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Because I Love You - Leon Kennedy x quiet! Reader (Part 23)
Summary: You both start to recover in the hospital. Leon is physically fine. You, however? That's not quite the case.
Masterlist | Playlist
The room is still, but not quiet.
It’s been 6 hours since the helicopter dropped you both off at a hospital. Which hospital in what country, he honestly has no idea. He can’t really bring himself to care. Sherry had somehow pulled some strings so that you both could share a single, large quarantine room. He knew better than to ask questions.
He’s sitting in a chair beside your hospital bed, the fabric plush but not comfortable beneath him. The room is filled with the steady beeps and hums of machines. There’s the rhythmic chirps of the heart rate monitor, the steady slow drip of medications and blood being filtered into you through IV lines. Your face is partially covered by an oxygen mask, and your leg is bandaged tightly after surgery.
The nurse had briefed him on your post operative condition. His mind flickers back to her words.
“She did well. She’s stable now, we’ve just got her hooked up to some antibiotics and fluids. A few more transfusions might be needed soon, but for now, she’s doing fine.”
“And her leg? How bad was it?”
The nurse had paused briefly, “The damage is… Extensive. She’s going to need months of physical therapy. Even then, I’m not sure her leg will ever be back to 100% of its original function. A lot of muscle mass was lost, and her nerves and tendons were heavily damaged.”
You still haven’t woken up. The doctors said it was normal, just something that bodies do when they need to recover. The mind rests so the body can heal. Leon is no stranger to that topic. But something about your stillness sets him on edge anyway.
A knock at the door draws his attention, his head lifting from where it had been hanging near his knees. A woman is stepping in.
He smiles.
“It’s good to see you, kiddo.”
Sherry rolls her eyes, “Don’t call me that.”
He stands out of his seat, “I’ve known you since you were a child. You’ll always be ‘kiddo’ to me.”
He’s trying to keep the conversation light and calm. Like the notion of tension in the room will interrupt your healing. Sherry glances at you, a look on her face. Not pity, no. But some kind of sadness. Her hand gingerly picks up your chart, hanging at the end of the bed, scanning over it analytically. He knows what she’s reading. He’s already gone over it at least a dozen times.
Viral Exposure – Unidentified Variant (Status: Under Investigation)
RESTRICTIONS / ORDERS
Strict bed rest
Assisted movement only
No unsupervised ambulation
Maintain quarantine conditions until viral clearance confirmed
Limit questioning regarding incident until cleared by psych team
********************
“... Holy shit, Leon.”
He nods, “Half of that is just because she risked her life for me.”
Sherry puts the chart back, and Leon notices that she has a manila folder tucked under her arm. He freezes.
“I take it those are…?”
She nods, “The files you asked for, yes. I couldn’t find much from before she joined the DSO. Just snippets here and there. Whatever she came from… It got wiped off the map.”
Wiped off the map. Just like Raccoon City. His heart drops.
Silently, he holds out his hand for the file. She gives it to him without question.
It’s lighter than it should be. There’s probably only a few papers inside, barely even enough to justify having put it in a folder in the first place. The monitors are still beeping steadily in the background, a constant reminder that even through it all, you’re still here with him. Holding them feels wrong. It feels like an invasion. You’ve given him little to no reason not to trust you. Ever loyal, you’ve followed him everywhere, even when it nearly killed you. But the unease of who you were before meeting him, that’s still laying deep inside him like an explosive, ready to blast free.
“... Thanks, Sherry.”
She shrugs, going over to the other side of the room, looking over to where Leon’s own hospital bed is. It’s pristine and untouched. He hasn’t bothered laying in it once, instead opting to sit beside you. She reads over his own chart quickly, with much less alarm. He already knows what it says, and that it’s much more mild than yours could ever dream of being.
“I’m going to be back to get a report from you guys in a few days. I’d stay more but, y’know, quarantine rules and all that.” She’s speaking again, looking back up at him with a soft smile, “Don’t die in that time, okay?”
A chuckle. “We’ll try.”
Before she leaves, she glances between you two again. He’s close to you, hand resting gently against your bedframe. It feels intimate, like she shouldn’t be seeing this.
“... Are you alright, Leon? Off the record?”
