#resdient evil

Leon was crouched next to a crying kid sitting at his desk in his chair, feeling like the world's most useless cop. The boy couldn't have been more than five or six, gangly limbs, sharp elbows, and a Pokemon t-shirt two sizes too big and he was wailing. A full-body, hiccupping sob that made his whole frame shake like a leaf in a storm. His face was red and blotchy, eyes swollen, and snot ran down to his upper lip in a glistening trail he kept trying to wipe away with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek instead.

Every attempt Leon made only seemed to make it worse. The sticker he'd peeled from the sheet on Sergeant Branagh's desk, a faded "Junior Officer" star that looked like it had seen better days, the edges curling and yellowed, had been met with a look of sadness, like Leon had kicked a puppy. The awkward "hey buddy" he'd tried in what he thought was a soothing voice had triggered a fresh round of tears so loud that Rita had actually stopped mid-phone call to stare, receiver still pressed to her ear, her expression full of pity and secondhand embarrassment for him.

The boy's wails echoed reverberating through the bullpen like the siren on a cruiser, and Leon could feel every eye in the precinct on him. The back of his neck burned, heat crawling up from his collar and spreading across his cheeks. His knees ached from crouching down next to the boy in his chair to seem less intimidating, the stiff fabric of his uniform pants digging into the backs of his thighs. He was only three weeks into this job, still getting used to the work and second-guessing every move he made. Not once in the academy did they teach him how to diffuse this type of bomb, and now he was being defeated by a kindergartner.

He was about to try again, maybe offer his keys to jingle like the kid was a toddler or something, a desperate and humiliating attempt that would have probably made everything worse, when he saw you.

You came through the precinct door with a stack of manila folders threatening to spill from your arms, your ID badge swinging on its lanyard against your chest. He'd seen you around before. You were a paralegal intern, always busy with somewhere to be. You wore your hair pulled back most days, dressed in business casual, you’d been here long enough to stop trying to impress anyone. There was a coffee stain on the cuff of your blouse today, faint but visible if you looked close enough, and Leon had looked, he often found himself looking toward you like his eyes was a compass and you were due North.

You stopped mid-stride, your eyes landing on the sobbing kid, and something shifted in your expression. Your brows drew together in concern, and your mouth pressed into a thin line. Without a word, you pivoted towards your desk that was pushed into a corner of the precinct near the many filing cabinets. The files hit your desk with a loud thump that made Leon flinch. He watched, confused and a little dazed, as you opened your bottom drawer and pulled out a stuffed raccoon, just a little something that they handed out at community events and elementary school visits. It had a little stitched badge on its chest, a slightly crooked smile, and a tail that looked like it had seen better days, the fur matted in places from too many hands.

Then you walked right over, and Leon stepped back instinctively as you dropped to the floor beside the boy. You didn't hesitate or pause to dust off the linoleum and adjust your skirt. You just knelt down, one knee hitting the ground and leaned in close.

"Hey," you said softly, holding the raccoon out in both hands. Your voice was warm and soft like a blanket fresh from the dryer, comforting. "You know what this is?"you said softly, in a kind of maternal tone.

The kid hiccupped, his crying stuttering to a jerky stop as he stared at the toy. His eyes were still wet, lashes clumped together in dark spikes, but he was looking at you now. His bottom lip trembled, but the wail had died down to a shaky, uneven breathing and he was completely focused on your gentle face and soft caring tone.

"This is Officer Bandit," you continued, wiggling the plushie a little so its stubby arms moved up and down, waving to the small child. "He's the bravest raccoon in the whole city. Solves crimes, catches bad guys, the whole deal. But you know what?" You leaned in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made the boy's eyes go wide. "He gets scared sometimes too."

"...R-really?" the kid whispered back, his voice small hoarse from all the crying.

"Mm-hm." You nodded seriously, your expression solemn, like you were sharing the most important secret in the world. "Especially in big loud places like this, it's a lot, isn’t it? But you know what helps him feel better?"

The boy shook his head, sniffling hard, his nose still running. You gently took your blouse and wiped his face without even thinking about it. 

"When someone holds him tight. Just like this." You smiled softly, and pulled the plushie to your chest, wrapping your arms around it in an exaggerated hug. You even rocked a little, side to side, like you were comforting a real person. "See? Makes him feel safe. You think you can help him feel brave?"

The boy sniffled again, but his hand was already moving. Tentative at first, fingers reaching out to brush the raccoon's worn fur. Then he took it, his small fingers curling into the soft fabric, clutching it to his chest tightly. He squeezed, his knuckles going white, and buried his face in the plushie's fuzzy head.

"There you go. I bet bandit feels so much better, right?," you murmured, and the kid nodded, squeezing the raccoon tighter. He gave it a hug, burying his face in its fuzzy head, and his shoulders, which had been hitching with sobs just moments before, finally started to drop as he calmed down. His breathing evened out, the hitching sobs fading into soft, shaky exhales that shifted the fur on the raccoon.

Leon's heart thumped, hard. His heart tripped over itself and forgotten how to find its rhythm at the sight of you. And then his heart was racing so loud, he swore he could hear it thumping between his ears. He reached up unconsciously to grip at his shirt right In front of his heart willing it to calm down. 

You smiled and reached out, brushing a strand of sweaty hair off the boy's forehead. Your touch was gentle and careful, your fingers barely grazing his skin, and the kid leaned into it, starved for kindness. You didn't flinch or pull away from his searching touch. You sat there, one hand resting lightly on his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades, your thumb tracing a soothing pattern over his spine.

Leon stood there, still as a statue, and he found he couldn't look away from you and the now calm child. Watching you murmur something else to the boy, your head tilted close to his, your lips moving in soft quiet and reassuring words.

"Hey, I like your shirt," you said, tapping the Pikachu printed across the front. "Is Pikachu your favorite?"

The kid nodded, clutching Officer Bandit a little less desperately now.

"Yeah? How come?" You asked gently and you sounded genuinely interested in what he had to say.

"Cause—'cause he's fast," the boy said, his voice still thick with mucus but he wasn’t crying anymore, which was a miracle in itself. "And he can do Thunderbolt and he's Ash's best friend and—and he's yellow, yellow is my favorite color."

"Oooh, yellow's a good color," you agreed, nodding like this was the most important conversation you'd had all day. "You know what? My favorite is also yellow! Do you know Psyduck."

The kid blinked, surprised and nodded quickly. "...Psyduck"

"Yup." You grinned. "You know why?"

He shook his head.

"'Cause he's silly." And then, without warning, you crossed your eyes and put both hands on your head like you were holding it in pain, doing a spot-on impression of the confused little duck.

