#dad!leon

If there was one thing your family LOVED to do, especially your children, it was playing pranks on your poor husband Leon and introducing him to the new trends that were taking over social media thanks to the younger generations.

Poor guy, most times you felt pity for him.

Leon was the kind of person who occasionally cracked a dad joke that no one but himself (and you 'cause you loved him) chuckled at. He never cared about news that weren't truly important; he didn't care if celebrity X had cheated on their partner or if fashion had changed from skinny jeans to baggy jeans.

He used his phone for the bare minimum; he didn't have stupid social media like TikTok that filled his kids' brains (and yours') with bullshit, and he didn't give a damn about the latest trends and challenges.

Leon was an old man.

So that's why his kids, his own flesh and blood, enjoyed making fun of him. And he just let them do it, most of the time, because he didn't care much, he was used to it. And although he seemed cold and stern, the truth was that the older he got, the more his heart softened for his family. He loved you and them with all his heart.

Leon was your old man.

"Ma, Ma"

It was a day like any other at the Kennedy house. You were in you and your husband's shared room, busy folding the seemingly endless mountain of laundry, when the voices of your son and daughter, Theo and Luna, echoed from the hallway just before they entered the room.

Theo, the oldest, let himself sit on the edge of the bed with a bounce, dangerously close to the freshly folded laundry, while his sister wisely decided to remain standing.

"Theo" you called him in that unmistakable tone that made him immediately stand up.

"Whops, sorry" he chuckled, but not entirely sorry. "Anyway, we want to ask you a favor. It's a new prank"

You stopped your work, giving him an unsurprised look. "If it involves fake blood and heart attacks, you can forget it" you said sternly.

You remember like it was yesterday when that foolish son of yours had the brilliant idea of pretending to have an accident in the bathroom, and you almost had a panic attack seeing that 'gory' scene. Theo thought he'd get a laugh out of it, but all he got were tears from you and a looong lecture from Leon.

Theo and Luna immediately shook their heads at your words, raising their palms. "No, no blood or anything this time, we swear"

You narrowed your eyes for a moment, scrutinizing him closely, and when you saw no trace of a lie, you decided to give him a chance.

"Hmm, let's hear it..." you conceded, as you began folding one of Leon's shirts again.

Theo sat on the edge of the bed again, this time making sure not to wrinkle the clothes under his butt, while Luna rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Okay, so we just watched a video on TikTok and Theo basically has to pretend to, like, snap back at you" she explained, adding even hand gestures to her words.

You furrowed your brows, giving them a confused look. "For the purpose of...?"

Theo smiled playfully, his eyes shining with mischief as he looked up at you. "Just to see how Dad reacts to it" he replied.

Your hands slowly stopped your work, your brows still furrowed as you considered his words. "What do you mean 'to see how Dad reacts?'" you asked them.

Luna positioned herself next to you, her phone already turned on in the palm of her hand and the TikTok app open, then she showed you the screen. "Look"

You shifted your gaze from Leon's shirt to the screen, watching the video. It showed a couple sitting on the couch, and the mother had asked her son for a favor, but he had responded with a snappy "Shut up, Mom!" shouted from the other room. The father had turned to look at his wife in shock, before standing up and marching toward his son, barking out a "Ayo, the hell did you just say??"

Luna turned to look at you enthusiastically. "There are so many more, and they're all hilarious! Every dad has a different reaction!" she said, scrolling each video with her thumb to show you.

You looked back at her, then at Theo, unconvinced. "And what would be, by all means, the point of this prank?"

"Oh come on, Ma" Theo rolled his eyes. "We all know Dad loves you and everything, but we really want to see how he'd react to something like this, okay? What would he do if his 'handsome and purely innocent' son talked back to his wife like that? Would he get angry? Would he not say anything? We want to know"

Luna nodded in agreement.

"Oh oh! And we'd be soo famous! We'll get tons of likes! Women LOVE protective men, i swear!"

You sighed, shaking your head in thought. "All you teenagers think about is likes and shares. I swear, you'll make your father and i go gray before we have to" you muttered, placing your hands on your hips. "Meh, i don't know..."

The two looked at you pleadingly.

"Come on, Mom!" -Luna

"It's completely innocent! And there won't even be fake blood this time!" -Theo

After a few seconds, you sighed again. These kids...

"Okay, i mean..." you conceded, waving a hand. "Do whatever you want, if you really want to. But only because it's harmless"

The two siblings bumped their fists, silently cheering, their minds already plotting how to put their plan into action. "Great"

Theo stood up. "Okay Ma, you don't have to do anything except give me a task i don't want to do, like... like cleaning or setting the table. Tonight, before dinner"

You stared at him with a lifted brow. "You don't do it even when i ask you to, Theo"

Luna nodded in agreement, and your son snickered sheepishly.

You continued. "But anyway, Dad's not stupid. It's not like you to act like this, and i think he'll catch onto this prank of yours. Are you sure it'll work?"

"Mom, please" Luna threw you a knowing look. "Honestly, i think Dad will be too busy making out with you to even notice"

And you immediately blushed a little.

"Get out of this room and let me finish my laundry"

So that same evening, after Leon had come home from work, said hi to you and the kids and taken a shower, while you were finishing the final touches for dinner, everything was ready.

Luna was leaning next to you against the counter, pretending to scroll on her phone, though in reality she had her camera ready while waiting for you and Theo to start acting. Theo was sitting at the table, playing with his phone at one of those games boys his age were obsessed with, while trying to keep a neutral but focused expression.

Leon had just arrived in the kitchen, finished his short but relaxing shower. He walked past Theo, ruffling his hair with a smile, and headed toward you.

"It's almost ready" you said, flashing him a sweet smile over your shoulder.

That wasn't fake, you weren't acting yet. Every smile you made was genuine even just at the sight of your handsome husband.

Leon smiled back as he approached you and one of his hands rested delicately on your hip, a gesture that had become automatic for him.

"Need a hand?" he asked, like he did every day, with anything. Typical of him. He might have had the worst day of his life, but he would never NOT offer to help you with something.

You shook your head, smiling reassuringly. "Don't worry" you replied, nodding toward his designated spot at the table. "You've been working all day, that's all you had to do. Sit down, we have two kids for a reason"

He chuckled and nodded, letting your smile 'command' him as he went to sit at the table. With his back turned, you glanced at both of your children, letting them know this was the right time, as you'd agreed.

Luna smirked silently and tapped the screen to start the video, while Theo continued playing.

"Theo, honey" you called, turning off the stove. "Could you set the table, please?"

Your son kept his eyes glued to his phone. "Can't you ask Luna?" he muttered as his fingers continued to tap the screen.

"Well, i asked you this time, not her" you continued with your calm voice. "Could you put that phone down for a minute and set the tabl—"

Theo then snapped as he rudely interrupted you, making the most annoyed expression he'd ever had on his face.

"Ugh, Mom, can you just SHUT UP for a minute?? Can't you see i'm playing??"

Luna covered her mouth with her hand to keep from bursting into laughter at her brother's acting.

But her smile faded a couple of seconds later, when the chair Leon was sitting on scraped loudly across the floor as he immediately stood up and your eyes widened a bit too.

Theo looked up at the sound, just in time to see his father now towering over him, and his heart skipped a beat. Before he could say anything, Leon quickly reached out and snatched the phone from his hands, clicking the screen off and putting it not-too-gently facedown on the table, making him jump a little.

"Dad—" Theo tried to justify himself, but your husband cut him off

"Is that the way you talk to your mother?" he hissed, fixing his usually kind but now stern blue eyes on his son's. "Hm?"

Theo opened his mouth, while Luna shot her brother an equally surprised and slightly intimidated look. Because even though they knew it would all go away as soon as they explained it was all just fake, seeing their father so angry was having a certain effect on them. And not in a good way.

"Wait Dad, it's just—" Leon cut him off again.

"I know for a fact that i didn't teach you that goddamn tone in this house, buddy, so either you apologize to your mother and do what she asked, or—"

"Leon, honey, wait"

Leon stopped when he heard your sweet voice calling him back, followed by your palm on his arm, and he turned to look at you.

"It's just a prank, love" you reassured him, rubbing your palm gently over his bicep. "Just a prank"

Leon furrowed his brows, his shoulders unconsciously relaxing under your touch, and his features softened. "What?" he muttered gruffly, turning to look back at Theo, who nodded frantically.

Luna, pleased with the video's success but still worried about the 'danger' her older brother was about to face, quickly added her own.

"I-It's a prank, Dad, we swear!" she said from behind you. "For uhm... for TikTok..."

Leon seemed to realize after a few seconds and let out a heavy sigh.

"Jesus, kids..." he quietly cursed, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head. "What kind of prank is this?"

Theo and Luna lowered their heads a little embarrassed, while you gave him an exasperated smile of your own.

"I told them it didn't make sense" you said, glancing back and forth between brother and sister. "But hey, at least no one had a heart attack this time"

Leon shook his head again, but his lips still curved upward, and he crossed his mighty arms before looking at Theo. "Why did you want to stage this stupid thing, hm?"

Theo shrugged. "We just wanted to see your reaction to us talking back to Mom. It was just an innocent prank" he confessed.

Leon scoffed, almost amused by the reasoning. "Innocent, yes, but still stupid. Like all the other pranks you've played"

He then reached out, gently flicking your son on the forehead, which made him squint.

"You don't need to make a video to prove to those 'social media' of yours what you already know" he said as he looked at both kids, calmer this time, but still serious. "If there's one thing i won't tolerate in this house, it's disrespect for your mother, my wife. Especially if it comes from my own children. So, if you don't want to see me really angry, you'd better not do something like that again. Am i clear?"

The two nodded simultaneously, mumbling "Yes, Dad" under their breath.

Leon observed them for a few seconds, making sure his words had stuck before nodding. "Good. Now set the table. Both of you. I'd appreciate it if we could eat now"

The two siblings nodded again, moving to set the table. And as they did so, Luna gave Theo a silent smirk, satisfied that she'd recorded everything, especially Leon's protective lecture.

Oh, TikTok would go crazy.

You watched them move around the kitchen with an amused smile. You had to admit, even if you weren't a fan of your kids' pranks, seeing your husband react like that and defend your honor gave you butterflies. Like almost everything else he did.

You patted his arm a few times to guide him back to his seat at the table, but before that he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side for a moment.

"You gotta stop encouraging them with these things, hun" he commented, leaning his face down to speak against your temple, and you giggled, leaning against his lips.

"Well, as long as they don't hurt themselves or anyone else, i'm willing to let them do it"

Leon sighed again.

"All for those stupid 'likes.' They're gonna post that video anyway, aren't they?"

And immediately, your kids' voices echoed in the kitchen in chorus.

"Hell yeah!"

A few days later, Luna was ecstatic to see that the video of the prank on their father had achieved the success she'd hoped for.

And the best part was reading the comments.

COMMENTS:

user: i'm sorry but whose DAD is that???

user: *sticker of cat with tongue out*

user: no violence, no belt or screaming. Just a father making sure his son is treating his mother with respect. That's a dad!👏👏👏

user: can your mother fight??

user: i need him, respectfully🎀

user: the way he immediately stood up *sticker of girl biting her nail*

user: no because, can we talk about the little speech he made with them??

user: frr man said "She may be your mom but she's MY WIFE first of all and you brats need to respect that"

user: he was so gentle too🥺

user: he's not a green flag, he's a whole green forest!!

user: ugh, i love protective pretty husbands😩😩

user: bro is so done with gen z tho'

SO GUYS, I WANTED TO TRY A NEW MODERN LIKE-SERIE WITH OUR FAVORITE OLD MAN

When you stand up, it feels as if your body's protesting and telling you to get back to bed. You were discharged yesterday, and even though everything and, specially, you and your daughter were perfect for you to finally return home, the doctor made it very clear: you’re going to feel awful for a few days and, no matter how much you thought you could handle everything, you just couldn’t handle things on your own for now.

