#chreonweek2026

Chris is a Mechanical Engineering senior and apparently the campus golden boy. Also… Well, according to university rumors, he's a prolific playboy. Leon accidentally caught his eye one day, and for weeks, the senior has been pestering him for dates. And for weeks also he had been actively avoiding him. Leon was absolutely sure the senior was just looking for another notch on his bedpost.

But today, Leon's luck ran out.

A broad shadow fell over him, blocking his path near the lockers. Leon looked up to find Chris leaning against the wall with a bright and eager smile already plastered across his face.

"Hey, Leon," Chris greeted, his deep voice entirely too cheerful for a Tuesday afternoon.

Leon’s jaw tightened, an immediate wave of annoyance washing over him as he adjusted his grip on the heavy books, refusing to break his stride. "Redfield. I'm late for a seminar.”

Chris easily fell into step beside him, his long legs matching Leon’s rushed pace without breaking a sweat. "I'll be quick, promise. Do you have time tonight? I wanted to take you out for dinner.”

Leon didn't even blink. "Can't. I have a mock trial orientation tonight."

"The orientation?" Chris tilted his head, a knowing, infuriatingly and certainly non threatening smirk on his lips. "I thought that wasn't until next Tuesday. Heard it from a friend— she's one of the student coordinators for the law department, actually.”

Leon paused mid-step and glared. The man had a terrifyingly vast information network. It's annoying. "Fine. I'm planning to study in the library. I'm behind on contract law.”

"Oof, bad news for you. The library closes early tonight for pest control. They found termites, and Madam Carla wasn't happy about it," Chris countered smoothly. "But if you need a quiet space, the engineering computer lab is open 24/7. I can get you a guest pass, and we can grab food right after."

Leon ground his teeth, trying one last, desperate defense. "I don't have the cash to spend on whatever… overpriced, loud restaurants you seniors often like to show off."

"My treat," Chris shot back instantly, completely unfazed. "I've already got the whole evening planned and taken care of. No strings attached. I just want a few hours of your time, Leon.”

Leon just stared at him. Every single excuse had been systematically dismantled with frustrating precision. He was cornered, and he knew it. If he didn't say yes now, Chris was going to find a loophole in his entire weekly schedule.

Fine, Leon thought, his inner cynical law student taking over. The plan is simple. Endure one loud, arrogant evening, let the playboy show off his flashy ride, and then reject him so thoroughly he finally leaves me alone.

"Fine," Leon snapped, fixing Chris with his coldest look. "One dinner. That's it."

Chris’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees, oblivious to how Leon looked at him. He desperately tried to clamp down on the massive, goofy smile that wanted to burst across his face, biting his lower lip to keep his composure. He cleared his throat, trying, but failing to sound like a smooth, casual senior he is.

"Alright, then. I'll pick you up at your dorm tonight at eight. Don't back out."

Before Leon could change his mind or offer a sarcastic retort, Chris gave an enthusiastic wave and practically floated down the hallway. Leon watched him go, shaking his head in sheer exasperation.

Eight o'clock, he thought bitterly. Get ready for a disaster.

Leon spent the rest of the afternoon entirely checked out of his lectures, his mind frustratingly occupied by the impending disaster of this so-called date.

When he finally got back to his room, he stared at his closet with a heavy sigh. He really, really didn't want to go, and he certainly didn't want to give Chris Redfield the impression that he’d put any effort into dressing up. But Leon had his pride. He's a future lawyer. Looking sloppy or unkempt simply wasn’t an option, even if the goal was a mutual, burning bridge by the end of the night.

He put away his favorite hoodies and pulled out a well fitted dark jacket, throwing it over a clean white t-shirt and dark jeans. It's simple, sharp, and perfectly acceptable. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes, checked his reflection one last time to make sure he looked suitably indifferent, and waited.

At exactly 7:58 PM, his phone buzzed.

Annoying Senior: Hey, I'm downstairs by the front gate. No rush!

Leon stared at the screen, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Right. Let's get this over with.

Stepping out into the crisp evening air, Leon adjusted his collar and scanned the driveway, steeling himself for the inevitable roar of a sports car or a needlessly loud motorcycle.

The driveway was empty. Instead, he found Chris waiting on foot.

The senior was dressed neatly in clean jeans and a tucked in shirt. He didn't look like a slick playboy (maybe a little), he looked unusually disciplined, pacing a slow, deliberate line on the sidewalk with squared shoulders. Chris looked more like a man preparing for a formal job interview than a campus date.