The kid giggled a bright, hiccupping giggle that filled the room like a rainbow after a storm, and you laughed with him, your whole face lighting up, Leon's mouth went dry as he watched a smile curl on your lips, your eyes crinkled at the corners.

He swallowed hard, a pit the size of a peach stuck in his throat. His pulse was beating loudly in his ears, drowning out the precinct noise around him.

You glanced up then, catching his eye, and raised an eyebrow. "You good, Kennedy?"

Leon blinked, his brain scrambling to form words. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm—" He cleared his throat, feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck, flooding his face until he was sure he was bright red. "Good. I'm good."

You shrugged, a little smirk tugging at your lips, and turned your attention back to the boy. Leon just stood there like an idiot, rooted to the spot, watching the way your fingers carded through the kid's hair again, so naturally, like you'd done this before. Leon wondered if you had kids and felt a seed of disappointment and sadness grow in his stomach.

You tucked a strand behind his ear and the kids’ eyes fluttered closed for just a second, all the crying finally catching up to him as he suddenly grew tired.

He couldn't stop staring at you as you sat there on the dirty floor in your work clothes without a care and you spoke to the kid like he was just as important as the work on your desk that you abandoned, you made something hard look effortless.

After that day whenever he saw or thought of you his chest felt tight and warm all at once, he'd often find himself looking for you in the break room, hoping to catch a glimpse of you pouring coffee or sorting through files. Your smile stayed the longest, replaying in his head when he was trying to fall asleep every night. He'd spend the next week trying to think of excuses to talk to you, to hear your voice again, to see if you'd smile at him the way you'd smiled at that kid.

It started there, with a crying kid, a stuffed animal and you, looking up at him with eyes that would haunt him every waking moment.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ The precinct smelled like cheap pizza and sugar, a sickly-sweet combination that clung to the air and made Leon's head throb. Dozens of kids swarmed the lobby, their voices a cacophony of shrieks and laughter that bounced off every hard surface. Leon stood near the front desk, arms crossed, watching a group of eight-year-olds chase each other around a display table that held pamphlets about stranger danger and bicycle safety. A awkward and nervous smile on his face, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple despite the October chill that had blown in when the doors opened.

This was worse than any training scenario Raccoon City PD had thrown at him.

The lobby looked like a bomb had gone off, if that bomb was filled with glitter, juice boxes, and about forty screaming children from the local orphanage, community center, and the officers own children. Streamers hung from the ceiling in drooping arcs of blue and red, some already torn and dangling down. There were balloons tied to every available surface, and squeaking every time someone brushed past. Someone had set up a craft table near the far wall that was now covered in a layer of glue, construction paper scraps, and what looked like an entire bottle of glitter that had exploded across the surface like a disco ball.

Leon was trying to look authoritative while a kid in curly little space buns with cat ears tugged insistently on his belt and asked if he had a real gun.

"Uh, yeah, but—hey, don't touch that—" He tried to gently redirect her hand, his voice strained with the effort of trying to wrangle a small child, his fingers hovering uselessly near hers like he was afraid to actually touch her and make things worse.

The girl didn't listen. She was already trying to poke at his radio, her sticky fingers leaving smudges on the black plastic.

"Is it heavy? Can you shoot bad guys? Do you have handcuffs? Can I see them? Do you have a Taser? My dad has a Taser too—"

"Maybe later, okay? How about you go—" Leon gestured vaguely toward the craft table, but the girl just stared at him like he'd suggested she eat broccoli.

"But I wanna see your gun," she insisted, and Leon felt his face heat up as Officer Branagh glanced over from across the room, clearly trying not to laugh as his daughter pestered him.

Then you appeared, out of nowhere, sliding between the desk and the swarm of kids. You moved like water, smooth and unbothered, and the kids seemed to part for you instinctively. You were wearing jeans today, not your usual business slacks or pencil skirt, and a blue Raccoon City PD volunteer t-shirt that had seen better days, the logo faded and cracked across your chest. Your hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame your face, and there was a smudge of purple marker, on your forearm, trailing up toward your elbow like you'd been drawing with the kids earlier.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Junior officers!" you called out, clapping your hands together twice.

The kids froze. Even the ones who'd been mid-sprint screeched to a halt, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, their faces turning toward you with wide-eyed attention.

You crouched down, gathering the kids around you like a storyteller at a campfire, your hands moving as you spoke. "We've got a major situation on our hands," you said, your voice low and serious, like you were briefing a SWAT team before a raid. "There's been a report of a missing cat. Orange tabby. Answers to the name Mr. Whiskers." You paused for dramatic effect, letting the silence stretch, and the kids leaned in, eyes wide, mouths hanging open. "Last seen near the break room."

A collective gasp rippled through the group.

"But here's the thing," you continued, standing up and scanning their faces with a grave expression. "Only the best junior officers can help me find him." You pointed dramatically toward the hallway, your finger jabbing the air. "Think you're up for it?"

The kids erupted in agreement, bouncing on their toes, hands shooting into the air like they were trying to touch the ceiling.

"Me! Me! I can do it!"

"I'm really good at finding stuff!"

"I found my mom's keys once!"

You grinned, and Leon felt something in his chest shift. You stood there, surrounded by chaos, completely in your element, and you looked...you looked happy. Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Then your eyes landed on him and your grin widened before you walked over, weaving through the kids with a few pats on heads and "hang on, team, one second" reassurances. When you stopped in front of him, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a plastic junior officer badge, the cheap ones that they had abundance of that they gave out to all the kids earlier, with a safety pin on the back and a shiny gold finish. You pressed it into his palm, your fingers brushing his and Leon's brain short-circuited.

"Officer Kennedy," you said, loud enough for the kids to hear, your voice warm and teasing, and you winked. Actually winked at him, your eye closing in a slow wink that made his stomach flip. "I'm deputizing you. We need all hands on deck for this one."

Leon blinked down at the badge, then at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Wait, I—"

"No time!" You turned back to the kids, clapping your hands again. "Alright, team, Officer Kennedy is joining the search party. Let's move out!"

Before he could protest a gaggle of kids swarmed him, tiny hands grabbing at his uniform and arms, tugging him forward with the force of a small army.

"Come on, Officer Kennedy!"

"We gotta find Mr. Whiskers!"

"He's probably scared!"

And just like that, Leon found himself on his hands and knees, peering under chairs and desks while a gaggle of children shouted directions at him like he was defusing a bomb.

"No, not there! Over there!"

"Check under the desk!"

"I think I saw a tail!"

"Maybe he's in the trash can!"