You underestimated his comment, of course, and now, as you slowly walk around your room, putting on your robe and your slippers, you realize you should take things more calmly.

However… now it doesn’t seem like the moment to do it.

“Fuck…” you mutter quietly to yourself.

You reach the bedroom door and force yourself to rest against the doorframe for a bit and take a breath. You feel a faint pressure in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but worry about it being just a mere pressure.

But… your biggest concern are your husband and your daughter, who seem to have disappeared.

“Leon?” you call again, a little louder this time. “Love?”

Again, there’s no answer.

You feel a pressure settling in your chest, and you feel your heart beating faster.

“Okay… You got this…” you whisper, encouraging yourself to keep moving.

After taking a few more steps and reaching the middle of the hallway that leads to your daughter’s room, you force yourself to stop again. You feel more pressure building in your head, and your vision even blurs slightly.

Immediately, knowing what could happen, you force yourself to lean against the wall, close your eyes for a bit, and practice the same breathing exercises that only a few days ago helped you manage the pain between contractions.

“God… how did I give birth to a baby and now I can’t even walk?” you shake your head, biting your lip. “Come on… Let’s go…”

You start walking again, cursing the feeling that the hallway seems much longer than usual.

The only thing that comforts you is that, as you keep going, you slowly start hearing some noises, murmurs that you can’t quite understand, and what sounds like the rocking chair moving.

The rocking chair.

You see your baby’s bedroom door slightly open and carefully open it a bit more.

You let out a sigh, finally relaxing.

You see Leon, shirtless, with the baby resting on his chest, her tiny hands curled into little fists. His left hand rests on her back while his lips keep pressing soft kisses to her forehead, whispering who knows what to her.

You notice how he can’t stop smiling shyly.

Leon leans his head back and closes his eyes, clearly trying to rest for a bit after the terrible night you both had. His thumb keeps moving up and down the baby’s back, and when you hear a small sound escape her lips, you can’t stop a tear from slipping down your cheek.

When your husband opens his eyes, his gaze meets yours, and he smiles even more.

“Hey…” he whispers, trying not to wake the baby. “You should be in bed, resting. Do I have to remind you what the doctor said?”

You shake your head, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe.

You can’t stop looking at him. His hair is completely messy, he has more beard than you know he usually likes to keep, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Too many, actually, especially considering he hasn’t even been a father for a week.

Though… you can’t complain: you’d probably look exactly the same… or even worse.

Still, you can’t stop noticing his chest and how his body, still very toned, seems a little more relaxed since he took paternity leave…

“You weren’t in bed,” you reply suddenly, trying not to let your hormones get you in the mood. “Sorry for overreacting, but I was worried…”

Leon’s expression changes instantly. He goes from being relaxed with your baby, to being completely alert, even starting to hold the little one a bit more firmly.

He shifts in the rocking chair. Now, his face shows nothing but worried about you. Also, you notice how he seems to be apologizing with his eyes.

“She started getting fussy around 5,” your husband explains, now taking the baby into his arms and beginning to rock her. “You were sleeping so deeply and seemed so relaxed… I didn’t want to wake you. You needed, and still need, to rest,” he insists.

“You could’ve woken me up. I’m her mother, Leon,” you reproach quietly, rubbing your eyes.

“And, as her mother, you need to rest,” Leon counters. “Don’t you remember what the doctor told you? I thought we talked about this before you were discharged.”

“Yes, but you also need to sleep, Leon,” you huff.

“You know I barely sleep normally,” he gives you a small smile. “Sleeping even less to take care of my daughter won’t hurt me.”

“You say that now, but when—”

“Come on, we’ve actually been having a good time. Did you know we even had a little chat?” he murmurs, lowering his gaze to the baby. “Didn’t we, sunshine?”

The baby makes a small noise, as if answering him, and curls herself more tightly against Leon.

“You’re shirtless, Leon,” you say, walking toward him slowly. “It’s winter. You’re going to catch a cold! And then, the baby will catch it!”

Leon looks you up and down when you carefully sit on his thigh, doing your best to not disturb the baby.

“Well… yeah, I know,” he answers shyly, scratching the back of his neck. You can’t help blushing. “When they were doing your blood tests and all that medical stuff, and I stayed with the baby, the nurse explained that skin-to-skin contact helps regulate their heart rate, temperature…” he shrugs. “Since she seemed a little nervous, and she didn’t look hungry, and nothing else seemed to be wrong, I decided to try it and see if it’d actually calm her down.”

Your throat tightens.

“I’ve also read several articles about it,” Leon adds, a little embarrassed. “At this point, I could qualify as a pediatrician, you know.”

You laugh, but the pain in your lower abdomen returns. 

Now, it’s even sharper.

You place a hand there discreetly, massaging the area to calm the pain and trying not to let Leon notice but, of course, he does.

“Love…” quickly, he makes a move to stand up, forcing you to stand as well. “Come on, sit down,” he gestures toward the rocking chair with the hand that isn’t holding the baby. You’re about to protest, but he cuts you off. “The doctor said you needed rest… You can’t be making this much effort…”

“I only crossed the hallway…”

You hold back a groan that escapes anyway when you feel the pressure again, stronger now.

“Hey, you comfortable? Are you okay? Do you need me to bring you something? Do you want me to put the baby in the crib and carry you to bed in—?”

“Leon.”

Interrupting him doesn’t calm him down… In fact, it seems to do the opposite. 

You can see how worried he’s becoming. You would even swear his face is turning a little pale.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” you rush to say when you see him starting to crouch in front of you, without letting go of the baby, of course.

You see him close his eyes and let out a sigh, much more relaxed.

However, when he opens them again, it feels like he’s analyzing you completely.

“You shouldn’t be walking around like nothing happened,” he scolds.

“I only gave birth, Leon. It’s not like I’m not broken or anything like that…”

“Just gave birth, you say… Yeah…”

You lean back in the rocking chair and start swaying, seeing how Leon can’t stop pacing from one side to the other with the baby in his arms. You can’t help holding back tears when you hear him telling her about how you met, how he asked you to be his girlfriend, how you got married, how you both reacted when you found out you were expecting her…

“You know? You’re definitely a good dad. Best one in the world, I’d say.”

Leon turns to look at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Like… as a dad, you mean?”

“Yes,” you gesture up and down at him, smiling. “You’re just… there, with the baby, telling her our entire story as if she actually understands you…”

“She does understand me,” he reproaches, unable to suppress a smile. “Why do you think we get along so well? You know I talked to her a lot when she was still inside you… Besides, I probably look terrified.” He chuckles quietly and shakes his head. “Damn… I don’t know how to do anything… I don’t even know how to—”

“You’re doing everything perfect,” you tell him, straightening slightly as if to stand but sitting back down when he gives you one of his looks. “Leon, for God’s sake, if you could see yourself…”

“See myself how?”

“I haven’t seen you like this since the day we got married. So… in love.”

That leaves him speechless.

He stares at you for a moment, clearing his throat as if pretending he doesn’t know what to say.

“Well…” he stammers a little and clears his throat again. “Yeah, I’m in love with her… I mean… God, she’s our daughter. Ours. We made her, and she barely even exists yet, and she’s so perfect…”

You stand up and move behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaving several kisses all across his back until you reach his shoulders.

“She wasn’t comfortable in the crib,” he explains quietly. “I woke up when I heard those tiny little noises she makes, so… well, I picked her up, went down to the kitchen, and made her a bottle… although she didn’t want it,” he explains. “I also changed her diaper twice, but the third time she didn’t want anything either… So… well, we’ve just been talking a little and stuff… until now she finally fell asleep.”

You smile, standing on your tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

“She knows you. She’s your best friend, I promise.”

You’re not entirely sure why, but you say those words without much conviction, almost as if they hurt to say.

Leon notices, of course.

He gently moves you aside, and just as carefully places the baby, completely asleep, into her crib, only to turn back to you with his arms wide open.

“Come here.”

“I thought you didn’t want me moving,” you say with your arms crossed.

“This is different. Can’t I hug my wife now?”

That makes you laugh a little. You end up crossing the few steps between you and lean against his chest while he wraps his arms around you, leaving shy kisses on the top of your head.

He’s the one who takes the initiative to move you both a little closer, eventually dragging the rocking chair until it sits right beside the crib.

Leon sits down in it and then takes you by the waist, gently forcing you to sit on his lap.

You lean forward slightly, moving closer to the crib and softly brushing the baby’s back.

God, Leon was right: she was your daughter.

How could you possibly have made something so… perfect?

“She’s so small…” you whisper.

“She has your nose,” Leon assures.

“And those little ears…”

“Yeah, those are mine. Poor girl.”

“Leon, your ears are perfect,” you lightly hit his arm. “You’re perfect. No wonder our baby is so beautiful…”

“Don’t say that… she got all of that from her gorgeous mother.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and look at him. Leon beats you to it and wraps his arms around your waist too, leaving a quick kiss on your lips.

“I don’t know how you can be so good at this already…” you tell him, sliding your fingers through his hair and fixing it a little.

“At all this stealth stuff? The DSO, I guess… It had to be good for something, right?”

You roll your eyes, your lips curving into a smile that achieves exactly what Leon wanted: making you laugh.

“I meant with us,” you say. “You’re a very good husband, and you’ve only been a father for a short time, but… you’re already perfect.”

“I honestly don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits. “Every time she does anything I think I’ve already fucked up.”

“Yeah… same happens to me,” you admit too, though it’s no surprise to your husband.

“You know that earlier, when you were still asleep, I checked if she was breathing six times?”

“I did it nine times when I came out of the shower the day after giving birth.”

“Are you serious?” he asks in surprise, staring at you.

“I swear,” you assure him. “It was when I forced you to go outside with Chris to get some air, even if it was for just two minutes, because you hadn’t left the hospital for almost two days. And you didn’t eat anything.”

A smile slowly appears on his face. He hugs you a little tighter around the waist, being careful not to hurt you.

“We’re a disaster, love…”

“Definitely. But at least we have each other, right?”

He kisses your cheek several times, then leaves one on your temple.

“Do you think you’re going to escape from me that easily?”

You shrug.

“Earlier, I thought you’d left the house with the baby,” you comment, and you regret it instantly when you see Leon grow sad even though he tries not to show it. “Leon…”

“Did you really think that? That I’d left? That I’d leave you alone? Especially after giving birth?”

“I called you and you didn’t answer,” you reply a bit coldly. “I just… I don’t know. I know maybe I’m overreacting a lot…”

“And it’s completely fine. Hormones are driving you crazy,” he says, gently cupping your face. “I don’t want you to feel bad, but… if something like that ever crosses your mind again, tell me, alright? I didn’t hear you before because I was with our tiny, perfect, wonderful daughter, but next time if—”

A small sound, followed by another, and then another, until it breaks into a soft cry, interrupts you both.

You both look down at the crib and see that the baby is no longer asleep. Her eyes are half open now, her arms moving clearly with the intention of wanting to be picked up.

