren't out were busy dealing with people who came in. Being the rookie, Leon was stuck at desk duty until something boring would come up and they'd task him with it. He was going through the papers at a slower rate, his thoughts only on you. You hadn't been leaving these apartment so often, he was almost at his tipping point. He'd just have to break in, for a wellness check of course. 

"Leon!" The receptionists voice called out to him. 

"Hm?" He swiveled in his chair to look at the voice. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you, shyly standing behind the receptionist. You weren't looking at him, too busy fidgeting with the hangnail on your thumb. 

"She came in to make a report about a possible stalker. Can you help them?" He nodded, maybe with a little too much eagerness.

"Yes! I- My name is Leon Kennedy. Please, take my seat." He jumped up, hands pointing to the chair. 

"Thank you Mr.Kennedy." 

"Please, you can just call me Leon," He grabbed and empty seat and pulled it up next to you. His shoulder brushed yours and he had to bite his lip to stop from groaning. "So please. Talk to me about this stalker situation." 

You nodded and started to explain. As you spoke, Leon wrote into his note pad. He could feel his palms getting sweaty, listening to you explain with a shaky voice what's been going on for the past several weeks. His heart ached, not realizing what turmoil he'd been putting you through. Yet, you were sitting soooo close to him right now. He could actually smell your perfume. He could feel himself getting excited, he wished you could always stay this close. 

By the end of your explanation, you had started crying. Leon quickly shot up to grab you some tissues. He looked so uncomfortable as you recalled everything and you couldn't help but notice how young he looked. He had to have been around his early twenties. Maybe 21-22? You were a few years older but here he was with some sort of career while you were stuck at a cafe with minimal pay and a stalker. 

"Sorry sorry. I really was trying not to cry." You cracked a fake smile. 

"No it's okay. I understand you're in a scary situation." He smiled, and with some boldness, he placed his hand on top of yours. 

"Since he hasn't done anything I'm not sure we can do anything…" Your stomach fell and Leon could see what little hope you had get crushed. "But. I could escort you to and from work? I can stay outside your apartment as well to make sure he doesn't come near?" He held his breath, waiting for your reaction. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. But you were desperate at this point. What if your best friend was right and he was going to escalate? You were running out of PTO and sick days as well. 

"Okay… I would appreciate it, Leon."

Monday rolled around sooner than you wanted. Your manager was excited that you were finally coming in, much to your dismay. Your stomach churned as you stood in front of the front door. It'll be okay. 

As you headed outside the building, you noticed the police car parked near the entrance. In the drivers seat sat Leon, and when he saw you he started excitedly waving. He looked so happy to see you, almost like a golden retriever. 

When you got closer, he rolled the passenger window down. 

"Sit up here!" You glanced to the seat and then to the backseat.

"Are you sure? I can sit in the back." Leon frowned and shook his head. 

"I can't have my guest in the back. Come up here, its better." You nodded and got in. The car ride was awkward. You were just wasting this officers time when he could be doing something like stopping a bank robbery or whatever cops did. He didn't have any music playing which really let you bury yourself in your thoughts. 

It felt like forever but he finally pulled into the lot of Munchkins. You were able to grab your bag off the floor before you paused. Had you told him where you worked?

"Hey um. Leon. Can I ask you a question?" 

"You just did," He chuckled. "Yeah, what's up?" 

"Did I mention where I worked?" Leon coughed harshly before gathering his composure. 

"Y-Yeah. You uh mentioned it during your report the other day." You furrowed your brows, trying to remember. You must've. 

"I must have just forgotten. Thank you Leon for the ride. I get off at 7." He nodded and watched intently as you walked into the cafe. 

Things progressed like this for a few weeks. Every morning he'd pick you up and every evening he would come in to order a dessert before it closed. He even gave you his phone number so you could text him if you wanted to go out. You weren't really sure how he was finding the time for all this though. 

Finally glad to be able to get out of the apartment, you decided it would be great to go to the mall on one of your off days. 

You: Hey Leon :) I'm not sure if you're off but I was wondering if you'd want to go to the mall with me? 

A minute later you heard a ping. 

Leon: That sounds lovely. Can I pick you up in 30?

You: Perfect!

Today felt like a good day. You applied your favorite lipstick and one of your go-to-outfits before you got the text saying he was here. 

"Wow, you look lovely today." Leon's compliment threw you off for a moment, he sounded so sincere. 