One little girl with braids tugged on his sleeve, her face scrunched up in concentration, insisting she saw something orange under the desk. Leon crawled over, his knees protesting against the hard floor, the fabric of his pants pulling tight across his thighs. He reached under the desk, his fingers brushing something soft and fuzzy, and pulled out a stuffed tabby cat, clearly planted there ahead of time, its fur slightly dusty, one of its button eyes hanging by a thread.

The kids erupted.

"He found him!"

"Mr. Whiskers!"

"Officer Kennedy saved him!"

"Is he okay?!"

"Can I pet him?!"

They cheered like he'd just solved a murder case, like he was a hero, and Leon couldn't help it, he laughed. Bubbling up from his chest and spilling out, as he held up the stuffed cat, and the kids crowded around, petting it, asking if it was okay, if it was scared, if it needed water.

"I think he's alright," Leon said, grinning his cheeks aching from the stretch of smiling so wide. "Just a little dusty."

"Good job, Officer Kennedy!" a little boy shouted, pumping his fist in the air, and the others joined in, chanting his name like he'd won the Super Bowl. Leon's face flushed, heat crawling up his neck and spreading across his cheeks, but he was still smiling when he looked up at you.

You were across the room, a kid on your hip, another kid hanging off your arm, and you caught his eye. You smiled at him softly, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and Leon felt that thump again. Like his heart stopped and was restarted, Harder this time. He could feel the cup that held all his emotions inside him cracking and every desire he kept deep inside him spilling out faster than he could contain it, flooding his veins with warmth.

"Good work, Officer Kennedy," you called out, your voice carrying over to him through the noise, the tone full of warmth like a hearth place directly into the home if his heart. He suddenly felt like he had to do something with his hands but they felt clumsy, and he didn't know what to do with them.

He managed to give you a nod and a small nervous smile, his throat tight and face flushed.

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As the event was winding down he retreated to the break room, a poor soldier covered in sticky substances and glitter returning from the front lines, pouring himself a cup of coffee that had been sitting on the burner for at least three hours. It tasted like burnt rubber and was bitter and thick like sludge on his tongue, but he didn't care he really needed it after the past few hours. He leaned his back against the counter and closed his eyes, his head tilting back against the cabinet.

After a few mins Leon opened his eyes, and there you were. You had a kid on your hip, one of the orphanage kids, a little boy with a mop of dark curls and chocolate from the raccoon cake pops smeared across his cheek. You were murmuring something soft to him, your free hand brushing his curls back from his forehead as you grabbed a napkin from the counter, your movements gentle and practiced.

Leon watched, frozen, as you wet the napkin under the tap and gently wiped the boy's face. The kid squirmed, giggling, his little hands pushing at yours, his legs kicking against your side.

"Hold still, mister," you said, your voice playful but firm, that same tone you'd used with the other kids all day. "You've got half a chocolate cake pop all over your face."

"Nooo," the boy whined, squirming with the biggest smile on his face. His smile was so innocent and infectious that you couldn’t help but return it, smiling down at the mischievous little kid that refused to have a clean face.

"Yeeesss," you said in a sing song tone playing along with him, dabbing at his cheek with the napkin. "There we go. All clean."

You set the boy down, and he ran off toward the door where one of the chaperones was waiting, to whisk him away. He waved at you over his shoulder, his hand opening and closing in an exaggerated motion.

"Bye-bye!" he called.

"Bye, sweetheart," you said, waving back, your voice the same soft and warm tone you used on all of the children today.

You turned eyes drifting towards Leon and you caught him staring yet again.

"Is there something on my face too?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a smirk, your head tilting to the side.

"No! Nothing…." He took a sip of his coffee, trying to look casual like he hadn't just been imagining what it would be like to wake up next to you every morning.

But his brain was spinning and painting pictures he had no business imagining. You, in a kitchen that wasn't the break room, all warm and lived-in, with toys scattered across the floor and crayon drawings stuck to the fridge with magnets. Sunlight streaming through the windows, catching in your hair. A kid, his kid he thought, with his blue eyes and your smile, tugging on your hand, begging for one more story before bed, their voice sweet like cotton candy.

In his imagination you were there, glowing and laughing, the center of it all. The heart of a home. Of your shared home. A hand resting on a rounded belly, your face soft and content, his ring on your finger and his name on your lips.

Leon's grip tightened on his mug, his knuckles going white. He wanted his vision to be true, wanted to build a life with you, brick by brick. A messy and imperfect life, but a life shared with you. More than anything despite it being inappropriate to imagine you like this when you didn’t even know his feelings for you he wanted more than anything to watch you grow round with his child, wanted to feel them kick under his palm, to see you glow with the knowledge that you were growing a life inside you. He wanted to do anything and everything for you. To wake up in the middle of the night and get you whatever weird craving you had, pickles with peanut butter, mango with hot sauce, you name it he would get it. He would be happy to rub your feet when they ached, and hold your hair back if you got sick. He wanted to be there for every single second of it

He would be the happiest man on earth if only he could slide a ring onto your finger and stand in front of everyone they knew and say I do.

Everything hit him all at once like a freight train directly to his chest and he had to look away from you, before you could noticed the way his face had gone completely red, his hands trembling slightly around the mug.

"You okay, Kennedy?" you asked, your voice softer with concern, and he heard you take a step closer.

"Yeah," he said, his voice rough before he cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm good. Just... tired."

You nodded, accepting the answer, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "You did good today," you said, glancing at him over your shoulder, your ponytail swinging. "The kids loved you."

Leon's heart started racing as it always seemed to do around you, an uncontrollable reaction to your presence. "Thanks," he managed quietly. "You were... you were great with them."

You shrugged, but your cheeks flushed, just a little, a soft pink spreading across your skin. "I like kids," you said simply, twisting the cap off the water bottle. "They're honest...maybe a little too honest sometimes ."

Leon huffed a laugh. "Yeah. That's one way to put it."

You smiled, and for a moment, the break room felt smaller. He wanted to cross the room. Wanted to cup your face in his hands and kiss you until you were breathless, like he'd imagined a thousand times before in the dark hours of his room when he finally let his thoughts of you run wild. If only he could press you against the counter and bury his face in your neck just to breathe you in.

But he didn't and couldn’t, he just gripped his coffee mug tighter and watched you leave. Tossing the now empty water bottle in the recycling bin, before you gave him one last smile and walked out of the break room, your footsteps fading down the hall. Leon was alone again, staring into his coffee, his mind racing and heart pounding, his whole body aching.

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It was late and the station had emptied out hours ago, the building now quiet except for the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, casting everything in a yellow glow that made Leon's eyes sore.

It was just the two of you in the breakroom, surrounded by stacks of paperwork that never seemed to end. A pocket of calm, a bubble of warmth in the cold, empty precinct. It was mind-numbing work, that made your eyes glaze over and your hand cramp around your pen, but Leon didn't mind. Not when you were there.