Of Leon picking her up.

“Well… looks like someone has already got used to daddy’s arms… Yeah, guess you’re definitely your mother’s copy, sunshine…”

He didnt even move. He's just there, thick and throbbing into your gummy walls. You tried to drag your ass up and down, but he pinned you harder, a hand wrapped around the back of your neck and another spread one of your ass cheek to watch how your asshole puckered and clenching around nothing.

The day was supposed to be some kind of gathering, someone's house, backyard was loud, bbq party or something like that. But your dad just cant hold the need to fuck you for a day because he's extremely tempted by the way you dress up pretty for everyone, all soft smile and soft looking, he's so used to seeing you wrecked under him. So he's on a mission to do just that.

Now you two currently at it. Where someone could just walk into the scene, a father and daughter fucking, your skirt bunched around your waist, his cock snug into your cunny. Imagine the terror, the scandal, the sheer taboo of it. But you're too fucked in the head to even think about it.

He's simply just humping you, quick thrusts of slick-slick-slick as he kept his cock connected to your velvety walls, greedily gripping him. "you do look prettier being under me." And all you can do was just let out a series of 'huft-' and 'o-ohh'. Whining and whimpering.

The hand on your asscheek shift to curled under the front of your clit, and you spread your legs wide for him, pad of rough fingers circling onto your little button. "dad- hah- please-" you beg, and he felt the way you tighten around him. "yeah yeah. go on. cum around me."

You dont waste time. Squirting around his cock as he's quick to muffled your moan with his thick palm, mumbled 'hmpfh...' came out of your throat as he help you came down your high. And he follow along to take out his load with a low groan into your ear. Thick load of cum filling your womb.

Then he's pulling out, stuffing his oozing cum back inside your cunny with his finger, tucking himself, pulling your panties back up as he help you straighten your dress, tucking your sticking out hair onto the back of your ear as he lean down to peck you on the lips. "c'mon, bbq's waiting." A hand rest over the back of you, just up over your ass but he cant resist to grab a squeeze of the softness. Your panties screwn from the roughness of his hold.

Let's just hope someone would clean up the spill you two make, and think it's just water.

characters im kinda seeing with this scenario:

leon (resident evil), toji (jjk), benimaru (fire force), todoroki enji (mha), and your favourite ♡

The roll over had stunned her so much that she didn’t react for a good moment. Charlotte’s babble brought her back to reality. Claire had just seen a milestone happen and couldn’t tell anyone. Not yet, at least.

“We’ll show daddy that one later, okay sweetheart?”

That was a few weeks ago.

Now it’s a typical afternoon. Leon smells like milk, Charlotte threw up on his shirt during feeding time, and Claire has been teasing him that it was deserved because he had been bouncing her so much it was bound to happen.

“Isn’t it funny, Red? How was I supposed to know the baby works like a soda?”

“Your problem bud,” she snickered.

He grumbled and changed his shirt right in the middle of the living room. After all, Charlotte was still very much awake, and both of them were pretty much attached at the hip to their baby, they weren’t going to leave her out their sight.

As he sighed, turning to look at Charlotte for ruining his shirt with a scowl.

He saw it.

The baby, who had been idly trying to reach the toys on her mat, rolled over.

Leon blinks, once and twice.

She rolled and looked directly at him. His scowl disappeared in a second as a loud tone he didn’t know he had escaped him.

“Claire—CLAIRE! CLAIRE, C’MERE! SHE JUST—… SHE JUST DID THE THING!”

The brunette looked confused as she peeked from the kitchen into the living room.

“What thi—”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence as she saw Leon crumble, his knees going weak as he scrambled for the camera while keeping his eyes locked on the giggling baby.

“She rolled! She rolled! Did you see that?!”

And as if it were a party trick, Charlotte rolled again to reach for the plushie.

Leon was practically yelling in excitement while Claire held back her laughter.

“SHE DID IT AGAIN!”

Claire pretended to be surprised, her eyes softening as she watched him drop straight to the floor to be at Charlotte’s level, lying on his stomach as he patted the mat encouragingly like she had just won the Olympics.

“Oh wow, Charlotte!” Claire laughed, walking over and kneeling beside them. The camera was forgotten as both of them focused on the babbling baby.

She had already seen Charlotte roll over weeks ago.

But watching Leon’s face now, she knew she had made the right choice keeping it to herself.

“Alright, rookie, we’re gonna attempt another roll. Ready?”

Leon and you have 3 daughters, ages 10 (Charlotte), 6 (Eleanor), and 2 (Alice). They're Leon's world and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Leon never thought he would be a dad, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He loves having his daughters with him. A lot of the time when he comes home from work and you kick him and the girls out of the kitchen to make dinner, you find them curled up on the couch with Leon, watching a movie. Charlotte and Eleanor on either side of him and Alice in his lap.

Leon sees a lot of himself in your oldest and sometimes that scares him. Charlie wants to help, she has a strong sense of justice, and wants to protect the people she cares about, but he hopes she doesn't follow in his footsteps. Ellie is more like you, and your youngest is so full of love and energy, she loves to play outside and dig in the dirt. She has a little car that she loves to ride around in and is obsessed with it.

All of them have his blue eyes and his smile. It's the sweetest, especially when you take family pictures.

Waking up in the morning to find that Alice had crawled into your bed in the middle of the night, wedging herself between you and Leon, drooling on your pillows and hogging all the blankets.

Leon seeing Alice asleep and taking her onto his chest while you leaned on his shoulder, having a quiet morning while your older two girls sleep.

Leon spends a lot of time teaching them how to defend themselves, even from a young age, so much so that it feels a little overkill sometimes. He was the one that got to deal with the school when your oldest punched a boy in the face after he kept pulling on her hair and her shirt.

It was a solid punch, and you were both proud of Charlotte for standing up for herself. You both pretended to be mad to appease the principal and the other child's parents, and took your kids to get ice cream after.

Leon makes time for the two of you and you still have date night. You get a babysitter, or the kids go stay with your parents, or a family friend, and you get the house to yourselves for the night or you go out. Date night is something both of you hold very dear.

Leon keeps a picture of you and your daughters in his wallet and looks at it when he misses you or when he is having a hard day. It reminds him what he is fighting for, it gave him purpose after all the shit he's dealt with.

You have found Leon in his home office doing work on his computer while Alice naps on his chest multiple times. You can always tell because he only has a lamp on in the office and he'll hum while he works to help sooth her.

Doesn't quite understand ballet, but is still supportive of Charlotte and her dream to be a ballerina someday. He drives her to dance class every week. He takes Ellie to tee ball every week, and that's something he understands more. He volunteers to bring snacks to her practice a lot.

They have him wrapped around their fingers. "Daddy can we get a puppy?" They will be getting a puppy for Christmas. "Daddy can we go to the park?" The car is already packed. Ice cream? He takes them to get ice cream every Sunday afternoon because he cherishes every moment he gets to spend with them.

Leon's friends were still shocked by how much fatherhood changed him. He was a little jaded when he was with his friends, still confident, still quick witted, still the same sense of humor, but still so guarded. The old Leon came out when he saw you and your daughters. His smile would reach his eyes, he was soft and sweet, like the rookie cop he'd been some 15 years ago. All his walls came crumbling down for his family.

Protective dad. The most protective dad. Drives safer with your daughters in the car. Security system in the house. That puppy for Christmas? A Malinois he had trained to be a guard dog. His name is Goose.

Devoted husband and father Leon who still has his own issues and hard days. Days where everything weighs heavy on his mind, where he wants to disappear, his depression getting to him somedays. He'd seen a lot of things no one should ever have to see or experience and somedays it became a lot to carry.

Those were the days that Leon went out driving alone after dinner, whether it be in his car or on his motorcycle, the days where he'd come home and you'd find him with a glass of whiskey or a beer out on the porch, petting Goose. Those were the nights you knew that he slept restlessly no matter how you tried to help him, no matter how long you talked.

The long stretch of track ahead of them felt never-ending, rusted rails submerged in murky water trailing as far as the eye could see. They passed sign after sign in a foreign language, bold and red, warning them of what was ahead, though neither of them needed help understanding the danger anymore.

Leon hoped it led to an exit. Or at the very least, a way out of this suffocating tunnel.

The flickering lights above them only made his head pound harder as they pushed forward, one arm slung around her shoulders while she limped beside him on her bad ankle—his partner, his wife, her weight leaning heavier into him with every step.

“Just a little further,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You can make it.”

She winced each time her foot touched the ground, trying to drag it behind her instead of lifting it fully, her breath catching every few steps no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

The dogs had gotten her good.

They’d come out of nowhere, fast and vicious; one of them had taken a chunk out of her ankle before Leon could put it down. He’d told himself it was just a bite. Just a wound. Something they could manage once they were out of here.

That’s what this was supposed to be.

In and out.

Contain the threat. Stay with the team.

But an ill-timed explosion had split them from the others, collapsing the path behind them and forcing the two of them deeper underground, into the abandoned transit system beneath the old Eastern European city. It was something repurposed, repainted, and rotting with the remnants of illegal biohazard containment.

Now it was just them.

Something clattered in the distance behind them, metal against concrete, sharp enough to make them both turn. The movement pulled through her entire body, and the second she shifted her weight, a sharp gasp tore from her as she doubled over, her hand flying to her ankle.

Leon’s grip slipped as she went down.

Her hands hit the cracked tile, her body folding in on itself as the pain finally caught up with her.

“Hey—” he dropped with her immediately, reaching for her, trying to pull her back up, but she couldn’t stand. Couldn’t even push herself up. The blood had soaked through too much already, spreading dark across the concrete beneath her.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice tightening as he hooked his hands under her arms and dragged her back against the nearest wall. He steadied her there, one hand braced at her shoulder before moving quickly to her leg, pulling out his flashlight and flicking it on.

The beam cut through the dim light, landing on the wound.

And then—

She started coughing.

Hard.

Doubling over beside him as it tore through her chest, sharp and violent, blood hitting the gray floor in uneven splatters before it lingered at her lips. When she looked back at him, something in her eyes had shifted.

Fading.

“Hey—hey, just hang in there,” Leon said quickly, his voice rushing now, his hand moving instinctively to steady her. “Okay? I’m gonna get us out of here. We just need to—”

“Leon—”

“We just have to get you up—”

“Leon.”

It stopped him. The way she said it.

He lowered the flashlight slightly, the beam dipping toward the ground as his eyes found hers again, really looking this time as her head rested back against the wall.

And then it was a lot clearer.

The dark veins creeping beneath her skin, stretching up her neck, threading down her arms like something alive beneath the surface. The blood. The coughing. The way her breathing had already started to shallow.

Her T-virus. Stage 3.

His stomach dropped.

He reached for her ankle anyway, his hand wrapping around her good one, squeezing like he could anchor her there, like he could still fix this if he just moved fast enough, thought hard enough, and refused to accept what he was seeing.

He would carry her. He would drag her if he had to. There was still a way out, there had to be.

“You’ve gotta get out of here,” she said through a strained breath, her eyes lowering to him where he knelt in front of her.

“Don’t,” he shook his head immediately. “Don’t say that. We’re getting out of here. We just—just need to get you up—”

“No.”

The word landed heavier than anything else.

Leon rocked back slightly, the breath leaving him in a slow, controlled exhale as he set the flashlight down beside them, the beam casting uneven shadows across the tunnel.

“I’m not letting you give up,” he said, quieter now, but no less firm. “Not like this.”