"Awe thank you. Also, are you sure going out with me isn't getting in the way of anything?" He smiled and shook his head. 

"Nope. You got me for the next…" He looked at his watch. "6 hours." You giggled.

"I'm sure I'll be done before that."

The mall trip went great. Not once did the hooded figure cross your mind. You got to learn more about the nice officer who'd been helping you out. He was orphaned at a young age when his family was killed. But luckily he was saved by a police officer, which is what inspired him to be one too. He's only been on the force a year though, but he's really looking forward to moving up in the next few years and maybe solving some cold cases. You didn't want to leave, finally having so much fun but Leon needed to start getting ready for a night shift. 

"We should do this again." Leon's voice called out to you as you stepped out. 

"I would like that." You waved goodbye as he drove away. 

It had been a few months and you hadn't seen the hooded figure in a while. Leon's presence must've scared him off. You were sad, if he was gone then Leon wouldn't need to stick around. It's weird to be sad about not having a stalker anymore but with Leon being around so much, you were used to him. It was probably time to start relying on him less. 

You: Hey Leon :) I don't think ill need you for a ride tomorrow. I appreciate you being so helpful <3

Leon: Are you sure? Call me if something happens. 

Leon stared at the phone for a while. You didn't need him? But, what if the hooded man came back again? That wouldn't be good…

By Saturday you were feeling great. No stalker which meant finally having peace. You and your friends decided it would be a great time to go out and celebrate. Although your best friend was skeptical at first, I mean they never caught the guy, you convinced her. And who isn't down to get drunk with your girlfriends? 

Sitting at a round booth with your friends, you were having the time of your life. The booth had plush velvet seats and a small karaoke machine and screen. Several songs in and a few shots, you caught a glance of a hooded figure sitting at the bar on the opposite side of the room. You tried to ignore it and go back to the song, but you couldn't. They were just sitting there, no drink or anything. The shift in your energy must've been noticeable as your best friend grabbed your shoulder, whispering in your ear,

"Is everything okay?" Her voice was laced with concern. You fought the urge to vomit.

"Y-Yeah. I don't think the vodka is um. Sitting well. I think I'm going to go home."

"Are you sure? Do you want me to go home with you? I can get us a taxi." You shook your head. 

"No. I'm okay. Thank you. "

You said your goodbyes and left. It was a little after 12am so all the light you had were the streetlamps and the occasional car that drove by. It felt like every few seconds you would check behind yourself to see if you saw anyone. Your hand clutched your phone. God, you wanted to call Leon so bad. It was late, and while you weren't completely drunk, you didn't want him to see you like this. While it wasn't professional… the time you spent with him during the last few weeks was nice. He had a habit of trying to make you smile if you had a bad morning or shift. Not only was he sweet, he was pretty attractive. Once you asked him for a ride and he must've been coming from the gym as he was wearing gray sweatpants and a black tank top. His arms were pretty toned and while they weren't massive, his chest seemed pretty defined. 

About a block from your apartment, your ears picked up on the sound of walking. A quick glance behind you, you noticed a figure, about 100 feet behind you. Once again, the figure was hooded, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Your pace picked up, and so did the sound of steps. Your heart could jump out of your chest at any minute. You didn't want to die. You weren't going to die. As you could feel the figure getting close, in a last ditch effort you kicked your 10 dollar heels off and made a sprint for it. You clutched your purse to your chest trying to ignore the small rocks pricking at your feet. It took everything in your power to not stop but you felt some sort of relief when you saw your building. 

Almost there… And the door slammed shut behind you. Your hands fumbled with the lock and chain latch but you did it. You could barely breathe but you did it. You grabbed your phone and dragged yourself to your bedroom, locking the door. While it was comforting to be inside, you feared the stalker now knew where you lived and it wouldn't be long before he tried to break in. Your trembling hands searched through your contacts until you landed on Leon. 

It rang twice before you were greeted with his comforting voice. 

"Hey. Is everything okay?" You could imagine Leon rubbing his eyes, his voice sounded so sleepy. 

"Y-Yeah. Well. No. I- Something happened. Could you come over?" 

"What do you mean something happened? I'll be over a few minutes, just give me a second." The sound of shuffling came from his end.

"Alright… Can you text me when you're here?" 