You were across the table, pen in hand, scribbling notes on a case file. Your handwriting was neat, precise, each letter carefully formed, and Leon found himself watching the way your wrist moved, the way your fingers gripped the pen with each stroke. He'd given up pretending to work about twenty minutes ago. He was just watching you now, as you chewed on your bottom lip while you were concentrating. Your hair kept falling into your face, pushing it back with the heel of your hand, leaving a smudge of ink on your forehead that you didn't seem to notice.

You were wearing glasses tonight, thin-framed lenses that were perched on the bridge of your nose, and Leon had never realized how much he liked that look until now. You looked beautiful, and it made his fingers itch with the urge to reach across the table and brush that unruly strand of hair behind your ear.

"You ever think about the future?" he asked suddenly.

You looked up, surprised, your pen pausing mid-word. "Like... tomorrow? Or?"

"I…just in general. Like what you hope or dream about for yourself." He leaned back in his chair, the plastic creaking under his weight, and rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know. I just... I grew up pretty lonely, you know?" He dropped his hand, staring at the table, at the coffee ring stains and the scratches in the laminate. "After my parents died, it was just me and my focus was on my career. I joined the force because I wanted... A place to belong where I could do good."

You set your pen down, giving him your full attention. Your eyes were soft and full of understanding, watching and listening as Leon was spilling out all the things he'd kept locked away.

"I never knew what I wanted beyond doing some good as a police officer. Never thought about marriage or kids." Leon paused, his eyes shifting toward you, in a quick glance before darting away again. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head as if to dislodge whatever nerves had sunk their claws into him.

"But lately I've been thinking about it," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Imagining myself with a house. A couple of kids running around, causing trouble..." His lips quirked into a faint, uncertain smile. "Honestly? It doesn't sound too bad." He finally lifted his face, his bright blue eyes meeting yours.

"Is that stupid?" He laughed self-consciously, and rubbed the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tense muscle there. "I mean, I don't even know if I'd be a good dad."

You were quiet for a moment, and Leon's stomach dropped. He'd laid himself bare and now his heart was in your hands. You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours. The contact sent a jolt or electricity racing up his arm and he stared down at your hand on his.

"It's not stupid, Leon." you said softly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles in a slow, soothing motion that made his skin tingle. "You'd be a great dad. You're kind, you care so deeply about people, even strangers, and you work hard at everything you do no matter how difficult it might be. Your kids?" You squeezed his hand gently. "They'd be so lucky to have you."

The words were everything he needed to hear and more and he felt his chest fill with affection as he stared at you, the warmth in your eyes, the sincerity in your voice, the way you were looking at him. A piece Clicked into place like a puzzle he hadn't known was missing.

This wasn't just a crush, attraction, or just lust. No this feeling was a need to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night.

Leon cleared his throat. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you said, your hand still covering his, your thumb still tracing circles on his skin.

"Would you want to—" He stopped, his courage faltering, his throat tight. Then he forced himself to keep going, forced the words out before he could lose his nerve and talk himself out of it. "I really like you. Would you want to go out sometime? With me. Like, on a date."

Your eyes widened, and for a second, Leon thought he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life. You were going to pull your hand away, tell him you didn't see him that way, that he was a nice guy but—

You smiled brightly as you laughed. "I like you too, Leon." you said, your voice a little breathless, your cheeks flushed pink, the color spreading down your neck and disappearing beneath the collar of your shirt. "Yes, I'd love to go out."

Leon grinned, his whole body flooding with relief and joy, a happiness so bright and overwhelming. "Are- I mean really?"

"Yeah, Leon." You squeezed his hand, your smile widening, your eyes sparkling under the shitty fluorescent lights like they were stars. "I'd really like that."

Leon laughed and ran his free hand through his hair, his grin so wide. "Okay. Okay, good. Great. That's—" He shook his head, still grinning like a kid who'd just been told Christmas was coming early. "That's great."

You laughed too, and the sound wrapped around him like a blanket.

"So," you said, your thumb still tracing circles on his knuckles, sending sparks up his arm, making his skin feel too tight and his face to warm. "When were you thinking?"

"Uh—" Leon's brain scrambled, trying to form coherent thoughts through the haze of happiness and disbelief. "This weekend? Saturday? If you're free?"

"I'm free," you said, and you were looking at him like you'd been waiting for him to ask.

"Okay," he said, his voice rough. "Saturday."

"Saturday," you echoed, and your smile softened. You sat there for a moment, hands still touching across the table. The paperwork was forgotten, It was just the two of you, bathed in the sickly yellow light.

He wanted to lean across the table to pull you close and never let go. Instead he just held your hand, grinning like an idiot, and let himself bask in the warmth of your smile.

"I should probably let you get back to work," you said eventually, your voice soft and reluctant.

"Yeah," Leon said.

Your thumb brushed over his knuckles one more time, and then you slowly pulled your hand away, your fingers trailing across his palm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Leon's hand felt cold without yours, to keep him warm and he had to fight the urge to reach out to pull you back across the table and keep you there.

You picked up your pen, your cheeks still flushed, a soft smile still at the corners of your lips. you went back to your files, but Leon saw the way your smile lingered and your eyes kept flicking up to meet his.

Leon picked up his own pen, pretending to read the report in front of him, but the words blurred together, meaningless. All he could think about was you. Saturday couldn't come fast enough.

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You'd noticed him on his first day, it was hard not to really. He'd walked into the precinct with his shoulders back and his chin up, trying so hard to appear more confident than he was, but you'd seen the way his eyes had shifted around the room quickly in a way that betrayed his nerves. He was a new rookie, fresh out of the academy, still carrying that fresh untested energy that was obvious in all of them in the beginning.

You'd been at the filing cabinets, sorting through a stack of case files that seemed to multiply every time you turned your back, that all needed to be cross-referenced and filed in the correct order, and you'd watched him shake hands with Sergeant Branagh. He nodded along to whatever speech the sergeant was giving about duty and honor and serving the community, his expression earnest and attentive. He'd tugged at his collar when he thought no one was looking, like the uniform was too tight or the room was suddenly too hot, a nervous tick if you ever saw one.

He was cute, you'd give him that. Tall, with broad shoulders, a young pretty face, with a constellation of moles that dotted along his neck and face, blonde hair that fell just a little too long over his forehead and blue eyes that were startlingly bright and earnest. He was the kind of guy that would've made your college roommate swoon and start planning a wedding after one conversation and you wouldn’t have blamed her.