But the truth is, Chris was just trying to keep his composure. He really had originally planned to pick Leon up properly, but he forgot that his car's dynamo had given out the day before, leaving the car stranded at a local repair shop. He was frustrated by the bad timing, wishing he could have made a smoother first impression, but he was determined not to let it ruin the night.

Meanwhile, Leon’s brows furrowed in confusion. The lack of a flashy entrance threw him completely off balance. Feeling the sudden need to regain control, he stepped out of the shadows and fell back on his sharpest defense mechanism.

He crossed his arms, a sarcastic smirk touching his lips. "Where's the flashy ride, Redfield? Trying to save on gas?”

Chris turned, his expression instantly melting into a warm, genuine smile. "Leon. Hey." He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint flush rising on his cheeks before he recovered his easygoing charm. "Uh, no ride tonight. It's actually at the repair shop. But the restaurant is only ten minutes away through the park, and… it’s a really nice night. Figured the walk would be good?"

Leon’s sharp instincts immediately picked up on the slight stiffness in the senior's posture. It was a subtle shift from his usual effortless hallway swagger. Still, Leon let his arms drop and nodded. "Alright. Lead the way.”

As they set off down the sidewalk, Chris adjusted his pace to match Leon's, keeping his eyes firmly on the path. He was hyper aware of how quiet Leon was, silently hoping that a ten minute walk through a dark park wouldn't feel like a chore to a guy who had barely agreed to come out with him in the first place.

Around them, the warm amber glow of old streetlights has washed the campus square, casting a long soft shadow across the concrete. It makes the university buildings look almost romantic. Despite the soft atmosphere, Leon kept his guard up, waiting for the slick pickup lines to start. But Chris just walked beside him, leaving a respectful amount of space between them.

Though in reality, Chris was fighting a losing battle with his own mind. He was desperately trying to summon the same iron clad confidence he had used to corner Leon in the hallway earlier that afternoon. He kept opening his mouth to initiate a cool, casual conversation. Something to prove he was a capable senior who had everything under control like he usually is, only for his brain to short circuit. He was so utterly consumed by the fear of messing up his one shot that he didn't even realize they were walking in total, agonizing silence.

Leon wasn't about to throw him a lifeline either. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets, perfectly content to let the older man stew in his own awkwardness. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Chris repeatedly opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and darted his eyes frantically down the path.

Surprisingly, the silence wasn't tense. It was just... quiet, anchored by the rhythmic sound of their footsteps. However, it didn't last long.

As they passed a row of concrete benches, a group of disheveled sophomores buried under a mountain of textbooks looked up, their stressed faces immediately brightening the moment they spotted the senior.

"Hey, Chris!" one of them called out, waving a highlighter. "Those notes you gave us on thermodynamics? Absolute lifesaver, man. We think we can actually pass the midterm now!”

Chris didn't break his stride, but he slowed down just enough to flash an easy smile and a thumbs-up. "Glad to hear it, guys. Keep at it. Just don't let Professor Birkin catch you slacking on the lab reports.”

He didn't linger to bask in their praise. The moment they cleared the benches, Chris turned his attention right back to Leon. The unexpected interruption seemed to have broken his nervous paralysis, and he let out a small, self deprecating chuckle. "Sorry about that. Midterm season makes everyone a little crazy around here.”

Leon watched him closely. In the cutthroat world of law school, Leon saw how freshmen actively prayed for their peers' downfall to protect the grading curve. Seeing a senior hand out lifelines to underclassmen was bizarre to him.

Curiosity won out, and Leon broke his own rule by initiating a conversation for the first time all night. "Do you do that often?"

Chris blinked. "Do what?"

"Hand out your engineering notes like candy," Leon said, his tone dry but lacking its earlier bite. "Most seniors I know treat their notes like state secrets."

"Oh. I mean, sometimes," Chris said, rubbing the back of his neck, though his posture relaxed a bit now that they were finally talking. "Thermodynamics is a nightmare if you're tackling it alone. I had a really tough time with it sophomore year, and a senior helped me pull through. I figured... I don't know, it just feels wrong to watch people drown when you already know how to swim."

Leon stayed quiet for a moment, processing the answer. He had expected an arrogant humble-brag. Instead, Chris was just being incredibly earnest.