He stills, body still unconsciously leaning towards yours. Blue eyes flicker between Sherry and you.
“... Honestly, kiddo?” He forces a smile, “I’m not sure I know the answer to that myself.”
.
.
.
It’s been three days.
You are still unconscious. The files are still unread.
He can’t bring himself to open them. Not while you’re still in such a fragile state. Especially since you had nearly killed yourself for him. He feels guilty for even asking for them in the first place. But he doesn’t dare throw them away. They stay next to his bedside, hidden under his medical chart. Out of sight and out of mind.
He’s barely slept. Only eaten when he feels like he’s going to pass out. Only bathed once, and it was just barely long enough to wash the grime and blood off of his skin. Doctors and nurses have tried to coax him into his bed, but he’s argued against them each time. It feels wrong to rest while your body fights to stay stable.
Right now, he’s in that same chair again, body taut and tense. He’s leaning his elbows onto his knees, head in his hand. The other hand is holding yours firmly, almost scared to let go. The monitors attached to you are still beeping steadily.
At some point, the doctors had replaced the oxygen mask with a nasal cannula, the clear plastic tube framing the sides of your face. They said it’s just a matter of time before you wake back up, and that a full oxygen mask would just be disorienting for you. Looking at your face, he has to agree. The thin plastic wires look so much more comfortable than the thick heavy mask.
In his palm, he feels a single one of your fingers twitch. His head shoots up like a live wire, eyes finding your face.
Sure enough, your eyes are squeezed shut tighter than normal, bunny lines showing on your nose in a way that he admits is adorable. Your nose is scrunched, lips twitching. You’re waking up.
Instantly, he’s out of the seat, leaning over you with his palms laid next to your shoulders.
“Rookie? You coming back?”
His voice is low and rough, like he’s been choking on gravel. For a moment, there’s no response, your body still laying motionlessly. But then, he hears it. A little tapping noise. Looking down, your finger has moved against the railing of the hospital bed, nail tapping against the hard plastic.
Two taps.
Yes.
Relief floods him. For the first time in days, he feels like he can breathe again.
Noticing the tired scrunch of your features, he brushes the messy hair out of your face, “Take your time. You’ve been out for a little while. The doctors said you’d be pretty out of it.”
Your hand moves, slowly. Inching along the scratchy blanket and blindly finding their way to his hand. A tap against his watch.
How long was I out?
He sighs, “About 3 days.”
A tiny motion of your head, almost a nod. Acknowledging his words without thinking about them for too long. The motion is uncoordinated and slow, like you’re moving through syrup, but it’s there. It’s a start. That’s better than nothing.
Again, slowly, your hand moves, forming something like a fist. Your wrist moves, almost like writing. He understands immediately. Your notebook and pen, which had been placed on the table beside your head, gets laid gingerly into your grasp. You struggle to hold the pen for a few moments, trying and failing to hold it correctly, before finally getting it right. The tip of the pen touches paper, and it’s messy. Skipping unevenly and barely forming lines as you blindly try to write, hands shaky and unsure. But he can piece it together well enough.
U ok?
His heart swells. You’ve been knocked out for 3 days, nearly bled dry, and almost died multiple times. But you’re worried about him. Typical.
He chuckles, “I’m just fine, Rookie. You should see the other guy.”
The tiniest upturn of your lips, just shy of a smile. With it, your eyes start to crack open. It’s slow and unsteady, eyelids fluttering at the light above your head. Your pupils react to the light instantly, turning into pinpricks to try and limit the blinding brightness. His hand comes up to block it, and your face relaxes when you see the rough skin of his palm.
“There you are,” His tone is reverent, “You had me worried there.”
A weak cough is the main response he gets, the heart monitor spiking for a moment before calming back down. Your pen writes again, this time more steady now that you can look down and see it.
What happened after you got me out of there?
Halfway through writing it, your hand takes a brief rest, like the small motions are almost too much for you. He thinks over the words carefully, recalling the events of the past few days.
“I got us back to the extraction point.” He starts composed, his voice even and steady. But at the end of the sentence, his voice cracks, betraying the worries he’s been feeling for days now, “You weren’t awake anymore by the time I got you there. I… I thought I lost you.”