She coughed again, her hand coming up to catch it, blood staining her palm before it fell back to her side.

“I’m not giving up,” she said, a faint, pained laugh slipping through despite it all. “It’s only giving up if there’s still a chance.”

Leon’s gaze dropped for a moment, catching on the darkness stretching down the tunnel behind her. Somewhere far off, water dripped steadily, rhythmic, echoing like a clock counting down something neither of them could stop.

When he looked back at her, her eyes were heavier now, her breaths shorter, each one taking more effort than the last.

He didn’t know it would move this fast.

Didn’t know it would take her like this.

If he had—if he had known—he never would’ve let her come. Never would’ve let her step onto that plane. Never would’ve—

But she hadn’t told him. Had carried it alone until recently, and now it was too late.

She reached for her holster.

Leon’s head snapped up as she pulled her gun free, checking the chamber with practiced ease despite the tremor in her hands.

His chest tightened instantly as he pushed himself to his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Leon, you have to—”

“No.”

She extended her arm toward him; the grip of the gun turned in his direction. Offering it. Asking him.

“No,” he said again, sharper this time, shaking his head as he stepped back like distance alone could undo what she was asking.

“Don’t do that.”

Her arm didn’t waver.

Her eyes stayed on him.

“You know what happens next,” she said quietly.

Leon shook his head almost immediately, taking a step back, like putting distance between them might change something, like if he moved far enough away from it, he wouldn’t have to face what she was asking. “No,” he said, the word rough, uneven, his voice already slipping despite how hard he tried to keep it steady. “No, we’re not doing this.”

Her grip tightened around the gun, though her arm didn’t waver; her eyes locked onto his in a way that didn’t leave room for misunderstanding.

“Leon.”

“No,” he repeated, louder this time, his hands coming up like he could physically push the moment away. “We’re getting out of here. I’ll carry you if I have to; I don’t care how far it is, I’ll get you out—”

“You won’t make it.”

“I will,” he shot back immediately, his voice tightening with something desperate now, something that didn’t sound like certainty so much as refusal.

“You won’t,” she said again, firmer this time, though there was a strain beneath it now, something slipping under the surface. “And neither will anyone else if you don’t do this.”

“That’s not your call,” he snapped, the control finally cracking as he shook his head, pacing a step before stopping again, his chest rising too fast. “You don’t get to decide that. Not for me.”

Her expression didn’t soften. If anything, it settled further, something resolute taking hold as she looked at him.

“You don’t get to pretend this ends any other way.”

That hit him harder than anything else she’d said.

He stood there, staring at her like if he looked long enough, he’d find something that proved her wrong, that gave him another option, another way out, another path that didn’t end with this.

“There’s always something,” he said finally, quieter now, but the desperation in it hadn’t gone anywhere; it had just settled deeper. “There’s always a way out of this. I just need—”

“There isn’t,” she cut in, and this time her voice broke through clean, not loud, not angry, just final in a way that didn’t leave space for argument. “Not for me.”

The tunnel seemed to close in around them then, the drip of water somewhere down the line echoing louder than it should have, each second stretching too long as the weight of it settled between them. The lights barley hanging onto their last flicker.

Leon didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because he knew. God, he knew.

She took a breath, unsteady now, the first real crack in her composure as she pushed the gun further toward him, forcing it into his space, into his hands whether he wanted it there or not.

“Please,” she said, softer now, her voice thinning under the weight of it. “Don’t make me become something you have to fight.”

His hand hovered there, just inches from the grip, his fingers trembling despite himself as he stared at it like it didn’t belong in this moment, like it didn’t belong between them.

“I can’t,” he said, barely above a whisper, his eyes dragging back up to hers. “I’m not doing that to you.”

Something flickered across her face then, hurt, maybe, but it didn’t last, didn’t take root long enough to change her mind.

“Then you’re doing it to everyone else,” she said quietly.

That landed. Harder than anything.

Leon’s breath caught as his hand finally moved, his fingers curling around the grip of the gun like it weighed more than it should, like it didn’t belong in his hand like this, like it never should have.

His arm didn’t lift right away.

He just stood there, staring at her, waiting for something to stop this, for something to change, for something, anything, to pull them out of this moment.

But nothing did.

She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sinking back against the wall as she looked at him, really looked at him, like she was committing him to memory in the seconds she had left.

“I love you,” she said.

That nearly broke him.

His vision blurred, his grip tightening as his arm finally, slowly, began to rise, the motion heavy, unwilling, like every part of him was fighting it even as it happened. The light bar above her head began to tick, flicking off, then on. 

“Don’t,” he breathed, shaking his head, his voice cracking now despite everything. “Don’t say that right now—”

Her voice cut through him. Sharp. Final.

“Do it.”

“Do it!’

–

Leon jolted awake, sweat clinging to his exposed back as he shifted through the sea of blankets twisted around him. His breathing came heavy and uneven as he threw his legs over the side of the bed, grounding himself against the scratched wood beneath his feet. His hands pressed firmly into his knees as he forced himself to take breath after breath, trying to slow the panic still clawing its way through his chest.

It had been weeks since he’d had that dream.

Weeks since he’d seen himself back in that tunnel, standing in front of her like it had all just happened yesterday—like ten years hadn’t passed, like the pain hadn’t dulled even slightly, like the wound never had the chance to close in the first place. The memory still sat just beneath the surface, raw and waiting, and every time it came back, it took everything in him with it.

Morning had barely begun to seep through the crooked blinds when Leon finally lifted his head, dragging a hand through his greying hair as he forced himself to push away from the mattress. The right side of the bed remained untouched, as it always did, but his restless movements had still managed to leave the sheets in disarray, twisted and pulled like he’d been fighting something in his sleep.

He didn’t bother making it.

Not yet.

He needed the bathroom. Needed something cold. Something real.

It had been a while since he’d been out in the field, taking time off he’d told himself he needed, though it had mostly turned into days spent sitting in this house, letting time pass without much thought. The quiet had settled in too easily, filling spaces that used to feel lived in.

When he stepped into the connected bathroom, he flicked on the light, immediately squinting as the fluorescent bulb flickered before fully coming to life. He shut his eyes again, longer this time, like he could block it out before it had the chance to settle in—before it could remind him too much of that place, of those same flickering lights hanging above him the day everything changed.

The cold water handle turned sharply under his grip, the stream rushing to life as he shoved his hands beneath it, barely hesitating before leaning forward and dragging the water up over his face. He stayed there longer than necessary, letting the cold bite into his skin, grounding him in something that wasn’t memory, wasn’t her voice, wasn’t that moment replaying itself over and over again.

It helped.

Not enough.

But enough to move.

When he finally pulled back, he grabbed a nearby towel, dragging it over his face slowly, deliberately, lingering just long enough to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. But eventually, he did.

And it was worse than he expected.

Dark circles had settled deep beneath his eyes, heavier than just lack of sleep, something more permanent etched into his features. The exhaustion wasn’t new, but it looked different now, older, worn down in a way he couldn’t ignore anymore.

And then there was the infection.

Faint, but there.

Darkened veins just beneath his skin, subtle but unmistakable, clinging to him like a reminder he couldn’t shake no matter how much time had passed. The same thing that had taken her now sat quietly beneath his own skin, waiting, patient in a way that felt cruel.

Leon looked away.

The towel slipped from his hands, left hanging loosely over the bar beside the sink as he stepped back into the bedroom.

The light had started to creep in more now, revealing the state he’d let the place fall into. A pile of clean laundry sat untouched on the chair by his desk, while worn socks had found a home beneath the edge of the bed. His watch lay discarded on the nightstand next to two empty glasses that had once held milk, left there longer than they should have been.

He winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he crossed the room, digging through the clean pile for something to wear. A loose shirt and a pair of shorts would do.

After pulling them on, he grabbed the empty glasses and made his way toward the kitchen.

The moment he stepped through the threshold, rounding the island, he was met with a loud, insistent meow at his feet.

Leon blinked down at the small blur weaving between his legs.

Whiskers.

Or rather—

his daughter’s cat.

The little thing circled him relentlessly, brushing against his ankles as it cried out again, far too loud for something its size. Leon adjusted his steps carefully to avoid stepping on it, setting the glasses down in the sink with a quiet clink.

“Hang on, furball,” he muttered, his voice still rough from sleep. “I’ll feed you in a second.”

The cat, unsurprisingly, did not care.

As Leon reached for the clear container on the counter, he glanced at the microwave, the red numbers blinking back at him. 6:45.

Too early.

He scooped some food into Whiskers’ metal bowl, the kibble clattering softly as it hit, before turning to refill his other bowl with water. The routine was automatic, something his body did without much thought, but it was in that pause, that small moment between movements, that something began to feel off.

It didn’t click right away.

Not until he looked down at the cat.

Whiskers was always with her.

Curled up at her feet, sprawled across her pillow, or tucked somewhere beneath the blankets she inevitably wrapped herself in. Half the time, she’d shut her door just to keep him inside so he wouldn’t wander off in the middle of the night.

So why was he out here?

Leon’s gaze lifted slowly, squinting through the dim light of the house as he looked down the hall, toward her door at the far end past the living room. The light beneath it was off, which wasn’t unusual this early, but the door itself was shut—fully shut, like she’d pushed him out.

He let out a quiet huff of amusement, the thought coming easy enough.

“Got caught acting a fool, little guy?” he muttered, glancing back down as Whiskers tore into his food like he hadn’t eaten in days, despite Leon feeding him not even a few hours ago before heading to bed.

Still.

Something about it lingered.

Leon looked back down the hall one more time, his gaze resting there just a second longer than it needed to before he finally turned away, moving deeper into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and reached for the carton of eggs, the cool air brushing against his skin as he pulled them free.

He just hoped you’d slept better than he had.

–

You woke to the smell of bacon and immediately started coughing.

It was like the first breath you took scraped past your throat and came back up with a vengeance, sharp and hot, your chest tightening as you pushed yourself deeper into the mattress. The heat was worse, clinging to your skin in a way that made you uncomfortable, too warm beneath the blankets you’d been wrapped in only seconds before.

You shoved them off instantly, letting them fall to your waist as you stared up at the ceiling, your eyes landing on the glow-in-the-dark stars still scattered above you.

You never took them down.

Not after all this time.

They were the last thing you saw every night, just like they always had been—right after your mom leaned over to kiss your forehead, and your dad reached for the light switch, the room falling dark as the stars slowly lit up above you.

You turned onto your side, reaching for your phone on the charger beside your bed, your nightstand cluttered with candy wrappers and hair ties that never quite made it back to the bathroom. When you clicked the power button, the brightness made you squint immediately.

7:10.

You groaned softly, dropping the phone back onto the table before rolling over again, burying your face into the pillow like you could steal another few minutes of sleep.

You coughed again.

Harder this time.

It rattled through your chest as you pressed your face deeper into the fabric, trying to muffle it, brushing it off the same way you always did. You probably slept with your mouth open again, snoring like an idiot, drying your throat out. That’s all it was.

It had to be.

It took you a few more minutes to finally drag yourself out of bed, the smell of breakfast strong enough to pull you the rest of the way into the morning whether you were ready or not. You shuffled into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and running a hand through your hair, doing just enough to feel somewhat put together before slipping on your bunny slippers and adjusting your pajama top across your chest.

Your body still felt sluggish, heavy in a way that didn’t quite make sense, but you ignored it, stretching your neck as you scratched absentmindedly at the back of your head before pushing your bedroom door open.

