cinnamon

The smell of smoke and decomposing bodies wasn’t as unsettling as the fact that you were getting used to it. The debris cracking softly under your feet, the sound of mewls and grumbling being silenced by your tired but precise shots. Raccoon City didn’t feel like home anymore, but you found yourself appreciating the peace of not being raided, of your enemies being manageable, of trusting in your own abilities for once.

It was weird how confident one gets after escaping a dire situation. You remembered vividly the first time you held a gun. Your hands were shaking, but you managed to do a headshot. Not because you aimed it well, but because the zombie-turned man you once shared a cell with was far too close for you to miss. You heard the thud against the cold tiled floor of the lab, watching as the blood pooled beneath you two.

And now, you couldn’t even smell it anymore. Not unless you really focus, at least.

Which you didn’t.

You climbed up the fire escape to a random building, sitting down on the cold metallic floor before laying on your stomach, positioning your sniper and starting to watch the city. You shot a few infected, but you were mostly searching for the giant beast that had run past you earlier.

The concentrated frown on your face softened as a smirk tugged on your lips.

Jill Valentine.

“What kind of trouble are you in now, miss Valentine?” you murmured to yourself, moving the scope and identifying the beast.

It was too fast for it’s size, but you knew the city, knew every debris, every change. So as Jill ran through a smaller space, forcing him to slow down, you quickly shot the chains that held the partially broken pieces of the building's ceiling together, burying him.

Jill’s eyes immediately found you, like a magnet, knowing you would be up somewhere, always on the higher ground. She got closer, standing on the ground beneath, looking up at you at the fire escape.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” you say, reloading your sniper.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she muses, smiling softly. “I don’t mind having you save my life.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well… I don’t think anyone really minds having their lives saved, J,” you argue, tilting your head.

“After all I’ve been through this month, I can be picky,” she lets out a chuckle.

You smile. “I sure can’t argue with that. Now, tell me, who can’t save you?”

“Most of men. They usually don’t, anyway,” she says condescendingly — as she always does when she talks about men —, and it was a great look on her.

“Hm, so your life is for the ladies to save?”

“I’m for the ladies.”

You bit your cheek, holding back a smile.

“Only for the ladies?”

“Well, aren't you curious?” she raised one eyebrow, making you shiver.

“I'm just… keeping the conversation going.”

“Oh, yeah?” she tilted her head, stepping closer.

“What? Don't believe me?”

She silently climbed up the ladder, then walked up the stairs of the fire escape. Slowly. When she reached your level, she stood before you, looking down at your sitting form.

“You're not very convincing.”

“Maybe you just have too many trust issues,” you rebuke, feeling your lips tugging.

“Can you ever be the problem?”

“Being… precise is kinda my thing,” you say slowly, chewing each word. “I'm usually… spot on.”

“Mhm, I'm sure you are, princess.” She leaned down, hand on the railing, one foot steady between your legs. “You're… accurate, aren't you?”

“More than you'll ever know,” you lied. You were praying that she would find out.

“Again.” She put her finger under your chin, tilting it upwards. “Not very convincing.”

You held your breath as she leaned closer and closer, lips almost brushing when you held her jaw, thumb over her mouth.

“I don't think Raccoon City is the most ideal place to have a first kiss at,” you whispered.

Jill gently opened her mouth and bit your thumb teasingly.

“It would be a shame if we didn't get to kiss at all.”

“You better survive, then.” You lean closer and kiss her cheek, your lips far too close to hers.

A quiet giggle left your lips as you noticed her frustrated expression, and before she could retaliate, you jumped off the fire escape, landing on a nearby rooftop. You heard Jill yell your name when you did so, and your smile widened.

“Did you have to throw yourself into the air like that?”

“Can’t a girl show off?” you said, looking back to see Jill's smile before finally walking off, going back to surviving the hell that has become of Raccoon City.

“You drink coffee with sugar in it?”

The question seemed to peek through your focus, and it stayed in the back of your mind for a second too long before your movements stilled. The inquiry came from Agent Rigsby, who you’ve learned works with Cho, your — embarrassingly — six-month long crush. At this point, one would believe you had at least exchanged more than a few words with him, but no. 

It was bad enough that you were shy. Maybe even insecure. But you just couldn’t help it. And he didn’t make it easier either. He was a monosyllabic, scary cop with one of the most intimidating resting bitch faces you’ve ever seen. He was always expressionless — or at least that’s what you saw from your surprisingly few stolen glances, which only happened when you felt brave enough — and the most common words you’ve heard from him were “the usual”, “please” and “thank you”. He said “have a good day” once and you nearly dropped his drink before he could grab it.