You'd looked at him with no more than a curious glance before turning back to your files, pushing all of those thoughts away. you had a job to do and you didn't have time to get distracted by every good-looking rookie who walked through the door.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The first couple of weeks, you'd kept your distance. Not because you were cold, no, it wasn't that. You weren't a cold person normally or at least you didn't think you were, but you kept your head down because you were busy. The precinct was always busy, and the paralegal internship was demanding in ways you hadn't fully anticipated when you'd accepted it. So, you worked. Head down, focused, moving between the filing cabinets and the desks upstairs with the energy that discouraged small talk. You didn't linger in the break room or chat with the officers unless it was necessary. You were polite, professional, and you kept to yourself.

But you noticed him, sometimes, when you would stop and look up for a second, pausing to stretch your back or rest your eyes from the endless sea of paperwork, you'd catch glimpses of him. And you noticed that he tried, so hard at everything he did. No matter how small or difficult the task.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You'd been coming back from upstairs, arms full of manila folders, something your supervisor Elle had thrust into your arms that morning with a bright smile on her face, which was deceptive because despite her cheerful demeanor and clothing, she meant business.

Your desk was pushed in the corner, closest to the door and the filing cabinets, which worked for you. You weren't at your desk too often, anyway, always running from Elle's office upstairs down to here where you would file and do most of your actual work. The setup wasn't too ideal for you but Elle did t have room for you in her office and keeping you here kept you out of the way of the officers who needed space to move.

You could hear the crying through the door, It had carried through the wood and glass like a siren. A high-pitched wail, crying that made something in your chest clench instinctively. You'd stopped in your tracks as you entered the bullpen, your arms still full of folders, eyes scanning the room until you'd found the source.

A little boy, no more than five or six, sitting in a chair by Leon's desk. His face was red and blotchy, tears streaming down his cheeks in fat, glistening tracks, snot running down to his upper lip. He was full-on sobbing, not the fake crocodile tears that your siblings would use on you to make you feel bad for not getting their way. These were real tears, the kind that kids shed when they were truly upset and overwhelmed. His whole body was shaking with it, his small shoulders hitching with each gasping breath, and Leon was crouched next to him, looking completely lost.

You were sure that no one had asked him to help. No one had told him to deal with the kid. The boy's mother had probably stepped away for a moment, and the other officers had conveniently found reasons to be busy elsewhere, but there Leon was, trying anyway like he always was.

You'd watched him pull a sticker from Sergeant Branagh's desk and offer it to the boy with a hesitant smile. Watched the kid look at it like Leon was offering him a live grenade, not a harmless sticker to deputize himself right there on his Pokémon shirt. You watched Leon's face fall, his shoulders slumping just a little, the hope draining from his expression before he tried again, his voice soft and uncertain.

"Hey buddy," he'd said, and the kid had just cried harder, and it felt like someone had reached in and squeezed your heart with a firm, unrelenting grip.

You knew that feeling. In fact, you had been in Leon's place many times before. You knew what it was like to try so hard and feel like you were failing, like nothing you did was enough, like you were floundering in deep water with no idea how to reach the surface. You'd felt it a thousand times growing up, trying to wrangle your siblings, trying to be the second parent your mom needed you to be when she was working two jobs and barely had time to breathe, let alone handle four kids under the age of twelve.

You'd felt it when your little brother had scraped his knee on the playground and you'd been the one to clean it up, to kiss it better, to tell him he was brave even though you were only ten years old yourself and had no idea what you were doing. When your baby sister had cried for hours and you'd been the one pacing the living room at two in the morning, bouncing her in your arms until your shoulders ached and your eyes burned, whispering nonsense words until she finally, finally fell asleep against your chest.

So, you'd set down the folders on your desk, with a soft thump, not caring that they were probably out of order now. You’d opened your drawer and pulled out Officer Bandit.

You hadn't planned to keep the plushie in your desk. It had just sort of... ended up there. Left over from some community event months ago, just something that you thought was cute, shoved into the drawer and forgotten until you'd needed it. You'd started using it to comfort yourself when things got rough or you had a particularly bad day, opening the drawer and reaching down to just brush the fur in one direction, feeling the soft texture under your fingertips, the rhythmic motion soothing you.

It was the same trick you'd used on your siblings when they were upset, a soft stuffed animal went a long way when you were trying to calm an overwhelmed child. And somehow, you'd adopted it yourself, a self-soothing measure that you were probably too old for but couldn't quite give up. But now you were glad you had officer bandit tucked away for a moment like this.

When you'd crouched down next to that little boy, watching as his sobs had stuttered to a stop as he'd stared at the raccoon with wide, wet eyes, when his small fingers curl into the soft fabric and squeeze. You'd felt something inside you melt, something warm and tender spreading through your chest. But It wasn't just about the kid finally looking at peace, his breathing evening out, his tears slowing to hiccups. It was about Leon too.

You'd brushed the kids hair off his forehead with gentle fingers, rubbing slow circles on his back between his shoulder blades, but you'd been acutely aware of Leon standing there, watching you. 

You'd glanced up at him, and he'd been staring at you like you'd just performed a miracle, like you'd walked on water or pulled a rabbit out of a hat. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, and the soft, warm expression on his face made your stomach flip in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. You'd felt your cheeks flush subtly, heat crawling up your neck.

When you'd caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. "You good, Kennedy?" you'd seen the way his face had gone red, the color flooding his cheeks and spreading down his neck. How he'd stammered out a response, his voice rough and unsteady, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous gesture you were starting to recognize, and you'd had to bite back a smile.

Oh…he was cute. He was really, really cute. But you'd again forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, you didn't have time to get distracted by a rookie who was cute…with nice eyes and a smile that made your heart do stupid things.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Except It seems the universe was not on your side and you couldn't stop thinking about him. You'd started noticing him more after that day with the kid.

Leon often smiled when he thought no one was looking, a soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, made his whole face light up in a boyish way.

He always held the door open for people, even when his hands were full. He'd juggle files and coffee cups and evidence bags, contorting himself into awkward positions just to keep the door propped open with his shoulder or his foot, waiting until everyone had passed through before he'd follow. He never complained.

He’d often make extra coffee in the breakroom and leave it on the counter for whoever needed it, never asking for thanks. You'd come in some mornings to find a fresh pot brewing, still hot, and you'd know it was him. You'd seen him do it once, early, before the day shift had fully rolled in, setting it to brew before slipping out like he was afraid someone would catch him in the act of being kind.

One night when you'd walked into the breakroom, exhausted and frazzled from a long day of chasing down missing files and dealing with an attorney who'd been an absolute nightmare. Your hair had been falling out of its ponytail, your blouse wrinkled, your eyes burning from staring at documents for too many hours straight. You'd just wanted coffee and to sit and relax for five minutes, anything, to get you through the last hour of your shift. The break room usually had more chairs, but you suspected, as you looked at the single table that usually had at least two chairs, that people forgot to bring them back after a briefing.