The light hit you immediately. Too bright and real.

Morning had fully settled in now, and with it came the smell of bacon and eggs drifting through the house.

Your dad stood at the stove, moving like it was second nature, shaking pepper into a pan of scrambled eggs as if this were just another normal morning.

You weren’t sure how he did that. How he woke up every day and just… kept going.

Like everything wasn’t sitting right there under the surface.

Whiskers was sprawled out across the hardwood floor in front of the glass doors, stretched out in the sunlight like he’d been there for hours, soaking in warmth that had only just begun to reach inside.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Your dad glanced over his shoulder at you, already stirring the eggs again like nothing had changed.

You just groaned in response, making your way further into the kitchen, deciding you’d become a person once you had coffee in your system. You slid onto one of the barstools at the island, pulling yourself up just enough to slump forward against the counter, rubbing at your eyes.

“Morning,” you mumbled through a yawn.

He was already plating the food, scooping eggs onto a plate before grabbing a few strips of bacon and stacking them neatly beside it. By the time you blinked your eyes open again, he was setting the plate down in front of you, licking a bit of grease from his fingers like it was routine.

“You’re up early.”

You looked down at the food, your brows lifting slightly.

It smelled really good.

“Coffee?”

Your eyes flicked up to him just as he grabbed a mug from the counter, setting it down in front of you before reaching into the fridge for your creamer like he’d done it a hundred times before.

And for a second—

It almost felt normal.

Too normal.

“Dad… what’s up?”

He glanced back at you, creamer still in hand, brows pulling together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“This…”

“Oh.” He shrugged lightly, pouring the creamer before sliding the cup toward you. “I don’t know. Just hungry. You hungry?”

You hesitated.

Your eyes drifted past him, landing on Whiskers stretched out in the sunlight—and just like that, last night came rushing back all at once.

You’d kicked him out.

Shut the door on him while you sat on the floor crying because he’d knocked over your music box, the one your mom gave you, and shattered it like it didn’t matter.

Like it wasn’t one of the last things you had left of her.

Looking at him now, you knew he didn’t mean it.

Couldn’t have.

But that didn’t stop the way it felt.

Your gaze shifted back to your dad, taking him in properly this time—the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he tried.

And then it clicked.

He was doing the same thing you were. Distracting himself.

Because whatever last night was, whatever it stirred up, it hadn’t just stayed with you. It showed in the dark circles under his eyes, the ones that never really went away anymore. You were starting to get them too.

“Yeah—yeah, I’ll eat.”

He was about to say something, like the words were right there on the tip of his tongue, but instead he turned back to the stove, grabbing himself a plate as if the moment had already passed. “How was class yesterday?”

You were already halfway through a piece of bacon when you answered, barely looking up from your plate. “It was alright.” You’d been taking classes at the community college just up the road, close enough that he could convince himself you were safe, and it was the first time in a long time you’d been around people again. 

But…Alright was an understatement. 

You still hadn’t pulled yourself together enough to talk to anyone, and sitting in a room full of strangers felt suffocating more often than not. On top of that, walking into the school therapist’s office, quietly, without telling your dad, was hard enough on its own. He didn’t know, but you needed it. You just wished he would consider it too, though you were pretty sure he wouldn’t. His definition of PTSD was “Push that shit down," and it showed.

“My grades are good,” you added, quieter this time, like that part might make it easier for him to accept everything else you weren’t saying.

He sat across from you, pouring himself a cup of coffee before shaking a little too much pepper onto his eggs, like the motion itself gave him something to focus on. “That’s good,” he said with a small nod. “I’m proud.” But he didn’t look at you. Instead, he hunched over his plate, eating quickly, distracted, like finishing the food would give him an excuse to move on from the conversation altogether.

You slowed down, lifting your coffee instead, letting the warmth settle into your hands as you took a sip. Pumpkin spice—your favorite. The vanilla creamer swirled through it just right, exactly how you liked it. You watched him over the rim of the mug, really watched him this time, taking in the way he avoided your gaze, the way his shoulders stayed tense even in a moment that was supposed to be normal.

“Dad…” you said finally, your voice softer but steady enough to pull his attention.

He looked up, his fork hovering midair as his eyes met yours.

“Did you… sleep at all?”

For a second, something flickered across his face, something real, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. He shoved the last of his eggs into his mouth, barely chewing before standing and draining the rest of his coffee in one go, already turning toward the sink like the question hadn’t landed at all. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his voice too quick, too easy. “Don’t worry about me.”

You didn’t respond right away. You just watched him, tracking every movement—the way he rinsed his plate too fast, the way his hands moved with too much urgency, the way he reached for the pan like he needed something to do, anything to keep from standing still.

“Dad.”

He stopped completely. The water shut off, just a trickle left in the sink basin, the sudden drip of it louder than anything else in the room as he wiped his hands on his shorts before turning to face you, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed like he was bracing himself.

“Listen—”

“I knew it,” you cut in, pushing your chair back slightly as you sat up straighter. “That’s what this is. A distraction.” You gestured toward the counter, toward the food, toward the forced normalcy of it all. “Why can’t you just talk to me? You won’t talk to anyone else and I’m right here.”

He looked away for a second, just long enough for you to notice, and then let out a quiet breath as he shifted his weight forward. “It’s not that simple—”

“It is,” you snapped, your hands lifting in frustration before falling again. “It is that simple. You just won’t do it.”

You waited then, giving him a chance to say anything that mattered, something real, something that didn’t sound like the same excuse he always fell back on. But he didn’t. He just stood there, still and quiet, like whatever you’d said had landed harder than he was willing to admit, like he’d already lost the argument before it even began.

And that was worse.

You let the silence sit for another second before reaching forward, grabbing the last piece of bacon from your plate more out of habit than anything else, pushing yourself off the stool as you turned away. “Whatever,” you muttered under your breath, already heading back down the hall.

You didn’t wait for him to stop you.

Didn’t wait for him to try.

You just walked back to your room, the weight of it all pressing heavier into your chest with each step before you shoved the door open and stepped inside, letting it slam shut behind you harder than you meant to.

–

Leon turned slowly, pressing both hands against the edge of the sink, his head dipping just enough for his hair to fall forward into his face as he stared down at nothing in particular. The faucet continued to drip in front of him, each drop echoing louder than it should have in the quiet kitchen, the sound stretching out, lingering longer than water ever should, settling somewhere deep in his chest in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

Drip. 

Drip.

It didn’t sound like water anymore. It sounded like a clock, steady and patient, tick.

Tick. 

“Do it!”

Leon’s hand shot out before he could stop himself, slamming beneath the faucet to cut the stream mid-fall, the sound stopping instantly, violently, leaving behind a silence that rang just as loud in his ears. He twisted the handle tighter than necessary, forcing it closed until there was nothing left—no drip, no echo, no reminder—and for a second he just stood there, his hand still resting against the metal, his breathing uneven as he tried to ground himself in something real, something that wasn’t memory.

That conversation could have gone better. It should have. He knew that. But the moment that dripping started, it was like everything else had been pushed out, like he couldn’t hear her anymore over the sound of it, like his mind had already left the room before he even realized it. 

He was supposed to focus on her, on what she was saying, on the fact that she was right there asking him for something he couldn’t give, but lately everything felt like it was pulling him backward instead of keeping him present, every small thing dragging him back to what he’d already lost, to what he could still lose if he wasn’t careful.

He heard her cough from down the hall again, faint but sharp enough to cut through everything else, and it settled into him immediately, threading through his thoughts in a way that made his chest tighten before he could stop it. 

It was a sign he hadn’t seen soon enough. Signs his wife had hidden from him until it was too late to do anything about them. The same signs he carried now, buried beneath his skin, quiet but present, something he kept to himself the same way she had, the same way he swore he never would.

He pushed himself away from the counter, turning toward the hallway without thinking, his focus already shifting back to her door, to the sound he’d just heard, to the need to check on her, to make sure—

His work phone rang.

The sharp, uptight tone cut through the house, echoing from his bedroom and snapping him out of it just enough to pause mid-step. His jaw tightened as his eyes flicked toward her door one more time, lingering there just a second too long before he forced himself to turn away, moving down the hall in the opposite direction as the ringing continued, insistent, impossible to ignore.

By the time he reached his room, the screen was already lit with Sherry’s name, a picture from years ago still set behind the contact, something he’d never bothered to change. He answered without hesitation, bringing the phone to his ear as he dragged a hand down his face, trying to steady himself before speaking.

“Hello?”

“Leon. It’s Sherry.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as she said it, his eyes closing briefly like the confirmation was unnecessary, like he didn’t already know exactly who it was. “Is this important?” he asked, his voice edged with impatience he didn’t have the energy to hide. “I’m on leave.”

“Very,” she replied without hesitation. “You might want to check this out.”

His phone buzzed again almost immediately, and he pulled it away from his ear, putting her on speaker as he dragged the notification down, his eyes scanning the file as it loaded. Crime scene footage.

His thumb moved instinctively, scrolling through the images one by one, his focus sharpening despite himself as the details came into view, the bodies twisted and deteriorating, skin darkened and splitting, black veins spreading beneath the surface in patterns he recognized far too easily.

“There have been recent reports of Raccoon City survivors turning up as victims,” Sherry continued, her voice steady and measured, like she already knew what he was seeing. “Two confirmed dead, one missing. I know you’re off right now, but this one seems personal.”

Leon moved toward the nightstand without thinking, grabbing his glasses and sliding them on as he pulled up the full report, his eyes moving faster now, scanning, connecting, searching for something that didn’t line up, something that didn’t lead back to the same place. But it all did. Every name. Every detail. Every single one of them traced back to Raccoon City like it had never really let them go.

“Leon? You there?”

“Yeah—yeah, I’m here.” His voice came out quieter now, more focused, though there was something else underneath it, something tighter, something harder to ignore as he kept scrolling, trying to find a break in the pattern that wasn’t there.

“When did this start?” he asked, his gaze narrowing slightly as he pushed further into the report.

There was a brief pause, the sound of typing filtering through the line before she answered. “Within the last week. All recent.”

Leon pulled his glasses off, dragging a hand over his face as he brought the phone back to his ear, the weight of it settling heavier now, pressing into something he didn’t want to fully acknowledge.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. “Alright… just give me some time. I’ll figure something out and call you back.”

“Leon… is everything okay?”

Of course she asked. Sherry had always been like that, too aware, too quick to pick up on what people tried to hide. 

Much like his daughter. 

For a second he almost said something, almost told her the truth, that he hadn’t been sleeping, that the nightmares were back, that what she was talking about wasn’t just in those files, that it was already there, already under his skin, already moving in ways he couldn’t stop.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

“Yeah,” he said instead, the answer coming too easily. “All good. I’ll call you later.”

He ended the call before she could respond, cutting off whatever she was about to say, the silence that followed settling into the room in a way that felt heavier than before. And for a moment, he just stood there, the phone still in his hand, his thoughts pulling him in too many directions at once—toward the past, toward the present, and toward the door down the hall he hadn’t gone back to yet.

—

The pieces of your mom’s music box sat on your dresser, carefully wrapped in a towel from your bathroom so none of the porcelain would go missing. It had always been beautiful. White, worn soft with age, passed down through hands that had held onto it long before it ever reached yours. Gold trim lined the edges of the lid, delicate and slightly faded, and when you opened it, a small ballerina stood at the center, waiting to be brought to life. If you wound the cog at the back just right, she would spin slowly, the soft, warped melody filling the room as she danced.