The words hang in the sterile air like they’re being suspended by strings. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the steady rhythm of the monitor beside your bed. Too steady, too mechanical for what he’s just admitted. You blink at him slowly, taking in the words.
A soft but firm grip to his hand.
But you didn’t.
His head hangs low, a tired sigh escaping him, “I almost did.”
You shift, your arms bracing against the soft bed as you try to lift up your upper body. It makes you wince, face twitching in pain. His hands are on you immediately, grasping your shoulders and lowering you back down. “Easy now. You’re not exactly cleared for a marathon just yet.”
Another beat of silence, and it feels too empty. Too hollow.
“... You scared the hell out of me.”
Your gaze meets his again, and the lighting of the room seems to highlight the color of your eyes. It stuns him for a moment, before he continues, “Back there, what you did-”
You stiffen, but he doesn’t stop.
“- You saved me. Again. Even though it nearly killed you. I think that makes you employee of the month.”
A small snicker falls from your lips, breaking up the tension. Shakily, your hand raises, lifting a single finger like you have a question.
He tilts his head inquisitively, looking down at your pen and pencil. They’re still. Are you… going to speak?
“Yeah?”
Your lips part, trembling ever so slightly. The look on your face is serious, even as your throat works to try and force the words out.
“... Did you mean it?”
Your voice is small. Barely there, even. But even with the beeping of the machines in the background, he hears it loud and clear.
His thoughts turn for a second. Mean what?
Then it comes flooding back to him again. Dying on the floor, purple bleeding into his vision. His words as you tried to get him to come back to life.
“Because I love you.”
It splashes over him like cold water, jolting him like electricity. Part of him had honestly been hoping that through the pain and confusion, you wouldn't have remembered. His heart drops. He can’t handle your rejection right now.
His tongue feels slow and stupid as he tries to force out an answer. “Look, you don’t have to bring it up again. I was dying. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same.”
You shake your head, shushing him. “But did you mean it?”
He blinks, averting his gaze. “... Yes. I did.”
He doesn’t dare to look at you. He can’t. He doesn’t want to see what he’s sure is going to be disgust or hatred etched on your beautiful features. He’s lived for you. He’s died for you. He can’t take your rejection now, not with all of the stress still weighing heavily on his mind.
Soft, weak fingers touch his chin, guiding his eyeline back to you.
He hates how his eyes grow wet with the sight.
You’re smiling at him, tired eyes crinkling at the corners. Your notepad has been pushed off of your lap, now laying beside you innocently. Your lips part again, and his eyes are drawn to them like a moth to a flame.
Your finger caresses the stubble on his chin, and when you start speaking, it feels like it strikes him through his heart.
“I love you too.”
The words seem to flow around him, stroking his hair and caressing his skin. He feels warm and tingly, a flush coming to his cheeks.
“You… You do?”
A nod, small and slow. Your eyes are still surrounded by dark circles, obviously exhausted, but they’re looking at him kindly. Fondly. Fuck, even lovingly, he realizes.
“Since-” His heart is beating fast. He’s grateful that he’s not hooked up to the same machines you are, or else his would be going crazy. It makes him feel like a teenager again, and the thought makes him feel a little silly. “Since when?”
Your hands go back to the notepad, voice seemingly tired. You’ve used it twice within 3 days at this point. Once before you cured him, and then now. That’s more often than it’s been in probably years, he realizes.
Not sure exactly when it started. But I realized it when we were at ARK. Right before Elpis.
He thinks back to that day. The first day he had heard your voice. The day that he’s going to owe you for til he dies. You’ve loved him since then? Before then, even? His mind seems to go blank, struggling to string words together coherently.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
You giggle a little, writing more.
Tell my boss that I’m in love with him? No thanks. Didn’t want that HR email.
He laughs finally, hand coming up to meet yours, caressing your knuckles with his thumb. “To be fair, I think our HR girl is just Sherry and a bottle of wine.”
He sinks a little, resting the weight of his bottom half against the mattress. It draws you closer together, until his torso is only about a foot from yours. The distance feels safe now that he knows how you feel. It feels good. Like he should have been doing this a while ago. A rough hand cups the side of your face. His thumb brushes lightly along your cheek, just once, before he leans in.
Not rushed. Not desperate. Careful. Like he’s giving you time to pull away.
