#instructor leon

Across the room, Chris Redfield barked corrections at a recruit struggling through firearm retention drills.

“No one is gonna politely wait for you to fix your grip,” he snapped. “Again.”

Nearby, Jill Valentine leaned against the wall with crossed arms, looking deeply unimpressed by humanity as a whole.

And directly in front of you, Leon Kennedy was watching you.

Not in the casual instructor way. Not in the “checking form” way. Actually watching you.

You felt it every time you moved.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” he said suddenly.

You blinked.

“What?”

Leon tilted his head slightly from across the sparring mat.

“Your shoulders tense before you move.”

Heat prickled annoyingly behind your ears.

“You can tell?”

His mouth twitched.

“Sweetheart, I can tell what kind of mood you’re in from how hard you shove the training room door.”

Your stomach did something deeply unprofessional.

Because there it was again.

That thing Leon did where he sounded teasing, but underneath it was observation so sharp it bordered on intimacy.

Chris looked over from across the gym.

“Oh, good,” he muttered dryly. “Kennedy’s using pet names again. That usually means he’s about to emotionally attach to a problem.”

“Eat shit, Redfield,” Leon replied automatically.

Several recruits snorted but Leon never looked away from you.

“C’mere,” he said, gesturing you forward with two fingers.

God.

You stepped onto the mat. Immediately, the room got quieter. Everyone knew Instructor Kennedy didn’t spar seriously with recruits unless he thought they had real potential.

Leon rolled his shoulders once before settling into stance. The man moved like he had spent too much of his life surviving things.

“You ready?” he asked.

You nodded once.

That was a big mistake.

Leon moved instantly - fast enough that most people would’ve panicked.

You didn’t.

Instead you pivoted hard sideways and caught his wrist before he could redirect your balance.

Leon’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“There she is,” he murmured.

The praise hit harder than it should have.

The next exchange came faster. Leon pressed harder now, clearly testing you. You blocked one strike. Missed another. Recovered quickly enough to avoid getting thrown.

But what made Leon different as an instructor was that he adapted with you. The second you improved, he improved, like he was dragging your instincts upward in real time.

“Stop anticipating,” he said while circling you slowly. “You keep trying to guess what I’ll do instead of reacting to what’s actually happening.”

You exhaled sharply.

“You say that like there’s a difference.”

“There is.”

Then suddenly he was close.

One hand caught your wrist while the other pressed briefly against your shoulder blade to destabilize your footing.

He was warm. Solid. Your pulse stumbled traitorously.

“Again,” Leon said quietly.

You shoved off him harder this time. He let you.

That was the thing. Leon could overpower you easily, everyone in the room knew it. But instead of crushing mistakes out of recruits, he created openings and waited to see if you were smart enough to use them.

And eventually, you were.

His grip shifted wrong for half a second. It was one tiny mistake that you took advantage of immediately.

You hooked your leg behind his knee and twisted hard enough to force him off balance before driving him backward onto the mat with a heavy thud.

The entire gym exploded.

Chris actually doubled over laughing.

Jill looked impressed for approximately half a second, which from her was basically a standing ovation.

And Leon…he just stared up at you. Breathing hard. One of your hands still fisted in the front of his black training shirt. Your knee trapped between his thighs to keep leverage.

For one suspended second, neither of you moved. Then Leon laughed. It wasn't mocking or surprised. It was something warmer than that. 

His hand closed loosely around your wrist where it gripped his shirt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, looking up at you like he’d just realized something dangerous.

Your heartbeat turned catastrophic. Then his expression shifted.

The realization hitting him all at once that your bodies were very close, he was looking at your mouth, and half the academy was staring. 

Leon cleared his throat immediately.

“You done trying to kill your instructor?” he asked roughly.

You leaned closer before you could stop yourself.

“Depends,” you said quietly. “You impressed yet?”

That did it. Something in Leon’s face just went soft. Barely, but enough that Chris saw it from across the room and immediately groaned.

“Oh my God. Painful. Both of you.”

The spell broke. You climbed off Leon quickly while recruits erupted into chatter around the gym.

But when Leon stood, his hand found the small of your back automatically to steady you. The touch lasted maybe two seconds, but it was still too long. Especially because neither of you acknowledged it.

Training ended an hour later.

By sunset, the academy grounds had emptied completely.

You sat alone on the front steps unlacing your boots when the heavy front doors opened behind you.

Leon stepped outside carrying two vending machine sodas.

Your chest tightened stupidly.

He walked down the steps and handed one to you without a word before sitting beside you.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The evening air felt cooler after the gym. Cicadas hummed softly somewhere beyond the parking lot while academy floodlights flickered on overhead.

“You embarrassed me today,” Leon said eventually.

You glanced over immediately. Then a loud laugh erupted from you.

“Hey, all's fair on the training mat,” you remind him.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That so?”

You laughed softly, nodding.

Leon looked at you instantly. There it was again. That look, like hearing you laugh affected him physically.

You stared down into your drink before asking, “So… honestly?”

“Hm?”

“Did I do okay?”

Leon went still beside you. Not because he was thinking about the answer, but because he already had one.

“You did better than okay.”

His voice sounded lower out here, like the darkness made him feel he could be honest. Anonymity, and all that.

“You know what most recruits do?” he asked.

“What?”

“They fight like they want approval.”

You frowned slightly.

“And I didn’t?”

Leon looked over at you then.

“No,” he said softly. “You fought like you trusted yourself.”

The compliment landed somewhere deep enough to hurt a little. You swallowed hard and looked away toward the parking lot.

“Means a lot coming from you.”

He took his time finding the words. Then still chose the wrong ones. 

“Yeah. That’s kinda the problem.”

Your breath caught.

Leon immediately rubbed one hand down his face like he regretted speaking the second the words left his mouth.

“Forget I said that.”

“No.”

He looked over.

You were already watching him.

And suddenly the air between you felt too tight despite all the open space.

Leon exhaled slowly through his nose before leaning back against the step behind him.

“You know,” he muttered, staring up at the darkening sky, “I used to think being an instructor would make me less stressed.”

You smiled faintly.

“And?”

“And now I spend half my time wondering if you’re gonna get yourself hurt and the other half wondering if thinking about you this much is wildly inappropriate.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

Leon laughed softly once, mostly at himself.

“See?” he muttered. “Painful.”

Then finally he looked at you again. And this time there was nothing casual left in his expression.

Just warmth and admiration and that terrible, yearning softness Leon always carried when he cared too much.

“You were incredible today,” he said quietly. “Seriously.”

The sincerity in his voice almost hurt.

“Even though I'm not going to stop worrying about you, you'll be a great agent, kid.”