The song had never sounded quite right, not anymore, but your mom used to hum it anyway, brushing your hair back as she tucked you in, promising she’d see you again soon.

She always said that.

Your chest tightened at the thought, your gaze lingering on the broken shape beneath the towel before drifting away, like looking at it for too long might make it worse. It wasn’t just the music box. It never really was. It was everything it stood for, everything tied to it, everything that felt like it was slipping further out of reach the older you got.

And then there was your dad.

The way he moved through the house like nothing was wrong. The way he avoided things. The way he shut down instead of talking. You knew he was struggling; you weren’t blind to it, but that didn’t make it easier when he refused to let you in.

You wished he would just talk to you.

Just once.

You fell forward onto your bed, burying your face into the soft sheets as a quiet groan left your chest, hoping it might ease the tightness building behind your ribs. It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse, pressing it deeper until it felt like something was sitting heavy right beneath your lungs. Followed by the worst cough of the morning. 

It almost made you cry.

Over a broken music box.

Except…it wasn’t really about that.

It was just another reminder. Another piece of something you were losing too fast.

You pushed yourself back up slowly, curling your legs beneath you as you reached for your phone, unlocking it without thinking, your eyes skimming over the flood of notifications that didn’t matter. Your gaze dropped just beneath the time.

October 8th, 2028.

You stared at it for a second longer than necessary before locking the screen again and tossing the phone toward the end of the bed, letting it land wherever it did. Something twisted in your stomach then, sharp and uncomfortable, not quite pain but not something you could ignore either, and you leaned back slightly, your eyes settling on the door like you expected something to happen.

And then—

It did.

Three soft knocks.

You could see his shadow shift beneath the door, the subtle movement of his feet giving him away before he even spoke.

“Hey, I—” he hesitated, his voice quieter than before. “Can we talk, honey?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

The handle turned anyway, the door opening just enough for him to glance in, one eye peeking through like he wasn’t sure what he was walking into. The second he saw you sitting there, shoulders slumped, something in your expression giving you away, he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.

“Is everything okay?”

He stayed near the doorway at first, like he didn’t want to crowd you, like he was waiting for permission he hadn’t been given. You didn’t look at him. Your eyes stayed fixed on the dresser instead, the tears already threatening to rise before you could stop them.

“Whiskers… he—”

Your voice caught, and that was all it took.

He followed your gaze, his own landing on the uneven shape beneath the towel before he moved toward it, slower this time, more careful. He reached out and unwrapped it gently, like he hoped it wasn’t what he thought. 

The second he saw it, his shoulders dropped.

He stood there for a moment, looking down at the towel wrapped around the music box like he was trying to piece it together without touching it, before he finally exhaled and turned back toward you, his expression softer now, something careful settling into place.

“We can fix it,” he said, nodding slightly like he needed you to believe it as much as he did. “It’s porcelain, right? There’s people who restore stuff like this. I’ll find someone; we’ll get it put back together—good as new.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t answer.

Your arms stayed wrapped around yourself as your gaze drifted back toward the dresser, your chest still tight in a way that had nothing to do with the broken pieces. “It’s not about that,” you muttered, your voice quiet but strained.

He hesitated at that, shifting his weight slightly where he stood, like he didn’t quite know what to do with your answer. “I know,” he said after a second, his voice softer now. “I just… wanna help.”

The room went quiet again, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, just full of everything neither of you were saying. You looked up at him then, really looked at him, taking in the way he hovered near the dresser instead of coming closer.

“Then talk to me,” you said, your voice steadier now even if your chest still felt tight. “What’s going on with you?”

That seemed to catch him off guard.

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes dropping for a second before he looked back at you, like he was deciding how much he wanted to say. “That’s… actually why I came in here,” he admitted, his tone shifting just slightly. “I haven’t exactly been—” he paused, rubbing at the back of his neck before letting out a quiet breath. “I haven’t been truthful.”

Your brows pulled together, confusion settling in quickly. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated again, longer this time, like whatever he was about to say didn’t come as easily as the rest.

“It’s just been a hard week,” he said finally, settling on something that didn’t quite answer your question. “That’s all.”

You stared at him for a second, and then it clicked.

“Is that why you took off work?” you asked quietly. “Because it’s her anniversary?”

He went still.

Not completely obvious—but enough. His shoulders tightened just slightly, his jaw setting as his gaze shifted away from you for a second before coming back.

“…Yeah,” he said.

You nodded slowly, your eyes dropping to your hands as you twisted the fabric of your sleeve between your fingers. “It’s been affecting me too,” you admitted, your voice softer now, the frustration from earlier fading into something heavier. “I just didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.”

You could see something change in his expression when you said that, something you couldn’t quite name, but he didn’t get the chance to respond.

You coughed.

It hit harder this time, suddenly, enough to pull you forward slightly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your chest tightened again. You tried to breathe through it, but it came again, sharper, dragging through your throat in a way that made your eyes water.

He moved instantly, stepping closer as your shoulders curled in.

“Hey—”

You coughed again, your hand pressing tighter against your mouth until it finally eased just enough for you to pull it away—

And freeze.

There was blood.

Not a lot.

But enough.

Your stomach dropped as your eyes snapped back up to him, panic hitting all at once. “What—” your voice shook as you looked down at your hand again. “That’s never—it's never been that bad before—”

He was already reaching for something, grabbing a towel from the dresser and pressing it into your hand before guiding you back slightly toward the bed. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his voice steadier than yours felt. “Just sit back for me.”

You didn’t argue.

Didn’t question it.

You let him ease you down onto the mattress, your head still spinning slightly as you tried to slow your breathing, the panic sitting heavy in your chest.

“Let me see,” he said, reaching for your arm.

You held still as he pushed your sleeve up, your eyes following the movement until he stopped.

You saw it too.

Faint.

But there.

Dark lines just beneath your skin, subtle but wrong, spreading in a way that made your stomach twist.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

His hand lingered there just a moment longer before he pulled your sleeve back down, slower this time, like he didn’t want to draw attention to it even though you’d already seen it.

“We’re gonna figure this out,” he said, quieter now, his voice more controlled than before. “Okay? I’ve seen worse than this.”

You searched his face, trying to find something solid in it, something you could believe.

“You have?” you asked, your voice smaller now.

He nodded once.

“Yeah.”

He stepped back then, creating just a little distance like he needed the space, like he was already thinking ahead to something you weren’t part of yet.

“I need to go back into work,” he said after a second.

Your head lifted slightly. “Right now?”

“I won’t be gone long,” he added quickly. “I’ll call Sherry, maybe Jill too. I’ll have them check in on you while I’m gone, make sure everything’s okay.”

You stared at him, something uneasy settling in your chest that had nothing to do with the coughing, your fingers still curled loosely around the towel as your breathing tried to even out.

“Dad—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, not harsh, just firm enough to stop you, his voice steady in a way that made it hard to argue with. He stepped closer again, just enough to reach out and rest his hand briefly against your shoulder, grounding, familiar. “Stay in bed for now,” he added, his tone softening slightly. “I’ve got something you need to take for me, okay? I’ll call Sherry.”

You looked up at him, searching his face again, trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying, what he had already decided without telling you.

“…Okay,” you said after a second, even though the answer didn’t feel right sitting in your chest.

He gave a small nod, like that was enough, like that settled it, before pulling his hand back and stepping away again, already turning toward the door like he had somewhere else to be.

You watched him go. Watched the way he paused for half a second at the doorway, like he almost turned back, like he almost said something else—

But he didn’t.

The door opened.

Then closed.

And just like that, the room felt too quiet again.

—

It took Leon all of six seconds to make it from her bedroom to his, already pulling his phone out and dialing before he fully crossed the threshold. It only rang once before she picked up, like she’d been expecting it, like she’d been waiting for him to call the second something went wrong.

“That was fast,” Sherry said, the faint rhythm of her keyboard clicking through the line.

“Sherry, I need you to get ahold of Jill for me,” Leon said, already moving, already pushing into his closet as he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. He shoved aside boxes and old clothes without care, digging straight for the safe built into the back wall. “Tell her to get out here. Now.”

He punched in the code—032296—faster than he meant to, the numbers muscle memory at this point, and pulled the door open harder than necessary, the metal giving with a dull, hollow sound.

“Why—what’s going on?” The typing on her end stopped abruptly, the silence on the line tightening. “Is everything okay?”

Leon didn’t answer right away. He was already digging through the contents—paperwork shoved aside, ammo rattling faintly as he moved it, the edge of a locked case catching against his hand—until his fingers closed around the smaller secured metal box sitting at the bottom. He pulled it free and flipped it open, revealing the foam-lined interior.

A syringe rested in the center. Three vials to the right.

Two empty. One full.

“I’m coming in,” he said instead, his voice lower now, more focused, like he’d already moved past the question entirely. “Send me the location of that last victim and get Jill on the phone.”

“Leon—”

“She’s got it, Sher.”

The words came out before he could stop them, before he could soften them, and the second they were in the air, something inside him tightened hard enough to make his grip falter for just a second.

He reached for the vial anyway.

“Just like me,” he added, quieter now, the admission settling heavier than he wanted it to. “Just like you.”

A pause.

Longer this time.

“…Just like her mom.”

“Shit,” Sherry breathed, the word slipping out as the weight of it landed on both ends of the line.

Leon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Not without letting too much of it bleed through, not without saying something he couldn’t take back, so he focused instead on the motion in his hands, clicking the vial into place, tapping the syringe to clear the air bubbles like he’d done it a hundred times before. It was a mixture Sherry’s team devised to prolong the effects of his virus, and now was the perfect time to use it. 

His hands didn’t shake.

That was the problem.

“I’m gonna need someone to stay with her while I’m gone,” he said, switching the phone to his other hand as he finished prepping the dose. “Can you handle that?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” Sherry answered quickly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Claire?”

Leon stilled for a second, the question catching somewhere deeper than it should have. Claire. Raccoon City. If this was spreading again, if this had anything to do with what they’d all walked away from, then she wasn’t safe either.

None of them were.

He set the syringe down on the bed, turning back toward the safe, forcing himself to keep moving.

“No,” he said finally. “Send Jill. But call Claire into the office. Get her checked. If we have it, she has it.”

“On it.”

He reached for the gun case next, flipping it open with practiced ease as his fingers brushed over the familiar weight of it before lifting it free. The metal caught the morning light as he turned it slightly, checking it without really needing to.

“And Sherry?”

“Yeah, Leon?”

His grip tightened just slightly.

“Call in a request for Requiem ammo.”

– 

You’d skipped school, calling out with a note from your dad’s medical office claiming a “viral infection,” even though you knew it was complete bullshit. This wasn’t a viral infection. It felt worse than that, something heavier, something that sat wrong in your body in a way you couldn’t explain. It made you sluggish, itchy, and paranoid, like your skin didn’t quite fit right anymore, like your thoughts were always just a step behind where they should be. It felt like you were one step away from losing control entirely, and the fact that no one would tell you what the hell was actually going on only made it worse.

After giving you a terrifyingly big syringe filled with something he swore would help, your dad had called Jill Valentine to stay with you, which in theory you didn’t mind. Jill had always been around, a constant in your life for as long as you could remember, someone who felt more like family than anything else. But did you really need a babysitter? You could barely get out of bed as it was, your energy draining out of you faster than you could keep up with, and now you’d ended up planted in the chair by the large glass doors leading out to the back porch, a blanket wrapped around your legs while a cup of tea sat forgotten beside you, long since gone cold.