You don’t. That’s what undoes him.
Lips meet in the middle. The kiss is light. Barely there. More a press of warmth than anything else. He almost doesn’t believe it’s real. But it lingers just enough to mean something. His thumb shifts against your cheek without him actually meaning to, like he’s trying to ground himself. To prove that you’re here, and not dead somewhere in the snow.
The kiss is long, long enough that the events of the past few days seem to fade away. All he can focus on is the warmth of you against him. When he pulls back, it’s reluctantly, like he doesn’t want to part from you. His forehead rests briefly against yours. A quiet, grounding point of contact. Noses brush against each other softly. He realizes dimly that he’s shaking.
His voice drops to almost nothing. “…Guess we’re even now.”
It’s a weak attempt at humor. But it lands softer this time. Your breath hitches, something close to a laugh, even if it doesn’t fully form. And for a moment, everything is still and quiet. The two of you are close to a lover's embrace, so close that your breath is intermingling.
“You’re real.” He mutters it under his breath. Like he still needs proof. Like he doesn’t deserve something this holy in his depraved, blasphemous life.
You nod, eyes looking into his. You push yourself forward ever so slightly, even though it strains you. Lips touch again, slightly more firm this time. It takes his breath away.
Then, the door swings open.
“I’m back. Neither of you better be dead-!”
The voice cuts off immediately.
Leon freezes. You don’t even have time to react before he’s pulling back, fast, but not rough, like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Almost like two teenagers getting caught by their parents.
Sherry stands in the doorway, eyes wide. Taking in the scene before her. He can imagine how this looks. He’s above you, torso inches from yours. His hand is still half-hovering near your face. The very obvious lack of personal space.
There’s a beat. A long one. “…Oh,” Sherry’s words are small, more of a gasp.
Leon clears his throat, sitting back a little too quickly. “You ever hear of knocking?”
Sherry doesn’t even blink. “You ever hear of knowing the proper time and place?”
You make a small sound, somewhere between a breath and a laugh. Both of them look at you immediately. Sherry’s expression softens instantly when she sees you’re awake, but there’s still a spark of something amused in her eyes.
“Well,” she says, stepping further into the room, “this explains a lot. This is good. You’re alive. That’s the important part here.”
Leon groans under his breath, a flush coming to your cheeks. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely starting,” she shoots back, arms crossing. “You disappeared, both of you almost died, and now I walk in on- Whatever that was?”
“Medical procedure,” Leon says flatly.
Sherry stares at him. “…You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
He doesn’t even try to argue that. Instead, he looks back down at you again. Your hand has come to cover your mouth, hiding your small giggles. There’s something soft in his expression. Something private.
Sherry notices immediately. Of course she does. Her brows lift slightly, but she doesn’t push it further. Not yet.
“…You’re both idiots, by the way,” she mutters, though there’s relief threaded through every word. “But you’re alive. So I’ll take it.”
With a dramatic bow, she backs out, mentioning something about coming back later. Leon’s body relaxes back against you, careful not to put too much weight on you. You’re still recovering, after all. But, with his head up against your skin, he can hear your heartbeat.
Steady and firm.
For the first time in days, he takes a long, relieved breath.
Summary: You drag Leon out shopping, bribing him with the promise of homemade muffins and a quick trip – just a quiet evening, or so you thought. Until a stranger crosses the line, and Leon shows a side of himself you don’t get to see often. Back home, it’s up to you to pull him out of it, piece by piece.
Word count: 3,5k
Featuring: protective Leon, hurt/comfort, brief violence, anger & aftermath, calming Leon, established relationship, soft intimacy, light teasing, domestic fluff
A/N: I felt like I needed to write down my own visualization of protective Leon and the way he deals with his anger and guilt so here it is. And of course I couldn’t resist adding some sweet nonsense – this man just melts me, I can’t help it. English isn’t my native language, so please forgive any mistakes.
With how little free time you had – and Leon especially – going out shopping for anything that wasn’t strictly necessary felt nearly impossible. But one evening, when Leon had a few days off and you got back from work early, you decided to take advantage of it and coax him into going out with you. You really needed new curtains.