As they continued walking, the conversation naturally began to drift. Leon brought up a particularly grueling case study he'd been reading, fully expecting the engineering major's eyes to glaze over. To his surprise, Chris actually listened. He asked genuine questions about how it works and even gave some of his insight.

Leon found himself talking more than he had intended, realizing that Chris wasn't actually that bad to have a conversation with. Despite his initial annoyance and his absolute certainty that he was going to hate every second of this date, the heavy, defensive walls he'd built up were starting to feel a little unnecessary now.

As they were nearing the edge of the square, the atmosphere shifted to rowdy weekend energy. A loud group of students emerged from a side path, hauling beach blankets and a bag of charcoal.

"Redfield! Yo, Captain!" the leader shouted, hoisting a cooler box onto his shoulder. "We’re heading down to the pier for a bonfire. You in, man? Saved the prime spot by the water for ya!”

Chris didn't even hesitate. Before the loud group could crowd them, he stepped closer to Leon, placing a light, protective hand near the small of Leon’s back. He didn't actually touch him, but his hand hovering close enough to smoothly guide Leon past the crowd and shield him from stray beach gear.

"Not tonight, guys," Chris called back, his voice firm but polite. "I’m actually in the middle of a date."

"Damn! Good luck, Captain!"

The group went dead silent. A dozen pairs of eyes darted from Chris's defensive stance straight to Leon’s sharp face. Then, the realization clicked, and they erupted in a chorus of obnoxious cheers and whistles.

"Don't mess it up, Chris! You’re finally doing it!”

One of them grinned, calling out a bit too loudly. "Man, he’s been talking about asking him out for months! Finally I don't need to hear him whining again"

Chris didn't freeze or drop his hand in a panic, but a deep flush crept rapidly up his neck, coloring the tips of his ears. He let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking his head as the group drifted away.

"Those guys talk way too much," Chris said sheepishly, looking down at Leon. His blue eyes, however, remained completely steady. "Don't mind them. They're good guys, they just... well, they knew how much I wanted tonight to go well.

Leon didn't say a word. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets, his poker face flawlessly blank.

Behind that mask, however, the "playboy" rumor he heard about Chris had just shattered into a million pieces. Hearing that the popular senior had been openly talking about him to his friends changed everything. Chris wasn't a calculated player, he was just a stubborn, genuine guy who wore his heart entirely on his sleeve.

Leon let out a soft laugh, the last of his tension draining away. "It's fine, Redfield. Though, it clears up a few things. You know the campus gossip columns say you're a prolific playboy, right? I thought I was just the flavor of the week this time”

Chris stopped walking. He turned to Leon, blinking in absolute shock before letting out a breathless laugh. "A playboy? Me? Are you kidding?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I play rugby, and our team hosts a lot of mixers. I have a lot of friends who happen to be girls, so I guess the freshmen see me talking to people in the quad and invent a whole romance novel about it. But a playboy? I haven't even been on a proper date in a year.”

He stepped a bit closer, his voice dropping into something much softer. "Besides... if I were a playboy, do you really think I would have spent months taking your rejections on the chin just to get one dinner with you?”

Leon caught his breath, his smirk faltering under the sheer weight of Chris's sincerity.

A faint warmth crept up Leon's own neck. He cleared his throat, turning back to the path to hide the small smile threatening to break his composure. "Alright. Fair point, Captain. Come on, you still owe me dinner.”

Chris’s shoulders dropped in profound relief, a bright grin replacing his panic. "Right this way.”

The restaurant Chris had chosen was a charming, quiet little bistro just past the edge of the park.

For the first ten minutes, things went to plan and it was perfect. They sat in a cozy corner booth under dimmed lighting, they ordered drinks and now waited for their appetizers. The initial awkwardness was melting away, and Chris was finally relaxing, laughing as Leon dryly recounted a bizarre debate from his class.

Then, Chris’s meticulously planned evening goes wrong.

It started with the sharp scent of burning smoke drifting from the kitchen. Before Leon could even point it out, a thick plume of gray smoke seeped through the service doors, followed instantly by the deafening shriek of the fire alarms.

The dining room erupted into a panicked frenzy of scraping chairs and people shouting.

Leon blinked, his mind immediately trying to look for the nearest exit through the crushing crowd, but before the stress could hit his system, a firm weight settled over his shoulders.

Chris had moved with terrifying speed. In a fraction of a second, the clumsy, blushing senior vanished, replaced by someone entirely grounded and focused.