It had started raining sometime after your dad left, slow at first, then steady, the water sliding down the glass in uneven streaks that blurred the world outside. You watched it without really seeing it, your reflection faint in the pane, the gray sky stretching endlessly beyond it. It felt like the moment he walked out the door, everything shifted, like the house had hollowed out around you, leaving behind something quieter. You didn’t know where he’d gone or what he was doing, but you knew enough about his job to understand it wasn’t safe. And you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t thinking clearly right now.

He was leading with emotion.

Just like before.

Just like mom.

“I’ll see you soon.”

The words echoed back at you whether you wanted them to or not.

Jill must have picked up on it, because she spoke from the kitchen table without even looking up at first, her voice cutting through the quiet like she’d been listening the whole time. “I’m not here as surveillance,” she said, flipping a page in her book before finally glancing over the top of it. She took a loud, almost exaggerated sip of her drink before setting it down. “I’m here to make sure you don’t pass out or something.”

You glanced at her from the corner of your eye, giving her a look you didn’t bother softening. You didn’t want to be upset with her—you didn’t—but she was holding onto the same information your dad was, and right now that felt just as bad.

“And why would I pass out, Jill?” you asked, shifting slightly in the chair, your legs still pulled in close to your chest beneath the blanket. “Wanna tell me what the hell’s wrong with me?”

She looked at you properly then, her expression changing just enough to show she was weighing her words before she closed the book and set it face-down on the table. She finished her drink in one last sip before pushing herself up, carrying the glass to the sink and setting it inside with a quiet clink.

“Listen—”

You groaned immediately, turning your head back toward the window, pulling the blanket higher around yourself like it might block her out. She was just like him, standing there, about to give you some half-ass answer that didn’t actually explain anything.

Your dad had been gone for over twenty-four hours.

Not a single update.

And at this point, you were starting to think they had one; they just weren’t giving it to you.

“Oh, come on,” Jill said, a little sharper now as she leaned her hip against the counter. “Don’t be like that. Your dad asked me to keep it on the down low. What do you want me to do?”

You didn’t answer.

You just kept staring out into the backyard, watching the sky grow darker as the rain picked up, the steady sound of it filling the silence between you. Whiskers had long since disappeared under the couch after a poorly timed crack of thunder sent him flying off the windowsill, leaving you alone in the chair with nothing but your thoughts and the sound of the storm.

“Fine,” Jill said after a moment. “You want the truth?”

That got your attention.

Not enough to fully turn toward her, but enough to shift slightly in your seat, your grip tightening just a bit on the blanket.

“The truth is, I don’t know what the hell he’s doing out there,” she admitted, her tone more grounded now, less guarded. “All I know is that he’s doing the same damn thing he always does when he goes out.”

You looked at her then, the question already written across your face.

“Risking his life for someone else.”

Your shoulders dropped at that, some of the tension leaving you even as something heavier settled in its place. It didn’t surprise you—not really—but hearing it out loud made it real in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Jill leaned forward slightly, her hands braced against the counter, her short hair falling just enough into her face that she had to push it back. “And I know him well enough to say this,” she added, her voice quieter now but no less certain. “He wouldn’t be risking his life the way he is if this wasn’t important.”

You looked back out into the rain, sighing, because that was the same thing everyone said about him. 

Jill watched you for a moment longer, something in her expression softening as she pushed herself fully away from the counter, her arms folding loosely across her chest as she stepped a little closer into the room. The edge in her voice from before faded, replaced with something steadier, something quieter.

“Hey,” she said, gentler now. “I get it. You’re upset. You’ve got every right to be.” She paused, like she was choosing her words carefully instead of just brushing you off. “But you gotta trust him. I did. More times than I can count, and it never led me wrong.”

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes still fixed on the rain streaking down the glass, but you listened.

“He’s a good man,” Jill continued, her tone firm in a way that didn’t feel forced. “Stubborn as hell, sure. Drives everyone around him insane. But he’s good. And he’d do anything for you.” There was a brief pause before she added, softer this time, “Just like he did anything for your mom.”

That made you shift.

Your gaze finally pulled away from the window, settling on her as something more curious replaced the frustration that had been sitting heavy in your chest.

“What were they like?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “Together. When they were working.”

Jill huffed out a small breath, something almost like a laugh slipping through as she shook her head slightly, like the question alone pulled her back somewhere else.

“They were…” she trailed off for a second, searching for the right word before giving up on finding just one. “A nightmare, honestly. Not in a bad way—just… you couldn’t separate them. Wherever one went, the other wasn’t far behind.”

You leaned back slightly in the chair, your attention fully on her now.

“There was this one op,” she continued, shifting her weight as she spoke, her tone easing into something more natural. “Italy, some underground lab that should’ve been wiped off the map years before we got there. Whole place was crawling with infected, barely any visibility, comms were shot halfway through, and we got split up almost immediately.”

You could picture it.

Too easily.

“Your mom took point without even thinking about it,” Jill said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Didn’t wait for backup, didn’t wait for a plan. Just moved. And your dad—” she shook her head again, softer this time, “he didn’t even argue. Just followed her straight into it like that was always the plan.”

Your chest tightened slightly at that.

“They fought like hell, don’t get me wrong,” she added. “Argued over everything. Who was right, who made the better call, who almost got the other one killed. But when it mattered…” She let the sentence hang for a second before finishing it more quietly. “They trusted each other completely.”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly in the blanket wrapped around your legs.

“They got us out of that place,” Jill went on, her voice quieter now, more reflective. “Not clean, not easy—but they did it. And I remember thinking after, watching them stand there covered in god knows what, still bickering like nothing happened…” She let out a soft breath. “They were made for each other. No question.”

The room fell quiet again, but it felt different this time.

Heavier.

Softer.

“I’m sorry,” Jill added after a moment, her voice losing some of that steadiness. “That you lost her.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Didn’t know if there even was something to say.

Your chest felt tight again, but not the same way as before, something deeper sitting beneath it, something you couldn’t quite sort through—

Jill’s phone rang.

The sound cut clean through the moment, sharp and out of place as she straightened slightly, reaching for it almost immediately. She glanced at the screen, and whatever she saw there wiped the softness from her expression in an instant.

“Hold on,” she muttered, already turning away as she answered, stepping toward the back door to give herself some space. You didn’t catch everything she said, just pieces, low and controlled, her tone shifting into something more professional and guarded.

You stayed where you were, watching the rain, your thoughts drifting back to everything she’d just said, the image of them together settling into your mind whether you wanted it to or not.

It felt warm.

And it hurt.

The door slid open, then shut again a moment later as Jill stepped back inside, her posture different now, her expression tighter than before.

She didn’t sit back down.

Didn’t pick up her book.

She just looked at you.

“It’s about your dad.”

—

He’d been out here all night, fighting his way through hell and back more times than he could count before he finally caught up with Grace. This was supposed to be simple: get in, fix it, get out, but nothing ever worked that way anymore. Not for him. Not when it tied back to something like this. He came out here to set things right, to get ahead of something before it spiraled out of control, and instead he could feel it catching up to him, settling deeper beneath his skin with every step he took.

His infection wasn’t waiting anymore.

It was moving.

The thought of his daughter hit him harder than anything else, flashing through his mind in quick, fractured pieces that refused to settle. The way she looked at him that morning. The way she tried to push him to talk. The way she didn’t know what was happening to her yet. Grace was a lot like her—same stubbornness hidden beneath something softer, same way of looking at the world, like it still had something worth holding onto. Grace was just… more hesitant. Less sure of where she stood. His daughter wasn’t like that. She had fire in her, even when she didn’t know what to do with it.

He wondered, briefly, if she would’ve made it out here.

If she would’ve been good in the field like this.

Then the thought twisted.

Maybe not.

Maybe she’d stay far away from all of it if he didn’t come back.

The idea settled heavy in his chest, but he pushed it down the same way he always did, forcing himself forward, forcing himself to focus on what was in front of him instead of what was waiting at home.

He would come back.

He had to.

“Go,” he urged, his voice tighter than he meant it to be as he motioned Grace forward, keeping himself between her and whatever was still chasing them. He watched her jump from the platform, his eyes tracking her until she landed safely below, until he knew she was steady enough to keep moving.

Then he followed.

His hands caught the edge as he hauled himself over, dropping down into the pit below, his boots hitting the ground harder than he intended, the impact sending something sharp up through his legs as he steadied himself. Grace was already pushing herself back up, still catching her balance, still trying to orient herself—

And then the world shifted.

It started slow.

A tilt.

A pull.

Like the ground beneath him wasn’t where it was supposed to be anymore.

“Grace—”

The word barely made it out before everything slipped.

The edges of his vision blurred, the weight of his body suddenly too much to hold, something inside him dragging him under faster than he could fight it. The sounds around him dulled, stretched thin, his thoughts scattering before he could grab onto any one of them—

And then it all went black.

—

When the darkness settled, it didn’t feel like nothing.

It felt warm.

Leon stood in the doorway of his home, the familiar creak of the floor beneath his boots grounding him in something that didn’t make sense and yet felt completely real. The air was soft, untouched, carrying the faint scent of something cooking in the kitchen, and for a moment he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stood there like if he took a step forward, it might all fall apart.

Then he heard it. Laughter. Light, easy and alive in a way that didn’t belong to the world he had just left behind.

He stepped inside before he could stop himself, his eyes adjusting to the warm glow spilling through the house as it wrapped around him like it had been waiting. The kitchen came into view first, sunlight catching along the counters, and then he saw them—his daughter perched on the counter, legs swinging idly as she leaned forward, laughing at something just out of his sight.

And then she stepped into view.

His wife. Alive. Whole. Untouched.

She moved like nothing had ever happened, like time hadn’t taken anything from them, like the world hadn’t carved itself into something unrecognizable. She reached up, nudging their daughter’s knee with a soft smile, saying something he couldn’t quite hear, and for a moment Leon forgot how to breathe.

Neither of them questioned why he was there. Neither of them looked surprised.

They just accepted him. Like he had always been there. Like he had never left.

His daughter looked up first, her eyes finding him instantly, lighting in a way that hit him harder than anything else. “You’re late,” she said, her tone light, teasing, but something about it didn’t sit right.

Leon stepped forward slowly, his gaze flicking between them, trying to hold onto every detail before it slipped away. “Yeah,” he said, quieter than he expected. “Traffic.”

His wife smiled, something soft and knowing in the curve of her lips as she turned toward him. “You always have an excuse.”

It should have felt normal. It should have felt like home.

But something was off.

The music box sat open on the counter behind them, the ballerina spinning perfectly in time to a melody that wasn’t broken anymore, the tune clear and clean in a way it hadn’t been in years. It was too perfect, too whole, and Leon’s gaze lingered on it for just a second too long before something shifted.

The warmth thinned. The light dimmed.

And when he looked back at her— The kitchen was gone.

Cold replaced it.

Damp.

The air was thick and suffocating, the sound of distant dripping echoing through the space as the world snapped into something darker, something real. The subway tunnel stretched around them, cracked tile and rusted metal swallowing the edges of his vision, and his wife was there, on the ground, slumped against the wall, blood soaking through her clothes, her breathing uneven as her hand trembled against the concrete.

Leon staggered back a step, the shift hitting him all at once as his chest tightened, his gaze locking onto her as if he looked away, she might disappear again.

