Pairing: Re2r Leon x barista!reader (ft. Chris, Claire, Jill and Carlos)
Genre: Non zombie AU, Chaotic friendship social media AU, romcom, friends to lovers
Warnings: None!
Plot: You and Leon work together at a chaotic little café owned by your disaster group of friends. Between failed latte art, petty flirting, leaked group chats, and customers constantly assuming you are already dating, the café turns into the place where you and Leon accidentally fall in love in the middle of complete chaos.
Calendar: Every Saturday and Sunday at 7pm (GMT +2)
A/N: Heyy! 'Little Kennedy' mini series is coming to an end tomorrow, and since I couldn't have enough of fluff, and I bet you neither, I come with an extra dose of cuteness with this smau! I'm really excited about this series because I LOVE making smaus, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did ❤❤
P.S: Another little surprise for my Chris girlies coming next Thursday as well 🤭Taglist: let me know if you want to be added!)
Chapters.
We're just coworkers (sure) - May 30th.
Accidental flirting. - May 31st.
The group chat is losing it. - June 6th.
Late replies and overthinking. - June 7th.
Private chat mistakes. - June 13th.
Café night shift. - June 14th.
He almost said it? - June 20th.
Accidental confession (group chat disaster). - June 21st.
࣪ 𝜗𝒞 ៸ ࣪— synopsis : your handsome boyfriend explaining lord of the rings to you.
♱ content + warnings : f!reader, nerd!rin, rin is a tsundere, lord of the rings explained, love language = insults.
╰┈➤featuring: rin itoshi
a/n: for this request. @rainbowchili
I searched up a summary and watched some tiktoks, so I’m not sure how accurate this is….
You’re sitting beside Rin on his couch, legs over his while he scrolls through football edits on his phone.
There’s a bowl of instant noodles in your lap, a quick snack you grabbed on your way here. That’s when you notice the character on the side of the bowl.
“Rin, who’s that?” You muffle through a mouthful of food and point to the fair skinned boy with brown curly locks and a green cape.
He blinks slowly before glancing over at you, and then your noodles. You swear you see something like interest flicker in his eyes, but it’s gone before you can determine the truth.
“That’s Frodo.”
“Frodo?”
“Frodo Baggins. The hobbit.”
You tilt your head in confusion and he sighs softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“He’s from The Lord of the Rings.”
Oh, right.
Now you were intrigued, eyes raking over his pretty features as they turned back to his phone.
“Mind explaining it to me?” You hum.
His lips twitch— a hint of fondness there.
He leans back, arms crossed as his gaze locks on you.
"It’s about a bunch of idiots walking across the world to destroy a ring. That’s it."
He pauses.
"...And yeah, fine, there’s elves. And dwarves. And—stop looking at me like that," His cheeks flush at the way you watch him, so intense.
“Just eat your food."
He’s internally thanking his mouth for stopping before starting an hour-long rant about Legolas’ bow skills.
Although, you’ll inevitably drag out of him about later.
"Why the hell are you looking at me like that?" He shifts uncomfortably, fingers tightening in his jeans before he scoffs.
“You’re cute when you explain things,” You reply softly, spooning more noodles into your mouth.
His lips press together, eyes looking over you.
Then—because he just can’t help himself—he leans forward slightly, voice dropping lower. "…Theoden’s speech before the charge at Pelennor Fields. That’s the best part."
As soon as he sees your smirk spread wider across your cheeks, he instantly regrets admitting it.
“Tell me more,” You grin, and he has to roll his eyes.
Rin glares at you, bristling faintly. You were the only person that he caved to, and you knew it, which made it all the more difficult to keep his guard up.
He opens his mouth, only to snap it shut with a sharp breath. Damn you and your pretty little pout, the stupid way you made him give in.
Rin mutters something under his breath exhaling deeply.
"Which part of his speech?"
“Uhm, all of it?” You scoff as if it was obvious.
He presses his palm to his mouth, looking away shyly.
"Tch. Fine. But only because you're gonna keep being annoying about it."
He takes a deep breath before beginning…
“Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!”
His lashes flicker, gaze locked onto yours.
“Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!”
He leans in,"You get it? It’s about fighting when you know you’re outmatched. When everything’s hopeless.”
Then he leans back, folding his arms just to play it off,"…Not that you’d understand that kind of determination."
You roll your eyes, choosing to not take it seriously as a playful chuckle escapes your mouth.
“God you are so adorable.”
Were you joking? He had just given a stirring speech about hopeless battles, and that is your response? He is not adorable. He is not.
“And uh…would you perhaps know who becomes King?” You smile slyly.
Rin exhales sharply through his nose, "You're really gonna make me sit here and spoil the whole damn thing for you?"
But you're still smiling—that stupidly pretty smile—and his resolve crumbles like wet parchment.
“Aragorn. Obviously." His voice drips with arrogance, like it's the most basic knowledge in the world. "But he doesn't even want it at first. Which—" He pauses, turquoise eyes flickering away for half a second. "—is the only respectable part about him."
“Oh yeah? And why doesn’t he want to be king?”
Rin's eyes narrow, studying you for a moment. He knows you're enjoying this far too much but he can't resist. You're staring up at him with those gorgeous eyes that make it hard to stay frustrated for long.
He sighs quietly, "Because he's a stubborn bastard. Doesn't want the responsibility." A pause, and you see the faintest curl of his mouth.
"Sounds like someone I know."
“Rude?” You scoff and shovel more food into your mouth.
Rin's smirk sharpens, triumphant. “You asked.”
He flicks your forehead with barely concealed amusement, “Chew properly. Or are you trying to choke yourself just to piss me off more?”
He sounds irritated as per usual, but his fingers linger near your face for just a second longer than necessary—just in case.
“Are you really so annoyed that your pretty girlfriend wants to know more about your special interests?”
"'Pretty girlfriend?' Don't flatter yourself."
“Wow. So you don’t think I’m pretty, and you don’t want to talk to me. Cool.”
"Of course I think you're pretty.”
“Whatever,” You sigh dramatically, “I’ll just ask someone else to explain it to me.”
His demeanour changes instantly, "No, don’t do that. I’ll explain it to you. Please.”
You raise an eyebrow, considering it.
“You’ll explain it all to me?”
Rin exhales sharply through his nose—defeated—before dragging you closer by the wrist.
"Yes. All of it." He admits, slightly flustered, "Even the stupid parts you don’t care about."
"...Just don’t ask anyone else."
“Okay, well, you can start with why he wants to destroy the ring.”
Summary: Leon is the ideal boyfriend: loving, caring, attentive – but there is something he isn’t entirely experienced at. Sex.
Warnings: awkward and shy Leon, fluff!! Once again I present pathetic Leon, very awkward sex for the first time (don’t worry second time is better) p in v, muncher Leon, this man is obsessed with tasting you, creampie pie, multiple orgasms, whiny Leon, lovestruck puppy Leon, jealous Leon, semi-public sex in the bar bathroom, freak! Leon a bit of an angsty ending because we all know what happens next in RC
Note: fun fact, re2 Leon is actually my favorite Leon. Shocking, I know, since I mainly wrote for re9 so far and I’m sorry if this wasn’t the best but my grandma just passed so my family is taking it hard. So not proofread really. 8k words
Leon barely had time to mess around with relationships. He had one goal and focus in mind and that was getting through the police academy. This had been his dream since he was a child and saved by the police officer; some liked to say he was too focused on becoming a police officer that all life’s pleasures were passing through him. He didn’t believe that.
Until he met you.
It was a normal day going to his favorite coffee shop to study laws and the exams that were coming up at the academy. His nose has been stuck down in the books more than usual, his mind was focused on getting what he wanted. His surprise came when the familiar aroma of roasted coffee beans hit his nose and his eyes landed on you.
His brows pinched together. He expected the sweet old lady Mrs. Johnson to be at the counter, the old lady that ran the coffee shop with her husband. He glanced around to see where the older lady was but she wasn’t around. Concern filled him but what override him was the smile you had given him and the sweet sound of your voice.
His heart stammered in his chest and now he understood why his friends at the academy had told him that life was passing by him. He thought for the longest time he didn’t need a relationship and he could just wait until after he graduated but one look at you and he was a goner.
The moment he laid his eyes on you, his nerves were getting to him that he stumbled to his usual spot ( more like he tripped over his own feet and almost fell over a table ) and hid his face behind his police training book. The cafe blared I love you baby by Frankie Valli almost mocking him for how love struck he became with you.
He thought he was being subtle looking at you from across the cafe. He didn’t realize how ridiculous the sight looked – his eyes were peeking over the book staring intensely at you while you worked. He chewed on his bottom lip trying to muster the courage of what to say to you.
Truthfully, he’s never done this before. Sure, he had his awkward first kiss back in high school and crushes but never an actual girlfriend. He always thought he was too awkward for that.
Stop overthinking this and just go up to her, Leon thought. Fortunately for him, he didn’t make a fool out of himself because you decided to come up to him with a cup of coffee. He immediately sat up straight and began patting his hair, though he believed he flattened his hair too much so he began threading his fingers through his hair instead. Now his hair was too messy.
He didn’t have time to fix it when you showed up right in front of him. “Hi!” His voice was extremely high pitched, his cheeks burned before he cleared his throat, “hello.” his voice went deeper this time. Smooth, Leon.
A soft chuckle came out of you as you raised an eyebrow at his behavior. “Hello. Mrs. Johnson told me you’re a regular here and showed me what your order is. I know she always has it ready for you whenever you come in so I thought I’d do the same.” You explained, putting down his coffee order in front of him.
As if he didn’t fall in love immediately, he just did so even more. His eyes couldn’t help tracing down to your hands almost brushing near his clutching hands around his book before darting back to your face. She almost touched me!
“Y-yeah? I hope my order wasn’t too complicated for you. . .with the extra foam and all. . .” He mumbled. If he could die from the awkwardness, he would. “Where is Mrs. Johnson, anyways? It’s unlike her to not show up to work.”
“She had surgery and won’t be able to work for the next couple months so she trained me to take over during that time. She’s friends with my parents so I got to take over for her.”
“Oh, so basically nepotism?” Leon joked. He thought for a moment he must have said the wrong thing. His jokes never land with hardly anyone but a soft snort came out of you and he visibly relaxed. “I hope she will be okay.” He added, he cared about Mrs. Johnson since she was the closest to a mother figure for him. He noted that he would visit her soon.
“Basically, the only way you can get a job right now.” You agree and nervously put your hands behind your back. “So, you’re going to see a lot more of me when you come in.”
This is your chance to see if she’s interested in you. He tried to puff out his chest in confidence.. “Then I have more of a reason to come.” Leon flirted with a shy smile. “Just to see how you’re settling in.” He added in a lie, he just wanted to come see you.
You darted your eyes away shyly for a moment and smiled to yourself. “I look forward to your inspections. . .Officer Kennedy.” You teased, looking back at him.
His face turned red. Officer Kennedy. He wasn’t an officer yet but the way you said it; he can listen to your voice calling him that all the time. He was almost sure that hearts were appearing over his head from how his eyes were soft and big looking up at you from his seat. “O-Oh, I’m not an officer yet! I’m trying to be but it takes time and a lot of studying. If you want to call me Officer Kennedy, you can. Or if you just prefer to call me Leon that’s fine too. . .” He cringed at himself for rambling on.
The bell rang from another customer walking in. Disappointment filled him knowing you’d have to leave to tend to the counter. “I’m sorry for rambling.” Leon muttered.
“No, it’s okay. It was cute,” you turned around to head towards the counter but not before looking over your shoulder to give him one last smile, “I will see you around, Leon.”
A goofy grin spread on his lips. Cute, she thinks I’m cute. He excitedly grabbed his coffee, it was a habit to see what was written on the cup and his breath hitched in his throat. A phone number more specifically your phone number. His thumb subconsciously trace against the numbers and he couldn’t wait to start coming more often to see you.
A couple months passed and it took a while for Leon to ask you out on the second month. You agreed easily. Mrs. Johnson vouched for him and constantly talked about him whenever you were around him before you met him and you were intrigued about Leon.
Suffice to say, Leon lived up to what others have said about him. Caring, generous, attentive and loving. He’s practically the man of your dreams. He always gave you space to express your emotions when you were unhappy with something he had done. He listened carefully from the feedback and immediately corrected his behavior. He made it a habit to bring you lunch and make you lunch with little encouraging notes.
He was a gentleman by always paying for dates. He would run out of his jeep and come to your door so you wouldn’t have to open it. One time he carried you when your feet were hurting from the high heels you were wearing on a date and he claimed it was good for his workout routine anyways.
But there was a downside of dating Leon.
He never wanted to do anything more than kissing. At first you understood that perhaps he didn’t want to do more with how he would brush off the thought of having sex with you. Perhaps he was shy or was the type of guy that waited till marriage. But his actions always contradicted those thoughts of yours.
Constantly, you found yourself in the back of his jeep on his lap making out with him. His needy whines muffled against your lips, his hands splaying on your hips alternating between gripping and kneading grinding his hips desperately up against yours to seek friction.
And when you want to take it further, he’ll pull away and make a pathetic excuse about how he had to take you home and go study the police training book some more. So you had to ask what has been in your mind the past couple months, “do you not want to have sex with me? It’s fine if you don’t, I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you’re not comfortable with but it seems like you want to do more. Like I said, you don’t have to have sex with me but it just feels like you’re holding back for some reason.” Now it was your turn to ramble when Leon was usually the one to go on his stammering ramblings when he was nervous.
Leon frowned and then bit his puffy lips nervously. “O-of course I want to have sex with you!” He practically squeaked out, his fingers flexing around your hips trying to ground himself or figure out how he wanted to explain himself; perhaps both with how quiet he went. “I just. . .” He took a deep breath, “I just want it to feel good for you.”
“It will.” You promised and pressed a soft, chaste kiss against his nose. “You won’t disappoint me.”
Oh, how wrong you were.
First times were always awkward. That was a given for a new relationship when you’re so utterly in love with the person. It started off as good going back to his apartment and the session started like this; Leon laid you down on his bed ever so gently kissing you softly trying to memorize every detail of your lips then it’s like he couldn’t stand it, his kisses turned needy and passionate.
His teeth nipping at your skin, his tongue tracing any part he can taste. Clothes were thrown somewhere in the bedroom where skin was finally exposed. You admire the way the soft yellow fluorescent glow illuminated against the ridge muscles he proudly had been working on. But Leon? His eyes couldn’t take his eyes off you entirely.
His eyes darted from your face down to your naked body. The soft swell of your breast, the curve of your hips down to the gathering slick coating around your pussy. Most of all his eyes darted back to your face and softness filled his eyes holding so much love you thought he might propose to you right there.
No, instead he finally entered inside of you. The stretch made you furrow your brows since it had been a while you had something inside of you. The hopes that this would be the most romantic first time with Leon were squashed immediately from reality. Leon barely moved his hips just staying still above you. Perhaps he needed a moment?
You tried to capture his lips into a kiss instead your lips were puckered in the air and his head was nuzzled inside your neck. Okay, so maybe he was shy being inside of you for the first time? That was fine since it was the first official sexual encounter. You expected Leon to start really moving his hips and waited for it. Small little thrusts were made and shaky little whines came out of his lips.
He was bigger than your first boyfriend, his cock dragging against your walls. It wasn’t enough to satisfy you despite it being nice for what it was. Was this it? You thought, the only pleasurable experience you were getting out of this was from his soft little whiny praises he was giving you.
Leon was enjoying this while you weren’t. You felt terrible for pretending to moan for him realizing how quiet you were while he was the one making the most noises out of the two of you. It ended as soon it started, he had his orgasm in the condom and you, well, had to fake one just to make him feel better.
“How was it?” Leon questioned through soft pants.
You strained a smile at him. “It was. . .great!”
Your chest tightened from lying but you couldn’t bear to sadden him from how disappointed you were from his performance. Now, you were only left with your thoughts; what the fuck were you going to do now?
Several days passed and you were stuck in your thoughts trying to figure out what to do about the terrible first time you had with Leon. You went to your friends for advice and that might have been a terrible idea since their first response was to break up with Leon.
The thought did occur for two days while you avoided Leon at the cafe making the other girl work your shifts and actively avoided his calls. Was sex a good reason to break up with someone? Perhaps if the sex was terrible and Leon was terrible but he was only terrible at sex. Everything else he would be considered husband material by the aunties, Mrs. Johnson already believes so.
It would be immature just to break up with Leon and not tell him the real reason. Communicating the problem would be easier, you were about to head out and go find him at the diner he would go to after he would hang out with his friends ( his schedule was predictable from how adamant he was from not changing his routine until he met you ).
You barely opened the door and you felt someone wrap their arms around your waist and bury their face against your stomach. You almost screamed bloody murder and was about to reach for the baseball bat near your door to ward off the perpetrator until you looked down and saw Leon.
He was on his knees, his face buried against your stomach while his eyes were peeking up at you soft and big like a puppy. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls? I’ve been worried. Did I do something wrong? If I did something wrong, I can fix it. Please let me fix it. I don’t want you to ignore me.” He went on a muttering tangent rambling, holding you closer against him afraid you would leave him.
“Leon-”
“I know I can be much at times and I focus too much on becoming a police officer. I’m sorry if I neglected you-”
“Leon-”
“I deserve whatever punishment you’re willing to give me. If you don’t want to see my face ever again, I completely understand-”
“Leon.” The firmer scolding of your tone made Leon blink and perk his head away from your stomach to look up at you. Your eyes softened from the worry etched on his face. Your throat tightened from the guilt of ignoring Leon and making him spiral like this. “You didn’t do anything wrong. . .” That wasn’t entirely true. “Come, stand.” You gently helped him up and he wobbled up taking your hand and lacing his fingers through them.
You shut the door behind him and took him to sit on the couch. “Then what’s wrong?” Leon questioned with a head tilt.
You sucked in a deep breath. How were you going to let him know he sucked at sex? You didn’t know why you were overthinking this, he’s a grown ass man. He pays taxes and drinks alcohol, he can handle the truth. “Leon, I say this with love,” you started squeezing his hand, “I love you, I really do but when we had sex, I. . .” You had to rip the band-aid just to tell him the truth, “IfakeanorgasmbecauseIwasscaredtodisappointyouandIthoughtitwasreallyawful.”
Leon blinked for a moment from how fast you were speaking that he almost didn’t catch what you were trying to say. He got used to when you talked like this during your nervous ramblings because it clinked inside of him and he stayed quiet for a long moment. You noticed the tip of his ears turning red and his eyes darted away from yours for a moment.
“Oh.” He muttered.
“Leon. . .”
“W-was I really that bad?” Leon questioned, looking back at you with a dejected look. “Why didn’t you say anything, baby? You know I value your opinion even if it’s hard to hear at times.”
You sighed and shrugged, tracing your thumb against the back of his hand. “With my previous boyfriend, he was bad at sex and whenever I brought it up he would throw a fit and said he’s doing it like how he saw in porn videos so I just didn’t want to upset you.”
Leon stared at you. Like really stared at you. The mention of your ex-boyfriend made him want to roll his eyes just because he hated hearing about that guy and each time he heard about him, it was something awful and new. But to think you had to shield your comfort away from him? He was offended.
“First of all, I’m not your dumbass ex,” Leon deadpanned, squeezing your hand before gently pulling you onto his lap, “Secondly, learning from porn is just straight up stupid when all of it is fake no wonder he’s such a loser who couldn’t keep you. Thirdly, how many times have I told you that you can tell me anything and as much as I don't want to hear it or feel hurt, I still want you to tell me.”
Guilt swarmed through you entirely. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry for making our first time terrible.” Leon said with embarrassment, wrapping his arms around you to hold you against him. “It was my first time with anyone really. I never experienced this,” he gestured to the both of you, “before. I never cared to be in relationships because my only dream was becoming a police officer until I met you. You became part of my dream and if you’re unhappy then I am too.”
You shyly smiled and felt your heart stammer inside of your chest. And here you thought you were going to break up with him over something was dumb as sex. “You’re mad then?”
“Mad?” Leon questioned with a shake of his head. “More like embarrassed.” He leaned in and peck his lips against yours, “next time, I promise I’ll do better.”
Leon was on a spiral. How the fuck was he going to do better at having sex? He wasn’t going to seek out porn like your dumbass ex did. It was hard to focus during training class, he kept falling on his face during drills which got him severely yelled at. He kept fiddling with the picture he had of you in his pocket, his friends always laughed at him for being overly in love with you but it grounded him.
It was breaktime with his friends and the topic of sex came around somehow. Ugh, I don’t want to think about that, Leon thought hearing his friends crazy stories about the encounters they had or what they have done to the girl. He was quietly absorbing information munching on his food you had prepared him until the focus went on him.