Leon was sprawled out on the couch, all tired and grumpy, one leg on the floor, the other bent up on the cushions. A half-empty bag of peanuts rested in his hands, some show about sleek, fast cars playing in the background. You walked over to him, deliberately circling the couch. He didn’t turn his head, but you knew he was tracking you anyway. The moment you reached the foot of the couch, you dropped onto him, pressing yourself against his chest. He let out an exaggerated groan as a few peanuts spilled over him and onto the cushions.
“I didn’t know you started training wrestling…” he muttered, instinctively wrapping a hand around the curve just above your ass.
“Leeeon…” you dragged out, resting your chin on his chest, doing your best to give him wide, pleading eyes.
“Yeah?” he grumbled, already suspicious. His brows pulled together just a little more.
“Maybe we could go shopping today? We’ve been putting it off for so long…” your voice was sweet, innocent, your finger tracing small, teasing patterns over his chest.
“Honey, it’s late,” he replied evenly, tossing the last of the peanuts into his mouth.
“Leon, it’s six,” you said flatly.
He took a slow breath, blue eyes drifting over your face in quiet consideration. You knew he couldn’t say no. He just needed a little push. “We have to go eventually anyway. Might as well get it over with. And the sooner we go, the sooner we’re back,” you added, seeing you had his attention. “And I’ll make you muffins tonight, promise.”
To sell it further, you shifted closer, bracing yourself on your hands – your neckline dipping just enough to reveal the curve of your breasts. Leon’s eyes dropped instantly. He swallowed. He couldn’t help it. His hand was already on your backside, a low sound leaving him in response. “Besides, you said you’d finally fix the bed frame. It’s about to fall apart.”
“I’ll fix it. Don’t need a shopping trip for that, sweetheart,” he muttered, still very much focused elsewhere.
“Yes, you do. You lost the allen key.”
“I didn’t lose it.” He finally, reluctantly, met your eyes. The triumphant smile on your face said everything.
“Then where is it?” you asked, expectant, your hand sliding along his jaw.
In response, you felt his hand slip beneath your neckline – before you could even react to scold him for thinking this was a valid way to distract you from the pressing issue, he pulled out a peanut from between your breasts and popped it into his mouth. Then he slid you off him and stood up with a stretch.
“…We’ll buy a new one,” he sighed.
You just laughed, stepping closer and tugging him down by the collar so you could press a quick kiss to his cheek – then darted off to the bedroom to get changed.
***
You had to admit – it took longer than you planned. But at least you got everything you needed… and a few things you didn’t. You walked down the street as dusk settled in, the city still buzzing with people. While you were both ready to retreat into the quiet comfort of your apartment, for others the night was just beginning.
Leon walked beside you obediently, arms full of shopping bags, a backpack slung over his shoulder – the one he insisted on keeping in the car “just in case.” He’d been right. You’d filled it nearly to the brim after stepping into a candle shop. All that was left was the hardware store just around the corner.
“Leon, look how pretty!” you blurted, grabbing his arm as you pressed yourself against a shop window, captivated by the display of hand-painted porcelain.
“Babe…” he started calmly, already knowing where this was going. “Our cabinets can’t fit another cup.”
“I’ll just look, I promise! Can I go in for a second?” you said, far too enthusiastically. You could see him physically fighting himself. “You go grab that screwdriver thing and we’ll meet right here, then straight to the car. Scout’s honor.”
“Fine… just a minute,” he gave in.
But seeing how tired he looked, weighed down with bags, you didn’t want to drag it out. “Go get the tools. It’ll be faster – we’ll meet right here, okay?”
He hesitated, clearly reluctant. “Don’t get lost,” he said, a teasing edge to his voice, his gaze soft.
“Me? You’re the one who disappears,” you shot back, winking before slipping inside.
You drifted between shelves lined with delicate porcelain, already thinking of how you’d make Leon’s evening a little nicer as a thank-you. He’d handled today surprisingly well – patient, even offering opinions on curtain colors despite clearly seeing no difference between them. Then your eyes landed on a cup. A delicate, hand-painted piece – slightly asymmetrical, with soft glaze pooling in the grooves of fine blue patterns. You couldn’t help yourself. Your hands reached for it before you even fully decided. Leon was right – you had enough. But handmade things were your weakness. And really… would one more make a difference?