"Of course." You hung up and sighed. He said he'd be quick and you trusted him. You stayed curled up, eyes locked on the clock. The feeling of warm wet tears ran down your face. Your makeup was ruined and he was going to see you like this. But you couldn't bring yourself to clean it off. Your legs still felt like jello but you also didn't want to miss his text. 

Your phone dinged and you could see the flash of Leon's text. 

Leon: I'm outside your door. 

With the strength you could muster, you pushed yourself up met Leon at the door. When the door opened, his faced contorted from confusion to worry. His hair was disheveled, some of the strands sticking to his forehead. His face looked flushed and you could see droplets of sweat on his face. His clothes were casual, a blue R.P.D hoodie and gray sweatpants. 

"Hey Hey Doll. What happened?" You closed and latched the door once again. If you were in a better state, you would've thought more about the nickname Leon gave you, something he hadn't done before. His hand found itself on your shoulder, bringing you to your couch. He sat next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and bringing you comfort. 

You sniffed. 

"I-I went out with the girls. And. While I was there, there was this hooded figure. I didn't see their face but they just sat there. " You took a second to breathe, Leon's eyes stayed on you intensely. "I left. And when I was walking back there was someone behind me. I think it was the same hooded figure from the club. He started speeding up and I ended up kicking my heels off so I could run back here. I think it was him Leon. My stalker." His hand had founds its way to your head, gently cradling it. You started to cry again while explain what happened to Leon. 

"It's all my fault. I went out without you and he came back. " He felt so warm. Your face rested on his shoulder while his hand continued to cradle your face. His other hand found your hand that was resting in your lap and gently grabbed it. His slender hands rubbed the top of your hand as he reassured you. 

"Shhh It's okay. I promise he won't bother you again. I won't let him." His words turned into a growl for just a moment. Butterfly's swarmed your stomach. 

You looked so beautiful crying on his shoulder. You were still in that tight black dress you were wearing at the club. As you cried, it was slowly riding up, the sight of your plush thighs could've killed him right then. The longer he looked at your crying form, he could feel the pressure building up. He hoped his inappropriate boner wouldn't be too noticeable. 

"Leon…" You whimpered out, moving your head to look at you.

"Yes doll?" Your eyes looked so big, your lips slightly parted. He would remember this forever. 

"Thank you. For taking care of me." His heart tugged at your words. They sounded so sincere and so beautiful. And you didn't know that all your issues were because of him. But that's okay, you'd never find out. And if you did, he's sure he could convince you it was all so he could take care of you. 

Having waited long enough, he hurriedly threw his lips against yours, his hand grabbing the of your head, keeping your head still. Your eyes widened in surprise, but the taste of his vanilla chap stick had you in a trance. His tongue pushed against your lips and without any hesitation, you opened up. He was free to explore your mouth and god did he love it. He groaned, now fully erect. It was hard to not just push you down and take you then. But Leon was a gentleman, he was going to take care of you first. His other hand snaked its way under your dress, pressing his tips into your covered clit. You moan into the kiss and he saviors that first noise. But he knows he needs more. 

He pulls away from you and you only have a moment of confusion before you're falling backwards, back pressed into the sofa. Leon hovers you before leaning back into the kiss. His left knee finds itself between your thighs, pushing against you. One of his hands grabs your breast. 

Even with your clothes you feel so soft to him. He fondles your breast. enjoying how soft they are, moving perfectly as he feels the up. His erection strains in his sweatpants. Leon pulls away again. 

"Please. Please let me taste you." There's a whine to your voice and you can feel the throbbing in your clit, watching him staring down you at. You can feel the heat in your cheeks and you turn your head, unable to stand his look. 

"Okay.." The word is almost quite from your mouth but it's enough that he can hear it. He scoots himself back a little, picking your thighs up. You squeak at the sudden movement, your ass hanging in the air. It's a strange position but you stop thinking about it when you feel his nose press against your clothed cunt. 

He can't help but take a deep smell. It only encourages him more, his tongue pressing against your panties. He could feel and taste just how wet you were already. He groans in anticipation. He doesn't last long with this teasing before hes pulling the thin fabric to the side. 

Your cunt is glistening in slick , a beautiful sight to Leon. You wait with anticipation as his tongue pokes at your bud. You bite your lip and your legs try to squeeze together but his body keeps them apart. 