“What about you, Kennedy?”
“Huh? What about me?” He questioned with a higher voice.
“Got any stories with your experience?”
Leon almost wanted to get snappy with them for even daring to ask him that question. He wasn’t going to tell him how tight you were or how you were Aphrodite reincarnated beneath him. That was for his knowledge alone. A true gentleman doesn’t tell anyone else about their partner’s body that way, his grandma embedded that in his head from when he was a teen.
But, he could turn the question around and ask for advice without talking about your body. “Actually, I was wondering how you make a woman feel pleasurable in bed?”
His friend, Jake, raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Is that a subtle way of saying you sucked ass in bed and need advice.” He stated more than questioned Leon.
“Hypthoetical situation.” Leon countered with a blush. “Just asking a question.”
“Right, hypothetical." Jake deadpanned. “I’m going to tell you how to pleasure a woman and you better listen carefully for the next time you see her. After you listen to this and use it, she will never get off your dick.”
Leon rolled his eyes and tried to hide a smile forming. He didn’t only care about having sex with you but the thought of you always on him made him take out his note book and write down what Jake was telling him. His face kept turning redder throughout the whole conversation but he was determined to make the second experience with you better than anything you will ever get.
Leon spent days reading over his notes and admittedly he went to the bookstore to buy a book about female anatomy. If you thought he was too engrossed in studying his police training manual, he was worse when it came to studying how to please a woman.
He felt confident enough to make this experience for you better than the last. He just didn’t expect it was going to be today. After he got out of training, his friends asked him if he wanted to go to the bar; at first, he refused and told them he was going to hang out with you but once they told him they invited you as well to join he perked up and told them he would go.
He ignored the jabs of how much of a love struck puppy he is and practically bounced to his car. Confidence filled him from learning how he can please you better and he couldn’t wait to see you at the bar.
Arriving at the bar, he felt severely under dressed from his casual clothes he was wearing. He almost didn’t care until his eyes landed on you and his breath hitched. There you were sitting with the rest of the friend group wearing a dress he had never seen before; the crimson dress hugged every curve tightly and the low neckline swelling around your breast made his cock twitched in his boxers.
He didn’t care he was acting like a virgin by becoming hard at the mere sight of you. His thoughts were already dying on trying to test on what he learned. You noticed him, giving him that smile that made him want to drag you away from everyone or take you in front of everyone; he didn’t care – he just needed you.
Leon took a shaky breath and forced himself to follow his friends. He barley greeted the rest of his friends while he made his way towards you. His hands reached out and grasped your face placing little kisses all over your face (cheek, forehead, nose, lips), he wasn’t one for displays of affections yet the thought that anyone could think for a moment they can have you was dead wrong.
Your name fell off his lips easily as he planted another soft kiss. A friend groaned and rolled their eyes at him telling him to get a room. Oh, he would soon; he just couldn’t jump the gun yet. “Hey, how’s my pretty girl doing today?”
You giggled through each ticklish kiss and rolled your eyes playfully. “Another boring day at work. I’m ready to drink and forget about it.” You patted the seat next to him, this was the quickest he sat down on any surface.
Leon had a feeling his friends were regretting inviting you along because when you were around, his only focus was on you. And tonight, it completely was as rounds of drinks came. Jokes and stories were being told around while more drinks were being disturbed, it must have been the third round and he was feeling a bit tipsy.
You quit since someone needed to take care of Leon from how light weight he was. That didn’t stop you becoming tipsy and told him you were going to the bar to get a soda instead. He nodded staying in his spot and downed another drink, he scrunched his nose from the taste and felt his cheeks flushing.
His eyes didn’t leave your figure making sure no one would bother you while you were trying to order a drink. Safety reasons, too many things can happen at a bar. And, god, he was right because someone didn’t get the memo with his displays of affections earlier and came up to you. His fingers flexed around the glass and stared from afar assessing whether or not the man was harassing you.
At first it seemed innocent talk between two strangers until he noticed the way the man leaned in too close for Leon’s liking. An ugly tight feeling ached in his chest, he was sure that the glass would have broke in his hands if he was stronger. The stranger was good looking; he looked a bit older than you and Leon, and he couldn’t help the insecure feeling clawing in his chest.
It was obvious the man wanted more than just to get you a drink. The way his green eyes darted across your dress clearly landed on the swell of your breast. His fingers are inching too close to yours. He feared you would rather be this stranger than him. That you would leave with him to experience actually good sex rather the pathetic excuse he had given you.
No.
He wouldn’t stand for that. “Yo, Leon, you good bro?” His friend asked in concern from the way Leon’s jaw was tense and his glare looked like he could kill someone.
“Peachy.” Leon stated, standing up and walked over to the bar. Purposefully Leon grumbled and squeezed his way between you and the stranger, shoving his way in the space. “There you are my beloved, sweet, beautiful girlfriend,” he said, giving the guy a glare and a once over with a scrunched up nose, “Bud light? Terrible taste in alcohol. I believe that says a lot about a person if you enjoy that so, goodbye.”
And because Leon was utterly petty, he pushed the drink the stranger had purchased you. The liquid contents sloshed over and spilled over the guy’s pants. “What the fuck?” He shouted, angrily.
“Oops, I had too much to drink. Forgive me.” Leon replied with a tight smile then turned towards you grabbing your hand and hauling you away from him. “Let’s go.”
“Leon, where are we going?”
Leon didn’t reply. His jaw kept tensing and pushed through the crowded bar, he didn’t notice how much fuller it had got in the past hour - he was too busy looking at you the entire time. He led you towards the back into an empty bathroom and pulled you inside, locking the door behind you with a deafening click. “Leon, you don’t have to worry about him mrph-” His lips crashed into yours and his hands were on your waist pressing you back into the door.
Each time you tried to call his name, his lips were determined to quiet you down and nip his teeth at every inch of flesh. His hands roamed up towards your breast and squeezed around the swelling feeling them overflow out of his hands with a groan. “I do have to worry about him.” He mumbled against your lips, trailing them down under your jaw as he tilted his head down to capture the skin between his teeth to suckle the skin. “You might leave me for him. He might be more experienced than me and I can’t have that.”
Each harsh suckle on the column of your throat made you whimper and slick began to form uncomfortably on your lace panties. He was never this rough with you. His touches always consist of gentleness; not this time. “I won’t let him have you.” His voice grumbled against your neck before pulling away, staring down at you with a half-lidded gaze and puffy lips, “I can’t let him have you.”
“Leon, I didn’t entertain him. I promise.” You reassured him through soft whines from his thumb tracing the exposed flesh peeking out of the neckline of your dress. “You know I don’t want anyone else besides you.”
“I know.” Leon mumbled. “I just hate the thought that some other guy can pleasure you the way you expected me to.”
“Leon. . .”
He shook his head and roamed his hands down the edge of your dress. He knew that it was a crazy idea to fuck his girlfriend in the bar’s bathroom where you deserved to be loved properly on a bed but he needed to prove to you he can please you. “I learned what I should do. I studied how to make you feel good.”
“You studied?” You deadpanned with a small snort then you inhaled a shaky breath seeing him bunch up your dress up to your waist exposing the white lace fabric that was soaked.
“Don’t act surprised, studying is my strong suit especially when it comes to wanting to please my girl.” Leon shifted down to his knees to the floor. Normally, this would have disgusted him being on the bar’s bathroom floor, luckily, the alcohol in his system was overriding whatever disgust and logic in his head. “Please, just let me show you what I learned.”
How can you deny Leon when he was acting whiny for your attention? Especially the way his half-lidded eyes were staring up at you, his large hands gripping your thighs already spreading them apart to the point he placed your leg on his shoulder. He really wanted to make it up to you for how terrible he was last time and truth be told, you wanted to see what he learned.
You nodded. “Fine. But if we get caught, I'll beat your ass later.”
“Sounds reasonable.” Leon said, eagerly. Before he can get too eager, he forced himself to calm down. He couldn’t let last incidents happen again from his eagerness so he took a deep breath and turned his head to the side pressing a kiss against your inner thigh. A twitch under his lips.
This was a good sign. He continued alternating between kisses and sucks on your thighs. He felt your leg shake on his shoulder and those needy little whimpers he loved to hear so much. Progress so far, better than last time.
He took his time with each thigh until he was satisfied with the marks he had left on your skin. Leon pulled away with soft pants and looked back down towards the white lace that was obscenely becoming wetter around your folds that he can practically see through it. “You’re so gorgeous.” He praised softly.
Last time, he was too impatient to taste you. This time, your needs were his priority now that he learned what to do. His face leaned in and his nose was deep against your clothed cunt; he inhaled deeply and rolled his eyes back from the scent of you. “I was dumb enough to not take my time with you because, fuck,” he groaned against your pussy, pulling you forward just to stuff his face deeper against you, “how did I neglect you like this?”
You opened your mouth to respond though no words were formed because his eager tongue darted out and began tasting you through the fabric. You watched his eyes flutter more and almost loud whines escaped his lips; he wasn’t tasting your bare pussy and you could only imagine how he would react once he did,
His tongue darted out and traced the clit. A gasp came out of you and your hand shot out to grasp his head. A smug smirk came on his lips, “I was told that this was the part that would make you scream for me. I wanna test that theory out.” His lips latched onto the nub through the wet fabric and obscenely began to suck eagerly on it to elicit those moans out of you.
Leon was right about his theory. Shaky moans poured out of you while your fingers held onto him tighter trying to ground onto anything. “Y-you really did learned from last time.”
A chuckle rumbled against your pussy. “Told you.” Then, he took his time with you. His mouth suckled on the nub through the fabric for a long time. The saliva overcoats your wetness and the fabric stuck too uncomfortably now on your pussy that was clenching around nothing. His thumbs were tracing on your outer thighs holding you in place against the bar door.
The muffled sounds of the music overflowing outside and loud talking brought him relief that no one could really hear them unless you pressed an ear against the door. He didn’t need to be kicked out of the police academy for wanting to please his woman.
There was a shakiness on his shoulder from your leg. The impending orgasm was filling your entire body. It wasn’t like last time where you pretended to orgasm around him, he can noticeably tell the difference from last time. Your alternating moans and whimpers were becoming increasingly high-pitched rather than bored. Your fingers were digging into his scalp though he oddly enjoyed it. You were chasing the pleasure instead of just laying there and taking it disappointedly.
“Le0n, fuck, I’m going to cum.” You warned bucking your hips against his mouth. Without another warning, a white hot flash seized through your entire body and y0u had to bite your lower lip to hold back the loud cries. Cum seeped out of your pussy coating the white lace fabric to the point you were sure there was no use wearing them from how transparent the material is.
Leon had to agree. He can see your pussy now and satisfaction filled him from what he had learned. Jake told him to always focus on the clit because some women didn’t feel pleasure from penetration, they needed stimulation to help them orgasm. “I did it.” He muttered more in amazement to himself.
Now Leon was entirely pussy drunk. One hand moved from your thigh and pulled aside the overly wet material to the side to get a glimpse of your fluttering folds and drenching hole. “Holy fuck, I should have done this the first time for you. I’m sorry, baby. I need to make it up to you.” You almost wondered what he meant until his lips latched around your clit once again.
Overstimulation filled you immediately. You tried to pull your hips away from his suckles, “wait, Leon. I’m sensitive, you can’t just-”
“I know.” Leon mumbled against your clit, rolling his eyes as his tongue stuck out tracing his tongue down from your clit to your fluttering cunt capturing around the soppy fluttering folds for a moment. Wet, tight and warm; he was definitely mad at himself for not doing this the first time. “I’m counting on you to have another one for me.”
You created a monster.
Leon pried your thighs apart more and stuck his tongue deeper inside of your hole. Contrasting walls were fluttering around his tongue and his nose was nuzzling against your clit. He didn’t care how wet his face was, all he cared about was the taste of you. Determined to show you what he had learned. Determined to make sure the stranger at the bar that flirted with you would never please you in the way he can.
He prided in himself for how the noises that should have been there the first time were real and genuine this time. And if he could bottle up those moans and high-pitched whines that were threatening to become screams, he would and would jerk off to it every chance he got.
Fuck the police academy when his dream was right here. And god, his dream sounded so good for him. “Please, don’t run away from me.” He whined, holding you firmer against the bar bathroom door. “I need to do this for you.”
His tongue continued its borderline savage attacks in your cunt. He didn’t allow any traces of wetness to escape him. Slurps and slicking sounds came from his mouth; one thing that you discovered about Leon, he was a very messy eater. Spit and wetness dribbled down the corner of his lips down his chin where it dripped, dripped, dripped staining his shirt.
Since Leon didn’t give you any time to recover from the last orgasm, the impending one was at its brink. You can practically feel the smug smirk on his lips noticing now what the signs were that y0u were about to cum. “Look at my pretty girl, I know you want to cum.” He mumbled snaking one hand to lay flat on your lower stomach and played with your clit with his thumb to add the extra stimulation. “Don’t deny yourself. I know you wanted this for months. Just cum for me, I need to hear those pretty noises again.”
The soft command of his voice shouldn’t turn you on this much but it did. Your eyes rolled back as you tilted your head to the side. Your entire body shaked and you were chanting his name; the coil in your stomach snapped and another flood of wetness entered straight into his mouth. “Mhm, my good girl.” He mumbled, darting his tongue out watching the wetness drip down fat globs onto his tongue. He closed his mouth and whined from the taste.
“Do you think you can come inside a bottle for me so I can taste it whenever I want to?” He questioned with a head tilt.
“What. . .Leon!” You scolded, embarrassed looking down at him but he merely grinned and shrugged. “You’re a freak.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t deny me.”
“No, Leon.”
His lips quirk into a genuine frown. “Why not? Is it so wrong to want to taste my girl’s cum on the go?” He questioned tapping your sensitive pussy with his hand.
“It is, Leon.” You replied, trying to hide a smile threatening to form. “Maybe another time.” You agreed and if he was a dog, his ears would have perked up at that. Your hips twitched away from his and he got the memo. He needed to give you a moment to recover.
Leon pressed a final kiss to your pussy then gently pulled your leg off his shoulder back onto the ground. Not before pulling off your panties and pocketing them for later. He almost snorted seeing sneakers instead of heels that he barely noticed until now, typical since you broke your last heels on the last date. He made a note to get you new ones.
He groaned from his knees aching being on the ground for a while and stumbled against you. His chest hit your face and the mere contact made his cock twitch. He was so focused on you that he forgot about his straining erection he had the entire time. His hand planted on the side of your head and looked down at you.
His heart fluttered in his chest. Your hair stuck to your skin, your eyes were glossed over with tears he just noticed brimming in the corner, and your lips parted trying to catch your breath from cumming twice.
Instinctively his hips pushed forward and grinded his jeans against your stomach. His eyes rolled back from the friction of fabric rubbing on his weeping slit that he whined. “I did good, right?” He questioned, desperately and pathetically, “I deserve a reward for making you cum twice? Please give me a reward for making you feel so good.”
Something about Leon being pathetic and whiny undid you. Overstimulation still lingered, though he proved himself that he can please you. He did deserve a reward for being a good boy. “Fine but we’ve been in here long enough to arouse suspicions.”
“Oh, our friends definitely know we’re fucking.” Leon agreed, bringing his hands around the plush of your thighs and hauled you up quickly. Your eyes widened from his strength, you knew he had been working out more but the display of strength and how he picked you up without restraint made your pussy clench in anticipation and your legs wrapped around his waist. “And I h0pe that the asshole outside knows it too.”
Leon carried you to the edge of the sink and sat you on the edge. He didn’t waste time to unbuckle his belt and unzipped his pants. He pulled his jeans and boxers low enough below the curve of his ass for his cock to spring out. The weeping pinkish tip throbbed from the cold air and he softly hissed from the sensitivity. “I promise I’ll last longer than last time.”
“I hope because,” your hand reached out and wrapped around the cockhead swirling your thumb down to coat his flesh with his pre-cum, “I really want to feel you inside me. You already took care of me, now it’s time to reap your reward.”
Leon’s hand reached out to the edge of the sink to hold himself together before he fell apart. He couldn’t allow disappointment to happen again. He needed everyone to make sure his woman didn’t need another man to fuck her properly. His dick would be the only one that would make her feel good.
“I intend to.” Leon growled out, his other hand shot out to grab your hand away from his cock and forced your legs to spread further on the sink to accommodate his frame. He rested the underside of his dick against your sopping folds and dragged between them to lubricate his flesh further. His eyes fluttered from the sight allowing himself a few more seconds of this before capturing his cock at the entrance. “Are you sure I did good? You didn’t fake it this time?”
“I’m sure, Leon.”
“Good because I need another orgasm out of you.” Leon didn't give you a chance to respond as he pushed past the first ring of muscles. His forehead fell against yours and whined from how wet and tight you were around his cock. He almost wanted to slam into you until reality crashed on him. “Fuck, I didn’t bring a condom. I left them at home.”
“I’m not ovulating so I can take the morning after pill.” You replied.
His eyes darkened at that. He was so careful the first time wearing a condom making sure he wouldn’t get you pregnant. He wanted to properly take care of you by becoming a police officer, getting you a ring and buying you a house before children. “Oh, thank god. I didn’t think I could pull out.”
His hips pressed harder against yours until he was completely flushed against you. He was inside fully. This felt better without the condom latex and your pussy seemed to agree with how easily it swallowed him hole without restraint.
He can fully feel the wetness seeping down his cock. The clenching of your sopping folds around him that he took a moment to admire the stretch of your lips accommodating him. “I don’t think I can go back to fucking you with protection.” He admitted slowly dragging his hips back watching the pearlescent streaks of wetness clinging onto his skin in lewd strings before snapping. “This is the best reward I ever gotten.”
Because Leon was still overly eager. His hips slammed back into yours and he watched your breast bounce almost out of your dress; the elicit loud moan that came out of you almost made him want to cum there. He promise he would last longer so he gritted his teeth and really started to show you the techniques he learned studying those female anatomy books.
He took in Jake’s advice and began touching you. His hands were first on your bouncing breast thumbing your nipples beneath the dress to stimulate you once again. Last time, he barely touched you. Now, he couldn’t keep his hands off of you.
You almost couldn’t tell who was louder. Leon, you or the sounds of squelching where flesh met each other from your pussy. If the bartender found out you guys were fucking in there, you would be banned. You sure that wouldn’t be the first time that had happened in a bar though. It was worth the risk. Getting fucked properly this time, the aunties were definitely right this time.
He is married material.
He completely checked off all the requirements in your head for a future husband. The first time was a bump in the road. He proved himself that he can do better. And, he did. Each drag of his cock in you, his whiny pathetic praises he was giving you while one hand found its way down to your clit once again.
Leon never wanted to be embarrassed again.
His forehead pressed against yours and watched you with intense devotion. He was studying you now. He was learning what felt good if he thrust his hips a certain way. That thrust didn’t elicit the moan he wanted or the pinch of brows he was used to seeing. “I want to learn everything about your body, baby so does it feel good when I do this,” he thrust another way pressing at a certain spot that made your whine and tighten your legs around his waist, “fuck, yeah it does. I felt you clench around me tighter.”
Leon became a mad man finding the spot that was declared the g-spot for women. His hand left your breast and gripped the fat of your thigh instead while his other hand kept stimulating the throbbing nub. “Now that I know what makes you feel good,” he began pulling you against him harder and faster, “I want to see you cum on my cock properly this time.”
A particularly loud moan escaped your lips and Leon captured his lips against yours to muffle continuous noises happening between the two of you. He didn’t want you to get in trouble though he was sure once you both left, you won’t be allowed back at this bar.
His thrust were becoming sloppy now. The orgasm that was building inside of him was threatening to explode. Heavy pants pressed against your lips and his thumb continued their ministrations needing you to come with him. The obscene slick slick slick formed a creamy white base on his cock and he knew you were going to come once again for him.
“Come on, I know you can give me another one.” Leon mumbled between kisses and brought his lips to the corner of your eyes from the tears forming there. “You’ve done so good for me before. Your pussy is begging for another orgasm, just give her what she wants. Give me the reward I want.”
“Fuck, fuck,” You cried out furrowing your brows tighter together as your legs were shaking around his waist unsure if you needed him to stop or keep going from the tightening sensation in your stomach, “Leon, Leon,” you chanted and then another white hot flash seized through you entirely spasming and cumming hard around his cock. I can’t get enough of her pussy, he thought.
Leon groaned, feeling the creamy pearlescent wetness coat his cock. “There’s my girl, fuck, thank you, thank you.” He rambled thrusting a few more times. His cock throbbed while his hips spasmed and white ropes of seed flooded you entirely that he watched the cum seep out of the corners of your plugged hole. “So pretty.” He mumbled, rolling his hips a few more times and slumped against you.
