Rewrite the Stars

English isn't my first language, so sorry if I use the wrong words or my grammar is off.

[crescentkalopsia]

Masterlist

Asks are open for ideas and requests!

Life with Leon:

Echoes and ease: Life with Leon (Part 4)

Habits and heartbeats: Life with Leon (Part 3)

Shields and stories: Life with Leon (Part 2)

Safety and sanctuary: Life with Leon (Part 1)

Oneshots:

Nowhere to Be

Never Letting Go

Melting the Frost

Better Than I Imagined

Our Little Sanctuary

The Charm of Age

Welcome to the Team

Safe With Me

A Touch of Coral

Making Up for Lost Time

Something About Groceries

The Guilt He Carries

Waking Up With You

Say It Without Running

Not Good Enough

[crescentkalopsia]

Nowhere to Be

Morning light filtered pale and hazy through the kitchen window. You were standing at the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing when arms slid around your waist, warm and familiar and unhurried.

Leon didn’t say anything. Just pressed his chest against your back, folded his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder. His breath fanned warm against the side of your neck.

"Morning," you said softly, already leaning back into him.

He just hummed in response. Low and gravelly, the sound still thick with sleep.

You laughed quietly and covered his hands with yours, thumbing over his knuckles. Somewhere behind you, the coffee finished dripping. Neither of you moved. He just held you tighter, swaying you both a tiny bit, barely there, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

One of his hands slipped free and found its way under the hem of your shirt, palm flat against your stomach. Not in any particular way. Just touching. Like he needed to feel the warmth of your skin, the rise and fall of your breathing. His fingers spread wide, possessive but gentle, and you tilted your head back against his chest.

He turned his face into your neck. You felt his lips there, just resting, not kissing. Breathing you in. His stubble scraped lightly against your skin. It tickled, and you squirmed a little, and his arms tightening like he thought you might try to get away.

You weren’t going anywhere.

"Leon."

"Hm."

You turned in his arms. Just shifted your feet, and his hand slipped free from beneath your shirt as he followed the movement, naturally, the way he’d done a hundred times before. His hands slid easily to your hips, settling there like they’d always belonged. You looked up at him. Hair still messy from sleep, eyes soft and half-lidded in that quiet morning way. A faint crease from the pillow marked his cheek.

God, you loved him like this.

You reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into your palm like a cat. So you kept it there, cradling the side of his face, and he sighed, barely a sound at all, just air leaving his lungs, slow and content.

Then you tilted your head up and kissed him. Morning-soft and lingering. His hand came up to the back of your neck to hold you there, fingers threading into your hair, and you felt him exhale against your mouth.

One kiss turned into another, and another, each one slower than the last, until he cupped your jaw and kissed you deeper. The kind of kiss that makes the rest of the world go quiet. You lost track of how long you stood there.

When you finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless. His forehead stayed against yours, nose brushing yours, and you could feel his smile before you saw it.

"I could spend my whole day right here in your arms," you whispered. Quiet, meant just for him.

Leon opened his eyes. Blue and so unbearably tender it made your heart stutter.

"Then let’s stay here," he said. Like a secret. Like he meant it more than anything he’d ever said.

Then he kissed you again, and the coffee sat forgotten on the counter.

[crescentkalopsia]

Thank you for 100!

I just hit 100 followers! I know it’s small compared to the big blogs out there, but I’m honestly so thrilled. I never expected people to actually care about my blog, so thank you to everyone who’s followed me! It really means the world to me, and I appreciate every single one of you. 💖

[crescentkalopsia]

Never Letting Go

The mission went sideways before it even started.

You knew it the moment you and Leon stepped through the rusted emergency doors of the pharmaceutical facility. The air was thick with the smell of industrial chemicals and something worse, something rotting beneath the surface that turned your stomach. Intel had said the underground lab was abandoned. Intel was wrong.

"You good?" Leon asked, glancing back over his shoulder. His flashlight cut through the dim corridor, picking out peeling paint and a keypad with the dust wiped clean from its face, the overhead lights still warm.

"Perfect," you lied, adjusting your comms earpiece. "Let’s just get what we need and get out."