"Have you been waiting for this?" Leon teases before he dives in, his tongue flicking your clit with strong pressure. He plays around with it for a little before his tongue brushes against your folds and slips in with ease. 

"Fuck." You moan, clutching the cushions of the couch. 

Your taste is everything to him. He would often touch himself while waiting in his car during the night, thinking about you and this. Of course the actual thing was way better than he thought it would be. He could feel the pre-cum building on his tip as he feasted on you. He loved feeling and tasting how wet you had gotten for him. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. 

It didn't take long before you could feel the knot building in your core. Your hand gripped his dirty blonde hair and instinctively thrust into his face. Leon groaned from the sensation of his hair being pulled. 

"L-Leon, I think I'm going to cum." You moaned. Your hips rocked with his movements until you finally reached your high. Your grip tighten on his poor hair, moaning his name. Once he could tell you were coming down, he pulled away. His mouth was soaked between his spit and your juices, it was even dripping down to his chin. He grinned, looking down at your already exhausted state. 

"Are you feeling any better?" Your arm was resting over your eyes, taking deep breathes trying to collect yourself again. 

"Of course."

"Would you like to rest on your bed?" 

"Oh yeah, sure." You were about to sit yourself when the feeling of two arms scooping you interrupted. "W-wait Leon-" Your arms wrapped around his neck, trying to get a sense of stability. 

"hm? I'm just taking care of my princess." You knew he was an officer but the ease at which he's able to carry you surprises you. It was as if you were just a feather to him and you couldn't help but feeling yourself get wet once more. 

He gently places you on your bed, head atop of your pillow. He hovers over you, his nose pressing the tip of your own. 

"Do you want me to keep going?" His voice is almost a hush as he stares right into your soul. Your cheeks heat at the question and you want to break the eye contact so hard, but something felt like he would leave if you did. Slowly you nod your head. 

"More than anything." He pulls away and his hands are quick to pull off his hoodie, along with the tank top he had underneath. Next were his sweatpants along with his boxers. In front of you was the complete and naked body of Leon S. Kennedy. You weren't a "pure" girl or anything so you can't deny you'd thought about what he'd look like and wow, you were impressed. His chest was well defined, the beginnings of a chiseled chest were showing. Your eyes trailing down weren't sure if they should be looking at just the intense v-line or the happy trail. Of course you couldn't ignore the elephant in the room. 

You've been with a few guys in the past but you know none of them, and probably no one in the future, could compare to what Leon had been packing. You want to say his beautiful cock was 9inches give or take (probably give). His tip was a beautiful hue of pink, covered with the pre-cum that had been building up. It lightly jumped as Leon felt the intensity of your stare. 

"Is it that good?" He smirks, knocking you out of your thoughts. You grab one of the extra pillows on the bed and chuck it at him. 

"That's not nice." Leon pouts. You cross your arms over your bare chest. 

"Teasing me isn't nice either." He laughs before getting on the bed. He grabs your legs and pulls you towards him, both legs on each side of him. His cock sits above your cunt, leaking on you. 

"I want you. I want you so bad. And I need to hear you say you want me again." Leon whines, slowly moving his hips to rut on you. Your heart flutters as his needy tone. He leans forward, getting close to you. 

You move your hands so they're cupping his face. 

"I want you Leon. I only want you." His lips met yours in intense passion. He shifted as he kissed you, allowing you to feel his tip align with your entrance. His kiss deepens, his hips slowly moving, pushing himself in you. You moan into the kiss feeling as he stretches you from inside. When Leon separates from you, a string of saliva keeps you both connected. 

"You feel so good. So wet for me." He whimpers in your ear. The words cause you to contract, and Leon moans. 

One of his hands finds themselves on your breast, gently fondling it. He feels so good but the speed at which thrusts into you is excruciating slow and you just want more. 

"P-Please Leon. Faster." You beg, arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

"Anything for my princess." His hips roughly rock into you, his speed and the force he uses picking up. Your breasts bounce with the force, his fingers pinching your nipples. The force is enough to cause tears to prick, his cock tearing the inside of you up. 

"Fuck baby. You feel so good." Leon moans, rubbing his nose into the crook of your neck. 

"You're making me feel so good. You're so big." You mewl in response.

"That's right," He grunts, "My cocks making you feel good. My cock belongs to you princess." His words are the pushing force, your climax building up once again. 