It was quiet for a few moments. You never had intense orgasms like this in your life and somehow Leon being inexperienced was able to pull them out of you just from studying about it. His lips gently pressed against your cheek and he mumbled, “was that better than last time.”
“A million times better.” You chuckled, turning your head to kiss his cheek back. “And to think I was going to break up with you.”
Leon lifted his head at lightspeed and frowned at you. “You were going to break up with me because I was bad? Jeez, I know I was bad but not that bad.” He grumbled. “At least you have no reason to, and if you try to find another reason then I’ll just prove to you why you shouldn’t again.”
You laugh breathlessly at that. At least he wasn’t mad at the truth. No, Leon is a good man and boyfriend - there is no reason to break up with him. You were going to reassure him you wouldn’t dream of breaking up with him until a pounding sound of the door echoed in the bar bathroom. Both of you froze and stayed quiet.
“Yo, Leon,” Jake called out from the otherside, “you better get out of there! The bartender is going to come and kick you guys out.”
“Shit.” Leon muttered. “Thanks!” He called out and pulled out with reluctance. He hissed from his dick limping and the missed warmth of being inside of you. He watched for a moment transfixed by the way your pussy fluttered around nothing while cum seeped out.
He wanted to take a moment to push his cum back inside of you. But time wasn’t his friend, he helped you first by pulling down your dress and patted your hair and put himself away, buckling his belt again. “We better go before we get the cops called on us for public indecency.”
“We can’t have that on your record.” You teased patting his hair down, he fluttered at that. He offered to go first, but once he unlocked the door the owner of the bar was there instead of the bartender.
And both of you got a scolding of a lifetime. At least the cops weren’t called on you two.
Months later, Leon graduated from the police academy. He had chosen Raccoon City as his destination to be transferred there. You had gone a week ago to slowly move stuff into the new apartment but he had an odd call to stay away.
You had a bad feeling about this. You argued with Leon the entire day that he shouldn’t go. They obviously told him to stay away for a reason but his sense of justice overrides any logic he had.
“I don’t want to argue anymore. I’ll be back, I promise.” Leon said, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “I will just go up to see what’s going on and then I will come back for you.”
And you had to watch your boyfriend go without you because Mrs. Johnson was too weak to take care of herself still. Something bad was about to happen and yet all you can do is watch Leon drive off in his jeep; away from you.
Summary: A mission meant to be routine becomes a race against the clock when you’re bitten, and the only antivirals are destroyed. With the infection spreading and time running out, Leon Kennedy abandons everything except the one objective that matters: getting you back alive.
Warnings/tags: bite injury (reader), infection themes (fever, delirium), mentions of blood/wounds, mission-related violence, guns, angst, protective leon
The hallway smells like antiseptic and old rain, sharp enough to taste at the back of your throat. Emergency lights pulse a slow red, painting everything in the color of a heartbeat that refuses to settle. Somewhere deeper in the facility, something metallic groans, the sound carrying through the walls like the building itself is shifting in its sleep.
Leon moves ahead of you with that familiar economy, every step deliberate, shoulders slightly rounded forward as if he's braced against a wind no one else can feel. Years ago, you would have called it tension. Now you know it's simply how he stands when he's ready to protect something.
You.
He lifts one hand without looking back. Two fingers. Hold. You stop immediately, rifle angled down but ready, covering the rear out of habit. Your breathing slows to match his. In the quiet, you can hear it, the faint rasp of fabric as he adjusts his grip, the tiny click of leather at his wrist. He glances over his shoulder, blue eyes catching red light, and the corner of his mouth tilts.
"Tell me you hear that too," he murmurs.
"Ventilation system struggling to keep up with poor life choices," you whisper back.
His mouth twitches a little more. "Comforting."
"Very."
He turns forward again, advancing with a careful sidestep around a fallen gurney. You follow close, boots landing where his did, stepping into the spaces he clears without thinking. Years of missions have worn this path between you into muscle memory. You could navigate a battlefield blind if he were moving ahead of you.
Sublevel three, quarantine wing. The official report had said that the outbreak was contained. Minimal hostiles. Data retrieval only. You and Leon had both read that and packed extra ammunition.
Something scrapes faintly above you. You both stop again. A wet sound follows, soft but unmistakable, like raw meat dragged across tile. Leon's shoulders go rigid. He tilts his head, listening, then slowly raises his pistol toward the ceiling vent ten feet ahead.
"Don't," you breathe.
Too late. The grate explodes outward in a shower of dust and rusted screws. A shape drops hard onto the floor between you, limbs hitting at angles that don't belong to anything living. The body spasms once, twice, then snaps upright with a sound like tearing cloth. Its eyes are wrong. Its mouth is wrong.
Leon fires twice. The creature barely stutters before lunging. You're already moving. Your rifle cracks, recoil thudding into your shoulder as you pivot left to avoid Leon's line of fire. The rounds chew through rotten muscle, splashing something dark across the wall. The thing keeps coming anyway, a puppet yanked forward by invisible strings.
"Persistent," you mutter.
"Understatement."
It reaches Leon first. He sidesteps, grabs a fistful of its ruined jacket, and uses the momentum to sling it into the wall hard enough to dent the drywall. Before it can recover, he drives a knife up under its jaw with brutal precision. The body convulses, fingers clawing weakly at his sleeve, then goes slack.
For a moment, the only sound is your breathing and the slow drip of something unpleasant onto the tile. Leon exhales through his nose, shoulders lowering a fraction. He wipes the blade on the creature's shirt before sheathing it, movements efficient, practiced, almost weary.
"You okay?" he asks without turning.
"Fine."
He turns anyway, eyes scanning you head to toe, checking for tears in fabric, blood that isn't yours, the small tells you can't hide from him even if you tried. His gaze lingers on your face a second longer than necessary.
"Your heart rate's up."
"So is yours."
"Occupational hazard."
You step closer, bump your shoulder lightly against his arm. "You jumped."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I adjusted my stance."
You snort. "Sure you did, hero."
His hand comes up automatically, settling at the small of your back as he guides you past the body. The touch is brief, grounding, gone almost before you register it. He does it all the time now, in doorways, on stairs, whenever the path narrows. Years ago he used to keep that kind of contact locked away behind professionalism. Marriage burned that barrier down to ash.
"Remind me why we didn't retire somewhere with a beach," you say quietly.
"You hate sand."
"I could learn."
"You said that last time. Then you threw a shoe at a seagull."
"It started it."
He huffs, a sound that might be the ghost of a laugh. "We're not buying a coastal property just so you can wage war on wildlife."
"Coward."
They're soft words, familiar words, the kind that live comfortably between you, even in places like this. Especially in places like this. If you stop talking, the silence fills up with too many ghosts.
Ahead, the corridor splits. One path descends into deeper shadow. The other ends at a reinforced door marked MEDICAL ISOLATION.
Leon studies it, jaw tightening slightly. "That's our best bet for antiviral storage."
"And our worst bet for everything else."
"Probably."
He reaches for the panel. It flickers, unresponsive.
You lean in, shoulder brushing his. "Stand back."
"I am standing back."
"Further."
He sighs but obeys, stepping aside as you pull a compact breaching charge from your pack and set it against the seam. Your hands move quickly, efficiently, though you can feel his eyes on you the entire time.
"Try not to blow yourself up," he says.
"Try not to worry so loudly."
"I don't worry."
You glance up. "Leon."
"...I worry a normal amount."
You smile despite yourself. "Uh huh."
You trigger the charge and pivot away, grabbing his vest to pull him with you behind the corner. The explosion is sharp, contained, dust puffing into the air like a violent exhale. When the ringing fades, the door hangs crooked on shattered hinges. Leon looks down at where your hand is still gripping his gear. His expression softens in a way that has nothing to do with combat.
"You can let go," he says gently.
You realize you're still holding on and release him, suddenly aware of how solid he feels under your fingers, how warm even through layers of tactical fabric.
"Right," you say, clearing your throat. "Professional."
"Very."
But he brushes your knuckles once before moving past you, so quick it could almost be an accident.
Inside, the medical wing is colder, air conditioning still struggling on backup power. Cabinets hang open, supplies scattered across the floor as if someone had tried to pack in a hurry and failed. A hospital bed sits abandoned in the center of the room, sheets twisted into ropes. You sweep left. Leon sweeps right. The familiar dance resumes. For a few seconds, nothing moves.
Then something thumps weakly from behind the bed. You both pivot, weapons raised. A figure drags itself into view, lab coat smeared dark, face gray with fever. Human. Barely.
"Help," he croaks.
Leon lowers his weapon first, but doesn't relax. "You're infected?"
The man nods frantically, clutching his side. "Bite... hours ago... there's... antivirals... storage fridge... code..."
His hand trembles as he points toward a small sealed unit in the corner. Hope flickers, fragile and dangerous. You step forward. Leon catches your arm immediately.
"Careful," he murmurs.
"I know."
His grip tightens just a fraction before he lets go, thumb brushing your sleeve as if memorizing the texture.
The man coughs wetly, body shaking. "Please... I don't want to... turn..."
Leon's jaw flexes. You can see the calculation in his eyes, the grim understanding of how this story usually ends. You move past him anyway, crouching by the fridge, fingers already working the manual override. The seal pops with a soft hiss. Inside, rows of vials gleam faintly in the emergency light, liquid clear and precious as water in a desert.
"Jackpot," you whisper.
Behind you, the man makes a sound that isn't quite human.
Leon's voice snaps sharply. "Back."
You turn just in time to see the change sweep across the man's face, muscles locking, eyes clouding over like frost creeping across glass. Too fast. Leon fires once. The body collapses before it can lunge.
Silence crashes down, heavy and absolute. Your hands are still wrapped around the cold vial when Leon steps in close, one hand settling at the back of your neck, fingers warm against your skin. He leans his forehead briefly against your temple, a gesture so intimate it almost hurts.
"Hey," he murmurs. "Stay with me."
"I'm here."
"Good."
"Leon," you say, unable to keep the lift out of your voice. "We've got—"
The ceiling tile above the doorway caves in with a thunderous crack. Something drops through in a tangle of limbs and teeth. Leon fires before it even lands.
The room detonates into motion. Another body slams through the door behind it, then another, drawn by noise or scent or whatever twisted instinct drives them now. The first infected hits the floor crawling, jaw snapping, fingers scrabbling for purchase on slick tile.
"Back!" Leon snaps.
You're already moving, grabbing the case and pivoting away from the fridge as gunfire shatters the sterile quiet. Your rifle kicks against your shoulder, rounds punching into torsos that refuse to care. The air fills with the acrid stink of cordite and something fouler underneath.
One lunges for your legs. Leon intercepts it, boot driving into its chest hard enough to send it skidding across the floor. He doesn't even look as he fires downward, ending it with clinical precision.
More are coming. The hallway beyond the ruined door is a writhing mass of shapes pushing over each other, hungry, relentless. The lab equipment rattles as something heavy slams against the wall.
"Too many," you shout.
"Move!"
You sidestep, firing, trying to carve space, trying not to hit Leon as he crosses your line. Your shoulder clips the edge of the bed. The case slips in your grip for half a second.
A larger infected barrels through the doorway, body swollen, movements jerky but powerful. It collides with a rolling cart, sending metal instruments clattering across the floor like thrown knives. Leon pivots to engage, emptying three rounds into its upper chest. The creature staggers backward. Straight into the open refrigerator. Glass explodes.
The sound is high and crystalline, almost delicate beneath the gunfire, like a chandelier being smashed in a ballroom no one will ever dance in again. Vials shatter against metal shelves, against tile, against each other. Clear liquid splashes across the floor, instantly indistinguishable from the spreading mess of everything else. You see it happen in horrible, slow clarity. Hope, reduced to glittering debris.
"Leon!"
He fires again, dropping the brute for good. The body collapses forward, crushing what remains of the storage rack beneath its weight. For one stunned heartbeat, neither of you moves. Then another infected claws over the fallen bulk, and survival yanks you back into motion. You fire. Leon fires. Bodies drop. The noise is deafening, claustrophobic, relentless until at last the hallway falls silent again, littered with unmoving shapes.
Your ears ring. Smoke hangs in the air like a dirty veil. Slowly, cautiously, Leon lowers his weapon. His gaze drifts past the carnage to the refrigerator, to the floor, to the glittering field of broken glass and spilled medication soaking uselessly into grout lines and fabric and things you don't want to identify. He doesn't say anything. Neither do you. The man on the bed has gone very still. His eyes stare at the ceiling, clouded over, whatever fragile thread holding him to himself finally snapped in the chaos. A drop of liquid slides off the shelf edge and hits the tile with a soft, final tick.
Leon exhales, long and controlled, like he's forcing the air out through a space too small for it. "...We'll find more," he says quietly.
He steps closer to you, one hand settling on your shoulder, firm and grounding. His thumb moves once, a brief stroke through dust and sweat, as if confirming you're still solid beneath his palm.
"You hurt?" he asks.
You shake your head, throat tight. "No."
"Good."
His hand lingers a moment longer, then drops. He scans the room again, already shifting back into mission mode, but the tension in his jaw has sharpened, lines around his eyes etched deeper by the red emergency light.
"Storage areas are usually clustered," he says. "If there was one unit, there are probably others."
You nod because he needs you to nod. Because forward is the only direction that exists anymore.
Together, you step around the shattered glass and the ruined promise it once held, boots crunching softly with every movement, and head back into the corridor where the dark waits patiently for you to return.
The corridor beyond the lab is narrower, older, the walls traded from clean hospital white to poured concrete stained by decades of leaks and neglect. Emergency lights hum overhead, casting everything in a tired amber glow that feels less like an alarm and more like a dying sunset that forgot to go away. Your boots echo differently here. Hollow. The sound carries too far.
Leon slows without saying anything, adjusting his pace until you're shoulder to shoulder instead of single file. His arm brushes yours with each step, solid and reassuring in a way that feels deliberate without calling attention to itself. After a minute, you realize he's listening to your breathing.
"You know," you say quietly, "most couples go to dinner."
He huffs under his breath. "We tried that."
"You got a call."
"We both got a call."
"I didn't even get to eat my pasta."
"You ordered something with fourteen ingredients I couldn't pronounce."
"That's not a crime."
"It should be."
You bump his shoulder lightly. "You promised dessert."
"I'll buy you dessert."
"You said that last time."
"I meant it last time, too."
His hand comes up automatically, resting on your back as the corridor narrows, guiding you around a fallen chunk of concrete. The touch lingers just a second longer than necessary.
"When this is over," he adds quietly, "we'll go somewhere that doesn't have reception."
You glance at him. "You're serious."
"Dead serious."
A small smile pulls at your mouth. "You'd last two days."
"I'd last three."
"Two and a half."
He considers it like it's a tactical estimate. "Two and a half."
The next door is heavier than the others, industrial steel with a small wired-glass window clouded by years of grime. A faded placard reads BIO STORAGE B in letters that have peeled into something ghostlike and hard to trust.
Leon raises a hand automatically, stopping you just short of the threshold.
"Hold."
You halt with your boot inches from the seam, rifle angled down but ready. He steps past you, placing himself between you and the door without thinking about it. He always does that. As if the hinge of the world were located somewhere in his spine.
He wipes a sleeve across the glass and peers through, eyes narrowing as he adjusts to the dim interior. "Don't see movement," he murmurs. "Shelving units. Containers. Could be clear."
"Could be."
He glances back at you, reading your face the way other people read weather. "You good?"
"Always."
One eyebrow lifts. Not convinced.
You roll your shoulder where your gear has started to dig in, trying to work out the stiffness before it becomes a problem. "Just cramped."
"Switch packs with me."
"I'm fine."
"That wasn't a suggestion."
"It wasn't an order either."
For a moment, you just look at each other, the quiet argument unfolding in expressions instead of voices. Married diplomacy in a war zone.
Finally, he exhales through his nose, conceding the point without admitting defeat. His hand comes up instead, settling briefly at the side of your neck, thumb brushing the muscle there in a grounding stroke.
"Tension," he says softly.
"Observation skills of a seasoned agent."
"Comes with the badge."
"You don't even carry a badge."
"Metaphorical badge."
You lean into his touch for half a second before you can stop yourself. He notices. His thumb stills, then presses lightly once more before he lets his hand fall away.
"Stay behind me on entry," he says, voice shifting, professional edges sliding back into place.
"I take left. You take right," you counter automatically.
He gives you a look. You give him one right back.
"...Fine," he mutters at last. "But if I say fall back, you fall back."
"Yes, dear."
His mouth twitches despite himself. "Don't 'yes, dear' me in a mission."
"Yes, sir," you salute.
Leon grunts and shakes his head, trying not to smile. You reach past him to test the handle. Locked.
"Stand clear," you say.
He moves aside this time without commentary, covering the door while you pull a compact bypass tool from your vest. The metal is cold against your fingers, humming faintly as it interfaces with the ancient locking mechanism.
For a few seconds, the only sounds are the tool's soft electronic chirp and your breathing. Then the mechanism clicks. You don't open it immediately. Instead, you glance sideways at him. Close enough to see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the tiny scar along his jaw, the exhaustion he carries like a shadow that never quite detaches.
"After this," you say quietly, "we're getting that dessert."
He studies you for a long beat, something unspoken passing through his expression. A deep, stubborn refusal to imagine a future where that doesn't happen.
"Yeah," he says at last, voice low and certain. "We are."
Your hand brushes his wrist as you shift your grip on the handle. He turns his palm just enough to catch your fingers, squeezing once, firm and warm. A promise disguised as reflex. Then he releases you, raises his weapon, and nods.
"On you."
You pull the door open. Cold air spills out, stale and chemical, carrying the faint scent of something spoiled long before anyone stopped coming down here. The room beyond is a maze of tall storage racks and plastic containers, shadows pooling thick between them like standing water.
Leon moves through the doorway first, silent, precise, clearing angles with ruthless efficiency. You follow a half-step behind despite earlier negotiations, covering what he can't see, trusting him to do the same.
All you hear is the hum of failing lights. The soft creak of metal settling. The distant, almost inaudible drip of water somewhere in the dark.
Leon lifts two fingers, signaling pause. You freeze. He tilts his head, listening.
"...Thought I heard something," he whispers.
You hold your breath. The room holds its breath too. Then, very softly, something shifts deep between the shelves. A scrape. Leon's posture tightens, every line of him sharpening toward the sound.
"Stay close," he murmurs.
You move in beside him, shoulder brushing his arm, the warmth of him grounding against the cold air of the room.
"Always do," you whisper back.
The air grows colder the farther you go, heavy with the stale tang of chemicals and something faintly organic beneath it, like fruit left too long in a sealed container. Your flashlight beam skims across plastic bins, sealed crates, labels bleached into illegibility. Dust floats in slow spirals each time you move, disturbed ghosts reluctant to settle again.
Leon advances at a measured pace, weapon steady, shoulders tight enough to telegraph that he hasn't liked this room from the moment the door opened. You mirror him, covering the angles between shelving units, eyes darting through the narrow gaps where shadows knit together into something almost solid. Another scrape, closer this time.
A container shifts on a shelf to your left with a soft plastic thud, tipping just enough to rock in place. Your rifle swings toward it automatically.
"Probably just settling," you whisper.
Leon doesn't answer. He takes one careful step forward, angling to get a better view past the rack. The beam of his light cuts across the gap, illuminating stacked boxes, a collapsed cart, nothing that looks immediately threatening.
Your shoulders start to loosen. That's when the hands shoot out of the darkness. They clamp around your calf, iron strong, nails digging through fabric as something drags itself from beneath the lowest shelf with a wet, hungry sound. You don't even have time to shout before you're yanked off balance.
"Leon—!"
He pivots instantly, dropping his aim to avoid hitting you as you hit the floor hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. The infected is half-crushed, lower body mangled, but its arms work just fine. Its mouth snaps inches from your boot, teeth clacking together with a sound that vibrates up your bones.
You kick, connecting with its face, but it barely registers the impact. Its grip tightens, hauling you closer, closer, jaws opening wide enough to show the slick black of its throat.
Leon moves. He doesn't fire. Too risky. Instead, he lunges forward, grabbing the back of your vest and hauling you backward with brutal force. The infected comes with you, still latched on, dead weight and fury combined.
"Let go!" he snarls, driving his boot into its shoulder.
Bone cracks. The grip loosens just enough for him to wrench you free, dragging you behind him as he finally gets a clear shot. Two rounds. Point-blank.
The body jerks, collapses, and goes still. For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing and the thunder of your pulse. Leon stays crouched in front of you, one arm braced across your chest like a barricade, gun still trained on the corpse in case it decides death is negotiable.
"Hey," he says, voice low, urgent. "Hey. Look at me."
You blink, vision swimming, lungs finally remembering how to work. "I'm... I'm good."