The mission window was tight. Get in, retrieve the T variant sample from cold storage on sub-level three, and get out before extraction moved from the rendezvous point. Simple enough for two agents of your caliber.

Nothing was ever simple.

─

Sub-level one was heavy with a suffocating stillness. The low hum of the ventilation was dead, leaving only the sound of your own breathing and the hollow echo of your boots against the concrete. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting shadows that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking. Leon took point as he always did, his movements fluid and practiced, every step measured. You covered his six, your back against his in narrow hallways, a rhythm you’d perfected over two years of partnered missions.

He’d annoyed you at first. Too cocky, too quick with a smirk, too much of a golden boy for your taste. But somewhere between a firefight in Eastern Europe and a near-drowning in a caved-in mine shaft, the annoyance had shifted. You’d started noticing the way he always put himself between you and danger. The way he’d check your injuries before his own. The way his hand would linger on your shoulder after a close call, as if he needed to confirm you were still there.

You’d started noticing the way his eyes softened when he thought you weren’t looking, and you’d started hoping he noticed the same in yours.

─

The sample retrieval on sub-level three had been clean, almost suspiciously so. The cold storage unit was right where the schematics said it would be, the vial secure in its containment case, your hand closing around it with a quiet breath of relief. You made it back up to sub-level two without incident, and for a moment it almost felt easy.

Then the alarms screamed.

Red emergency lights bathed the corridor in crimson. The facility’s automated voice echoed through the halls: "Specimen displacement detected. Emergency purge protocols activated. All personnel evacuate immediately."

"What the hell—"

The sample. Taking it had triggered a failsafe.

A deep, groaning shudder ran through the floor beneath your boots. The walls cracked. Dust and concrete rained from the ceiling. Somewhere below, steel gave way with a metallic howl that pulled the air from your lungs.

"Move!" Leon grabbed your arm, pulling you toward the stairwell. "Now!"

You ran as the corridor bucked and swayed like a ship in a storm. Pipes burst along the walls, spraying hot steam that hissed against your skin, the heat stifling, the air thick with dust that coated your throat and made every breath feel like swallowing sand. A light fixture crashed down inches from your head, glass shattering across the floor.

The stairwell door was jammed.

Leon threw his weight against it once, twice. On the third hit, it groaned open, and you both plunged upward. Sub-level one. Ground level just above. The exit was close. You could make it.

Then the landing beneath your feet gave way.

It happened so fast, one second you were running, the next you were falling, concrete and rebar crumbling like wet sand, the floor dissolving into a gaping maw of darkness. You barely had time to scream.

"LEON!"

His hand shot out.

His fingers caught your wrist, and the jolt nearly tore your arm from its socket. You dangled over the edge, legs kicking at empty air, the ruins of the stairwell yawning beneath you like an open grave. Debris rained past you into the void.

"I’ve got you." Leon’s other hand gripped the remaining edge of the floor, knuckles white. His face was pale, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping. "I’ve got you. Hold on—"

"Leon, the building—"

"I know. Hold on."

He pulled. You could see the strain in every line of his body, the way his shoulder screamed under the weight, the way his grip on the crumbled edge was slowly slipping. Another tremor shook the facility. A section of ceiling crashed down behind him, blocking the path forward.

"Leon, you have to go."

"No." The word was sharp. Final. He pulled again, gaining inches. "Not without you."

"The exit’s blocked! Try the east wing! Just go!"

"I’m not leaving you!"

"Leon, please." Your voice cracked. You could feel your wrist slipping from his grip, sweat and dust making your skin slick. Tears burned your eyes, but you blinked them away. Not now. Not in front of him. "You have to go. You have to go now, or neither of us makes it out."

He stared at you. His blue eyes wild with something raw and desperate and broken. His grip tightened.

"Leon." You made your voice steady. Gentle. The way you’d always wanted to say his name but never let yourself. "It’s okay."

Another tremor. The floor beneath Leon lurched. His anchor hand slipped another inch.

"No—"

A second collapse. The section of floor you were clinging to gave way, and Leon’s hand was torn from your wrist as gravity pulled you into the dark.

The last thing you saw was his face, mouth open in a scream you couldn’t hear over the roar of collapsing concrete, and his hand reaching for you, empty.

─

Leon didn’t remember getting out.