However, although you were truly far from getting over your crush, and was starting to think it was getting a little too serious to your liking, you did a pretty good job at keeping it together. You were polite, maybe treated him a little better than your other clients, but that could be seen as just respecting him for what he did for a living, or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

You subtly shook your head, trying to bring yourself back into reality again. Agent Rigsby asked Agent Cho if he drinks his coffee with sugar. He doesn’t. Not really. He ordered the house special, which was black coffee in a fancier cup, and you never really could help yourself and add a little bit of sugar. Just a tiny bit. You knew you shouldn’t. And you would be more worried if Agent Cho didn’t constantly — but secretly — order something sweet after his shifts. Usually, it was the average muffin, but you took pride in knowing he always chose the cookies you sometimes baked over them.

“What?” Cho asked, turning to face Rigsby.

“Your coffee,” he clarified. “It has sugar in it. Thought you liked black coffee.”

“I do,” he muttered, grabbing the cup from his friend’s hand. “Why did you drink my coffee?”

Rigsby seemed a little flustered. He leaned back, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I didn’t mean to. It was next to mine. I tasted it. Found it sweet. Then I looked at it and it has your name in i- Is that a heart?” He leaned closer to the cup, wanting to see it better, but Cho moved it away.

“Leave it,” he said, his tone low, but not exactly harsh. 

And before Rigsby could argue, his phone started ringing. “It’s Lisbon.”

You heard footsteps, and then the ringing of the door opening and closing. You exhaled, relieved.

But then Cho showed up right in front of you, having walked around the counter to stand in your line of sight. The only thing between you two was the table you were cleaning.

“... may I help you, Agent Cho?” you asked, holding your breath, but somehow meeting his gaze.

He seemed to look you over, which only froze you further. You suddenly felt every wrinkle of your clothes, every hair out of place, everything slightly wrong or imperfect about your appearance.

“Did you put sugar in my coffee, miss?”

“I-”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You gulped. Definitely the bad cop. Very intimidating. And embarrassingly, also very attractive. Not because you liked being ordered around, although that wasn’t exactly what he was doing. No. It was because now you’ve got a little taste of what Agent Cho was like, and honestly, committing a crime to be interrogated by him seemed… less crazy than it would have been five minutes ago.

“... yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“... because the coffee beans we use are too bitter,” you answered softly, but clearly. “It’s just a teaspoon.”

“... too bitter?” he repeated it, stepping closer. You stepped back. The cafeteria suddenly felt smaller, emptier.

“I… I have noticed you like sweet things, sir,” you tried to explain.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, a tiny bit exasperated. “I… I do like sweet things, but I like knowing what I’m consuming better.”

“I apologise,” you said it immediately, like a reflex. “Won’t happen again.”

You were either going crazy, seeing things, or the corner of Cho’s lips had just tugged upwards for a split second. And as exciting as it could be, you were still a little too anxious to think about that. No. You had to fix things.

In a swift motion, you grabbed his cup, walking back to behind the counter and remaking his drink. It wasn’t hard. Just plain, black coffee into a new cup. You wrote his name quickly, even forgetting the heart, and handed it to him.

“Here,” you said, watching as he took a sip.

“... definitely more bitter.” He stared at the cup, frowning ever-so-slightly. “... no heart?”

You stilled again. “What?”

He turned the cup so you could see his name. “I... just wanted the taste to be bitter, miss. Not you,” he said it with a plain face, expressionless. serious.

“I don’t understand,” you murmured, far too genuine to stammer or stutter.

“Draw the heart, miss,” he pushed the cup closer to you. “Please.”

You lifted the cup slowly, trying to hide your nervousness and how you trembled slightly, but drew the heart with practiced ease before handing it back to him.

His fingers brushed against yours. How cliché, but God, it did give you butterflies.

“That’s better,” he said. He took another sip. “Sweeter.”

He turned away, and before he even walked out of the door, you were letting out the air you didn’t know you were holding. But you quickly held it again, because Cho turned back just as he was reaching for the doorknob.

“Miss?”

“Yes?” You met his gaze.

“Do you have sugar packs?” You had to hold back a smile, barely keeping it together.

“There are some on the table behind you,” you answered softly and, as always, politely.

“Thank you, miss.” He nodded politely, grabbing a few packs. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” you whispered as he walked out and got into his car, where he smiled to himself, out of your sight again.