His eyes scan you anyway, fast and thorough, hands already moving, checking arms, shoulders, gear, the way he always does. Routine. Training. Care disguised as procedure. Then his hand stops at your leg.
The fabric of your pants is torn where the creature grabbed you. Dark spreads through the rip, wet and unmistakable even in the dim light. Leon goes very still. Slowly, carefully, he pulls his glove off with his teeth and tosses it aside. His bare hand is warm when it closes around your ankle, steady but not gentle as he angles your leg into the beam of his flashlight.
You follow his gaze. For a second, your brain refuses to interpret what you're seeing. Just shapes. Color. Shine. Then it resolves. Deep teeth marks on your ankle. Blood wells from the punctures, thick and bright, running down into your boot.
"Oh," you say softly.
Leon doesn't speak. His jaw tightens so hard a muscle jumps along his cheek. His thumb presses near the wound, not enough to hurt, just enough to assess depth, damage, and reality.
"How bad?" you ask, because someone has to.
He inhales slowly through his nose, like he's trying to pull the air all the way down to somewhere that doesn't exist anymore.
"...Through the muscle," he says at last, voice roughened at the edges. "No arterial spray."
You almost laugh. Of course, that's what he notices. Of course, he frames it in survivable terms.
"Good news," you murmur.
His eyes snap to yours, sharp, bright, furious at something that isn't you. "Don't."
The word isn't loud. It doesn't need to be. Silence floods back in, thick as the dust hanging in the air. Carefully, he releases your leg only long enough to tear open a pouch on his vest. Gauze. Compression wrap. His hands move with practiced efficiency, but there's a tremor there now, small and stubborn, like a fault line threatening to split.
"This won't stop it," you say quietly.
"I know."
He presses the gauze down anyway, firm, unyielding, as if pressure alone could force time to behave.
"You didn't get grabbed anywhere else?" he asks without looking up.
"No."
"Scratch? Contact with fluid?"
"No, Leon."
He nods once, wrapping the bandage tight enough to hurt. You don't complain. Pain feels reassuringly human. When he finishes, he doesn't pull away. His hands remain braced on your leg, head bowed slightly, shoulders rising and falling with measured breaths. From this angle, you can see the faint silver threaded through his hair, the lines carved deeper by worry than age. You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing his jaw. He freezes.
"Hey," you say softly.
His eyes close for one heartbeat, leaning just slightly into your touch, like a man starving who just found water. Then he opens them again, focus snapping back into place with visible effort.
"We're moving," he says, voice low and absolute. "There will be another storage area. Another lab. Something."
You nod because you believe him. Because you have to. Because you don't want this to be the end. Because you don't want Leon to have to go through that. Because you want your dessert.
He rises first, then offers you his hand. When you take it, he pulls you up carefully, keeping his other hand hovering at your waist in case you falter. You put weight on the leg. It holds, though pain flares hot and sharp.
"Can you walk?" he asks.
"Yeah." A lie. A manageable one.
He doesn't call you on it. Instead, his arm slides around your back, anchoring you against his side as you take your first step. Protective. Supportive. Refusing to let distance exist.
"Stay with me," he murmurs.
Your head rests briefly against his shoulder, just for a second.
"Always," you whisper.
Adrenaline still burns hot in your veins, dulling the edges, convincing your body it can outrun consequences if it just keeps moving. Leon keeps his arm locked around you, pace adjusted to match yours without comment. Not slow enough to feel patronizing, not fast enough to make you stumble. Perfect. Infuriatingly perfect.
"You don't have to babysit," you murmur.
"Good," he says quietly. "Because I'm not."
His hand shifts slightly at your side, fingers spreading as if to support more of your weight without making a show of it. The corridor slopes downward. Each step sends a dull shock up your leg, deeper now, heavier, like the pain has roots instead of edges. You grit your teeth and keep going. After a dozen paces, something else creeps in. A warmth. Not the healthy kind. Not exertion. This feels wrong, thick and syrupy, pooling under your skin like fever deciding where to settle. You swallow. Your throat feels dry. Too dry.
"Leon," you start, then stop, because you're not sure what you were going to say.
He glances at you immediately. "What?"
"Nothing. Thought I heard something."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. Instead, he shifts you a little closer, your hip brushing his with every step now, a steady rhythm of contact that keeps you oriented.
The lights flicker overhead. For a split second, the world tilts. You blink hard, waiting for it to right itself. It does, but not completely. The edges of your vision feel soft, as if someone smeared petroleum jelly across reality.
"Hey," Leon says quietly.
You realize you've slowed. "I'm fine."
He stops anyway.
"No," he says, voice calm and immovable as bedrock. "You're not."
Before you can argue, a shape lurches from a side passage ahead. Its movements are jerky and uneven, its head twitching like a broken marionette. Leon eases you behind him with one hand, weapon already up. He takes it out, waiting a few seconds to make sure it's down.
When he turns back to you, his focus narrows, shutting out the rest of the world. "Sit," he says.
You shake your head. "We don't have time."
"Sit."
There's no edge in it. No raised volume. Just absolute certainty that this is happening. Your legs decide for you. The moment you stop resisting, they wobble, knees threatening to fold. Leon catches you instantly, one arm wrapping around your back, the other under your uninjured leg, guiding you down against the wall with careful control.
The concrete is cold through your gear. It feels strangely good. He crouches in front of you, close enough that your boots nearly touch his knees. Up close, you can see every tiny tension line in his face, every sleepless hour etched into skin that has forgotten what "rested" means.
His bare hand comes up again, settling against your neck, fingers sliding to your pulse point. You shiver.
His brows draw together. "You're burning up."
"Shock," you say weakly.
"You know that's not true."
His thumb presses lightly, counting. You can feel the rhythm under his skin, your heart hammering like it's trying to break out of your chest.
"Too fast," he murmurs, mostly to himself.
A tremor runs through your hands. Small at first, then stronger, fingers twitching against your thigh as if they belong to someone else and forgot to tell you. You curl them into fists, but it doesn't help. Leon notices. He reaches down slowly, deliberately, and wraps his hand around yours. Not restraining. Anchoring. His grip is warm, solid, impossibly steady compared to the jitter under your skin.
"Look at me," he says softly.
You do. Blue eyes. Tired. Fierce. Terrified in a way he would deny under oath.
"We're going to fix this," he says.
"You don't know that."
"Yes," he says, so simply it almost hurts. "I do."
Your vision blurs. You blink rapidly, trying to clear it, but the edges keep fuzzing out like a badly tuned signal.
"Everything's... weird," you admit. "Like I'm underwater."
His jaw tightens. "Any nausea?"
"No."
"Dizziness?"
"...Maybe."
"Confusion?"
You hesitate.
His expression darkens. "How long?"
"Ten minutes."
He leans forward suddenly, pressing his forehead to yours. The contact is gentle, deliberate, his eyes closing for a brief moment like he's drawing strength from proximity alone.
"You stay with me," he murmurs. "You hear me? No drifting."
"I'm right here."
His hand slides to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there. Making sure you don't slip away. For a few seconds, neither of you moves. Somewhere far off, metal clatters. A distant echo of something collapsing. The facility settling into deeper ruin. You swallow. Your throat feels raw now, like you've been breathing dry air for hours.
"Leon."
"Yeah."
"If I start to..."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sharp. "Don't."
"You need to be ready."
"I am ready."
"That's not what I mean."
His hand tightens at the back of your neck, just enough to stop you from looking away.
"I'm not leaving you," he says quietly. "Save it."
Your chest aches, and not from the bite. You nod because you don't trust your voice. He studies you another moment, memorizing something only he can see, then exhales slowly and shifts back into motion.
"Okay," he says, tone sharpening into mission focus again. "We move in short intervals. Next sector should have auxiliary storage or research offices. More supplies. Maybe antivirals."
"Maybe," you echo.
He rises, then hesitates, looking down at you like he's recalculating physics.
Without warning, he slips one arm behind your back and the other under your knees.
You blink. "Leon—"
"Save your strength."
"I can walk."
"I know."
And that's the end of the discussion. He lifts you with controlled ease, settling you against his chest. Your head ends up tucked under his chin, close enough to hear his heartbeat, steady and stubborn as a drum calling soldiers back to formation. You don't argue again. Your hand fumbles for his vest, gripping the fabric as another wave of heat rolls through you, deeper this time, almost nauseating in its intensity.
"Still with me?" he murmurs into your hair.
You nod weakly. "Yeah."
"Good."
He adjusts his hold, one hand splayed protectively across your back, and starts down the corridor again, footsteps measured, unhurried, as if he has decided that time itself can wait its turn. The world sways gently with each step. Your eyelids feel heavy.
Leon's voice cuts through the fog, low and insistent. "Stay awake."
"I'm trying."
"Talk to me."
"About what?"
"Anything."
You think for a long moment, chasing thoughts that scatter like startled birds.
"...Dessert," you mumble finally.
A soft breath leaves him, almost a laugh, almost something else entirely.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "We're still getting that."
You clutch his vest a little tighter, grounding yourself in the solid reality of him.
"Don't let me fall asleep," you whisper.
His arms tighten around you, careful but unyielding.
Leon adjusts his grip as you shift in his arms, not because you're heavy, never that, but because your body no longer anticipates his movement the way it usually does. You used to lean into turns before they happened, tighten your hold when he stepped over debris, and match his rhythm without thinking. Now you lag by half a second behind every motion, like your connection to gravity is buffering. He notices. He notices everything.
Your skin is too hot even through layers of fabric. Heat seeps through his sleeves, through his gloves, into his palms like you're burning from the inside out. Your breath ghosts unevenly against his throat, sometimes shallow, sometimes too deep, like your lungs can't agree on a pattern. Fever, he tells himself. Infection. Not the other thing. Not yet. Your fingers twitch where they clutch his vest, loosening, tightening, loosening again.
"Hey," he murmurs quietly. "Still with me?"
A pause. "...Yeah."
The word is slurred at the edges, dragged through molasses. His jaw tightens. He keeps moving.
The corridor stretches ahead in dim amber light, empty except for the occasional smear on the wall or abandoned equipment pushed aside by people who ran out of time. His footsteps are steady, deliberate, conserving energy, minimizing jostling. He's carried wounded before. Teammates. Civilians. Strangers. None of them felt like this. None of them felt like carrying his own heartbeat outside his body.
Your head shifts, cheek pressing against his collarbone. For a moment you go very still, so still that something cold claws down his spine.
"Talk to me," he says, softer now. "You promised."
A long silence. Then, faintly, "Cold."
He stops. A clean halt, like someone pulled a lever inside him. Cold is wrong. You're burning up. He lowers you carefully to one knee without setting you fully down, keeping one arm wrapped around your back so you don't tip sideways. His other hand comes up to your face, bare fingers brushing your cheek. Your skin is blazing. But you're shivering. Small, violent tremors run through you, teeth chattering softly against each other, lashes fluttering as if your body can't decide whether to wake or sleep.
"Hey," he says, sharper now. "Open your eyes."
You do, slowly, unfocused at first. Your pupils look blown wide in the low light, swallowing what little color remains in your irises.
"It's... dark," you mumble.
His chest tightens. The lights are still on.
"I'm right here," he says. "Look at me."
Your gaze drifts, struggles, and finally locks onto his face. Recognition flickers there, fragile but present.
"...Leon."
Relief hits him so hard it almost feels like pain.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, it's me."
Your brow furrows faintly, confusion knitting your expression into something painfully vulnerable.
"You look... tired."
He almost laughs. "Occupational hazard," he says quietly.
Your hand lifts weakly, fingers brushing his jaw as if you're mapping terrain you've walked a thousand times but suddenly don't trust your memory of.
"You should sleep," you whisper.
The tenderness in it is what breaks him a little.
"Soon, sweetheart," he says.
Your hand slips, falling back against your chest. Silence stretches. Your breathing grows uneven again.
Then you say, very softly, "Did we make it home?"
The words land like a physical blow. For a second, he can't answer. His throat closes around something sharp and unmanageable.
Home. Not the facility. Not the mission. Not the outbreak. Home. He swallows hard, forcing air back into his lungs.
"Not yet," he says, voice low and steady by sheer force of will. "Working on it."
Your eyes drift past him, unfocused, as if you're looking at something over his shoulder that isn't there.
"...Smells like coffee," you murmur. "Burned it again."
His vision blurs. He blinks hard, refocusing on the concrete wall behind you. You're not smelling coffee. There is no coffee. There hasn't been coffee in hours. Just dust and chemicals and rot. Hallucinations, a cold voice in his mind supplies. Neurological involvement. He hates that voice.
Your lips curve faintly, a sleepy little smile that belongs in a sunlit kitchen, not here. "You always do that," you mumble. "Say you're watching it, then forget..."
Your head tips sideways, resting against his arm. Your eyelids droop. Panic slices through him, clean and immediate.
"Hey," he says sharply, fingers tightening on your shoulder. "No. Stay with me."
You stir weakly. "...'m tired."
"I know."
"So tired."
His thumb presses against your pulse again. Still fast. Too fast.
"You can sleep when we're home," he says, leaning closer, voice dropping to something rough and urgent.
Your eyes open a sliver.
"...Promise?"
The question is so small it barely exists.
He bows his head until his forehead rests against yours, eyes closing for one heartbeat, he allows himself.
"Yeah," he whispers. "I promise."
He doesn't know if he's promising sleep, survival, or something else entirely. It doesn't matter. Your breathing evens out a little, not better, just slower, drifting toward something that looks dangerously like unconsciousness. Not yet, he thinks fiercely.
He slides one arm under your knees again and lifts you back against his chest, more carefully this time, as if you might come apart if handled too roughly. Your head lolls against his shoulder, then settles in the hollow of his neck, breath hot and damp against his skin.
"Stay with me," he murmurs into your hair. "Just a little longer."
Your fingers twitch weakly against his vest, not gripping anymore, just resting there like they forgot their job.
"...Love you," you whisper, so faint he almost thinks he imagined it.
He stops breathing. The entire world narrows to the weight in his arms and the fragile thread of sound still hanging in the air. His hold tightens, protective, desperate, careful all at once.
"I know," he says quietly, voice breaking on the edges despite his best effort. "I know."
He presses his cheek briefly against your hair, eyes closing, grounding himself in the reality of you. The heat. The softness. The terrifying fragility. Then he straightens and starts moving again, steps faster now, less cautious, urgency bleeding through the discipline he's clung to since this began. Somewhere ahead, there has to be another lab. Another storage room. Another chance. There has to be. Because the alternative is unthinkable, and Leon Kennedy has built an entire life on refusing to accept those.
"Hang on," he murmurs. "I've got you."
The corridor opens into what used to be a patient ward, rows of metal-framed beds bolted to the floor, privacy curtains hanging in limp, dusty folds like flags after a lost battle. Most of the mattresses are stripped bare, plastic covers cracked with age, but the room is quiet. No movement. No shuffling breath. Just the low electrical hum that seems to haunt every corner of this place.
Leon slows, scanning automatically, mapping exits, sightlines, choke points. Good visibility. Single main entrance. Minimal clutter. Defensible. More importantly, close.
A reinforced door at the far end bears a faded hazard symbol and the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY stenciled beneath it. The hinges are external. The frame is thicker than standard interior construction. Lab access. Or something close to it.
"Okay," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "This'll do."
He crosses to the nearest intact bed and lowers you with painstaking care, one arm supporting your shoulders, the other guiding your legs so the injured one doesn't twist. The mattress sighs softly under your weight, springs complaining but holding. For a second, he doesn't let go. Your head rolls slightly to one side, hair falling across your face. Your eyes are half-open, unfocused, lashes trembling like you're dreaming with your eyes still in the world.
"Hey," he says quietly, brushing the hair back with fingers that are gentler than anything else he's done today. "Stay with me."
Your gaze struggles to find him. "...Hi," you whisper.
"Hi," he echoes, voice rough.
Your hand lifts weakly, searching. He catches it immediately, folding his larger one around yours, grounding you with solid pressure.
"Where are we?" you murmur.
"Almost there," he says. Not a lie. Not quite the truth. "I need to check something."
Your fingers twitch in his grip, barely there. "...Don't go far."
His throat tightens.
"I won't," he says. "You'll be able to hear me the whole time." That seems to satisfy something in you. Your eyes drift closed, not fully unconscious, just sliding along the edge of it.
He gently lowers your hand to rest against your stomach, then hesitates. After a moment, he reaches up and unzips his jacket, shrugging it off despite the chill. He drapes it over you, tucking it around your shoulders, creating a cocoon of familiar warmth and scent. Leon rests his palm against your cheek one last time, thumb brushing your skin in a soft arc.
He forces himself to stand. Every instinct screams not to leave you. To pick you up and run until the world ends, the cure appears, or both. But the door at the end of the room waits, silent and stubborn, and something in his gut tells him that whatever hope exists is behind it.
He moves. Slow at first, reluctant steps that keep him within arm's reach, then a little farther, turning back every few seconds to make sure you're still breathing, still there, still you. Halfway across the ward, a shape shifts behind a curtain. Leon's weapon is up before the fabric finishes swaying.
A figure stumbles out, skeletal, skin pulled tight over bone, eyes reflecting dull amber in the emergency light. Its mouth opens in a soundless snarl as it lurches toward the nearest movement. Leon intercepts it before it gets anywhere. Two suppressed shots. One to the chest, one to the head. The body collapses in a boneless heap, momentum carrying it forward until it skids to a stop across the tile.
Another groan answers from somewhere deeper in the room. He pivots, firing again, dropping a second infected as it claws its way over a bedframe. Efficient. Controlled. No wasted motion. No unnecessary noise. Three heartbeats of silence. He listens, counting breaths. Nothing else rises. Only then does he glance back. You haven't moved. Relief floods through him so sharply his knees almost unlock.
"Still here," he murmurs under his breath, as if confirming it makes it true.
He reaches the reinforced door and tests the handle. Locked. Of course it is.
Up close, the barricade becomes obvious. Heavy shelving units have been shoved against the interior side, metal edges visible through the narrow seam where the door meets the frame. Whoever sealed this room meant to keep something out. Or in.
Leon leans closer, ear to the cold steel. Nothing. No breathing. No scratching. No shifting weight. He steps back and scans the frame. Electronic panel. Dead. Manual override slot intact. Hope stirs, cautious and unwelcome.
He glances over his shoulder again. From here, he can still see you on the bed, small beneath his jacket, chest rising and falling in shallow motions that make his own lungs ache in sympathy.
"Almost there," he says quietly, whether to you or himself, he doesn't know.
From a pouch on his belt, he pulls a compact breaching tool, the metal catching the light as he slots it into the override housing. The device hums softly, vibration traveling up his wrist.
Behind him, the ward remains still.
Then your voice drifts across the room, thin and fragile. "...Leon?"
He spins instantly. Your head has turned toward him, eyes open again, unfocused but searching, panic flickering in the small movement of your hands against his jacket.
"I'm here," he calls, already crossing back toward you. "Right here."
You stare at him as if trying to memorize his face before it disappears. "...Too many," you whisper. "They're everywhere."
"There's nothing here," he says gently. "You're safe."
Your head sinks back into the thin pillow. Consciousness slips away from you like water through open fingers. Leon stays there a second longer than he should, watching your chest rise, fall, rise again. Then he stands and turns back to the barricaded door, something steely settling over him, heavier than anger, sharper than fear.
The tool in his hand whines as it bites into the locking mechanism, sparks spitting in brief, angry bursts. Metal protests. Screws shear. The smell of hot circuitry fills the air.
"Hold on," he murmurs, not looking back this time because he won't stop if he does. "I'm getting us in."
Behind him, the bed creaks softly as you shift in fevered sleep. Ahead, the door shudders as the final bolt gives way. Leon shoves the door inward, the weight of it grinding against the barricade until the gap is wide enough for him to slip through sideways. Inside, a toppled shelving unit leans against the opposite wall, confirming what he already suspected. Whoever sealed this room did it from within and didn't plan on leaving.
The air is colder here. Cleaner. Sterile in that artificial way that smells faintly of alcohol wipes and plastic, like illness reduced to a controlled environment.
Emergency lights glow a sickly green, illuminating rows of lab benches, overturned stools, racks of glassware frozen mid-experiment. Papers lie scattered across the floor, curling at the edges. A monitor flickers weakly on one station, casting a pulsing rectangle of pale light that feels almost alive in the otherwise stagnant room.
Leon clears the space in seconds, weapon sweeping corners, checking behind doors, under desks, anywhere something could hide. Nothing lunges. Nothing breathes. Just abandonment, sudden and absolute, like the people who worked here evaporated mid-sentence.
He lowers the gun a fraction, chest rising and falling a little too fast to be purely tactical.