"Hey, look at me," Chris said, his deep voice cutting cleanly through the noise. He kept his large hands steady on Leon’s shoulders, shielding him from a rushing waiter. "We're completely fine. Main exit is clogged up, so we’re taking the side fire doors. Stay right behind me, okay?”

Fascinated by the sudden shift, Leon nodded his head. Keeping his broad frame positioned between Leon and the crowd, Chris guided him smoothly through the smoky room, pushed open the heavy metal exit doors, and led them out into the cool, safe expanse of the alleyway.

Minutes later, they were standing on the grassy edge of the park, watching two fire trucks pull up. The fire was small, mostly grease smoke from the kitchen vents, but the restaurant was done for the night.

Chris stood looking at the flashing red lights and let out a long, thoroughly defeated sigh. The broad shoulders that had just flawlessly navigated an evacuation slumped in sheer misery.

"I'm so sorry, Leon," Chris muttered, staring at his shoes. "The one night I finally get you to say yes, and the restaurant literally catches fire. How great…”

Leon watched him, an incredibly amused smile breaking across his face. He didn't get mad or annoyed. Instead, he walked over and gently bumping his shoulder against Chris's. "Well, Captain, you told me this afternoon that you had the whole evening planned out. So what's the plan now?”

Chris blinked. Seeing the playful glint in the freshman's eyes, the crushing defeat in his chest eased just a fraction. His brain kicked into overdrive, scanning the dark campus perimeter.

"Let's see…" A sudden spark hit his eyes. "Oh, yeah. Follow me. There's a night market by the south campus that should still be roaring right now."

La foila! Five minutes later, they were fully immersed in the chaotic, vibrant energy of the campus night market.

The dizzying blend of savory Japanese takoyaki, sweet Korean fried chicken, and smoky barbecue filled the air. On top of their head, strings of warm light bulbs stretched between the trees, casting a festive golden glow over sizzling flat tops and crowds of laughing students.

Chris walked through the crowd with practiced ease, carving out a clear path for Leon. He didn't know what Leon would like, so he order some variation of food. A mountain of steaming Chinese bao buns, crispy chicken skewers, and a plate of gyoza. While also stubbornly refusing to let Leon even touch his wallet.

With no open standing tables left near the center, Chris managed to scout out an empty stone bench near the edge of the quad. They sat down under the amber light of a streetlamp. It was only then that the physical reality of the evacuation caught up to Chris.

He looked down and realized his nice, clean shirt was smudged with dark soot from the fire doors. Worse, the cool evening breeze brought with it the unmistakable stench of kitchen grease clinging heavily to his hair and clothes. It's unromantic.

He felt entirely unpresentable. Desperate for a distraction from his own self-loathing, Chris cracked open a cold drink, offered Leon a pair of chopsticks, and forced a self-deprecating grin. "I know it's not exactly the date you thought I was going to force you into. But hey... it’s lively, and there's dozens of varieties of food, and it’s completely fire-free.”

Leon took the chopsticks, looking from the street food to the massive, anxious senior. Between the playboy rumors, the kitchen fire, and sitting under fairy lights, there was a lot to process. Instead of speaking, Leon just gave a quiet, noncommittal hum, keeping his expression entirely neutral.

Chris swallowed hard. Oh, man, his brain screamed. He hates it. He wanted a nice dinner, and I dragged him to a loud, chaotic student market.

Wanting to fix the mood, Chris quickly picked up his own chopsticks. But as he tried to pinch a crispy gyoza, the slippery dumpling shot out of his grip, flipped through the air, and landed face-down on his thigh, leaving a bright streak of soy sauce across his clean jeans.

Chris froze in utter horror. He grabbed a napkin and frantically dabbed at his leg, his ears burning a fierce, agonizing crimson. "I’m sorry. I swear I actually know how to use chopsticks. My hands are just... yeah...”

Leon paused with a bao bun halfway to his mouth. He watched the massive rugby captain completely overthinking over a stray dumpling, stubbornly pressing his lips together to keep his amusement hidden.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Desperate to break the quiet, Chris forced a weak chuckle. "Well... at least it’s just sauce. I guess we should be glad the restaurant's ceiling sprinklers didn't go off, right? Otherwise we’d both be soaked.”