Leon had been sitting there in the break room, head down just reading a report when he’d looked up from the table, his eyes widening slightly when he saw you, and without a word, he'd stood up and offered you, the only chair. 

Not in a showy way that was meant to be some grand gesture of chivalry, where he expected something in return. No, he'd just... stood up, gestured to the chair, and said, "Here. You look like you need it more than I do."

His voice had been soft, sincere, and when you'd tried to protest. "No, it's fine, I'm just grabbing coffee" he'd shaken his head and gently guided you toward the chair with a hand on your elbow.

"Sit please," he'd said kindly with a smile on his face. And you found you couldn’t say no to that face.

You'd sat, and he'd poured you a cup of coffee without asking how you took it. Two sugars, no cream. He'd remembered. And then he'd set the cup in front of you, his fingers had brushed yours, just for a second.

"Thanks," you'd murmured, wrapping your hands around the cup, and he'd smiled at you and said, "Anytime."

Then he'd gone back to his reports, standing at the counter, because you'd taken his chair, and he hadn't complained once.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After that day in the break room It was like you couldn’t stop looking for him, It wasn't conscious at first. You'd just... find yourself glancing up from your files when you heard his voice, your eyes tracking him across the bullpen as he moved from desk to desk, helping other officers with their reports or asking questions about procedures. You'd linger in the breakroom a little longer when you saw him there, pretending to be engrossed in the bulletin board or the vending machine selections, just so you could be in the same space as him, hear his voice and see his smile.

You'd find excuses to walk past his desk. Dropping off files that could have been left. Asking questions, you already knew the answers to. Offering to help him with paperwork you had no business touching.

And he always looked up. His face would light up when he saw you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth curving into that smile that made your stomach flip. "Hey," he'd say, like he'd been waiting for you to walk by. And you'd smile back, your heart doing that stupid flutter that you were starting to associate exclusively with him, and you'd find some reason to stay a little longer. To lean against his desk and chat about nothing, about the weather, about the latest ridiculous call that had come in, about the new coffee shop that had opened down the street.

He'd look at you when he thought you weren't paying attention. His gaze lingering on your face before he'd catch himself and look away, his cheeks flushing. He'd often find excuses to touch you. Brushing past you in the narrow aisles of the filing room, his hand grazing your arm. Reaching across you to grab a file, his arm pressing against yours. Handing you a pen and letting his fingers linger on yours just a second too long.

It was subtle. So subtle you weren't sure if you were imagining it and reading too much into innocent gestures, if your own growing feelings were coloring your perception. 

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It had been during the community event, the one with all the kids running wild through the precinct, their voices echoing off the walls, their laughter filling every corner of the building. You'd been helping wrangle them, handing out juice boxes and wiping sticky faces with damp napkins, tying shoelaces and settling disputes over who got to sit where. Leon was on his hands and knees searching for a stuffed cat while a gaggle of children shouted directions at him like he was navigating a minefield.

He'd been grinning and laughing, his hair was a mess, sticking up in six different directions from where at least three kids had tried to style it with their sticky hands. His uniform was wrinkled, the collar askew, and there was a suspicious sticky spot on his shoulder that you were pretty sure was juice box residue, and he'd looked happy. His eyes were bright, his face flushed, and when he'd finally pulled that stuffed cat out from under the desk and held it up, the kids had erupted in cheers, and Leon had laughed, a full, belly-deep laugh that made your chest tighten, and you felt that familiar ache settle deep in your ribs, spreading through your whole body like warmth from a fire.

You'd grown up in a big family. Four siblings, all younger than you, The house was always loud and chaotic, and someone was always demanding something of you. Your mom had worked two jobs to keep the lights on and food on the table, and you'd been the one to pick up the work. You'd been the one to make sure everyone got to school on time, to help with homework, to break up fights and kiss scraped knees and read bedtime stories.

You'd been a second parent before you'd even hit puberty, and you'd loved it and hated it equally. When it was bad, it was bad and you hated it, but when it was good, it was amazing and you'd loved it. You'd loved the noise, the chaos, the way your little brother would climb into your lap and fall asleep during movie night. Loved when our baby sister would reach for you when she was scared, and the way your other siblings would come to you with their problems, their secrets, their fears.

You'd loved being needed and loved by them, but then you'd left for college, and everything had gone quiet. Your dorm room had been silent, your apartment after graduation even more silent. Sometimes it ate at you, and you craved being home, where it wasn’t so quiet that you could hear your every thought like a drop in a still lake. I mean sure the precinct was loud at sometimes which helped, but it wasn't the same, It wasn't home. 

You'd buried that longing deep inside, told yourself you didn't need it, that you were fine on your own. You'd thrown yourself into your work and into building a career, you were strong, independent, and self-sufficient.

But then you'd met Leon, and that desire had come roaring back, clawing through your chest cavity to eat at your insides. You wanted him. You wanted to build a life with someone who would get down on the floor with kids, who would try so hard even when he didn't know what he was doing, who would look at you like you were the only person in the room. Who would laugh like that let himself be silly and messy.

You wanted the noise and chaos. The sticky fingers and the laughter and the bedtime stories and the scraped knees. You wanted the life you'd had growing up, the life you'd been missing for so long, the life you'd buried under career ambitions and independence and the lie that you didn't need anyone, and you wanted it with him. 

Later once the children had left and you were alone, he'd asked you about the future. You'd been working on paperwork together, the precinct quiet and empty around you, and he'd looked up from his files and said, "You ever think about the future?” This was the moment in which you knew that everything could change.

So, you'd set down your pen, and you'd looked at him, and you'd listened, and when he'd talked about wanting a house, kids, dogs, a family. When he'd looked at you with those blue eyes full of hope and vulnerability and asked, "Is that stupid?", you'd reached across the table and taken his hand.

"It's not stupid, Leon," you'd said. "You'd be a great dad.” And you'd meant it with every fiber of your being, because you'd seen someone kind, and patient, and selfless. Someone who tried so hard, who cared so much, who wanted to make the world a better place.

When he'd told you that he liked you and asked you out, his voice shaking, his face flushed, you'd said yes without hesitation. ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The house was a disaster.

Leon stood by the counter top, surveying the wreckage like a cop at a crime scene. Toys littered the floor, action figures, a headless Barbie doll that had seen better days, building blocks scattered like shrapnel from an explosion, a stuffed raccoon that looked suspiciously like the one from the precinct all those years ago, now missing an eye and most of its stuffing.