"Okay," he murmurs, voice rough in the quiet. "Okay."
He moves to the nearest workstation, scanning labels, cabinets, drawers. Chemical reagents. Disposable supplies. Data drives. Everything except what he needs. Another bench. Same story. He opens a refrigerated unit. Empty trays. Frost buildup. Power too low to maintain temperature.
His pulse hammers harder.
Not here. Not here. Not here.
"Come on," he mutters, rifling through containers faster now, less methodical, more desperate. Glass clinks sharply as he shoves aside vials of things that don't matter, powders with long names, syringes sealed in sterile plastic. Nothing labeled antiviral. Nothing labeled serum. Nothing labeled hope. A cold weight settles in his stomach.
He moves to the flickering computer, fingers flying across the keys, waking it from whatever half-dead state it's been trapped in. The screen brightens sluggishly, revealing a login prompt already bypassed, system hanging on by a thread.
"Don't do this to me," he whispers.
Folders populate slowly. Research logs. Incident reports. Containment protocols. He scans titles with ruthless speed, opening anything that looks remotely relevant, eyes burning as line after line of technical jargon scrolls past.
A crash echoes faintly from the ward beyond the door. His head snaps toward the sound. Silence follows. He waits three seconds. Five. Ten. No approach. No impact against the door. No dragging footsteps. Still there, he tells himself. She's still there.
He turns back to the screen, forcing his focus to narrow again. A document catches his eye.
ANTIVIRAL DISPERSION PROTOCOL – EMERGENCY USE
He opens it. Paragraphs of dense instructions spill across the display. Stabilization procedures. Delivery methods. Storage warnings. STORAGE LOCATION: SECURE BIOCONTAINMENT VAULT B-2. His stomach drops. Not here.
Coordinates blink uselessly on the screen, pointing deeper into the facility, farther than he wants to think about, farther than you may be able to survive the trip.
Something inside him finally gives. He grips the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, shoulders bowing as if someone just added fifty pounds to his back.
"Damn it," he breathes.
The word fractures on the way out, barely more than air. He squeezes his eyes shut, forehead dropping toward his clenched fists, fighting the surge of helpless fury that threatens to tear through discipline, training, every wall he's built over years of surviving the unsurvivable. Not enough time. Not enough distance. Not enough anything.
Out in the ward, you lie alone on a metal bed, burning up, slipping further away with every second he spends standing here empty-handed. His chest tightens until breathing feels optional.
For one dangerous moment, he imagines walking back out there, picking you up, and never stopping. No cure. No mission. Just distance and denial. Just the selfish hope that if he runs fast enough, the virus won't catch you.
He exhales sharply, dragging himself back from the edge. Running never saved anyone.
"Think," he mutters hoarsely. "Think."
His gaze drifts across the lab again, slower this time, less frantic, searching for patterns instead of miracles. That's when he notices it. A sealed medical kit is mounted on the wall near the exit. Standard emergency issue. Bright white casing. Untouched, pristine compared to the chaos everywhere else. Too pristine. He crosses the room and pops it open. Bandages. Burn gel. Basic trauma supplies. Nothing else.
His shoulders slump. Then his eyes catch a thin seam along the back panel, almost invisible unless you're looking directly at it. Not part of the original design. Too clean. Too deliberate. He taps it with his knuckle. Hollow. Hope flares, sharp and painful.
He wedges a knife into the seam and pries. The panel resists for a second, then snaps free with a brittle crack, revealing a narrow cavity hidden behind the kit.
Inside rests a single reinforced container, matte gray and no bigger than a paperback book, sealed with a biometric latch long since disabled. Not government-issue, but research-grade. Whoever put this here didn't have the chance to get it.
Leon's hands shake as he pulls it free. The lid pops open. Nestled in foam are two glass syringes pre-loaded with clear liquid, labels printed in blocky lab script:
ANTIVIRAL SERUM — FINALIZED STRAIN
For a second, he just stares, brain refusing to trust what his eyes are telling it. Air leaves his lungs in a sound that might be a laugh or might be something closer to a sob strangled before it can exist.
He presses his forehead briefly against the cool plastic case, eyes squeezing shut, letting the relief hit him in one violent wave before he can stop it. Shoulders shake once, twice, a tremor he doesn't bother to control because no one is here to see it. No one except the person who needs him most. He straightens abruptly, wiping a hand across his face, composure snapping back into place like a mask he's worn too long to misplace.
"Hang on," he says, already moving for the door, clutching the case like it's made of glass and prayers. "I'm coming back."
Your skin is still hot. That's the first thing he registers when his palm cups your cheek. Heat floods into his hand, fever-bright, but there's a wrongness to it now, a brittle quality, like warmth without life behind it.
"Hey," he says softly. "I'm back."
No response. Your lashes rest against your cheeks, unmoving. Your mouth is slightly open, breath slipping in shallow threads that barely stir the hair at your temple. The shivering from before has stopped. Your body lies too still beneath his jacket, as if it finally decided movement was optional.
A cold spike of terror drives straight through his chest.
"Hey." Louder this time, but still gentle, still careful, as if volume alone might break you. "Come on. Open your eyes for me."
Nothing. He slides his hand to your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point. It's there. Fast. Thready. Irregular in a way that makes his own heartbeat stumble trying to match it.
"Okay," he breathes, more to himself than to you. "We're okay."
His other hand trembles as he fumbles the case open, snapping it back with a soft plastic crack. The syringes gleam under the emergency lights, their clear liquid looking impossibly calm compared to the storm in his chest. He sets the case on the bed beside you, movements deliberate, controlled, forcing precision where panic wants chaos.
"You're gonna hate this part," he murmurs, fingers working to clear space at your collar, tugging fabric aside so he can reach skin. "But you can yell at me later. I'm counting on it."
Your head lolls slightly with the movement. No protest. No reflexive tension. He swallows hard.
"Hey," he says again, softer now, thumb brushing your jaw in a slow arc. "Stay with me, okay? You don't get to check out early. We still owe each other dessert."
His voice catches on the last word. He pushes through it.
"Remember that place downtown? The one with the ridiculous chocolate cake you said was worth the calories?" A shaky breath. "I figure we'll go there."
He presses his forehead briefly against yours, eyes squeezing shut for a fraction of a second.
"You hear me? We've got plans."
Your breathing hitches faintly, a tiny irregular stutter that might be a coincidence or might be something else. He latches onto it anyway, desperate for anything that looks like a connection.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Right there. Stay with me."
He lifts the syringe, checks it automatically, habit stronger than fear. No air bubbles. Fluid clear. Needle steady despite the tremor in his hand.
"Okay," he whispers. "Here we go."
He slides his arm behind your shoulders, lifting you just enough to support you against his chest, cradling you there so the injection won't jostle too much. Your head falls against him, cheek resting over his heart, breath warm and frighteningly faint through the fabric of his shirt.
"You're doing great," he says softly, even though you're doing nothing at all. "Almost there."
The needle presses into your skin.
He hesitates.
Not because he doubts the serum. Because once this is done, there's nothing left to do but wait, and waiting is the one thing he has never learned to survive gracefully.
"Don't be mad," he murmurs. "I'm not giving you a choice."
He depresses the plunger slowly, watching the liquid disappear into you, as if he can track hope molecule by molecule. His other arm tightens around your back, holding you upright, holding you together.
"All right," he says, voice barely above a breath. "You did good. See? Easy."
He withdraws the needle and sets it aside with mechanical care, as if any sudden movement might undo what he's just done. Then he just holds you.
Seconds crawl past, each one stretching thin as wire. Nothing happens. Your breathing remains shallow. Your pulse, when he checks again, is still fast, still erratic. His chest starts to feel tight, air coming harder, like the room has quietly stolen oxygen while he wasn't looking.
"Okay," he says hoarsely. "Sometimes these things take a minute."
He shifts you slightly, thumb stroking your arm in absent circles, the same motion he uses when you're half asleep on long flights or bad nights. Comfort muscle memory kicks in even when the situation is far beyond comfort.
"You're not allowed to do this," he whispers. "You hear me? Not now. Not like this."
Your hand slips from where it rested against his vest, sliding down between you, fingers loose and unresponsive. He grabs it instantly, folding it back into his palm, pressing it against his chest.
"Come back," he says, the words fraying at the edges.
Another long stretch of nothing. Fear blooms, cold and suffocating, filling every hollow place in him. Too late, a voice in the back of his mind whispers. Too slow. Too far gone.
He shakes his head sharply, jaw clenching.
"No," he mutters. "No, you don't get to do that."
He bows over you, pressing his forehead to your hair, eyes squeezed shut, breathing you in like oxygen.
"You promised," he says roughly. "You don't break your promises."
Your pulse stutters under his fingers. He freezes.
There it is again. A strange hitch, a pause that stretches too long, then a sudden rush, as if your heart forgot the rhythm and is trying to find it again. His own heart stops in sympathetic terror.
"Come on," he whispers. "Come on..."
Your body jerks. A sharp, involuntary spasm that arches you slightly against him before you go slack again. Leon sucks in a breath, half panic, half hope colliding in his chest.
Your brow creases faintly, expression tightening as if pain is finally breaking through the fog. A weak sound escapes you, barely audible, more exhale than voice. His grip on you tightens, careful but fierce.
"I know," he murmurs. "I know, sweetheart. It's okay. You're okay."
Your breathing changes, deepening suddenly, as if you're pulling in air like someone surfacing from underwater. It catches, stutters, then comes again, stronger this time, dragging oxygen into lungs that finally seem interested in using it.
"There you go," he breathes, voice shaking openly now. "That's it. Stay with me."
Your fingers twitch weakly against his chest. He presses his cheek against your hair, eyes closing, holding you like you might still vanish if he loosens his grip.
"I've got you," he whispers. "You're okay. I've got you."
He keeps you cradled against his chest, one arm locked around your back, the other braced across your shoulders, hand splayed as if shielding you from something that no longer exists. His cheek rests against your hair, breath uneven, dragging in through his nose, out through parted lips like he's relearning how to do it.
Your pulse is stronger now beneath his fingers. Still fast, still fragile, but steady enough to count. Steady enough to believe in. Only then does the tension start to bleed out of him. It comes all at once.
His shoulders shudder. Not violently, just a small, contained tremor that he tries to swallow down and can't. A sound escapes him, rough and broken, something halfway between a breath and a sob he never intended to make. He tightens his hold instinctively, pressing his face into your hair as if hiding there makes it less real.
"Okay," he whispers hoarsely. "Okay... you're okay."
Warmth hits your scalp. At first, your fogged mind can't place it. Wetness. A second drop follows, sliding along your temple before disappearing into your hair.
Leon doesn't notice. Or he does and can't stop. He bows over you, forehead pressed to the crown of your head, shoulders shaking in small, uneven pulses he's trying desperately to keep silent. Years of training, years of surviving, years of holding everything inside, finally cracking under the simple fact that you are still here.
"I've got you," he murmurs, voice wrecked, words stumbling over each other. "I've got you, I've got you..."
Your fingers twitch. This time, the movement is stronger, a weak curl against his shirt, fabric bunching slightly in your grasp. The sensation filters through layers of fog, heat, exhaustion, and the lingering echo of pain. Consciousness creeps back in like dawn through heavy curtains.
Your throat burns. Your body feels impossibly heavy, as if gravity doubled while you were away. Every muscle aches with a deep, bone-level fatigue that sleep alone could never fix.
Sound reaches you first. A heartbeat. Loud. Steady. Close enough to be yours, except it isn't. Breath above you, hitching, uneven. Fabric shifting faintly with each inhale.
Someone is holding you. You force your eyes open.
The world swims into view in slow, watery shapes. A blurred patch of green light. A shadow that resolves into the curve of a shoulder. Blond strands of hair brushing your cheek.
Leon.
He doesn't notice you're awake yet. His face is buried against your head, one hand cupping the back of your skull with fierce gentleness, thumb moving in tiny, repetitive strokes like he's soothing a nightmare that hasn't ended for him yet.
Your voice comes out as a rasp. "Leon...?"
He freezes. Absolute stillness, like a statue suddenly unsure whether it's allowed to move. Slowly, he lifts his head. His eyes are red. Not just glassy, not just tired, but openly, unmistakably wet. Tracks of tears cut through the grime on his cheeks, catching the light as he blinks hard, as if blinking might erase evidence before you can register it.
For a second, he just stares at you, something raw and disbelieving cracking across his face, like he expected this moment and still isn't sure it's real.
"You're..." His voice fails. He clears his throat roughly. "Hey."
You try to smile. It feels wobbly, incomplete. "Hi."
Relief hits him so visibly it's almost painful to watch. His shoulders sag, tension draining out of him like someone cut the strings holding him upright.
"Hey," he repeats, softer this time, thumb coming up to brush your cheek in a careful sweep, as if confirming you're solid. "You're back."
"Was I... gone?"
His jaw tightens. "Not allowed."
You attempt a small laugh. It comes out as a weak breath. His hand slides to the side of your neck, fingers resting over your pulse again, counting, grounding, refusing to trust his eyes alone.
"You scared me," he says quietly.
Your gaze drops to his chest, to the wrinkled fabric where you must have been gripping him earlier. "Sorry."
His head snaps slightly. "Don't."
The word is sharp, then softens immediately.
"Don't apologize," he adds, voice rough. "Just... don't."
You nod faintly. Even that feels like work.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just lie there in his arms, breathing the same air, sharing the same small pocket of reality after hours of separation that happened without distance. Then you notice how tightly he's still holding you.
"Leon," you murmur, "I can't breathe."
He releases you instantly, horror flashing across his face. "Sorry. Sorry."
He shifts his grip, supporting you more carefully, one arm still behind your shoulders but no longer crushing you to him. His other hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing your skin as if he can't quite stop touching you.
"You're okay?" he asks, scanning your face like he's looking for cracks. "Dizzy? Nauseous? Vision?"
"Everything hurts."
He exhales, something that might be relief ghosting through the pain in his expression. "I'll take it."
Your eyes drift past him, taking in the ward, the beds, the dim light. Memory trickles back in jagged pieces. Teeth. Heat. Falling. Darkness.
"...You found it," you whisper.
He nods once. "Yeah, told you we would.
Your mouth twitches, not quite a smile. "Yeah. You did."
You study him more closely now, the red around his eyes, the dampness he hasn't fully wiped away, the way he keeps blinking as if his vision is unreliable.
"You were crying," you say softly.
Immediate denial rises to his lips. You can see it form. Then he looks at you. And whatever excuse he was about to give dissolves.
"...Yeah," he admits, voice low. "Maybe a little."
A tear slips free anyway, tracking down before he can stop it. He doesn't bother hiding it this time. Doesn't look away. Just lets it exist.
"You weren't waking up," he says, as if that explains everything. It does.
Your chest aches in a different way now. You lift your hand slowly, muscles protesting, and touch his face. Your thumb brushes the damp track on his cheek, wiping it away with clumsy tenderness.
"I'm here," you whisper.
He leans into your hand without thinking, eyes closing briefly, relief and exhaustion and something deeper collapsing together inside him.
"Yeah," he murmurs. "You are."
He covers your hand with his, pressing it lightly to his skin as if anchoring himself. After a moment, his gaze sharpens again, mission awareness bleeding back in.
"We need to move," he says gently. "Facility's not stable, and we don't know how long before more of them wander in."
You nod, though the idea of standing feels ambitious at best. He notices the hesitation immediately.
"Hey," he says softly. "I've got you."
He shifts, sliding one arm behind your back again, the other under your knees, lifting you with the same careful strength as before, only this time you help a little, arms coming up weakly around his neck. Your head settles against his shoulder.
"Still getting dessert?" you murmur against his collar.
A real smile breaks through at last, small but bright as sunrise after a storm.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "We're still getting that."
He turns toward the exit, steps steady, protective hold unyielding but gentle now that he knows you're truly there.
Three days later, the world smells like coffee and clean laundry instead of antiseptic and decay.
Sunlight spills through half-closed blinds, laying soft gold across the rumpled bedspread and the tangle of blankets around your legs. The air is warm, carrying the faint hum of city life from outside, tires on pavement, a distant horn, someone laughing somewhere far below.
Leon sits beside you, forearms resting on his thighs, watching with that quiet intensity he hasn't quite learned to turn off yet. He looks cleaner than before, shaved, hair damp as if he showered quickly and came right back, but the exhaustion still clings to him in the set of his shoulders.
"You're staring," you murmur.
"Monitoring," he corrects.
"You blink?"
"Sometimes."
You huff a small laugh, the motion tugging at sore muscles that remind you exactly how recently everything went wrong. His gaze sharpens instantly, concern flaring before you even realize you winced.
"I'm okay," you assure him.
He searches your face a moment longer, then nods, not convinced but willing to accept it for now.
"You hungry?" he asks.
"Always."
He disappears into the kitchen and returns with coffee and a plate of pancakes that look slightly uneven but deeply sincere. You eat, he watches, tension slowly unwinding from him with each bite you take.
When you finish, you lean back, warm and heavy with food, eyelids drooping in content exhaustion.
"So when is our dessert date?" you ask softly.
Leon goes still. Then he stands without a word and leaves the room again.
You hear the soft thud of the door opening, the faint clink of something ceramic, the careful movements of someone handling something fragile. When he returns, he's holding a small white bakery box tied with a thin ribbon, the bow slightly crooked as if it had to survive transport in a large, impatient hand. He sets it on the bedside table with surprising delicacy.
"I didn't make this," he says gruffly. "Figured we've both suffered enough."
Suspicion and curiosity spark together. You pull the ribbon loose, lifting the lid. Inside sits a slice of decadent chocolate cake, glossy frosting catching the sunlight, layers dark, dense, and unapologetically indulgent.
Your chest tightens.
"You remembered," you whisper.
He shrugs, looking suddenly very interested in a spot on the wall. "You seemed pretty sure it was worth surviving for."
You lift the cake plate slightly and notice something tucked beneath the ribbon, partially hidden against the cardboard.
An envelope. Your fingers hesitate, then slide it free. Leon doesn't look at you. He's staring out the window now, jaw set, shoulders a little too rigid, like he's bracing for impact.
Inside the envelope are two plane tickets. Beach destination. Departure in two weeks. Round trip. Vacation time from work. A hotel confirmation tucked behind them.
For a long moment, you can't speak.
"You said somewhere boring," he mutters quietly, still not turning around. "Figured that would be perfect."
"Leon..."
He finally looks back, expression carefully neutral, but there's something vulnerable in his eyes, something that says this mattered more than he wants to admit.
"You don't have to go," he adds quickly. "If you're not up for travel yet, we can postpone, or cancel, or—"
You set the tickets down and reach for him. Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer until he's standing right at the edge of the bed, close enough that you can see the faint pulse at the base of his throat.
"Thank you," you say softly.
Not just for the vacation. Not just for the cake. He understands anyway. His face softens, tension draining into something warm and quiet and deeply relieved.
"Yeah," he murmurs. "Anytime."
You pick up the fork, take a small bite of cake, then hold it out to him. He leans in, accepting it, eyes never leaving yours. For a second, neither of you pulls back, the space between you charged with something gentler than urgency, heavier than simple affection.
"Worth it?" he asks.
You nod. "Absolutely."
You set the plate aside, your hand finding his again, fingers threading through his with familiar ease. He squeezes back immediately, grounding, protective, like he did in the hallway, only now there's no fear behind it. You both crave this closeness after it was almost ripped away just days before.
You tug lightly, coaxing him down to sit beside you on the bed. He goes without resistance, one arm coming around your shoulders automatically, careful of lingering soreness. Your other hand lifts, brushing his cheek where faint redness still lingers if you look closely enough.
"I love you," you whisper.
His eyes close briefly, leaning into your touch in a way he never would in public. Just here, just now, where it's safe to be human.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I love you too."
Leon leans in first. The kiss is slow, gentle, nothing desperate or urgent, just warm lips and shared breath and the simple reassurance of contact. He stills for half a heartbeat, like he's afraid you might break, then melts into it, one hand cupping the back of your head. When you pull back, his forehead follows yours, resting lightly against it, eyes still closed.
"Careful," he murmurs. "Doctor said no overexertion."
You smile. "Pretty sure that wasn't what they meant."
"Still."
His arm tightens around you, drawing you closer until your head rests against his shoulder, fitting there like it always has. His chin settles lightly against your hair, breath warm, steady.
Outside, the city moves on. Inside, time slows to match the rhythm of two people who fought hard for the right to sit in a quiet room and eat cake.
"Two weeks," you murmur.
"Yeah."
"You think you can handle boring?"
He huffs softly. "I'll manage."
You laugh, the sound light and real and alive. His chest rises under your cheek, its vibration grounding you in the best possible way. For a long moment, neither of you says anything else. You just sit there, sunlight warming your skin, fingers loosely entwined, the promise of salt air and quiet days waiting ahead like a horizon you can finally see. Sharing cake, and kisses, and being alive, and together in your home.