"I'm going to c-Cum again. "

"Yes, cum on me. Please. Let me cum in you. Pleaseeee. I need it." Leon begs in your ear, his movements becoming sloppier by the second. The thought of his seed filling you up was all you needed, with a load moan you climax on his cock. 

"Yes! Cum in me Leon." Before he finishes, Leon pulls you into a rough, passionate kiss before he gives his final thrust. His cum feels warm as it fills you completely, marking your inside as Leon's. He rides out his climax, with slow and gentle thrusts, making sure to push it all in you. 

You feel covered with sweat and feel tired but so good at the same time. The feeling of Leon pulling out makings you gasp with how empty it feels. He lays next to you, wrapping his arm around your figure and planting a kiss on your forehead. 

"Let me hold you for a minute and then I'll clean you up darling." You nod, eyes closing. You're going to sleep well tonight. 

Three years.

That was how long it had taken you to stop checking every room for exits.

Three years to stop sleeping with your phone beneath your pillow, thumb hovering over a number you never called because you knew exactly how useless it would be.

Three years to learn how to sit with your back to a wall without feeling ridiculous for it.

Three years to rebuild a life small enough that it felt safe.

A quieter DSO branch. Smaller cases. Less blood. Less spectacle. A therapist who knew when to push and when to let silence do the work. An apartment with three locks on the door and curtains thick enough to keep the city out. A routine you followed because routine made the world feel less like a hand closing around your throat.

Three years.

And all it took to undo it was one memo.

Mandatory reassignment. Temporary transfer. Virginia field office. Effective immediately.

You read it once.

Then again.

Then a third time, slower, as if the words might change if you gave them enough of your horror.

They didn’t.

Your supervisor wouldn’t look you in the eye when you asked if there had been some mistake.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she sounded like she meant it. “This came from above me.”

“Then send it back above you.”

Her mouth tightened.

You knew then.

Before she said anything else, you knew.

“It’s not a request.”

Your hands went numb.

You left her office without remembering how your legs moved. You made it to the bathroom before you threw up.

That night, your therapist asked if there was any way out of it.

Dr. Carter.

Mid-fifties. Calm voice. Kind eyes. Former military psychologist. The first person you'd trusted enough to tell the whole story.

The first man you'd trusted in years.

You laughed.

It didn’t sound like you.

“No,” you said. “There never is.”

He went quiet on the other end of the line.

You hated that quiet. Hated how carefully he handled it. Hated that he knew enough about Leon to be afraid for you without ever having met him.

“Do you have a safety plan?” Dr. Carter asked.

You stared at the half-packed suitcase on your bed.

Black slacks. Blouses. Files. Medication. Charger. Toothbrush. The ordinary anatomy of a life being interrupted.

“Yes.”

“Do you believe it will be enough?”

You didn’t answer.

Outside your apartment window, rain moved down the glass in thin, silver lines.

For one stupid second, you remembered Virginia in the summer. Humid air. Thunderstorms. The smell of wet pavement and gun oil and Leon’s cologne clinging to your skin after long missions.

You closed your eyes.

Don’t.

Not that.

Never that.

“I’ll call you when I land,” you said.

“Please do.”

You hung up before he could say anything softer.

Before he could say anything that sounded like goodbye.

The Virginia field office looked exactly the same.

That was the first cruelty.

The same polished floors. Same security checkpoint. Same fluorescent lights humming overhead. Same framed commendations lining the walls like proof that good people worked here. Heroes. Survivors. Legends.

People who saved the world and then went home to pretend they hadn’t seen it end.

Your badge worked on the first swipe.

Some part of you had hoped it wouldn’t.

The light blinked green.

The lock clicked open.

And just like that, you were back.

“Holy shit.”

You barely had time to turn before Claire Redfield crossed the room and wrapped you in a hug so warm it nearly broke you.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, squeezing tight. “Look at you.”

Your body didn’t know what to do with kindness anymore. Not here. Not in this building. Not with the past pressing in from every side.

Still, you hugged her back.

“Hi, Claire.”

She pulled away, hands on your shoulders, eyes bright with genuine affection. “You look good. Tired, but good.”

“Thanks,” you said, managing something close to a smile. “You look exactly the same, which is offensive.”

She laughed, and for half a second, it almost worked.

Normal.

You could do normal.

Then Chris saw you.

The hug he gave you lifted your boots off the floor.

“About damn time,” he said, gruff and fond. “Thought New York swallowed you whole.”