You wandered a bit longer, mentally noting which plate sets might fit your kitchen someday – far in the future, of course. At the register, you paid, the cup carefully packed into a small box and paper bag. Stepping back outside, you paused by the display again, leaning in to look at a mug you hadn’t noticed before – covered in little bees and lavender. Cute.
You smiled to yourself, already hearing Leon’s inevitable comment.
Then you felt it – a firm hand on your hip, a solid presence behind you, warmth near your ear.
“Leon! Not here–” you laughed instinctively, surprised at the boldness.
“We can move somewhere more private, pretty thing,” came a rough voice.
Your stomach dropped. That wasn’t Leon.
You turned sharply. A stranger stood there, clearly out of it, a stupid grin on his face. Two more hovered nearby.
“Don’t touch me,” you said firmly, knocking his hand away and stepping back.
He didn’t back off. His gaze dragged over you, slow and disgusting.
“Why so tense, pretty? You looked like you were asking for it. I can take care of you better than your boyfriend.”
Laughter behind him.
“I said leave me alone,” you snapped, moving to pass him – only to be grabbed roughly by the wrist and yanked back. The force made you drop the bag. Porcelain shattered against the pavement. His breath hit your face – stale, foul.
Adrenaline surged, your pulse roaring in your ears.
“You stick your ass out and now you’re playing hard to get?” he sneered, lifting your wrist, holding you in place.
You forced yourself to think. Fast. One good kick–
You didn’t get the chance.
The man vanished from in front of you. You had to turn your head to see him slam into the pavement, face-first.
Leon stood where he’d been, already between you and the others.
“Get him!” one of them shouted, rushing him.
The swing was wide and sloppy. Leon stepped aside before it landed, caught his wrist mid-motion, and twisted – sharp and sudden. The man folded, his arm wrenched behind his back as Leon forced him down onto the pavement, cheek pressed harshly against the ground. Leon glanced at the third one – who immediately backed off, muttering and retreating.
You stood frozen, trying to process what had just happened, feeling like you hadn’t even managed to blink. Leon moved in complete silence, his expression tight, his movements controlled and precise.
When the first man who had grabbed you started to push himself up with a groan, Leon was on him in an instant. He grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him up. You saw blood running from his nose and mouth as Leon lifted him, and you were almost certain he spat two teeth onto the ground.
Holding him firmly, Leon dragged him a few steps along the sidewalk and hissed through clenched teeth:
“Apologize to her.” his voice cold, commanding.
The man looked at you, dazed, coughing up blood. You noticed Leon’s grip on his shirt was so tight his knuckles had gone white, lifting him so high that his knees weren’t even touching the ground anymore – hovering inches above the pavement.
Not out of reflection, but fear, you heard him mutter a slurred “sorry, we were just messing around.”
After that, Leon threw him aside and didn’t look at him again. He immediately turned to you.
“You okay?” he managed, grabbing your face with both hands and scanning you for any sign of injury.
His eyes were wide, panicked. His breathing heavy, and you knew it wasn’t from exertion. You grabbed his wrists, exhaling slowly, still trying to process what had just happened.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, catching a glimpse of the man with the broken nose pulling himself up and stumbling away.
“Are you hurt?” Leon continued, this time taking your hand and running his thumb over the bruise forming on your wrist, left from the way you’d been grabbed. His brows were deeply furrowed, his jaw clenched – and you saw it tighten even more as he looked over your hands.
“No, Leon…”
“I saw him touch you. If I’d been a second later…” he cut himself off. When it hit him, you saw him swallow hard. He moved his hands to your ribs, holding you like letting go might make you fall apart.
Even though you were scared, you tried your best not to show it. The entire situation had lasted only seconds, but seeing Leon like this frightened you more than the men who had approached you. You saw the fury in him, one he was barely holding back. When your eyes moved over his frame, you noticed he was trembling slightly.
“I had it handled,” you continued calmly, “I was about to kick him in the balls.”
But it didn’t seem to work on him. He pulled his hands back, stepped away, and glanced over his shoulder as if checking whether anyone else was nearby – aside from the confused passersby. He rubbed his face, fingers pressing in like he was trying to reset himself.
“I shouldn’t have left,” he said flatly, coldly, more to himself than to you.