Leon just blinked. Seeing no reaction, Chris's internal panic spiked. His brain automatically defaulted to his academic comfort zone. "Because, uh, you know, they're actually heat-activated, not smoke-activated. The liquid inside the glass bulb has to reach to some degree to expand and shatter the seal, so the dining room stayed dry because the fire was only in the kitchen, and—”

He stopped dead, profound defeat washing over his face. He closed his mouth, staring miserably at the pavement. I'm lecturing a law freshman on fire sprinkler fluid dynamics while covered in soot and dumpling sauce. He must think I'm an absolute freak.

Leon quietly swallowed his food. Seeing the sheer panic in the senior’s eyes, he decided to throw him a lifeline— without giving away exactly how much he was actually enjoying himself.

"Hey," Leon said softly. He reached over, using his chopsticks to cleanly pick up a chicken skewer, and offered it to Chris. "Stop overthinking it, Captain. Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

Chris looked up, blinking at the offering. Leon’s face was unreadable, but the gesture was everything. A shy, sheepish smile finally returned to Chris's face as he took it. "Right. Thanks.”

As they shared the rest of the food under the warm glow of the market, the conversation finally began to flow. Leon asked quiet questions about the rugby team, and Chris answered enthusiastically, though the earlier heavy silences still weighed on his mind. Every time Leon went quiet to listen, Chris assumed he was just being polite, mentally tallying his blunders and convincing himself the night was a total failure.

By the time they walked back to Leon’s dorm, the campus was quiet. Chris walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and head bowed down. He looked like a man marching to the gallows.

They stopped at the base of the concrete dorm steps. Chris swallowed hard. "Look, Leon... I know I was really persistent about asking you out—” He abruptly cut himself off, his eyes darting past Leon’s shoulder.

Before Leon could even ask what was wrong, the senior suddenly bolted. Leon blinked in utter bewilderment, turning around just in time to see Chris sprint full speed toward a disheveled looking guy in a hoodie on a bicycle. Chris practically tackled him, aggressively snatched a neatly wrapped bouquet of flowers from his hands, and pointed a stern, warning finger at him.

The hooded guy merely raised his hands in defense, gave a tired thumbs-up, and slowly pedaled away into the darkness.

Chris marched back to the steps, chest heaving, holding out the slightly wilted bouquet like a peace offering.

Leon stared at the flowers, then up at Chris's face, entirely thrown off balance by what he saw for the last thirty seconds. "What... was that?"

Chris let out a weak, deeply defeated laugh, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. "That was my roommate, Piers," he mumbled, refusing to make eye contact. "I... I bought these this afternoon. I wanted to give them to you before the date. But then I remember my car broke down, and I got stressed, and I forgot it in my room. I guess he saw it and came looking for me.”

He took a slow, deep breath, his broad shoulders slumping.

"I know tonight was a total disaster," Chris said, his voice dropping into a quiet, vulnerable register. "I'm not as smooth as I probably looked in the hallways. I'm sorry for being such a mess. If you want me to leave you alone after this... I get it.”

Leon looked at the flowers, and then at the honest blue eyes bracing for rejection.

The sheer, ridiculous effort of it all. From the broken car, the fire, the nervous lecturing, and now a roommate dispatched on a bicycle to deliver a forgotten bouquet. It all flooded Leon’s chest with a sudden, overwhelming wave of affection.

Taking a deliberate step up onto the first concrete stair, Leon bridged the height gap. Before Chris could process the movement, Leon leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right to his cheek.

Chris froze, his eyes widening, breath catching in his throat.

Stepping back, Leon smoothly took the bouquet from Chris's loosened grip. A playful, wicked glint danced in his eyes.

"You're a terrible playboy, Redfield," he murmured. "But you're a great senior.”

Leon turned and walked through the heavy glass doors of the dorm. "Text me the date for next time," he called over his shoulder, flashing a brief smile. "Maybe after your car has been repaired.”

Through the tinted lobby doors, Leon paused and looked back at the sidewalk.

Chris Redfield. The stoic, serious engineering senior, the legendary Captain, was currently letting out a silent, ecstatic yell. He threw his arms up in a massive, double-fisted victory pump, followed by a completely uncoordinated, joyous little jump-spin on the pavement. He looked less like a campus golden boy and more like a golden retriever that had just been told it was going to the park.

Leon shook his head, a soft, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he headed toward the stair, clutching the slightly wilted flowers tightly to his chest.