“Almost did.”

Jill Valentine was next, quieter than the others, but no less sincere. She looked at you the way she always had—like she saw too much and chose mercy anyway.

“Good to have you back,” she said.

Back.

The word landed wrong.

You swallowed around it.

“I’m only here for the case.”

Chris gave you a sympathetic look. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. We’re just happy to see you.”

They were.

That was the worst part.

They were happy.

They didn’t know that the inside of your skull had gone white with panic from the moment you stepped through the doors. They didn’t know you were counting cameras. Doors. Hallways. The distance from where you stood to the exit behind you.

They didn’t know that every familiar voice made you feel more trapped.

Because they were familiar to him too.

A conference room had been set aside for the briefing. Someone had left coffee on the side table. Someone else had printed case files in neat stacks. The whole thing was ordinary in a way that felt obscene.

You took a seat closest to the door.

Jill noticed.

She didn’t comment.

Claire slid into the chair beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly.

“Yeah. Just… weird being back.”

Her expression softened.

“I get that.”

No, you thought.

You don’t.

Across the room, Chris was talking to someone from intelligence. Jill flipped through the file. Claire leaned over to point out something in the preliminary report, her voice low and focused.

For a few minutes, you let yourself follow along.

Bioweapon trafficking. Missing samples. A lab off-grid. Possible insider involvement. Your specialty.

Of course it was your specialty.

Of course.

You were reaching for your pen when the room changed.

Nothing obvious.

No alarm.

No shout.

No dramatic announcement.

Just a shift.

A pause in conversation.

A subtle redirection of attention, like the air itself had turned its head.

Your fingers tightened around the pen until the plastic creaked.

Claire looked toward the door and smiled.

“Oh,” she said, warm and easy. “There he is.”

Your heartbeat stopped.

Leon Kennedy walked into the room like he belonged there.

Because he did.

That had always been the problem.

He looked older than the last time you’d seen him. Not by much. Just enough that it sharpened him. A few faint lines near his eyes. Broader through the shoulders. Hair still that impossible shade of ash-brown, falling carelessly across his forehead like he hadn’t spent years making carelessness look effortless.

He wore a dark suit, no tie, collar open at the throat.

Wedding ring gone.

Of course it was gone.

He paused just inside the doorway.

His eyes found you immediately.

Not searched.

Found.

Like he had known exactly where you would sit.

For one impossible second, the room disappeared.

You were twenty-six again.

Still too young to understand how badly things had gone wrong.

Still trying to convince yourself that the man you'd married at twenty-three wasn't becoming someone you feared.

Bare feet on cold kitchen tile.

The smell of whiskey.

Rain hammering against the windows.

Your breath coming too fast.

A shattered glass glittering across the floor.

Leon standing between you and the front door.

One hand braced against the counter.

The other holding his service pistol.

Not pointed at you.

Not exactly.

But not put away either.

His knuckles white around the grip.

His chest rising too fast.

His eyes bloodshot.

You remembered the way your stomach had dropped.

The way every instinct in your body had screamed at you to run.

And the horrible realization that there was nowhere to run.

“Leon,” you'd whispered.

He looked wrecked.

Not angry.

Not at first.

Broken.

Terrified.

The kind of terrified that became dangerous.

“You packed a bag.”

His voice had cracked.

You remembered that.

You remembered how much worse that had been than yelling.

“Leon—”

“You packed a fucking bag.”

The gun hit the counter with a deafening crack.

You jumped.

He didn't.

His hands were shaking.

His entire body was shaking.

“Tell me I'm wrong.”

You couldn't.

Because the suitcase had been by the door.

Because you had finally decided to leave.

Because you had finally realized love wasn't enough.

His laugh had sounded like something dying.

Then he'd crossed the kitchen.

Fast.

Too fast.

One hand grabbing the back of your neck.

Not hard enough to bruise.

Hard enough to remind you he could.

“Look at me.”

You had.

God help you, you had.

Tears in his eyes.

Rage underneath them.

Fear underneath that.

“You don't get to leave me.”

The conference room snapped back into place.

Claire was still smiling.

Chris was saying something.

Jill had gone very still.

Leon looked at you across the table.

And smiled.

Not the smile from the magazines.

Not the one cameras loved.

Something smaller.

Private.

Devastating.

“Hey,” he said.

One word.

That was all.