Dividers by @uzmacchiato <3
Thanks for reading<3 Just a reminder, my requests are open! I would love to hear from you!
What will be Leon's reaction when he is back home from Raccoon City and sees his wife adopted a little of kittens🥺
a bundle of three 𖦹 leon kennedy.
⤷ summary: leon comes home from raccoon city only to find not one, not two, but three tiny kittens bundled in a basket and cloth under your temporary care. (1.9k words)
⤷ pairing: leon kennedy x female!reader
⤷ genre: fluff, comfort
⤷ tags: RE9 Leon Kennedy, established relationship (reader is leon’s girlfriend), reader fosters three kittens for a week, fluff
🚏masterlist
The front door to your home creaks open and heavy thuds of footfalls echo in the foyer. Leon exhales an exhausted sigh, brows furrowed as he finally allows himself a quiet moment in the comfort and reprieve of your shared space.
He just returned from his mission that took place in Raccoon City—a place that holds so much of Leon’s unaddressed fears and regrets. But after today, after the past two, three days of his mission, he can say he’s feeling lighter than he used to.
Of course that’s to account for the dose that cured him of his T-virus syndrome, but there’s just something so freeing about confronting his fears, and making sure he has no more regrets about not being able to make a difference. Because he did, this time. And that’s all he needs to rest easy tonight in your arms, hopefully.
Leon unlaces his boots and sets them by the shoe rack. His weapons and tactical gear are in a duffel bag, and he sets it down somewhere before he makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass of water.
It’s quiet in your home. It’s only a little over nine, but he wonders—are you already asleep? It’s too early for you to be sleeping, especially since it’s a weekend tomorrow and you don’t have work. He thinks you’re probably resting, but then, a small sound interrupts his thoughts.
A squeak.
A tiny whine.
His brow quirks, and he sets down the glass before listening closely. His senses are heightened because of his missions and his training, and right now, he’s using them to his full advantage.
He follows the sound of those tiny little whines—sounding more like meows and little whimpers. Leon makes a beeline for your bedroom door, and when he pushes it open, there he finds you on the bed.
Except, you’re not asleep.
To Leon's surprise, you’re currently preoccupied by three small kittens, playing around in a basket while you nudge them gently with your finger, rubbing their backs or their chins with a gentleness that only you can be capable of.
Leon pauses by the doorway, watching you, your fond expression, and his heart aches. There’s something about you, about seeing you like this that just softens him. He’s all rough around the edges, but you give him that touch of softness he never knew he needed.
You’re leaning against the headboard, one kitten in your arms, and the other two are wrestling each other in the basket. The sight makes Leon smile, the corners of his lips lifting.
“Y/N.” He says your name to catch your attention, announcing his presence to you. “Hey sweetheart.”
Your heart immediately thrums as you hear his voice. Turning around, you see your boyfriend standing by the doorway, a smirk plastered on his lips. Without much thought, you set the kitten in the basket before you push yourself off the bed and practically race to his arms. Leon catches you without hesitation, pressing his lips to the top of your head, kissing it twice.
“You’re home,” you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Smiling, you stand on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “When did you get back? I didn't hear you!”
“Just now.” Leon answers you, but his gaze is drawn to the basket on your bed, one with cloth inside and three furballs that meow constantly for your attention. “Are those kittens?”
As if remembering your earlier activity, you turn around to gaze at the little furballs on your bed. There’s three of them—one is black and white, a black spot on its ears; the other is a tuxedo kitty, all black fur and white paws; and the last one seems to be a calico kitten. The tuxedo kitten explores your bed, sitting down while its other two siblings wrestle in the basket, making you smile.
You tug Leon close to the bed. As you sit down, Leon follows, and you pick up one kitten in your palms and offer it to him with an excited grin on your face.
“My coworkers and I found them outside our building, near the parking lot. I think someone left them there.” You explain to him gently, watching as Leon pauses, his eyes trained over the ball of fluff. It meows at him. And you can see his expression growing unreadable.
“I stopped by a pet shop to buy some supplies. Just goat milk and all that whatnot. Since they seem a bit malnourished.”
You’ve never really known what he’s like around animals, let alone vulnerable little things such as kittens, so seeing him react to them is a first. And somehow, you feel a little nervous because you took these kittens in without consulting them, though really you’re just fostering them temporarily while you find forever homes and people willing to adopt.
When Leon doesn’t respond, you set the kitten down on the bed. It crawls towards him, nudging his thigh with its head. Leon stills, watching how it moves, almost like he’s assessing a situation, except the “threat” he’s perceiving is a tiny fluffball.
The other two kittens climb out of the basket, fall gently on the mattress and approach Leon with curiosity. He offers a finger for one of them to sniff, and he stays very still so he doesn’t scare any of them.
You watch this scene unfold, nearly holding your breath as the kittens swarm him. The calico kitten nuzzles his finger first, approaching him without a second thought. Leon’s shoulders visibly relax, and you see that hint of a smirk on the corner of his mouth.
“Well, aren’t you brave?” He murmurs, picking up the calico kitten in between his large palms, and then starts petting them, slow and steady. He adjusts his hold, one palm serving as a barrier so the kitten doesn’t fall. “You look like… a rat.”
You snort. “Leon.”
“What?” he meets your gaze, smirking. “It’s just so small, plus its fur is sticking out in all different directions.”
That makes you laugh just a bit. “They’re just a few weeks old, Leon. Don’t be mean.” You say, a hint of teasing in your voice.
“I’m just being honest.” He shrugs, though he sets the calico kitten down on the bed. “They’re… cute.”
“Yeah? I’m thinking of names for them, but I’m coming up short. I think I’ll leave that to the people adopting them.”
Leon glances at you, watching as you nuzzle your finger against one of the kitten’s chin. “You’ve found some people wanting to adopt these… things?”
“Yup. One of my coworkers will, and then two of my friends came forward saying they want to take care of them. So that’s settled.” You smile a bit, knowing these kittens will be in good hands. “But they’ll adopt them next week. I just want to take care of them right now since they’re just so small and malnourished.”
Leon’s gaze falls onto the kittens once more. He reaches out to the smallest one. “This must be the runt of the litter,” he tells you, a note of assessment in his tone. “Smaller than the others.”
“Yeah. I feed him more milk than the other two since he needs to grow.” You explain, watching as one of the kittens climb your shorts, before settling on your lap. You chuckle softly. “And this one’s clingier.”
“Yeah?”
Leon lies down on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. He suddenly forgets that he's extremely exhausted, his attention focused on you and how you're tending to these kittens with gentle care and affection.
One of the kittens comes to him, and they climb up his chest. He pokes and prods it, playing with the black and white kitten that seems enamored with his finger, mistaking it for some sort of toy. Leon trails it around, and the kitten follows, meowing when Leon won’t let it have what it wants—to sink its growing teeth onto the flesh of his index finger.
By then, all the kittens flock to him. It warms your heart, seeing him surrounded by balls of fluff, and you sear the image at the back of your head, hoping to remember this moment for as long as you can. Even though you have no idea what Leon is thinking of at this moment, you can tell he isn’t uncomfortable or uneasy having to play with kittens. He isn’t a cat person, but he isn’t averse to them either.
You reach for your phone, secretly taking a photo of them. Leon’s gaze is on the three kittens now, and vying for his full attention seems impossible when he’s focused on them. His eyes aren’t bored, but they’re calm, neutral.
“It’s time for their next feeding, I’ll go prepare some milk.” You say before getting up. “Watch them for me?”
Leon just nods without looking up at you. “Of course. They’ve already held me hostage so you don’t have to worry about me going anywhere.”
Giggling to yourself, you exit the room, padding towards the kitchen to prepare some warm milk for the kittens. Leon, on the other hand, lies on his side, head propped up on his palm while he dangles his finger over one kitten. He reaches down, scratching behind its ears while his expression softens even more.
“Yeah… you’ve got it easy, huh? My girl’s feeding you milk and taking good care of you… you’re all little lucky rascals.” He smirks to himself, before shaking his head.
Leon yawns quietly before relaxing onto the soft mattress of your bed. It’s cool and comfy, and it’s basically all he needs to fall into a restful sleep. He’s exhausted—muscles aching and needing to stretch lazily over the bed, but he’s occupied watching your kittens as they entertain themselves with each other.
Gazing down, Leon observes the kittens.
Such measly little things, but full of life nonetheless. And if they captured your heart, then he isn’t going to complain. Seeing you happy is just one of his many favorite things about you. If these kittens are the sole reason for your happiness right now, he’ll very much oblige your request to watch over them even though he’s feeling the tiniest bit jealous of the attention you’re giving to them, instead of him since he’s been gone for a few days.
He decides to relax against the mattress this time. Leon tells himself he’ll only close his eyes for a while, and he’ll be up and running when you return with the milk.
But when you do come back to the bedroom with a bowl of milk and a dropper a couple of minutes later, Leon’s already snoring softly, an arm covering his eyes. The kittens are curled over his side, all bundled up against each other, settling into sleep as well.
You almost melt into nothing then and there. Setting the milk at your bedside table, you sit beside them, careful not to walk your boyfriend or the kittens that are all settled on top of each other, finding a warm spot on Leon’s rib.
Something tugs at your heart. Maybe it’s these bundles of joy asleep next to the love of your life, or it’s just Leon himself, but it’s a definite feeling of love and affection that threatens to overflow from your chest.
Leaning down, you place a soft kiss on Leon’s cheek, and he just stirs, before he continues his sleep. He’s exhausted, you can tell. And you know it’s time for you to take good care of him too, without a second thought.
It’s not out of obligation, but out of love—out of the adoration that you feel for this man who fights tooth and nail to keep the world a safer place for you.
Your goal this week? Take care of three kittens.
And your boyfriend too.
Especially him.
🔖 taglist: @rednnedy @eu4rialy @jqsjournal
this was such a cute request! i hope this lives up to your expectations, anon 🤍 thank you again for sending this request and i hope you guys are having a wonderful day so far 🫶
my tag list and requests are currently open by the way, if you guys are interested ( ◜‿◝ )♡ i appreciate your requests so far and it's been fun writing them. tysm for making this blog so full of life!
Just because Rin doesn't initiate physical intimacy, you start to think he doesn't want you "physically", not knowing how much Rin is trying to hold himself back.
Rin Itoshi is the perfect boyfriend. Too perfect sometimes.
He notices when you skip meals, when your hands tremble from anxiety even though you claim you're "fine." He memorizes what you like and what you don't faster than even you can keep track. You love him. You're so full of love for him it sometimes hurts.
But there's something… off.
It's when your lips are against his and you realize— he never initiates.
Ever.
Whether it's a hug, a kiss or even a lazy arm slung around your shoulder— it's always you. He's never been the one to reach out first.
You lean into him when you're cold. You climb onto his lap when you're tired. You lace your fingers into his when you're nervous. And Rin always lets you.
But that's just it. He lets you.
Never pulls you closer. Never bites down on your lips. Never presses into you like he wants more. His expression stays unreadable— always calm, always still, like kissing you is something to tolerate, not something he aches for.
You begin to wonder if he even wants you like that.
Maybe he only loves you because you understand him the best. Because you're easy to talk to. Maybe he doesn't feel desire because you're not the type who drives a man crazy.
Maybe it's because you're too short for him. Too ugly. Maybe your body just doesn't do anything to him.
The thoughts spiral before you can stop them.
And then one evening, after an exhausting long day— you take a hot shower and step out in Rin's oversized hoodie. The lights are dim in his apartment, and he's sitting cross-legged on the couch, jaw sharp and focused, eyes narrowed at the TV screen—watching old match replays, probably studying his own movements like he always does.
Without a word, you pad over and wordlessly slide into his lap, curling into his chest.
Rin stiffens for just a moment before you feel his arms hesitantly rest on your back, almost protective. You nuzzle into his heart, letting your tired limbs mold into him. His heartbeat thuds quietly beneath your cheek—steady, familiar.
"I missed you today," you mumble softly.
His hand moves once across your spine.
You don't realize when you fall asleep but you wake up later to the buzzing of your phone.
It takes you a moment to register you're no longer on the couch— Rin must've carried you to bed. His scent is clinging to the pillows and you're wrapped in a blanket. The shower is running, faint through the walls.
You blearily pick up your phone, expecting a text or two— but instead you're met with a barrage of messages.
Your group chat is blowing up. A few from your friends and a few from Rin's teammates, with whom you're close with.
Yo check Twitter RIGHT NOW.
Rin?? Since when does he post stuff like THIS??
Your pulse jumps.
You switch to Twitter and tap on Rin's verified account. The latest post has nearly half a million likes already.
Your breath catches.
She climbs on my lap and I lose my sanity. Worse, she has no idea what she's doing to me.
Your fingers go slack.
What...?
Your mouth goes dry. You stare at the post again and again.
Rin? Rin posted this?
You never— not once— suspected he was ever holding himself back. He always seemed so distant when you kissed him, like he was just letting you love him.
But he was struggling? This whole time?
The shower stops.
You look up just as Rin walks into the room, towel slung around his neck, droplets of water trailing down his bare chest. His hair is still damp, sticking to his forehead. His body glistens in the low light, lean and defined.
You sit up immediately.
"Rin?"
He pauses. "You're up already?"
You hold up your phone, not answering his question. "You posted this?"
He blinks, eyes flicking to the screen and immediately turns his face away, a rare flush creeping up his ears and jaw.
"Didn't think you'd see it that fast," he mutters.
"I— I thought you didn't want me like that," you confess, voice shaking slightly. "You never... you never touch me first. Even when I kiss you, you barely react. You never get intense. I thought maybe you just didn't feel that way. Maybe I'm just not—"
"That's not it," he cuts you off, finally looking at you. His voice is rough, lower than usual. "You have no idea how much I want you."
The way he says it makes your stomach flip.
He steps forward slowly, placing both hands on the bed, caging you in without touching you. His hair drips slightly, eyes fixed on yours with a heat that makes your breath hitch.
"You think I don't want you?" he says, voice calm.
Too calm...
"Every time you kiss me, I'm fighting to not pin you down. Every time you touch me, I have to remind myself not to grab your hips and—" He exhales harshly. "I've been trying to be careful. You're so soft and sweet. I didn't want to ruin that."
"You won't ruin anything," you whisper, grabbing his wrist. "Rin... we're in a relationship. You don't have to hold back. Not with me."
He sighs, looking down at you with something dangerous in his gaze.
"You don't get it," he murmurs. "I've never felt like this before. I want you so much it's scary. I'm scared I'll lose control. Scared I'll scare you. You always look at me like I'm gentle, like I'm your safe place. But I—"
You press your forehead against his, stopping him.
"Rin... I want all of you. Not just the careful parts."
His hand slides into your hair, gently tipping your head back so he can see your face. He studies you, searching.
"You sure you won't get scared of me?" he whispers.
You smile, teary-eyed.
"I'm in love with you. That's all I know."
Rin's eyes widen slightly before he just sighs.
"You really are going to be the death of me."
And just like that, his lips crash into yours and this time, it's raw. His hands are everywhere— on your back, your hips, your waist. His tongue traces your bottom lip before he bites it gently, pulling a small gasp from you. He kisses like a man who's been dying of thirst and finally found water.
"You drive me insane," he whispers against your skin, kissing your neck, your shoulder. "Always touching me, always sitting on me like it means nothing. I can't stop thinking about it."
"Why didn't you say anything?" you whisper, breathless.
He pulls back just enough to look at you.
"Because you're the most important person of my life," he confesses. "And if you leave me just because I couldn't control myself... I wouldn't survive it."
You cup his face, wiping the damp strands from his forehead.
"You won't lose me, Rin."
He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. And then you feel it— the way his arms wrap around you tightly, possessively, burying his face in your shoulder.
"Promise me," he whispers, voice hoarse. "Promise me you'll never leave."
"I won't," you breathe, hugging his neck. "I'm not like your shitty big brother."
Rin smiles against your skin, hugging your waist tighter.
"Sometimes it feels like you hate Sae, more than me."
"Hell yeah I do." you say hissing. "I hate everyone who hurts the my boyfriend's sweet soul."
He chuckles this time and tilts his head to look at you.
"I love you." he says, gaze soft and with a soft smile on his lips.
Rin if you keep talking like that , you will lose all your friends.
He’s back the slam of the front door is enough to let you know.
You’re curled up on the couch . His training bag hits the floor with a thud and then he went straight to the shower hissing.
“I am gonna destroy all of the useless NPCs.”
Twenty minutes later, he emerges.
You expect peace after that. You’re wrong.
“I could have killed them out there.”
You smile. This is your Rin. The genius who speaks of soccer like a battlefield.
He walks over to the couch, comes up behind you and leans down. His arms reach around the back of the couch. Then he wraps both arms around your stomach, pulling you against his chest. He rests his chin on your shoulder.
"The coach said I was 'overly aggressive.'"
He clings to you like a child.
"They're all stepping stones,No one sees the field the way I do..."
You let him rant for another minute.
"Rin, If you keep talking like that,"
you say softly , turning your head to catch his eye.
"you're going to lose all your friends."
He goes still behind you. Then you see it pink creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears.
His arms tighten around you. He buries his face in your neck.
"Who do I even need, when I have you?"
You don't get a chance to respond. He turns you and lays you back on the couch. He pulls down your collar and puts his mouth on the swell of your breast sucking it . A soft sound escapes you as his tongue moves against you. His hand holding yours, like you might vanish.
-------------------------------
The next morning you are still asleep from the exhaustion of yesterday's night meanwhile rin is done with his morning yoga.
He leans down, hands on either side of your pillow, face so close his breath warms your lips. He watches you for a long moment but he doesn't touch you.
"Don't you dare leave my side. Ever."
He pulls back and walks out to go to his training again and to curse everyone again.
Omg I saw the Rin and Gyru (idk how to spell it🥹)one, and I was wondering if you would be able to do a scene one with Kaiser
YES!!!
KAISER X GYARU GF
The moment you stepped onto the field, heads turned.
You expected it.
Your platform sneakers clicked softly against the ground, gloss shining, nails perfect, bracelets clinked every time you moved your hand and soft, styled waves that looked effortless.
Someone muttered.
“Isn’t that..”
“It is.”
“His girlfriend.”
Across the field, Michael Kaiser didn’t even look surprised. He just smirked.
“Finally decided to show up?”
“Miss me?”
"C'mon look at you , you are impossible to ignore anyways.”
Right behind him, Ness stiffened almost immediately.
“…Kaiser, this isn’t a place for..”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Because Kaiser’s hand came down on your waist instantly.
“Careful, Ness don't you dare say something stupid .”
Ness looked like he wanted to argue but he didn’t.
Because Kaiser’s grip on you tightened just slightly.
From the side, Isagi watched everything.
“…So that’s his weakness.”
Practice resumed, but the energy had shifted.
Every time Kaiser moved,every time he scored.
The play was brutal.
Isagi narrowed his eyes.
“…He raised his level.”
When break hit, Kaiser walked straight over.
Just grabbed your chin lightly, tilting your face up.
“Impressed?”
You looked at him, unimpressed.
“…Took you long enough.”
He laughed.
Before leaning down, stopping just short of your glossy lips.
“Careful wouldn’t want to ruin your look.”
“Then don’t mess it up.”
Behind him, Ness looked like he was barely holding it together.
And Isagi?
He understood now.
Kaiser didn’t just want to win. He wanted to be seen winning. By you.
pairing: itoshi rin x gn!reader
word count: 2.9k
genre/warnings: exes to ??. fluff if you squint p??. angst; mentions of drinking, mentions of sex, quite mild overall
note: if any of you happens to recognize this and think this is familiar, it’s bc i reworked this from one of my old fics on a kpop blog. @saezzi wanted to be tagged for some reason lol
(art credit: @/CG34x)
MASTERLIST / KO-FI
“Why did you call me?”
“Why did you come?”
There isn’t a good answer to his question, so you choose to ignore it in favor of keeping your eyes on the road, your fingers holding tightly onto the steering wheel. You don’t know what to tell him. You yourself aren’t even sure why you came to that bar, why Rin is sitting in your passenger seat right now just because he was drunk and he wouldn't let anyone else take him home. Nobody but you.
“I asked you first,” you say. It takes an effort to keep your voice even, an effort not to look over at him.
“Don’t know,” he sounds like he couldn't care less, but that's always been Rin for you. “Old habits die hard, I guess. You were the only one I used to call.”
You round a corner without even having to look at the GPS. The route to his place is still ingrained in your brain even after all this time. On some nights when you feel too stuffy within the walls of your own apartment, you would go on a walk by yourself. Directionless for an hour or two, you just want to feel the wind wrap around your body and solid ground beneath your feet.