For a moment, you didn’t see Leon – you saw the agent. The one from missions. Tense posture, alert gaze scanning the surroundings, movements precise and controlled. Except this version of him was unraveling because of you; something that mattered more to him than any mission, something that outweighed everything else.
You knew that if you didn’t pull him back now, he’d sink deeper into guilt – and you didn’t want that. You closed the distance and grabbed the edges of his jacket, tugging slightly just to get his attention – there was no way you could physically move him otherwise.
“Seriously. One more second and he’d have had trouble walking.”
His gaze stayed lowered, fists clenched.
“Leon.” You waited until he finally looked at you. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”
His eyes met yours – shaken, guilty.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled his forehead to yours. You stood like that for a moment, feeling his breathing slowly steady. Your touch always worked.
“Let’s go home.”
“Yeah.”
You kissed his cheek, then let him pick up the bags he had dropped when he saw you.
You bent down for your own purchase – only now realizing the cup was in pieces.
“My cup…” you muttered, peering into the bag, confirming there was nothing left to save.
Leon stepped up beside you, both hands full of shopping bags.
“Come on.”
You thought he meant the car.
Instead, he walked up to the shop and pressed his shoulder into the door, pushing it open. He stood in the doorway, holding it for you, nodding with his chin for you to go inside.
***
You placed two new cups and a set of plates into the trunk – something Leon would normally complain about, yet this time he had been the one to press them into your hands. You didn’t object. One, because you could never resist beautiful porcelain. Two, because you knew he needed even a small sense of control back after what had happened.
You were glad he had calmed down a bit, seeing your excitement again as you moved between shelves of your favorite things, reassuring him without words that you were okay.
His hand stayed on your thigh the entire drive home, his fingers intertwined with yours. He was holding you a little too tightly. You talked about waiting for a warm, sunny day so you could sit on the terrace and drink coffee from your new floral cups.
“Leon? It’s green,” you said softly when you noticed he still hadn’t moved.
He turned his head toward you just as a horn sounded behind you. He flinched and pulled forward too quickly, tires briefly squealing. He was still somewhere else. Still scanning – mirrors, surroundings, everything.
“I should’ve–” he started, but let out a breath and didn’t finish, shaking his head slightly.
“Hey. I’m right here,” you interrupted, trying to cut through the spiral in his head. “You can stop buying me the entire store now.”
This time you gently squeezed his hand, feeling the tension slowly leave his grip.
***
You moved around the kitchen, preparing batter for blueberry muffins, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting through the air as it filled the space. Leon had disappeared into the bedroom a while ago to tighten the bed frame. You hummed under your breath as you poured the batter into the molds. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leon leaning in the kitchen doorway, shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was warm, though slightly distant, lost in thought.
“Come here, what are you waiting for?” you smiled, holding your arms out for him.
“Didn’t want to startle you,” he said calmly, but seeing you were clearly waiting, he pushed himself off the frame and walked over. There was a faint, almost shy smile on his face, his brows slightly furrowed – you knew why.
You pressed yourself against him, his body large, warm – and still a little tense. His hands settled on your back, stroking gently, his nose brushing into your hair as he breathed you in, grounding himself. You wrapped your arms around him too, slipping both hands into the back pockets of his sweatpants, pulling him closer against you.
“Bed fixed?” you asked, tilting your head up, brushing your nose against his chin.
“Yeah. Ready for us to break it again.”
You let out a quiet laugh, reluctantly pulling away when the oven beeped. You slid the tray of muffins inside. Leon leaned back against the counter, watching you in silence.
“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that,” he said quietly, his tone shifting.
“But I didn’t. You were there,” you answered immediately, sincere, without hesitation, turning to him. “Lower your head.”
A little thrown off, he did as you said, leaning down. You cupped his face, brushing both thumbs over his brows before pressing a slow, lingering kiss between them.
“Don’t frown.”
He let out a quiet, low chuckle. Then he dropped his head further, resting his forehead against your shoulder, arms hanging loosely at his sides in a rare gesture of surrender. You were glad that after all these years, you’d learned exactly how to disarm him, how to calm him down.
“...Well, at least we’ve got enough plates for the next ten years.”