Your body reacted like he had put his hands on you.

Every muscle locked. Your throat closed. Heat rushed up the back of your neck, followed by a cold so deep you felt it in your teeth.

Claire’s smile faltered.

“You two okay?”

Leon looked away from you first.

That was new.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe he had simply learned better timing.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. Perfectly controlled. “It’s just been a while.”

Then he glanced back at you.

Almost apologetic.

“I actually tried to request off this case.”

Your stomach dropped.

Chris looked surprised.

“You did?”

Leon shrugged.

“Yeah.”

His eyes never left yours.

“But you know how it is.”

The words sounded harmless.

To everyone else.

To you, they sounded like a reminder.

There was nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide.

No one said no to him for long.

A while.

Three years.

A divorce.

A vanished apartment.

A blocked number.

A gun on the kitchen counter.

His hand wrapped around the back of your neck.

His forehead pressed against yours.

The barrel of the pistol sitting three feet away.

And his voice shaking so badly you could barely understand him.

“If you ever fucking leave me...”

You remembered freezing.

Remembered not breathing.

Remembered the tears running down his face.

You'd been twenty-five.

He'd been forty-one.

And somehow he'd still looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

“Do you know what happens to me if you leave?”

You hadn't answered.

You couldn't.

His grip tightened.

“You're all I have.”

A sob caught in his throat.

Then came the part that still woke you up at night.

The part Dr. Carter kept trying to make you say out loud.

“If you walk out that door...”

His eyes had dropped to the suitcase.

Then to the gun.

Then back to you.

“I swear to God, sweetheart...”

A smile.

Small.

Broken.

Wrong.

“I'll end you.”

Your blood had turned to ice.

“And then I'll end me.”

His thumb brushed your cheek.

Gentle.

Loving.

Terrifying.

“Because there is no life for me without you.”

You stood so abruptly your chair scraped against the floor.

Everyone looked at you.

You forced your face into something human.

“Sorry,” you said. “Long flight.”

Leon’s gaze lowered to your trembling hand.

Then lifted back to your face.

Concern.

Careful concern.

The kind that made everyone else think he was being considerate.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nearly laughed.

Instead you nodded.

“Fine.”

His smile was faint.

“I’m glad.”

That had been one of his worst talents.

Making concern feel like a threat.

The briefing began.

You didn’t hear most of it.

You heard enough to answer when spoken to. Enough to keep your voice even. Enough to nod in the right places and pretend your vision wasn’t tunneling every time Leon shifted in his chair.

He didn’t sit beside you.

He didn’t have to.

He sat across from you.

Close enough that you could see the faint scar near his lower lip.

Close enough to remember how he got it.

Close enough to remember kissing it once, years ago, when you still thought love could save people like him.

He was careful.

That was what made it worse.

He didn’t stare too long. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t make a scene. He was professional. Respectful. Almost distant.

Anyone watching would think he was being kind.

Giving you space.

Letting you adjust.

You knew better.

Leon Kennedy could make restraint look like mercy.

The meeting ended just after six.

People stood. Folders closed. Chairs scraped. Claire asked if you wanted dinner. Chris offered to walk you to the hotel. Jill gave you one last searching look.

Leon said nothing.

Not until you were at the door.

Then, softly, almost too low for anyone else to hear:

“Welcome home.”

Your hand slipped on the door handle.

You didn’t turn around.

If you turned around, you might scream.

So you walked.

Down the hall.

Past security.

Through the front doors.

Into the humid Virginia evening.

Only when the building was behind you did you realize you had been holding your breath.

The hotel was two blocks from the office.

Government-approved. Sterile. Expensive in the bland way federal accommodations always were.

The woman at the front desk smiled too much.

“Welcome, Agent,” she said, sliding your key card across the counter. “Everything has already been taken care of.”

Your stomach tightened.

“What does that mean?”

Her smile flickered.

“Your stay. Incidentals. The room.”

“By the DSO?”

She glanced at the computer.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You stared at her.

She stared back, polite and useless.

“Enjoy your stay.”

You almost asked for another room.

Then you remembered it wouldn’t matter.

You took the key card.

The elevator ride was mirrored on all sides.

You hated that.

By the time you reached the seventh floor, your reflection looked pale enough to be dead.

Room 714.

You checked the hall before unlocking it.

Empty.

You checked again.

Still empty.