On these same nights, you would find yourself at Rin’s door.
It’s always unintentional, the way your legs would carry you to his home without your permission.
“Used to,” you reiterate. “Past tense. You don’t get to call me anymore. I’m not your chauffeur.”
You feel his eyes on the side of your face. Then his voice, ever so calm and collected, “You came anyway, didn’t you?”
His words irritate you for some reason, even though he means nothing bad. No malice in his voice; he’s just simply stating a fact. You did come when he called, and perhaps the person that you’re really annoyed with is only yourself, because why did you come?
He should be a stranger to you by now.
And yet, you’re here.
Maybe you know the answer. Maybe it’s not a hard question at all.
You let the both of you wallow in silence for the rest of the drive. When you pull up to Rin’s building about ten minutes later, you finally turn to cast your gaze upon him with your eyebrow slightly raised, a polite get out if there ever was one.
Instead of taking the hint like a normal person and going on his merry way, he just stares at you with his big doe eyes. Piercing. Could make just about anyone squirm in their seat. Rin loves to be difficult, this you can’t ever forget.
“Well?” you press. “You’re home.”
He blinks, then swallows thickly. He looks around your car for a few seconds, unsure of himself. If he wasn’t intoxicated, you would think he was trying to stall.
“I... I can’t go up by myself,” he says.
“Are you serious?”
He just nods, something expectant in his gaze.
“You’re a grown man.”
“Help me up.”
He doesn’t sound all too drunk, but maybe he’s just got a way of masking it. Rin would never outright ask for help. He’s stubborn, and he thinks it makes him look weak. Incapable.
In the end, you give in to his request. You let him lean on you in the elevator on the way up to his floor, the scent of his cologne still overpowering the whiskey he had all night. You can’t stand whiskey, but for once, it makes you just a little nostalgic.
At his door, you hold onto his waist and look away when he punches in the passcode. The door unlocks and this should be it for the two of you, your unexpected reunion should be ending the moment Rin crosses over to the other side of the threshold, but he just turns around and looks at you, his body against the frame of the door this time.
“There, you’re home safely,” you say. “I’ve done my part. Goodnight.”
“Come in.”
“Why?”
“I’m tired. Come in.”
And with that, Rin retreats into the apartment, leaving the door open for you to follow without any further explanation at all. For a moment, you stand there by yourself, not really sure of what to do. You hear him shuffling inside, before the sound of his body plopping onto the couch carries over to your ears.
What business do you have here? What business did you have with Rin in the first place today?
And yet, you find yourself trailing inside, closing the door behind you until the lock clicks into place. Maybe you’re curious to see what the place looks like since the last time that you were here.
The two of you never lived together, though he did ask. Presented it as an option of convenience, that you might as well move in since you spent enough time here to consider this your second home. Made it clear in his own quiet way that he wanted you by his side. With him, always.
You never agreed, you weren’t foolish enough to.
Not much has changed. It’s still the same minimalist four walls that you were used to. Same light gray paint, same black couch. Same framed picture of him as a kid holding up a trophy and same tiny crack in the decorative bowl on the coffee table. There’s another photo on the credenza lying face down seemingly on purpose, but you don’t say anything about it.
“What am I doing here?” you ask.
“Why did you come?” he shoots you the question for the second time tonight.
You blink at him. He only stares back.
“Why did you call me?” you repeat. “Why did you really call me?”
Questions thrown out but no answers received, like you’re both running in circles, with neither of you knowing why you’re even running in the first place.
Rin purses his lips before he stands up, the suddenness of the movement leaves him unsteady on his feet, makes him hold onto the couch's armrest for support. “Do you want some water?”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “Sure.”
“Give me a second. Have a seat.”
You watch as he pads into the kitchen a little wobbly, then returns a few minutes later with two glasses of water. He sits back down on the couch next to you, some distance dividing the two of you. He takes a sip; you do the same.
“Called you because I missed you,” he says, casually admitting it like he was merely discussing the weather. The place hasn’t changed, but maybe he has.
The last time you spoke to Rin was about six months ago, when he dropped off your things two weeks after you broke up. You haven’t had any contact since, and that’s exactly the way it should be for you and him now. You went your separate ways and that was it. A mutual agreement that hurts, but it was mutual nonetheless. For the past half a year, all he’s been to you is a stranger. You know why it had to happen. You agreed to it.
But, just because you haven’t talked, doesn't mean that you haven’t thought of him. You wish he only crossed your mind in passing, wish your brain only conjured up the image of him whenever you saw something that he would like, or whenever you caught a glimpse of him on the TV or a billboard somewhere.
In reality, it’s been much more pathetic. You think of him almost every day, despite your best efforts to cleanse yourself of everything that’s remotely related to Itoshi Rin. His absence carries itself with you all the time, a hollowness that seeps into every crevice of your life.
You know he means it. Rin doesn’t lie, least of all to you. His honesty twists inside of you like a knife. Salt, meet wound.
You have no words to offer him, no response you can think of that would make sense to say out loud, so you don’t say anything. The only sound that falls from your lips is his name, like a warning, a plea, a consolation all at once.
But he doesn’t seem to mind. Not his sudden vulnerability, not your reluctance to entertain that split second of honesty.
“I answered your question. Now you have to answer mine,” he says. “Why did you come?”
“What do you want me to tell you?”
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes a moment like he’s mulling it over in his head. “Thought maybe you missed me too,” he says eventually, ending the sentence with a bitter chuckle. “Just a little bit.”
You tongue your cheek, stall with another sip of water before you place the glass on the table. On a coaster of course, Rin hates cup rings on his fancy table.
You lean back to rest on the couch, staring up at his boring ceiling. There are memories of you on this very couch, ones of you lying with your head on his lap as he plays with your hair, the two of you winding down after a long day. Or ones that are far too inappropriate to bring up ever again, of nights where you were both too desperate and impatient to take it to the bedroom. Those gentle reminders are still here somewhere, tucked between the cushions perhaps.
“Sure,” you hum, nodding along. “Let’s go with that.”
Another chuckle, humorless. Though, you think he’s pleased enough with that non-answer. You’re not sure. He mirrors your position, falling into the couch with a sigh. From your peripheral vision, you think he’s scooched closer to you, just by a few centimeters, in the process of settling into the sofa.
“My turn,” you say. “Why do you want me here?”
“What is this, 21 questions?”
You shrug simply. “You asked me to come in. I’m just curious.”
When Rin stays silent for a beat too long, you turn your head to watch him, thinking maybe he’s knocked out because of the alcohol in his system. But you find him wide awake, his eyes staring ahead, looking like he’s already sober.
His face is unreadable when he says, “Wanted to see something.”
“See what?”
“See if something is still there.”
It’s your turn to remain quiet as you process his words, and it’s Rin who has to turn to gauge your reaction.
“And? Is anything still there?” you ask.
“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one that stayed.”
“Does it matter? If I say there is?”
“Of course it does.”
“What would you do about it?”
He goes still once more. You know he doesn’t have an answer to your question. What would he do? What could he even do? Patch things up only for them to fall apart again in a couple months? Once upon a time, you were naive enough to think that you could find a way to make it work. You had enough blind faith to think that it would all work out in the end; that if you wanted it enough, maybe the universe would let you have this one thing.
You return your gaze to the ceiling. He’s shown you his cards, maybe it’s only fair that you show him some of yours too.
An uncertain inhale, then the realization that this is the only time you would be able to have an honest conversation with him about this.
“Wanna hear something funny?” you ask.
“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me anyway.”
It’s anything but funny, and Rin is certain that you’re not building up to a punchline. Sure, it’s a little tragic that nothing matters, but there’s some freedom, some comfort in that too. You can tell him everything that’s plagued your mind for the past couple hundred days or so without having to worry about the repercussions. Even though not all is said, everything is already done.
“You know, you were mine before you were anyone else’s,” you say. You feel his eyes on the side of your face. The silence persists, and you aren’t sure if you can take it as a sign to continue, but you do so anyway because at least he’s not pumping the brakes on it, right? “I used to be jealous of your life. Toward the end, I mean.”
“Jealous of what?”
“I don’t know. Just your life, your dream. All of it.”
Rin blinks. “You were jealous that I got to live my dream?”
“I said I was jealous of your life, not you,” you correct him. “Because you always seemed to want everything else more than you wanted me.”
“You make it sound like I was the bad guy.” He turns a little defensive all of a sudden, an edge in his voice when he says, “That’s not true.”
You still remember him well enough to know that it is.
And it’s not such a terrible thing; it's simply the truth. You can’t fault him for having a dream and for having enough courage to see it through, even if it means unintentionally leaving you behind in the process. You could foresee the end even from the beginning. If you wanted to blame someone, you would have to blame yourself too.
You swerve around his metaphorical walls, his make-believe suit of armor. If you’d been nervous around Rin tonight, then that anxiety is now chipping away brick by brick the more you internalize the fact that nothing matters anymore.
“Remember your last game before we broke up? You were so happy, I was so proud of you. You belong on the field and I never wanted to take that away from you. But then I noticed the crowd, the thousands of people out there cheering your name and I realized that I would never compare to them. Their praise meant more to you than mine, and it was only a matter of time before you outgrew me to look for bigger and better spotlights.
“I’m not saying you were wrong for any of it. I don’t blame you. You were always going to outgrow me. It’s sad, but it’s okay. I always knew that you’d have to leave me behind at some point. It’s on me too; I just fell too hard too fast for someone who could never stay. It’s your dream, you can’t help it. But that night... that was the nail in the coffin for me, knowing that one day, to you, I would be just one of the faces in a crowd that you can’t even tell apart."
It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. In fact, it’s even a little cathartic to pour out the words that have been sitting heavy on your chest. Although it’s not until a single tear spills over that you realize your eyes have welled up somewhere along the way. You quickly wipe it away with your thumb, then you feel his hand reach for yours after a few beats.
Rin calls your name, and you can hear the regret in his voice. When you look at him, his eyes have softened, no longer on the defense now that you’ve beat him to the offense. “I’m not drunk enough to forget about this in the morning, you know,” he says.
“Does it matter? What are you going to do about it in the morning?” you ask. “We’re already broken up. It’s not like we can go anywhere from here. But at least now you know what it was like for me.”
It seems to be a common theme tonight—stretches of silence in between admissions of truth so that one of you can gauge the other’s reaction, trying to assess what path would be worth it to take at this crossroad you find yourselves unable to move on from.
Then he’s tugging on your hand, pulling you to him until you’re in each other’s orbit again. Close enough for him to wrap his arm around you. Close enough that you’re weak, not that you were ever that strong to begin with. It doesn’t really come as a surprise that you let him.
“I...” Rin starts, full of uncertainty as he tries to string together a sentence. “We could go back.”
This isn’t a surprise either, that you’re considering his words.
“What happens when it ends again?”
You can practically taste the residual whiskey on his breath when he leans into you, his lips brushing your cheek just slightly. “Then it ends again,” he says, a little pained, all too selfish. “But it’ll be worth it. It’s worth it to me.”
“What if it’s not what I want? What if it’s not worth it to me?”
He pulls back, putting some distance between your faces so he could see you better, the deep brown of his eyes searching for something that you’re both aware of.
“You came tonight,” he murmurs, as if that in and of itself is a sufficient enough explanation. “You stayed.”
Not all is said, but everything is already done.
You had chance after chance after chance to leave, to shut this down—whatever this is—but you didn’t, not even once. You’re still a willing participant even though you’ve lived through this ending before. You know he loved you, know he loves you even if the way he goes about it is selfish.
Because you do know the answer to his questions. It’s clear as day; anyone can see it from a mile away.
When your world eventually comes crashing down again some time from now, you won't blame Rin. You won’t blame yourself either, despite having option to walk away from all of this right now.
Because maybe some pains are worth enduring twice, aren’t they?
for weeks – months, really – his older brother’s name has sat in his notifications like a blinking warning light. missed calls. short texts. one voicemail that simply said: “rin, i swear to god if i have to fly back to japan to drag you out of whatever hole you’ve buried yourself in–”
rin had listened to that one three times before closing the app.
not fixed (not even close), but lighter in the way a storm feels when it finally moves offshore. the letter is out there now. the silence between you isn’t permanent anymore. something has shifted.
so he finally presses the call button.
the phone rings once.
twice.
then–
“about time.”
sae’s voice comes through the speaker flat and unimpressed.
rin exhales slowly. “hi.”
“don’t ‘hi’ me,” sae says immediately. “you disappeared for two months.”
“i was busy.”
“you sure you weren’t emotionally imploding?”
rin doesn’t bother arguing.
there’s a pause on the other end of the line, the sound of wind rushing faintly through sae’s mic.
“where are you,” sae asks.
“home.”
“good,” sae says. “leave.”
rin frowns. “what.”
“meet me at odaiba beach. 8:00 P.M.”
rin glances at the clock. “that’s in like 30 minutes.”
“then move faster.”
“sae–”
“no,” sae cuts in sharply. “i don’t care what you have to do. cancel something. run there. steal a bike. use your webs.”
his voice lowers slightly.
“i’m coming first in your list of priorities this time around.”
the line goes quiet for a second.
rin sighs. “… fine.”
sae hangs up without another word.
the beach is mostly empty at night.
the tide rolls in slowly, waves brushing the dark shoreline with soft, rhythmic sounds. the city lights shimmer across the water, rainbow bridge glowing faintly in the distance. the wind carries the smell of salt and cold air.
sae is already there. of course he is.
he stands near the edge of the sand, hands tucked into his coat pockets, staring out at the water like he’s been there for hours even though he probably arrived ten minutes ago.
rin approaches quietly.
“you said 8:00,” rin says.
“it’s 8:02.”
rin exhales through his nose.
sae finally glances over at him. his eyes narrow slightly.
“you look… less dead.”
“thanks.”
they stand there for a moment, listening to the waves.
then sae says, “so.”
rin already knows what’s coming.
“what the hell happened.”
rin stares out at the water. and for the first time in weeks, he tells someone everything.
ego.
the threats.
the choice.
the letter.
you.
he talks longer than he expects to.
sae doesn’t interrupt much. he just listens, the way older brothers do when they’re deciding whether to lecture you or beat the hell out of you.
when rin finally finishes, the wind has picked up slightly.
sae exhales slowly. “i’m gonna say this in the nicest, kindest, warmest, best older-brother way possible… you’re a fucking idiot.”
rin nods. “i know...”
“no,” sae continues calmly, “you’re a… special kind of idiot.”
rin glances over.
“you thought the best way to protect the girl you love was to emotionally detonate her life.”
rin winces. “... yeah.”
sae rubs his temple. “i swear,” he mutters, “our family’s emotional intelligence is a disaster.”
rin says nothing.
the waves roll in again.
sae sighs. “but i get why you did it.”
rin looks up slightly.
sae shrugs.
“you were scared,” he says simply. “you had someone manipulating you, threatening the person you cared about most, and you made the decision that felt safest.”
a pause.
“a wrong decision,” sae adds.
“i know.”
“but understandable.”
rin watches the water again. “she deserved better.”
“she still does,” sae says.
rin flinches slightly.
sae glances at him sideways. “that doesn’t mean she won’t choose you.”
rin’s brow furrows. “how do you know?”
sae smirks faintly. “because she hasn’t destroyed you yet.”
rin snorts quietly.
sae nudges a small stone with his shoe.
“did she read the letter?”
“yeah.”
“and?”
“we talked.”
sae studies him. “that’s progress.”
rin exhales slowly. “i don’t know how to fix it.”
sae rolls his eyes. “you don’t fix it.”
rin looks over.
“you rebuild it,” sae says. “slowly. patiently. without lying. without disappearing.”
the wind pushes his hair slightly.
“and most importantly,” he adds, glancing back at rin, “you stop deciding what’s best for her.”
rin nods.
“let her choose,” sae continues. “whether that’s you or not.”
the words settle heavily between them.
the tide creeps up the sand a little closer.
after a moment, sae adds casually, “also, for the record.”
rin looks at him.
“if you hurt her again,” sae says calmly, “i will personally fly back to japan and drown you in this ocean.”
rin stares at him. “yeah, you can do that.”
sae grins slightly.
and for the first time in a long while, rin feels like he might actually have a chance to make things right.
the café is busy in the slow, steady way that afternoons tend to be.
not chaotic. not empty either. just the constant rhythm of customers coming and going, the quiet hum of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine working overtime behind the counter.
you’re usually good at this part of your job.
fast. organized. calm under pressure.
today… not so much.
you reach for a cup and almost knock over the stack beside it.
“whoa,” a voice says beside you.
you glance up.
bunny is leaning against the counter, one eyebrow raised as he watches you recover the cups before they hit the floor.
“that’s the third near disaster in 15 minutes,” he says casually.
you sigh. “i know.”
he tilts his head slightly, observing you the way someone watches a puzzle they’re trying to solve.
bunny is one of those people you somehow hadn’t talked to much before despite working together for months. he transferred in during the fall semester – international student from spain, culinary arts major, university of tokyo just like you – but the café had been busy and life had been… complicated.
now that things are quieter, you’re starting to realize something.
he’s actually really easy to talk to.
“you look stressed,” he says, sliding a tray of clean glasses toward the rack.
“i’m not stressed,” you reply automatically.
he snorts. “right. and i’m actually 100% japanese.”
you laugh despite yourself.
he grins faintly.
“so,” he says, wiping the counter with quick efficient movements, “what’s going on.”
you hesitate.
normally you’d brush it off.
but bunny has this weirdly calm energy – sarcastic without being sharp, playful without pushing. he works hard, moves fast, and somehow still finds time to notice things.
including you apparently dropping three spoons and forgetting a drink order five minutes ago.
you glance down at the espresso machine.
“… i liked someone,” you admit finally.
bunny hums like he expected that answer. “past tense?”
“it’s complicated.”
“the best kind of story.”
you roll your eyes slightly, but continue anyway.
“we weren’t technically dating,” you say. “but we were… doing couple things.”
“dangerous territory.”
“very.”
bunny nods like a professor confirming a hypothesis.
“and then,” you continue quietly, “he suddenly broke it off.”
bunny pauses his cleaning for a moment. “oh. that sucks.”
you shrug slightly. “he had reasons. i actually understand them now. but it still hurt.”
“yeah. i bet.”
a small silence settles between you.
you tap the side of a cup absentmindedly.
“and now,” you add, “he’s trying to come back into my life again.”
bunny leans back against the counter, folding his arms. “ah.”
“ah?”
“the classic sequel.”
you laugh quietly. “i don’t know what to do.”
bunny studies your face for a moment. “do you… still like him?”
you don’t answer immediately. which is answer enough.
bunny nods slowly. “yeah,” he says. “that’s always the problem.”
you sigh. “anyway,” you add quickly, “i’m trying to think about it logically.”
“good luck with that.”
“hey!”
“feelings are not logical,” bunny says simply.
before you can respond, the bell above the café door rings.
bunny glances toward the entrance automatically.
and freezes.
a tall guy has just stepped inside.
dark hair.
serious expression.
eyes scanning the room like he’s looking for someone specific.
bunny slowly turns his head toward you.
“don’t,” you warn.
“that’s him,” bunny says quietly. “isn’t it.”
you close your eyes. “please don’t start.”
“i’m not starting anything,” bunny replies calmly.
you grab a tray. “i’m going to the back.”
“good plan.”
you disappear through the staff door just as rin approaches the counter.
bunny watches him walk up.
rin stops in front of him.
“hey,” rin says. “is [name] working today?”
bunny dries his hands slowly with a towel. “yeah.”
rin shifts slightly. “can i talk to her?”
bunny nods toward the back hallway. “she’s working in the back right now.”
rin glances toward the door. “can you tell her i’m here?”
bunny watches him carefully for a moment. then exhales.
“she asked for space today.”
rin’s expression shifts slightly, just a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
bunny notices it immediately.
before rin can speak, before his thoughts have time to spiral into something defensive or sharp, bunny exhales quietly and rests his forearms on the counter.
“listen, man,” he starts. not cold. not confrontational. just matter-of-fact.
rin’s brows knit slightly.
bunny studies him for half a second, reading the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens like he’s already preparing an argument.
so he adds, calmly, “if she wants to see you…” he shrugs lightly. “she’ll come find you.”
the words land softer than they should. almost familiar. like something rin himself said once, a long time ago, when he was the one deciding whether someone could get close to him.
rin goes still. just for a moment.
then he nods once, slow, understanding the boundary for what it is.
rin doesn’t go anywhere after leaving the café.
he just goes home.
the walk back to his apartment is quiet, the city already slipping into evening around him. neon lights flicker on one by one, people moving past him in small clusters, laughter drifting from restaurants and convenience stores. normally the noise of tokyo is something he disappears into.
but tonight it feels distant. like he’s watching the world through thick glass.
by the time he unlocks his door and steps inside, the apartment feels heavier than usual. not empty, just quiet in a way that reminds him too much of the weeks he spent here convincing himself he’d made the right decision.
he drops his keys onto the counter. they clink loudly in the silence.
rin exhales and drags a hand through his hair before collapsing onto the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. he stares at the floor for a while, replaying the moment at the café over and over.
she asked for space today.
it stings.
not because it was cruel. because it was fair.
he presses his palms together slowly, knuckles whitening.