A fond but exasperated sigh escaped Chris. His husband looked utterly pathetic. His hair was a damp mess, his shoulders were slumped into a defeated slouch, and he was staring at the marble countertop as if it had personally offended him somehow. When Leon got like this, he became a walking cloud of dramatic sighs, low grumbles, and a steady stream of petty complaints aimed at anything within sight, especially his husband.

Putting the bar away, Chris stood in the kitchen for a moment, mentally cycling through their options. He needed something fast, heavy, and comforting. “...Pasta. Do you want pasta?” He asked.

“Whatever”

Yup, sounds like a yes to Chris’s ear.

"Pasta it is," Chris said while reaching for a box of spaghetti inside the cabinet. But just a second after he grabbed it, the world suddenly went black.

The hum of the refrigerator died. The oven’s digital clock vanished. The only light left was the occasional thunder through the rain streaked windows.

"You’ve got to be shitting me," Leon groaned into the darkness. Sounding more exasperated than ever.

"Relax," Chris’s voice was calm and steady. "I have a lamp here. Stay put."

Next, there was the sound of a heavy drawer sliding open, followed by a rapid click-click-click as Chris fumbled through the jumble of multi-tools, zip ties, and spare batteries he kept in the kitchen for ‘emergencies.’

Leon let out a frustrated sigh. He didn't need to see to know exactly what Chris was doing. He’d spent enough time around Chris’s obsessive organization to know the exact rattle of that specific drawer. The click-click-click wasn't just a sound, it was the sound of Chris wasting time while Leon’s stomach was currently staging a coup.

"If you don't find a light in the next ten seconds, I’m going to start eating raw egg" Leon grumbled, his voice strained with genuine hanger. Mind you, he was serious with his threat. "I don't care how much you love that headlamp, just hurry up!"

Leon braced himself, anticipating the familiar, blinding surge of LED light. Instead, the lamp gave a pathetic orange flicker before dying back into total, suffocating darkness.

Chris smacked the plastic casing against his palm. Thwack. Thwack. Nothing.

"What the—" Chris grumbled, his voice echoing in the kitchen. “I could have sworn I just changed the batteries last month."

He began rummaging through the drawer again, the sound of metal tools clattering against each other filling the silence. Leon could hear the frustrated rip of cardboard packaging as Chris checked every compartment, but the sound grew increasingly desperate. It became clear that while Chris’s drawer was meticulously sorted, it also suspiciously didn't have any actual working battery that fit its size. Apparently, the Captain had been so busy organizing that he’d forgotten to actually restock.

"Here we go. Captain Preparedness, everyone," Leon sighed, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm as he offered a slow, very enthusiastic round of applause in the dark. "The man who can find a rocket launcher in the middle of a boss fight, but can’t seem to find a single working AAA battery in his own house. Truly, the BSAA is in good hands."

"Shut it, Kennedy," Chris muttered, the drawer slamming shut with a finality that even made Leon wince. "Found the backup. Don't say a word.”

Leon blinked as a blinding beam of light suddenly sliced through the dark. Chris was holding a heavy, military-grade tactical flashlight, using the bright beam to quickly survey the kitchen counters.

Chris stood by the stove, already reaching for the cutting board, but he couldn't effectively chop and hold the light at the same time. So, he turned toward the island, and tossed the heavy metal cylinder across the dark kitchen "Here."

Leon caught it with a practiced, effortless click of his palm against the grip. He didn't move to the stove immediately. He just sat there for a beat, aiming the blinding beam directly at Chris’s back, watching his husband scramble to find the pot for the spaghetti next.

He looked at the heavy flashlight with pure annoyance. He didn’t want to be the support agent, he wanted to be the guy sitting on a stool, eating. But then he remembered the last three days of field rations. Those dry, gritty protein bars, the questionable packets of dehydrated soup, and the MREs— which were edible, sure, but after seventy-two hours, they felt like eating wet cardboard. He needed a proper food.

"If this isn't a five-star meal, you can forget about sharing a bed tonight,” Leon grumbled, his voice thick with frustration.

Chris paused for a fraction of a second, the heavy pot sloshing as he set it down onto the stovetop. He didn't look back, but the way his shoulders tensed suggested that the threat had landed exactly where Leon intended.

"Just focus on the light, please," Chris retorted, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

With the power dead, the stove's electronic igniter was useless. Leon watched as Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out his battered metal lighter, the one he used to light his cigarettes. With a practiced flick of his thumb, the lighter flared to life. Chris brought the live flame right to the edge of the burner, holding it steady before he reached up to twist the stove's knob. The gas caught instantly with a soft, controlled whoosh of blue flame. Even running on fumes, the Captain's muscle memory was flawless.