Inside, the room was cool and dim, curtains drawn against the city. Bed made. Desk clean. Bathroom door open. Closet empty.

You did what you always did.

Checked behind the curtains.

Under the bed.

Inside the closet.

Shower.

Locks.

Windows.

Only then did you set your suitcase down.

Only then did you let your shoulders drop.

You were fine.

You were tired and shaken and back in a city full of ghosts, but you were fine.

Leon had been in a room with you for forty-eight minutes and nothing had happened.

He had not followed you.

He had not touched you.

He had not cornered you.

He had said two sentences.

You could survive two sentences.

You sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Dr. Carter's voice, gentle and steady.

Name five things you can see.

Bed.

Lamp.

Desk.

Curtains.

A photograph.

Your eyes snapped open.

Photograph?

There hadn't been a photograph.

You stood.

Slowly.

The frame sat on the desk.

Face down.

Your pulse stumbled.

You crossed the room.

Turned it over.

Your stomach dropped.

It was a picture of the two of you.

Not a wedding photo.

Worse.

A candid.

Taken in your old kitchen.

You laughing at something off camera.

Leon looking at you.

Not the camera.

You.

Twenty-three and glowing.

Him nearly forty and staring at you like he'd found religion.

You had never owned a copy of this picture.

You didn't even know it existed.

Beneath it sat a bottle of wine.

Red.

Dark glass.

A cream label with gold lettering.

Your favorite.

Not your current favorite.

Not something you drank anymore.

Something from before.

From Virginia.

From the house.

From nights when Leon came home bruised and quiet and poured you both a glass without asking because he knew exactly how much you liked.

Beside it sat a small arrangement of snacks.

Not hotel snacks.

Not generic.

Your favorite crackers. The chocolate you used to hide in the back of the pantry. A bag of those stupid sour candies Claire had teased you for eating during stakeouts.

And beneath them, folded with almost surgical neatness, was a piece of ivory silk.

Your breath turned thin.

You crossed the room slowly.

As if approaching a body.

The silk was soft when you touched it.

Too soft.

A slip.

Your slip.

Not similar.

Not the same brand.

The same one.

The one that had disappeared during the divorce.

The one you had assumed got lost in the move.

You snatched your hand back.

There was a card tucked beneath the wine.

No envelope.

No signature.

Just three words written in a handwriting you had spent years trying to forget.

Welcome home, sweetheart.

The room tilted.

Then you noticed something else.

The closet door.

Open.

You were absolutely certain you had closed it.

A cold sweat broke across your skin.

You walked toward it.

Inside, hanging neatly on a hotel hanger, was a dress.

Dark blue.

Elegant.

The dress.

The one Leon had always loved.

The one he used to ask you to wear to dinners, galas, fundraisers—any excuse he could find.

The one you secretly hated.

Too tight. Too expensive. Too much like the version of yourself he preferred.

You hadn't seen it since the divorce.

Yet there it was.

Pressed.

Perfect.

Waiting.

Your knees nearly buckled.

He had been here.

Not someone.

Him.

He had stood in this room.

Touched these things.

Arranged them.

Waited.

Maybe hours ago.

Maybe minutes.

Maybe while you were downstairs checking in.

Your phone was in your hand before you remembered reaching for it.

No signal.

You stared at the top corner of the screen.

No signal.

That was impossible.

You moved to the window.

Still nothing.

To the door.

Nothing.

Your pulse kicked once.

Then again.

You unlocked the door and yanked it open.

The hallway was empty.

Too quiet.

Too still.

At the far end, the elevator doors were closed.

You stepped out.

The key card slipped in your damp palm.

Behind you, inside the room, your phone buzzed.

One time.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned.

The screen glowed from the bed.

A text.

You knew before you picked it up.

You knew before you read it.

You always forget to eat when you're scared.

Another buzz.

Have some chocolate.

Another.

You checked under the bed first. You always do that.

The blood drained from your face.

Another buzz.

You missed the vent.

You looked up.

The air vent above the bathroom.

Your stomach lurched.

Another message.

Relax. Nobody's in there.

You dropped the phone.

A sound escaped you.

Not quite a gasp.

Not quite a sob.

Then another text appeared.

I'm trying this time.

The room felt smaller.

The walls closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What changes during pregnancy.

Best ways to support your pregnant wife.

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

Newbron sleep schedules.

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

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

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

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

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