“yeah,” he mutters to himself. “you deserve that.”
this is the weight of it. not some dramatic punishment. just consequences.
every word he threw at you two months ago still exists. every silence he forced between you still matters. if this is how things are going to be for a while – distance, hesitation, uncertainty – he’ll carry it. even if it hurts. especially if it hurts.
he leans back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle around him again.
then–
knock knock knock.
rin’s head turns toward the door.
he waits a second. maybe he imagined it.
knock knock knock.
he stands slowly and walks over, unlocking the door without thinking too much about it.
when he opens it, you’re standing there. still in your café clothes. black pants, simple top, your hair slightly messy from your shift. the only thing missing is the apron.
for a moment neither of you speak.
rin just stares.
“hi…” you say finally.
his brain takes a second to catch up with reality. “you came.”
you shift your weight slightly. “i finished my shift.”
rin steps aside automatically, the door opening wider. “do you… want to come in?”
you nod once.
and just like that, the distance between you shrinks by one small, fragile step.
rin closes the door behind you.
the quiet in the apartment shifts immediately, the kind of silence that comes when two people are standing in the same room with a hundred things unsaid between them. you take a few steps inside, glancing around automatically even though you’ve been here many times before.
the place hasn’t changed.
same couch. same desk. same quiet, careful order.
but the atmosphere is different now.
you exhale slowly, rubbing the back of your neck like you’re trying to decide how to begin.
rin watches you. carefully.
“that guy with the scar told you i came by?” he asks.
you nod once. “yeah.”
a small pause.
“he told me you left.”
“i did.”
your eyes flick toward him. “sorry, i needed a minute.”
rin nods. he doesn’t push. doesn’t ask what you thought during that minute. that restraint doesn’t go unnoticed.
you glance down at your hands before speaking again. “i started an internship yesterday.”
rin’s brows knit slightly. “where?”
you hesitate just long enough for him to notice.
“under jinpachi ego.”
the change in his posture is immediate.
not explosive. but sharp.
his shoulders straighten. his jaw tightens.
“… what.”
you look at him carefully. “yeah.”
the room feels smaller all of a sudden.
“i didn’t know you were working under him,” you continue. “no one mentioned it when i got accepted.”
rin exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “i was going to tell you eventually.”
you shake your head slightly. “you didn’t have to.”
rin looks up.
and that’s when you drop it.
“i already know.”
silence. thick. heavy.
“what do you mean…” he asks quietly.
your eyes meet his. “i heard you.”
rin goes still.
“yesterday,” you continue. “i got lost trying to find the bathroom on the second floor.”
his stomach drops.
“and i heard ego talking.”
your voice tightens.
“i heard you talking.”
rin’s chest feels like someone just tightened a vice around it.
you take a step forward. “i heard him say he released the radioactive spider.”
rin doesn’t interrupt.
“i heard him say he’s been monitoring you since the beginning.”
another step.
“and i heard him say you’re spider man.”
the words hang in the air.
rin exhales slowly. “… okay.”
that’s it. no denial. no defensive reaction. just acceptance.
you watch him closely. “you’re not even going to argue.”
“no.”
“why?”
“because it’s true.”
you shake your head in disbelief. “rin, that man is manipulating you.”
he nods. “i know.”
“he’s watching you.”
“i know.”
“he’s threatening you.”
“i know.”
your voice rises slightly. “then why are you still letting him control your life?”
the frustration finally spills over.
“he literally engineered the thing that turned you into spider man and now he’s using it to treat you like some kind of experiment!”
the words bounce off the apartment walls.
rin doesn’t snap back. doesn’t shut down. doesn’t try to control the conversation the way he used to.
he just… stands there. absorbing it. every word. every ounce of anger you’re throwing at him.
you notice. your frustration stumbles slightly against the lack of resistance.
“say something,” you demand.
rin exhales slowly. “… you’re right.”
you blink. “that’s it?”
“yeah.” he runs a hand down the back of his neck. “i thought i could handle it.”
“handle it?” you repeat incredulously.
“manage it,” he clarifies quietly. “balance everything.”
you scoff. “ego isn’t someone you balance. he’s someone who manipulates.”
“i know.”
you stare at him for a moment, trying to find the old rin – the one who would’ve turned this into an argument, the one who would’ve deflected or shut the door emotionally the second things got uncomfortable.
he doesn’t. he just lets the discomfort sit there. with him.
you exhale slowly. “fine.”
rin watches you carefully. “fine?” he repeats.
you cross your arms slightly, thinking. then you say something that makes him freeze.
“why don’t i help you take him down.”
rin blinks. “what.”
you step closer, serious now. “ego.”
you gesture slightly with your hand. “what he’s doing isn’t just manipulative. it’s illegal.”
rin’s brow furrows.
“releasing a genetically altered spider in a controlled lab environment without authorization? monitoring someone’s movements and activities without consent? using experimental technology on a civilian?”
you shake your head.
“that’s not just unethical. it’s criminal.”
rin stares at you. “you’ve been thinking about this.”
“all afternoon.”
a beat passes.
“i know someone,” you continue. “his name is tabito karasu.”
rin recognizes the name faintly.
“law major. really smart. really annoying about ethics.” a small smile flickers across your face. “he’d love this case.”
rin processes that slowly. “you’re serious.”
“completely.”
you meet his eyes again.
“ego thinks he has control over you because he thinks you’re alone in this.”
your voice steadies.
“you’re not.”
rin doesn’t speak right away. he just looks at you. really looks. trying to understand what you’re offering.
not forgiveness. not romance. something else. something bigger.
finally he asks quietly, “why?”
you shrug lightly. “because what he’s doing is wrong.”
a pause. and then–
“and because no one deserves to be controlled like that.”
the room goes quiet again.
but this time, the silence feels like the beginning of a plan.
ego doesn’t review security footage personally most days.
he has systems for that.
algorithms. alerts. pattern recognition software that flags unusual activity long before a human needs to intervene. efficiency is the entire point of the lab – why waste time watching hallways when machines can do it faster?
but tonight something catches his attention – a small notification blinking on one of the side monitors.
irregular corridor activity – floor 2.
ego glances at it almost absently, fingers still moving across another screen filled with crime analytics.
then he clicks it open.
the camera feed loads. grainy. silent. timestamped from the afternoon before. the hallway appears empty at first. white lights. sterile walls. then a figure enters the frame.
ego leans back slightly in his chair.
ah.
he recognizes you immediately. the intern. communications and psychology major. the one who asked thoughtful questions in his lecture.
he watches the footage carefully now.
you walk down the hallway slowly, scanning the doors.
pause.
step closer to one door.
ego’s eyes narrow slightly.
you glance around once – then lean your ear against the wall beside it.
the video runs for several long seconds.
you listening. still. motionless.
ego’s fingers stop moving entirely. he watches until you step back from the wall. until the realization hits your expression. until you look up – directly toward the camera.
the footage freezes on that frame. your face tilted upward. eyes wide. because you’ve been caught.
ego exhales softly through his nose. “… interesting.”
he leans forward again, replaying the clip once. twice. three times.
on the third viewing, he pauses it right at the moment your hand presses against the wall. the moment you were listening. the moment you learned something you weren’t meant to know.
ego sits back slowly in his chair. his expression doesn’t change much. but there’s a new calculation forming behind his eyes.
“so,” he murmurs quietly to the empty room.
his gaze drifts to another screen nearby. a performance chart. spider man’s activity line. rin’s. still strong. still climbing.
ego folds his hands together beneath his chin. “the variable has expanded.”
your face still stares back at him from the frozen security frame.
ego smiles faintly. not angry. not surprised. just… intrigued.
because experiments rarely become truly fascinating – until the subjects start interfering with the design.
bunnyiglesias!stranger that when he saw you talking to lavinho the first time, he would never have imagined that you were his daughter. he knew quite well how lavinho loved basking in women, so it was almost natural for him to think that you were just a passing flirt and not his teammate's mysterious daughter
spain wasn't very different from brazil, you certainly loved your homeland much more, but returning to the barcha campus didn't bother you. it had been a really long time since you last saw your father, and you just wanted to hug him after spending months apart: he in italy for a soccer meeting, you in brazil with your grandparents. it would have been nice to go back to normality, in your apartment in barcelona
arriving at the campus, you threw yourself into his arms: hugging him again was a pleasant feeling, but not lasting because of someone. before you can notice it a very tall boy approaches your father, and you notice the same emblem of the spanish team, sign of his belonging to the barcha
"lavi? where did you meet this señorita? in italy?" the boy asks, winking at your father. a slight annoyance appears on your face, but your father hugs you by the shoulders, bursting out laughing "this señorita is my daughter, iglesias!" he says in his usual loud tone, and instead of seeing embarrassment on the face of the boy who probably mistook you for a passing flirt, only an amused expression forms on his face "oooh! i didn't know you had one" he says amused, and you clear your throat putting a hand forward "nice to meet you. im y/n" you say with your gaze down, because even if you're annoyed by him you know that the manners of introducing yourself are everything, and he grabs your hand, shaking it a bit "bunny iglesias"
bunnyiglesias!acquaintance that from that day on he simply started to pay much more attention to your presence in the team campus. over time he remembered how many times he had already seen you in the past, thinking that you were the girlfriend of some other player
your father, since his return, had obviously returned to train daily at the barcha campus. in the past you had often accompanied him just to avoid spending time at home alone, but since he returned you had decided to start accompanying him more to simply spend more time with him, due to the months of distance. you didn't mind spending time there, the staff treated you with respect and you even joked with some of the team members. and yet, every time you turned around, that boy's face was never too far from you
"did you accompany your father today too?" he asks walking not far from you, just a few steps away. you huff, continuing to walk towards your destination, the canteen "apparently yes. don't you have to train?" you ask trying to sound polite, because telling him to leave you alone would perhaps be a little rude. you hear him chuckle "i don't need it! im already a genius at the sweet age of 19" he says, and this time you're the one surprised "19? we are the same age" you say turning around, making him stop a short distance away otherwise he would have risked falling on you. he tilts his head and smiles at you, towering a bit due to the height difference "at least between us someone is making their youth count" he says, and if before you thought you still had to be polite, now you know you can use your entire vocabulary of insults
"filho da puta..." you whisper nervously, striding back to the cafeteria, whispering more insults in portuguese. how can he say things like that to you if he doesn't even know you, but just stares at you from afar? who gave him all this confidence?
bunnyiglesias!kindafriend who for a LONG TIME thought he was your new friend when in reality you couldn't stand him at all. it suddenly became normal to bother you or just spend more time around you, even though you clearly showed that you wanted him dead
"come on, a simple 1vs1! i'll go easy!" he says bouncing the ball on his knee, changing his gaze between you and the object. you sigh exhausted, continuing to scribble in your notebook "i already told you no. if you want to humiliate someone go get one of those who just arrived" you say neutrally, even if with a hint of sarcasm. he laughs, throwing the ball in the air and making it end up in the net with a dry, calculated gesture
he comes closer, grabbing the water bottle at your side "you're just saying that because you're weak" he says taking a generous helping of water, and you glare at him "well sorry if my dad didn't teach me how to kick a ball when i was little" you say sarcastically, and he shrugs "i still have a hard time believing that you're the daughter of lavinho, that genius monster! and you... you're... simply you" he says, even though he's clearly making fun of you. you take your notebook, slapping it against his leg "cale a boca, você fala demais, seu bobo!" you say annoyed, and he takes his ball back while laughing "you talk like i can understand you" he says amusedly, unlike you that you just want to eliminate him from your life. you hate his cheekiness, his cocky grin, you hate even more the fact that your father adores him because of his skills
bunnyiglesias!friend who simply decided to spend all his free time with you, and you ended up liking him. your relationship is still based entirely on the fact that he annoys you, but now his existence annoys you less
"did you like how i shot the second time?" he asks taking the towel you have in your hand, drying his hair still damp from the shower. you roll your eyes, even as you nod "that was cool. maybe a little theatrical, very un-your style" you say, and your words get mixed up with the screams of the fans in the stadium, still all eager to talk to the barcha players
today there was a match, specifically in one of the biggest stadiums in the city: the camp nou. the match has been over for a while now, but of course you were here the whole time, sitting on the benches reserved for the players' relatives. the team members are now divided between those in the tunnel near the fans and those in the locker room, still cleaning up. you and bunny are in front of the tunnel, while you wait for your father, both of you are aware that journalists have already taken pictures of you. it's not something that bothers you particularly, you and him go out often and so some of your photos have already gone viral, but you are simply great friends. today will be no different, unfortunately, but okay
"what do you mean? that im a terrible player?" he asks jokingly, and you let out a laugh "more or less. maybe i should ask the team manager to move you to ReAl" you say crossing your arms, mentioning the barcha's arch enemy. bunny shakes his head, absolutely against it "i'd rather be slapped by lavi until the day i die" he says, and you burst out laughing. you take the towel in his hands, starting to walk towards the tunnel "first we should find him a reason to slap you" you say, disappearing from the eyes of the fans. bunny follows you, not before making a gesture to the fans "we can definitely find one"
"bunny inglesias disappears in the tunnel with his alleged girlfriend, the daughter of the champion lavinho?" shouts the commentator, but you are already in the tunnel to hear it
bunnyiglesias!bestfriend who simply didn't ask for this title, he just took it. bunny showed you how much he cared about you with small gestures, the ones that no friend had ever done for you. not seeing you together was almost strange, for lavinho and others players
"thank you!" you say taking your coffee, wrapped up in your winter coat. even with the temperature so low, outdoor training didn't stop for the players, especially the first team. your father had already done his shift, but since bunny still had to do his, you didn't mind staying in the cold and watching him
he pats your head taking off his coat, which you take with your free arm "don't worry. so after training dinner at the usual place?" he asks, and you nod with red cheeks, a bit caused by the cold and a bit by his concern "sure! but at least this time let me pay. i don't know why it's been months since you've let me pay a cent" you say disconsolately, but he shakes his head, amused "it's not in my vocabulary to let you pay. not because i want to be a gentleman, but because i would like to eat edible food and not something toxic" he says, then running towards the field. you reflect on his words for a few seconds "HEY! MY FATHER MAKES MORE MONEY THAN YOU, cabeça de vento!" you yell at him, but you are amused by his words. bunny runs towards the field, but turns to send you a flying kiss, to which you react by rolling your eyes even if smiling
clutching your coffee and his coat to your chest, you notice how his scent lingers on the fabric. you hold it a little tighter, trying to ignore the slightly raised heartbeat. you don't know what's happening to both of you lately, but all this attention and gestures have already crossed the line for a while now
bunnyiglesias!situationship who, since he understood that he can touch you without you wishing him the worst, has started to put his arm around your shoulders much more often. an arm became his hands on your waist, and his hands became kisses on cheeks
snuggled up to him under the covers, the january cold doesn't seem so annoying. your house has always been quiet, but since bunny comes more often, you feel much more relaxed. it has become the norm to be hugged under the covers, held tight as if you could escape, justifying the action as pure affection and nothing more. having him so close relaxes you, but at the same time the constant beating in your chest reminds you that you shouldn't be like this: technically, best friends don't do that. you have long thought that you have crossed that line, even if neither of you dares open the topic
"are you still cold?" he whispers, but you shake your head "no no. maybe im even feel to much warm, we've been hugging for too long" you say, but the only answer you feel and want to feel are his lips in your hair, while he gently kisses your head for some seconds "i don't care if you feel warm. im comfortable like this" he says, and you nod, although wondering how he can be comfortable with you pressed against him, like a sardine. his hand gently rubs your side, making you relax as you slowly close your eyes, nestled in the crook of his neck. you hate that you can't kiss him, so you crane your neck slightly, kissing his jaw. you hear him sigh, to chuckle more "the jaw now? next thing what is it, the nose?" he asks, and you shake your head, kissing his neck. he lets out another sigh, tightening his grip on your hips "the neck now, huh? i would have preferred another part" he says
it's moments like this that make you wonder why you haven't kissed yet. you want it, he wants it. why hasn't happened yet?
bunnyiglesias!boyfriend who hadn't planned on kissing you in front of your dad, but the opportunity was practically perfect. there was no point in ignoring each other's feelings anymore, not when gestures and looks spoke louder than words. it was the perfect moment
"follow me" he says taking your hand, and even though not convinced, you follow him "what do you want to do now?" you ask, but the only thing that appears before your eyes is your father. bunny stops for a moment perplexed, tilting his head "lavi? why are you here?" asks the boy, who unbeknownst to you had checked which of the fields were free at that time. lavinho shrugs, approaching with the ball in his hand "training. and you? what are you doing with my daughter here?" he asks smirking, because out of all of them he's the one who's most waiting for you two to admit that you love each other. bunny clears his throat, masking his anxiety with his usual little smile "oh... i had to do something... wait. you know what? i need you"
you remain confused, not knowing how to react "what do you have in mind?" you ask crossing your arms, extremely perplexed. lavinho imitates you, staying a few steps away while bunny takes a few steps back "senhor lavinho, acho que estou extremamente apaixonado pela sua filha" he says, his pronunciation is a bit bad, but his words immediately reach your heart loud and clear. you look at him covering your mouth, surprised "no way" you say excited, a bit from what he told you and especially for the fact that he said it in your native language. he takes your hand, kissing the back of it "posso ser teu namorado?" he says, his voice a little shaky
before he can even ask you or your father anything else, you close your arms around his neck so you can kiss him. bunny catches you, kissing you back while holding you up with his hands on your waist, eliminating the height difference issue. it's a sweet, messy kiss, but it feels like a release after that situationship limbo you've been living in for months. you smile satisfied as you kiss him, almost ignoring your father behind
"at least he had the decency to man up and ask you"
tw for mentions/description of spiders . figured i'd write bunny for you @kissklei <3
“please, bunny, just do it?” you whine, clinging to his arm.
“no, cariño, i’m tired,” he smiles at you, tenderly ushering you to lay back down on the bed.
“please? i won’t be able to sleep!” you stubbornly sit up, tightening your grip around his arm.
he sighs, pulling the blanket off of his legs and standing up.
“fine, where’s the spider?“ he stretches as he stands up, looking around the dimly lit room.
“over there!” you point at the corner of the ceiling, to a harmless-looking dark brown spider. a daddy long legs, probably.
“amor…” he stares at you, face unreadable.
“yeah?”
“[name]…” his mouth falls agape.
“yes??” you scoot closer to his side of the bed, grabbing ahold of his arm again. “what is it?? is it too strong for you??” you ramble on and on, genuine panic evident in every action.
he covers his mouth with his hand, eyebrows twitching upwards. his eyes dart from side to side, as he leans closer to you.
“i-i’m… i’m so…” he gulps hard. “i’m so telling this story at our wedding.” he grabs a page from one of your magazines, approaching The Corner.
“hey! its a valid fear!” you protest.
“yeah, yeah, whatever.” he laughs, rolling the magazine sheet into a tube and folding one end to be shut tightly. he holds it from the folded part, bringing it up to the corner of the ceiling and carefully trapping the spider inside. he tilts it upwards slightly, so the critter couldn’t slip out.
he walks out of your shared bedroom, heading into the backyard to place it on a plant. a couple minutes later, he returns to your room, a serene look on his face.
“let’s sleep now, okay? all good?” he slips into bed beside you, offering his arms outwards to embrace you. you snuggle in his arms, pulling the blanket to just over your cheek. as you’re finally about to drift off, he speaks up again.
“and what do you mean, ‘too strong’ for me? d’ya think one spider bite from it would kill me?” he knows you’re not asleep, and if he didn’t before, he knew by the way you tensed up slightly.
“uhh… next question?” you sheepishly murmur in response, pretending to immediately fall asleep.
“oooo, what if i bring it back inside? is [nickname] afraid of it? will their big, strong boyfriend need to save them from a teeny-weeny bite?” he mocks, laughing to himself as if he’s the funniest person ever.
you do not humour him.
“shut up…!” you playfully smack his arm, to which he keeps laughing. freak.
“there’s no shame in admitting fear, mi vida,” his laughter dies down a little, and one of his hands find home on your back, rubbing gently. “besides, i’m sure one spider bite wouldn’t kill you.”