“I still dream of one more cup, you know? The one with the bees.”
“No.” His hands were already on your hips.
“What if I win it?”
He lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at you suspiciously. “How?”
You reached past him, grabbing a few blueberries left over from baking. Rolling one between your fingers, you stepped back a few paces. “If you catch them, we don’t buy it. If you miss, even once – I get it next time.”
Without waiting for his answer, you tossed one at him. He dipped slightly at the knees and caught it in his mouth, giving you an unimpressed look.
“You’re cheating.”
You didn’t respond – just threw another, higher and to the side this time. Leon shifted with it, tilting his head, the berry bouncing off his nose before dropping neatly into his mouth anyway.
“Okay, last one. If you miss, I win.”
This time you gave him a moment. You saw him adjust his stance, legs slightly apart, knees bent, cracking his knuckles as he focused entirely on your hand.
You wound up – and then casually tossed the berry behind you. It disappeared out of sight, somewhere toward the living room.
You snorted, seeing his expression as he slowly straightened, shaking his head in warning.
“You’re getting old, big boy. Zero reflex,” you laughed, clearly pleased with yourself. But when Leon – unfazed – started walking toward you slowly, you immediately reconsidered and turned to bolt for the living room.
He followed.
You shot out of the kitchen, barely managing to slow down as you veered toward the couch, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. He caught it midair and tossed it aside. There was a predator’s smile on his face. Instinctively, you grabbed another, jumping onto the couch and holding it up in surrender.
Just as expected, Leon ripped that one out of your hands too and tossed it away – then dropped his full weight onto you, pinning you beneath him. Before you could react, you were flattened under his broad, muscular frame. You squealed helplessly for a moment before managing to free your arms and wrap them around his neck, pulling his head down, pressing his cheek against yours.
Leon went still, waiting for your next move, but you stayed exactly like that, unmoving.
“Trying to put me in a hold, or…?” he rumbled.
“I don’t know…” you replied in a mock-offended tone.
He lifted his head with ease, looking down at you. For the first time in hours, there was something softer in his eyes – pure fondness, a flicker of amusement.
“You’re lucky, Mrs. Kennedy, that I have a soft spot for you…” he murmured, brushing a kiss to the corner of your lips, making you smile instantly. “But you’ll have to try harder if you want to have me wrapped around your finger.”
“I don’t need new techniques, mister. You know I’ve got you without using force,” you shot back, raising a brow, a smug smile tugging at your lips.
“Oh… right,” he said slowly, shifting slightly so he wouldn’t crush you. He kissed your cheek, then your neck, then both of your collarbones. When you tried to grab his hand, he was quicker – capturing yours and pressing quick kisses from your wrist up to your arm.
“Leon… what are you–”
“Worshipping my wife,” he answered simply, not stopping. When he finished with your arm, his kisses turned aimless – your temple, your nose, your chin, never in any pattern – while his other hand poked teasingly at your stomach, making you squirm and laugh beneath him.
“Ow, at least take the screwdriver out, you’re jabbing me,” you said between laughs when he tugged lightly at your earlobe with his teeth.
“That’s not a screwdriver.”
Of course it wasn’t.
“Seriously–” you started, but couldn’t keep a straight face.
“What can I say? You’ve got me wrapped around your finger,” he murmured into the crook of your neck, taking your hand and guiding it down along his chest and stomach.
As much as you were enjoying this spontaneous moment, you knew exactly how this usually ended – last time it meant a burned dinner and airing out the kitchen for an hour.
“Hey, we need to keep an eye on the muffins…” you tried to remind him, though there was no real resistance in your voice. The warmth of his breath and his mouth on your skin was more than enough to make you want more. Obviously, he could unravel you just as easily – you just weren’t about to admit that out loud. He’d use it against you. Like he didn’t already.
“You just put them in. We’ve got time. Give me ten minutes,” his hand slipping under your shirt, spreading over your stomach.
“Oh? Efficient. You sure that’s enough time?” you teased, your finger hooking absentmindedly into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Sweetheart, I meant for me,” he replied, then, as if considering it, added, “for you… I’d need five. Max.”
Feigning offense, you smacked his shoulder with your free hand. “You don’t know that–”
Before you could finish, your pants were already halfway down your thighs.
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