The breakfast table was a war zone. Cereal scattered across the surface like confetti. Milk dripped steadily onto the floor in a rhythmic plink that was starting to drive him insane. There was a suspicious sticky puddle near Oliver's placemat that might have been syrup or jelly.

The TV blared a cartoon theme song at full volume, singing about a talking dog and a mystery van, bright colors and loud voices that drilled into his skull. The dishwasher was rattling through its cycle, the plates inside clanking together and the refrigerator hummed and over it all, the voices of his three children, each one louder than the last, competing for dominance like they were auditioning for a reality show about who could drive their father crazy first.

Leon stood in the middle of it all, barefoot, his old RPD academy shirt wrinkled and riding up slightly from where Sophie had been using him as a climbing post five minutes ago, her sticky hands leaving prints on the fabric. His sweatpants had a suspicious stain on the thigh and his hair was sticking up in about six different directions because he hadn't had time to shower yet. 

He had Oliver wrapped around his leg like a koala, tugging insistently with sticky fingers on Leon's pant leg, his small face scrunched up in determination. While Leon tried to grab items from the fridge.

“Papa, Papa, I want pancakes!”

Leon looked down at him, four years old, blue eyes wide and demanding, his blonde hair, the color of honey in the sunlight sticking up in cowlicks that defied gravity and every attempt Leon had made to smooth them down. He was wearing his Batman pajamas, the ones with the cape that he refused to take off even though he'd been wearing them for three days straight and they were starting to smell like a combination of sweat and maple syrup.

“Ollie, buddy, we just had pancakes yesterday—“

"Papa! Look what I can do!" That was Emma, their oldest, standing on her chair at the table like it was a stage and she was the star of the show. Seven years old and already too smart for her own good, with a vocabulary that sometimes made Leon wonder if she was secretly a tiny adult in a kid's body.

She was waving a spoon like a sword, her blonde hair cascading past her shoulders in tangles that would take ten minutes and a bottle of detangler to fix, whipping around as she moved. She had food smeared across her cheek and her pink nightgown was twisted around her waist, the hem riding up to show her knobby knees.

"Em, get down before you—"

"Mine!" That was Sophie. Three years old, a tiny whirlwind of chaos who was currently on top of the kitchen counter. Leon's heart seized, his dad instincts kicking in as he watched her curls bouncing, chubby little hands yanking at a box of cereal she'd somehow managed to reach despite being three feet tall on a good day. She teetered dangerously close to the edge, her toes curling over the granite, her balance precarious, and Leon could already see the trajectory of the fall in his mind.

"Sophie, no—" he said reaching for her, but you were faster.

You swooped in from the hallway before Leon could even take a step, your reflexes honed by years of wrangling three tiny humans who seemed determined to injure themselves in increasingly creative ways. You scooped Sophie off the counter with practiced ease, one arm hooking around her waist.

"Nice try, Fi-bug," you said, your voice warm and patient despite the fact that it was seven in the morning and you'd probably been up for a while. Leon was up at five in the morning when Sophie crawled into your bed and kicked Leon in the ribs until he'd groaned and rolled over, giving up on sleep entirely as he got up to let you sleep some more.

You settled Sophie on your hip, and she pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a move that was pure manipulation and had worked on Leon more times than he cared to admit. Her blue eyes, Leon's eyes, not the only thing she'd inherited from him, went wide and glassy, threatening tears. But you were immune to her manipulation, and just kissed her forehead, your lips pressing against her curls, soft and gentle, and smiled.

"How about we sit at the table like a big girl, huh?" Sophie grumbled, an indignant little whine, like a tiny angry bear cub, but she didn't argue, never with mama. You set her down in her booster seat, the pink one with the unicorns on it that she'd picked out herself at the store, screaming "THAT ONE!" at the top of her lungs until Leon had caved and bought it. She immediately grabbed a fistful of Cheerios and shoved them into her mouth, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.

Emma was still standing on her chair, spoon raised and you pointed at her without even looking, your mom-radar finely tuned after seven years of this.

"Emma Kennedy, sit. Now."

Emma sat. Just like that. No argument or negotiation. She plopped down into her chair, crossed her arms over her chest in a huff, and went back to eating her cereal.

Leon stood there, next to the microwave waiting for Ollie's pancakes, watching you move through the chaos like you were performing some kind of magic he didn't understand but was endlessly grateful for. You wiped Sophie's face with a damp cloth you'd pulled from seemingly nowhere your movements efficient and gentle, your touch soft. You poured Oliver a cup of juice without him even asking, because you already knew he was going to ask. You somehow managed to get Emma to eat an actual bite of cereal instead of flinging it at her brother, which was a minor miracle in itself, the kind of thing Leon would have needed at least thirty minutes to accomplish.

And then you looked at him, your hair was falling into your face, strands escaping the messy bun you'd thrown it into before bed last night, the elastic barely holding on. Your shirt the one with the faded RPD logo on the chest that he'd worn during his first week on the job, was stained with God-knows-what. There was a smudge of something on your cheek. You looked exhausted and frazzled. Your eyes had dark circles under them, your skin a little pale from lack of sleep.

You looked beautiful and you laughed as you looked at him, like you knew exactly what he was thinking. It was the same laugh, the one he'd heard in the precinct all those years ago, when he'd been a nervous rookie with no idea what he was doing, watching you calm a crying kid with nothing but a stuffed raccoon and a smile. The same one he'd heard on your first date, when he'd spilled red wine on the white tablecloth and you'd told him it was fine, that you liked messy, that perfection was overrated. The same one he'd heard in the delivery room, exhausted and radiant and covered in sweat, holding Emma for the first time while Leon cried like a baby himself, his hands shaking as he touched her tiny fingers.

It was the same laugh, and it still made his chest tighten, still made his heart do that stupid thump that he'd never quite gotten used to.

Leon looked at the kids, Emma, now actually eating her cereal her spoon moving from bowl to mouth in a rhythm that was almost civilized; Oliver, shoveling tiny pieces of leftover pancakes that Leon placed in front of him into his mouth by the fistful, syrup and chocolate dripping down his chin; Sophie, babbling to herself in a stream of nonsense words punctuated by the occasional "mine!" and "no!" and kicking her feet against the chair, and then back at you.

This was what he'd wanted all those years ago, this exact moment.

He crossed the kitchen, his bare feet sticking slightly to the floor where syrup had pooled, the tile cold and slick. He ignored all of that as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you against him, and buried his face in the curve of your neck.

You smelled like coffee and baby shampoo. 

"Leon," you said, laughing, your hands coming up to rest on his forearms, your fingers warm and slightly damp from the washcloth. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer. He just held you tighter, his chest pressed against your back, his arms wrapped around you like he could keep you there forever, keep this moment frozen in time. His chin hooked over your shoulder, and he closed his eyes, breathing you in.