“You always leave,” she said, her voice raw, quieter than it should have been for something that carried so much weight. Her eyes lifted to him slowly, glassy but aware, and the look in them made something in him falter. “Why did you leave me?”

His head shook immediately, the words pushing out before he could stop them. “I didn’t want to—”

“You did,” she cut in, not raising her voice, not angry, just certain in a way that left no room to argue. “You always do.”

Leon’s breath caught, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides like he didn’t know whether to move toward her or stay where he was, like any choice he made would be the wrong one.

“I came back,” he said, his voice tightening, grasping for something that sounded right. “I’m here.”

She looked at him for a long moment, something soft flickering through the pain before it settled into something else entirely.

“Not in time.”

The words landed harder than anything else.

The tunnel seemed to close in around him, the dripping echoing louder now, rhythmic and relentless, and she shifted slightly against the wall, her breath hitching before she spoke again, quieter this time, but no less heavy.

“Don’t make her watch you disappear too.”

His chest tightened, something sharp pulling through him as the words settled in, and for a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand there as the weight of it pressed down.

Then the world shifted again.

The damp air vanished. The tunnel dissolved. And suddenly he turned around—

He was standing in a doorway.

Not the kitchen.

Hhis daughters room.

The glow-in-the-dark stars flickered faintly above, even in the daylight, casting soft shadows across the walls as she sat at the end of the bed, the broken music box resting in her hands. The porcelain pieces were cradled carefully in her lap, like she was afraid they might fall apart further if she held them wrong.

When she looked up at him, she wasn’t scared or confused. She just waited.

“You said you’d fix it.”

Leon stepped forward, something tightening painfully in his chest as his eyes dropped to the broken pieces, then back to her. “I will,” he said quickly, the words coming out sharper than he meant. “I just need—”

She coughed.

The sound cut through everything, sharp and wrong, and his focus snapped back to her as her hand came up to cover her mouth. When she pulled it away, the blood was there again, and the sight of it made something inside him twist as her sleeve slipped just enough to reveal the dark veins threading beneath her skin.

“You said you’d fix it,” she repeated, softer now.

His breath faltered as he took another step closer, reaching out like he could stop it, like he could undo it before it spread any further. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t reach back.

She just looked at him.

“You always say that.”

The room fell quiet. There was no music. No movement. Just the weight of everything sitting between them.

Then—

The sound cut through everything, pulling at him, dragging him back toward something he couldn’t see yet, something just out of reach.

“Dad.”

Leon’s head turned slightly, his focus shifting, the room around him beginning to blur at the edges as the warmth faded, the light dimming, everything slipping—

“Dad, wake up.”

Leon coughed hard as consciousness snapped back into place, air catching wrong in his lungs as everything rushed him at once, sound, light, and pain, all of it colliding as he dragged in a breath that didn’t feel like enough. His hand came up instinctively to his chest as he forced himself upright, his body lagging behind the command as the world tilted slightly before settling again.

Grace was already there, moving into his space the second he stirred, dropping beside him with a sharp exhale of relief that she didn’t even try to hide. “Leon—are you okay?” Her voice wavered despite herself, the question coming out faster than she could steady it as she hovered close, unsure whether to touch him or give him space.

“Yeah—” he rasped, still catching his breath, dragging a hand over his face as he blinked hard, trying to force the last of the haze away. “Yeah… I’m good.” His voice didn’t quite match the words, but he pushed through it anyway, shifting his weight until he felt grounded enough to sit up properly. “How long was I out?”

“I—I don’t know,” she admitted, her hands tightening slightly in her lap as she glanced at him, then away, then back again. “A while.”

Leon nodded faintly, more to himself than to her, his breathing still uneven as he pulled himself the rest of the way up, steadying through the motion until the spinning stopped fighting him. His body felt heavier than it should have, slower to respond, but he forced it into line, forcing himself back into control one piece at a time.

“Those marks…” Grace’s voice was quieter now, hesitant, her eyes fixed on him in a way that told him she’d already seen more than he would have preferred.

Leon followed her gaze briefly before looking back at her, already knowing what she was seeing, what it must look like from the outside. “It’s T-virus,” he said, the words coming out simpler than the truth behind them. He hesitated for just a second before adding, “Stage three infection.”

The silence that followed wasn’t long, but it was enough.

She shook her head slightly, confusion and disbelief mixing together as she tried to make sense of it. “If you’re that sick… why would you come here?”

Leon let out a quiet breath, something almost humorless pulling at the corner of his mouth as he looked away for a second, his gaze landing somewhere past her, somewhere distant.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

The one he didn’t have a clean answer for.

Leon let out a slow breath, like the answer wasn’t sitting in front of him, like it stretched somewhere further back, somewhere heavier. “Because this is my last chance to change things,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, steadier in a way that felt practiced. “My last chance to make things right that I’ve screwed up since the very beginning.”

He shifted his weight slightly, one hand still pressed faintly to his side as if grounding himself there, his jaw tightening before he continued. “I’ve lost people to this,” he added, the words coming out more plainly than he intended. “And I will keep losing people to this if I don’t do something about it.”

A small, breathless laugh slipped out of him then, barely there but enough to catch, like the weight of it had finally found a crack to push through. It didn’t sound amused. It sounded tired. “You know… all this time I’ve been dealing with it, carrying it around like it was mine to fix, and I couldn’t even tell my daughter about it.” He shook his head faintly, his eyes dropping for a second before he dragged them back up. “Thought if I kept it from her… she’d understand. Or maybe I just didn’t want her looking at me like that.”

Grace stared at him for a moment, something softer settling into her expression despite everything else still pressing in around them. “You have a daughter?”

That got something different out of him.

Not lighter.

But… softer.

“Yeah,” he said, and this time the word came easier. There was something almost grounding in it, like saying it out loud pulled him back into something real. “She’s twenty-four. Still lives in my spare bedroom.” A faint breath of something warmer touched his expression before he shook his head slightly. “Though I guess it was never really a spare. It was always hers. Always will be.”

For a second, the noise of everything around them seemed to fade, like the chaos had pulled back just enough to let that sit.

Then it came back.

Leon straightened slightly, his expression shifting again, settling into something more certain, something harder to shake. When he looked at Grace this time, there was no hesitation left in it.

“I’m here for her,” he said, his voice firm now, steady in a way it hadn’t been before. “Because I refuse to let her watch me disappear.”

—

The moment the call ended, everything moved fast.

Jill didn’t waste any time. The second she heard that your dad and the agent had been picked up, she was already grabbing her keys, already moving toward you, already pulling you up from the chair before you could even process what was happening. Her hand was firm on your arm, steady, guiding, as if she didn’t keep you moving, you might collapse right there.

“They found something,” she said quickly as she helped you toward the door, her voice sharp with urgency but edged with something else, something almost like relief. “Something that can help you. Something you need.”

You didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t have the energy to.

You just let her lead you, your body lagging behind your thoughts as she got you into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut before circling around to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and then you were moving—fast.

Too fast.

The world blurred past the windows, the rain still clinging to the roads as Jill pushed the car harder than she probably should have, weaving through turns with a focus that didn’t leave room for hesitation. You sat there, curled slightly into yourself beneath layers of fabric, long sleeves, a hoodie pulled tight, and sweatpants bunched at your ankles, your fingers gripping at the seat as your heart pounded harder with every mile.

You didn’t know what you were about to walk into.

But you knew it wasn’t good.

When you finally arrived, it was chaos.

Sirens cut through the air, flashing lights bouncing off wet pavement and broken ground as emergency units swarmed the scene. A helicopter had landed just beyond the clearing, its blades slowing as agents and medics moved around it in controlled disorder, voices overlapping, radios crackling, everything too loud, too bright, too real.

You’d never seen this side of his world before.

Not like this.

And for the first time, you understood.

Jill was already out of the car, moving to your side as she pulled the door open and helped you out, her grip steady as your shoes sank slightly into the mud beneath you. Your legs felt weak, your body heavier than it should have been, but none of it mattered, not when your eyes were already scanning, already searching.

And then—

You saw him.

Just across the clearing.

Standing near the helicopter, talking to a shorter-haired blonde girl sitting inside, his back turned slightly as he leaned in, like he was making sure she was okay.

Alive.

There.

Something inside you snapped loose.

All the worry, all the fear, all the thoughts that had been building over the last twenty-four hours came rushing forward at once, crashing through you so fast it almost knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Dad!”

Your voice broke as it left you, louder than anything else in the chaos, and he heard it.

Of course he did.

He turned immediately, scanning for the source, and the second his eyes landed on you, everything else around him seemed to fall away.

You were already moving.

Running—if it could even be called that—pushing through the weakness, through the ache in your chest, through whatever was trying to drag you down, because none of it mattered anymore.

He was here.

And that was enough.

He moved toward you just as fast, closing the distance in seconds, and when you finally collided, it was messy and uncoordinated and perfect all at once, your arms wrapping around his neck as he caught you, pulling you tight against him like he wasn’t letting go.

“You’re okay,” you said, the words tumbling out between breaths, between tears you couldn’t stop as they spilled over. “You’re okay.”

He held you tighter at that, one hand pressing firmly against your back as the other came up to steady you, grounding you against him before he finally pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice softer now, steadier than you’d heard it in a long time. His hands came up to your face, brushing your hair back gently as he wiped at your tears with his thumbs. “I’m okay, baby girl.”

That was all it took.

The tears came faster, hotter, and overwhelming as you leaned back into him, your arms wrapping around him again, as if you let go, he might disappear.

But he didn’t.

He felt… different.

Better.

The weight that had been sitting on him, the exhaustion, the darkness in his eyes—it wasn’t there anymore. Or at least not in the same way. There was something else now, something steadier, something that looked a lot like hope.

He held you there for a moment longer, like he was grounding himself in you just as much as you were in him, his hand steady at your back as your breathing slowly began to even out. The chaos around you didn’t stop; sirens still cut through the air, and voices still overlapped, but none of it seemed to reach the space the two of you had carved out in that moment.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far.

Just enough to look at you again.

His hands stayed at your face, thumbs brushing gently beneath your eyes to catch the last of your tears as his gaze searched yours, like he was making sure you were really there, that you were okay, that he hadn’t come back too late.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said again, quieter this time, but no less certain.

You nodded, even though your throat still felt tight, even though the tears hadn’t fully stopped. You believed him.

For the first time in a long time—

You believed him.

His hand dropped slowly from your face then, and for a second you thought he was pulling away again, that the moment was over, but instead he reached for something else. You watched as he slipped his glove off, the movement familiar, practiced, revealing faint marks along his skin that were fading. 

Like they had never been there at all.

From his pocket, he pulled something small, something you recognized immediately even before he turned it in his fingers.

His wedding ring.

The metal caught the light for just a second as he looked down at it, his expression shifting, not breaking, not falling apart, just softening in a way that made your chest ache for a different reason now.

Carefully, he slid it back onto his finger, settling it into place like it had always belonged there, like it had just been waiting for him to come back to it.

“And neither is she,” he said quietly.

You knew exactly what he meant.

Not gone.

Not forgotten.

Not something that would fade with time just because it hurt to hold onto.

You stepped forward again without thinking, wrapping your arms around him one more time, and this time when he held you, it felt different.

“Now how about we get you all fixed up, huh?”

You laughed into his chest, through your tears and suffocated emotions. You weren't holding onto him so he wouldn’t slip away.