From the dark, Leon watched the small flame light up his husband's profile. He was exhausted and starving, but seeing Chris work the lighter somehow made his heart skip a beat. There was just something so attractive about the quiet confidence in Chris's hands as he easily handled the small flame. It was just… undeniably hot, okay?

Swallowing down the sudden urge to just wrap his arms around his husband's waist, Leon finally pushed off the cool marble of the island. He needed food, but he also didn't mind being a little closer to the chef.

The moment Leon got closer, the illusion of their spacious kitchen completely vanished. They were two large men standing at almost the same height, fighting to occupy the exact same square footage.

Well, Leon was more of a lean, tactical build, but now he felt like he was being crowded out by a literal tank. Chris was just wider. Broad shoulder, immovable, and apparently convinced that his own personal space extended three feet in every direction.

"Move over, Redfield," Leon muttered, jamming his hip against the counter to secure his spot. "You’re hogging the entire burner."

"I'm the one cooking," Chris retorted. "You’re just the lighting rig. Keep the light steady."

While waiting for the pasta to be in perfect al dente condition, Chris was trying to prep the meat for their makeshift carbonara sauce. His heavy shoulders squared over the knife as he sliced through some leftover thinly sliced pork he’d found hiding in the fridge. Because Leon needed to see what he was illuminating, he pressed right up against Chris’s side, his chest practically flush with Chris's shoulder blade.

It was a constant battle for airspace. Every time Chris drew his elbow back to slice, his elbow cracked right into Leon’s ribs.

"Ow. Watch it," Leon muttered, trying to lean out of range— only for Chris to shift his heavy frame backward to get better angle, stepping right on Leon's foot.

"Son of a—!" Leon hissed. Driven by pure, hangry reflex, his free hand flew up and delivered a sharp, solid punch right against the dense muscle of Chris’s shoulder.

Chris groaned in pain, his shoulder hitching as he instinctively took a step forward to get away from the sudden assault. Thankfully, he kept the chef's knife safely pointed down so he doesn't accidentally hurt anyone.

He glared back over his shoulder. "What the hell, Leon? Don't hover behind me if you don't want to get stepped on."

"You're the one backing up like a semi truck," Leon grumbled, lifting his leg to shake out the throbbing pain.

"Just,” a deep breath, “keep the light steady and a little to the left," Chris grunted, turning back to the pork. "I can't see the cutting board."

Leon stepped back in, determined to prove his competence. He raised the heavy flashlight, holding it perfectly level and steady just inches from Chris’s right ear. The light pierced the darkness, illuminating the pile of meat with the stark, dramatic intensity of an interrogation room.

Leon squinted at the cutting board, his voice dropping into a low deadpan. "Captain, we have a breach of protocol. I’ve got a visual on the target... but that’s just regular, thinly sliced pork. I think, somewhere in Rome, an Italian grandmother just dropped to her knees in horror. This is a culinary war crime."

Chris let out a long, slow breath. His knife paused just above the meat as he tried to maneuver his head around Leon’s rigid forearm. The exhaustion was setting in. His muscles ached, and honestly, the thought of just eating the protein bars and passing out for twelve hours sounded infinitely more appealing than this amateur hour kitchen drama.

For a split second, he stared at Leon’s profile, noticing the way the light softly framed him. He considered just putting the knife down and dragging Leon to bed right then and there and having him for dinner instead. Let the hunger go to hell. But he stop himself. Dealing with a "hangry" Leon was bad, but a "hangry, sleep-deprived, and un-fed" Leon the next morning? That was a recipe for a disaster he wasn't prepared to handle.

"This is what we have in the fridge, Leon," Chris muttered, his voice grave with fatigue. "Field conditions apply. Now back off a little."

"Just ensuring the mission parameters are met," Leon whispered back, entirely serious. "If the Carbonara Police bust down that door, I’m telling them I was just a hostage following orders."

"Shut it," Chris grumbled, adjusting his grip on the pork. "Just keep the light steady. You're hovering.”

Leon adjusted his grip, pivoting the heavy tactical light. He wanted to be helpful though, so he shifted his stance to check on the spaghetti. He tilted the flashlight toward the pot, but he moved too quickly. The intense, military grade light hit the shiny side of the stainless steel pot, and the light bounced straight back at them like a mirror at a flawless, devastating angle.