"We did good," he whispered.

You went still and he felt you take a breath, felt the way your body softened against his, the tension draining out of your shoulders. And then you turned in his arms, your hands coming up to cup his face, your palms warm against his stubbled jaw, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

When you looked at him, your eyes were soft and warm and full. "Yeah," you said quietly, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone, tracing the line of his face like you were memorizing it. "We really did."

Emma made a loud gagging noise from the table, her face scrunched up in exaggerated disgust. "Ew, gross."

Oliver giggled, a high-pitched sound that was pure mischief, his eyes sparkling. Sophie threw a piece of cereal at the wall. It stuck, clinging to the paint.

Leon didn't care. He leaned down and kissed you, his hands sliding up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. You smiled against his lips, and he felt the curve of your mouth, the warmth of your breath, you melted into him like you always had, like you always would.

When he pulled back, you were grinning, your eyes sparkling with that same warmth, that same light that had drawn him in all those years ago and never let go.

Leon thought about that rookie cop. The one who'd stood in the precinct with a crying kid and no idea what to do, who'd watched you drop to the floor without hesitation and felt his heart thump for the first time.

When you'd smiled at him across the break room table, late at night with paperwork scattered between you, and told him he'd be a great dad, your voice soft and sincere and full of a belief he hadn't known he needed.

"Love you," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

"Love you too, Kennedy." you said, soft and teasing and full of affection, full of a love that had only deepened over the years and made him want to kiss you all over again.

Sophie threw another piece of cereal. It hit Leon square in the head, bouncing off and landing somewhere near the dog's bowl, where their golden retriever, Super-Biscuit-princess, Biscuit for short, immediately gobbled it up.

You both started laughing, the sound filling the kitchen, drowning out all the noise and chaos. Leon pressed a quick and messy kiss to your lips, catching the corner of your mouth, and you swatted at his chest, still laughing.

"Go shower, Kennedy," you said, pushing him gently toward the hallway. "You smell like a gym sock and syrup."

Leon's grin widened, his chest filling with a warmth. He stole one more kiss, his lips lingering on yours for just a moment longer, and then he headed toward the bathroom stepping over toys.

Behind him, he heard Emma ask, "Mama, can we get a big lizard? Like, a really big one? like a dinosaur."

"Absolutely not," you said, but your voice was warm, patient, the same voice you used when you told Sophie she couldn't eat ice cream for breakfast or when you explained to Oliver why he couldn't bring all of his action figures everywhere he went.

Leon shook his head, still grinning as he stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting his shoulders and washing away all the exhaustion.

✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊 ✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

Here we goooo, finally!!! I was very excited about this concept, and really wanted to do something fluffy and cute so I got carried away!! This was actually a request I got in my messages weeeeeks ago from the lovely @king-thunderstorm, I'm so sorry this took so long and thank you so much for the request! I really needed this one, and I hope you liked it!

Garlic. Something slow-cooked. And underneath it, faint but unmistakable… chocolate. 

His shoulders drop slightly, he finally allows himself to relax. 

Home. 

He shuts the door behind him and slips his jacket off, setting it aside. 

The kitchen light is on. 

You’re there, just like he thought you’d be. Your back turned, moving between the stove and the counter, sleeves rolled up, completely focused on whatever you’re doing. 

You don’t notice him at first. 

Leon leans against the doorway for a second, watching you. There’s something about this moment that always gets him. 

“Smells like you’re trying to bribe me,” he says finally, voice low. You jump slightly, turning around with a small gasp. 

“Leon! I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Stealth training,” he replies easily. 

“Or you just walk quietly.” 

“That too.” 

You smile, wiping your hands on a towel before stepping closer. 

“You’re late.” 

“Yeah.” He exhales softly. “Long day.” 

You don’t ask him to explain. Instead, you reach out and gently take his hand, tugging him further into the kitchen. 

“Sit. Dinner’s almost ready.” 

Leon lets himself be guided without resistance. That alone says a lot. He drops into the chair at the table, elbows resting on his knees for a second as he runs a hand over his face. 

Then he looks up again, at you. Moving around the kitchen like this is second nature. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says quietly. 

You glance over your shoulder. 

“I wanted to.” 

There’s no hesitation in your voice, no expectation attached to it. 

Just truth. 

Leon leans back in the chair slightly, watching you again. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

“You’ll see.” 

“That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.” 

“It’s your favourite.” 

He pauses. 

“…which one?” 

You grin. 

“Exactly.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, alright. That’s unfair.” 

You plate the food carefully, then set it down in front of him. Steam rises from it. He stares at it for a second. 

Then at you. 

“You made this?” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“I am.” 

“Rude.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just… didn’t expect all of this.” 

You lean lightly against the counter, watching him. 

“Well, try it.” 

Leon picks up the fork slowly. Takes a bite. There’s a small pause. 

Then something changes in his expression, you catch it just in time. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“Good?” 

“Really good.” 

That’s all he says, but you know him well enough to hear everything underneath it. You smile quietly and turn back to the counter. 

“Good. Because there’s dessert too.” 

Leon glances up. 

“…there is?” 

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you walk over and set a small plate in front of him. 

Brownies. 

Still slightly warm. 

He looks at them. Then at you. 

“You made brownies too?” 

“Maybe.” 

Leon stares at the plate for a moment then he sets the fork down. 

"Marry me." he says with such a serious face, it makes you laugh. 

"I already did." you show him the ring on your finger. 

"Marry me again. You have been doing this all day?” he asks. 

“Not all day.” 

“Most of it.” 

You don’t answer, that’s answer enough. Leon pushes his chair back slightly and stands up. You barely have time to react before he closes the distance between you. His hands settle at your waist. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says again, quieter now. 

“I know.” 

“Then why?” 

You look up at him. 

“Because I love you.” 

As you say it, it is so simple. 

Honest. 

His hand moves at your waist, thumb brushing lightly against your side. He doesn’t answer with words, instead, he leans down and kisses you. 

Slowly, with passion. 

His forehead rests against yours when he pulls back. 

“Yeah, I love you too, Sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

It’s quiet. But it’s everything. You smile softly. 

“Go sit. Your food’s getting cold.” 

He doesn’t move right away. 

His hand lingers at your waist for another second, then he gives a small nod and steps back. 

“Yes, Ma'am.” 

As he sits down again, he glances at you once more. You are still in the kitchen, still moving around like this is normal. 

Like this is just another evening. Leon picks up his fork again. Takes another bite. 

And for the first time all day, his mind finally goes quiet. 

~Masterlist~