¡ ᴚ∀I˥

he adjusts the front of his suit shirt, tucks it back under the belt. hand spreading across his chest plate. if only to occupy his hands for a moment. then allen dares to.... add more words.

the captain over there huffs, pointing index at him like he's about to scold a child. what did i just fucking say? and laughter erupts from him, full bodied and loud. he doesn't even care that others in the store stop and stare at him like he's insane, or simply smile due to his present company. his turn to wipe laughter tears from his eyes. did you fucking pick a bottle yet so we can bounce?

not anything really worth their time, though he does pluck one of the three bottles he finally grabbed while he, captain vought, had been otherwise occupied. it was decent, a six year vintage and red, a warm cabernet. a better choice from his cheap pinot. the others in the basket range slightly, but this one ... this one is their choice of the night.

every inhale causing a wheeze, every inhale being able to take less and less oxygen into him. if this was it. lower lip quivering than he would go out having allen be the last thing he sees. not the way, his haunted face looked in the mirror. the door opening causes every bit of strength he has left to dissipate from him.

he can't breathe. and just as allen is about to try and help him, pull him inside his apartment and find a way, whatever way, to do what he can ... leon crumples forward, his body no longer willing to keep him upright, and not even sheer strength could keep him from falling forward into him. allen did his best to adjust, arms out and taking fistfuls of what he can of his armored suit he's still in, gathering him in but his own strength isn't enough to keep them both from falling to the floor. not anymore.

“ not like this... hey! ” soft but stern, trying to get him to rise or stir or do anything. please, not like this. he deserves better than this. this can't be the last time, he can't fucking die here and not like this. not when he fought for so much. a groan when he tries to move himself, barely wiggling them both enough to move out of the door so he can slam it shut with a bare foot. okay allen, you have to be smart about this.

carefully, he moves them both so that he can adjust and lift himself to his knees. he has no idea of this is going to work but he also knows that he has to try. with as much force as he can muster, he moves to let leon drape across his back, holding one arm around his neck to keep him stable as he walks -- well, half drags them both to the bedroom.

a knot twists in his chest, and his stomach churns when he tires to think: what the fuck is happening? influx of anxiety is not usually a thing that happens to him, but tonight ...

banging on the door pulls him from that thought. jesus fucking christ! if his heart could jump out of his chest, it would. and allen does his to compose himself, picking the needle up from the record as he walks by it to the door. allen doesn't even look to see who the hell it could be at this hour. a simple chain is all that separates him and the rest of this suped-world and it falls, the lock tumbling before he pulls the door open and, right before he's about to scold someone for how fucking late it is ...

public spaces be damned as he steps closer to him just out of reach of pressing to his back. but his presence was there, his warmth was emanating from him. allen knew how close he was. he brings his other hand up to the other shoulder. hums, about to open his mouth again when...

"c-c-captain vought?"

it takes all will power to respond in that moment. a little boy about perhaps eight years old with what leon assumes is his older sister. "hi, will you sign his action figure?" glances to allen for a moment, i'll get back to you on that. “wha─── of couse i'll do that. bring it on over, c'mon don't be shy.” he squats all the way down to the kids level and takes the sharpie.. convenient.. but he flips the small likeness of himself over in his hands. made his nose a little too big but... whatever. he signs the inside of the small jacket; will keep better that way.

and by some miracle, maybe he's feeling generous, he gives both of children a big hug. then rising after they headed back to their mom. she smiles at him, "thank you." “ah it was no trouble. cute kids.” "thank you" she says again, "and thank you for your service." salutes her as she moves to round the aisle with her kids in tow.

but he does one better and moves closer to him. not nearly enough to sate his desire, but again ... public having their eyes on him is risk enough. its already a miracle he hasn't been mobbed standing in the liquor aisle with him or at all. a miracle that he can stand this close to him and --- c-c-captain vought?

the voice that calls to him is small, quiet like a child. allen blinks his eyes open to see them, both of them, boy and a girl. quietly they ask him for a signature, the little boy holding his very obviously loved action figure up to his hero. its enough to damn near melt his heart, especially so when leon brings himself lower to the boys level and signs with care along the jacket lining of the famed crusader. its precious, the whole thing. watching them gleam with excitement, giggle when they turn back after their hugs and run to their mother that thanks him. ah it was no trouble. cute kids.

allen did his best to move along the aisle, smiling back at them every once in a while to see him. there was innocence there, a kindness in him that perhaps he made a point to show. something the child in him never received and wished to give. perhaps. but once leon had finally returned to him: not a single fucking word.