It was blinding, so to say.

"AGH! FLASHBANG!" Leon yelled. He ditched all tactical composure, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face right into the fabric of Chris’s damp shirt.

The instinct was instantaneous. Chris didn't just stand there, he dropped into a low, defensive crouch, with the knife still clutched in his hand. Because Leon was anchored to his shoulder, he dragged Leon down with him, and now the two of them stumbled into a tangled, breathless heap against the kitchen island.

"Dammit, Leon!" Chris hissed, his eyes watering furiously as he blinked away the harsh, glowing afterimages. "Watch your angles! You're lucky I didn't actually slice something off!"

"My eyes are burning, Redfield!" Leon muffled into Chris's shirt, his voice thick with unadulterated, hangry misery. "The whole room turned into a lighthouse and I’m the primary casualty!"

"Don't aim it at the metal then!" Chris growled, still blinking rapidly. "We’re cooking dinner, not clearing a room!”

The moment they recovered, no one uttered a single word at all. Already too exhausted after everything and just wanted to get this over with.

As the water finally began to boil, the frantic energy shifted. Leon’s arm was clearly starting to ache. The flashlight was heavy, and holding it at a high angle for twenty minutes was a workout in itself.

Without a word, Leon shifted his weight. He leaned his side heavily against Chris’s, resting his forearm directly on Chris’s thick bicep for stability.

In the small, focused circle of light, the heat from the stove and the closeness of their bodies felt grounded. Safe. The storm outside was a world away.

Leon rested his chin on Chris's shoulder, watching the steam rise. Chris slowed his movements, instinctively shielding Leon from the heat as he carefully scooped a ladle of the cloudy, starchy pasta water and stirred it into the makeshift sauce to thicken it. Once it looked right, he grabbed a strainer and dumped the pot, draining the rest of the spaghetti before tossing the hot noodles directly into the pan to coat them. It wasn't a mission anymore, it was just… home.

The food was done. Chris began plating the pasta onto two plates at the kitchen island. The rich, comforting scent of fried pork and melted cheese finally overpowered the smell of wet tactical gear.

Leon still stood there, dutifully holding the flashlight like a torch bearer. "I can't eat like this," he muttered suddenly. "I need two hands for this level of hunger."

He looked around the dark kitchen, his eyes landing on a bottle of water sitting on the counter. An idea suddenly came to his last two brain cells.

He grabbed the bottle, set it onto the island, and placed the tactical flashlight with its bulb-side down directly onto the opening of the bottle.

Chris froze, a serving fork halfway to a plate. He stared at the water bottle, which was now diffusing the flashlight’s beam into a soft, steady, ambient blue glow that perfectly illuminated the kitchen.

He looked at the bottle, then slowly, painfully, looked up at Leon.

"I saw this on the internet once," Leon mumbled, looking slightly sheepish. "Completely forgot until just now. My brain was... occupied."

Chris stared at him, his expression a mix of awe and pure, unadulterated irritation. He wanted to ask why the hell they’d spent twenty minutes headbutting each other in the dark— but the frustration just… vanished. He had spent his last ounce of willpower just getting the food served. He didn't have the energy for a lecture, and he certainly didn't have the energy to stay mad.

Leon seemed to read the shift in Chris's shoulders, waving a hand dismissively. "I know. I'm an idiot. But I'm too tired to think, and you're too tired to lecture. Let’s just eat."

Chris let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension finally leaving his body. The soft blue light makes the kitchen feel almost cozy instead of like a crime scene.

The meal was simple, hot, and exactly what they needed. For a long time, the only sounds were the scraping of forks against plates and the steady rhythm of the rain against the window glass.

"You're a dumbass, Leon," Chris finally grumbled, though his voice was devoid of real heat.

"Yeah," Leon replied softly, his bravado fading now that the adrenaline was gone. He looked at Chris, really looked at him, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he was physically slumping on the stool. "But we're home, aren't we?"

Chris paused, his fork hovering. He watched Leon, whose own eyes were heavy. The mask finally slips to reveal the exhaustion underneath.

"Yeah," Chris said, his voice dropping to a low, rough murmur. "We’re home."

He reached across the island and squeezed Leon’s hand, his fingers brushing against his husband's knuckles in the warm, blue glow. Outside, the storm raged on, but the mission was over. Leon was full, the meal was a success, and Chris was already looking forward to the moment they could drop into bed and just cuddle with each other.