One moment he was on the landing, screaming your name into the dark, reaching for a hand that was no longer there. The next, hands were on his shoulders. The extraction team, he’d realize later. Hauling him backward through the east wing corridor as the facility groaned its final breath behind them.

They’d come in through the east wing entrance, his only path out, the one you’d told him to take. If he’d stayed on that landing even thirty seconds longer, he’d have been buried with you.

He fought them. Threw elbows. Shoved bodies. Tried to run back into the collapsing building. Back to you.

"Let me GO! She’s still in there!"

"Kennedy, the whole structure is coming down—"

"I don’t CARE!"

Two agents held him back. A third hooked an arm across his chest and dragged him backward. He watched, chest heaving, as the facility folded in on itself like a dying animal. The ground shuddered beneath their boots. A plume of dust and debris erupted into the night sky, and the sound, the grinding, shrieking, crushing sound of tons of concrete and steel collapsing into the earth, was the loudest thing he'd ever heard.

Then silence.

And the silence was worse.

─

They took him back to the provisional field HQ, a repurposed warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Someone offered him a cup of coffee. He didn’t take it. Someone asked him questions. He didn’t answer. He sat on a chair in the back corner, elbows on his knees, hands hanging limp between his thighs, staring at nothing.

He’d tried the comms. Again and again and again, until his thumb was sore from pressing the button. Static. Nothing. He told himself it was the building’s reinforced structure blocking the signal. He told himself that meant nothing.

The mission commander approached him carefully. She stood in front of him for a long moment before speaking.

"Leon."

He didn’t look up.

"The structural team is doing their assessment. The collapse was extensive. Sub-levels two and three took the worst of it. The stairwell and central corridors are collapsed. There may be pockets of integrity in the outer sections, but we can’t confirm. Ground level has partial structure, but it's not safe to—"

"Did they find her?"

A pause. Too long.

"Not yet."

He closed his eyes.

"Leon, I’m sorry. She was a good agent. One of the best—"

"She’s not dead."

The commander’s silence was heavy.

"She’s not." His voice was quiet in a way that was worse than shouting, raw and scraped out, like something bleeding. "You don’t know her like I do. She’s smart. She’s resourceful. She would have found a way."

"Leon, the sub-levels are severely compromised. There’s nothing left to reach."

"I don’t care what the report says." He looked up at her then, and she saw something in his eyes that made her breath catch, a kind of desperate, defiant hope that looked almost like grief. "She’s not dead."

The commander pressed her lips together. She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed once, and walked away.

Leon stared at the far wall. His hand opened and closed. Open and closed. Like a heartbeat.

─

An hour passed. Then two.

The field HQ hummed with quiet activity, agents debriefing, techs running analysis, medics treating minor injuries. Leon sat in the same spot, unmoving. A statue in the middle of controlled chaos.

He kept replaying it. The way your wrist had slipped from his grip. The way his fingers had closed on empty air. The way you’d said his name, soft and steady, like you weren’t falling. Like you weren’t afraid. Like you were trying to protect him, even at the end.

He’d known how he felt for a while. He’d just buried it. Easier, safer than admitting the person he worked beside every day had become the person he didn’t want to work without.

There had been chances. Too many. Glances that lingered a second too long. Touches that didn’t quite let go. Words that rose to the surface and stayed there, unspoken, because the timing was wrong, because the job was complicated, because saying it might change everything.

Now you were gone, and none of it mattered. He’d run out of chances to be brave, and he hadn’t taken a single one. Mission after mission, your back to his in narrow hallways, danger closing in, and always the same thought running through his head, steady as a pulse: I would die for this person. I would die for you.

He dropped his head into his hands.

─

The commotion started near the entrance.

Leon didn’t look up. He didn’t have the energy. More agents coming back from the site. More bad news.

"Found her in the service tunnel near the east perimeter—"

His head snapped up.

"Dehydrated, possible fracture, but she’s conscious—"

He was on his feet before he made the conscious decision to move, his chair clattering backward, his body shoving through the crowd of agents and medics gathered near the warehouse doors. His heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his throat. In his temples. In his fingertips.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting on the back of an emergency vehicle, a shock blanket draped around your shoulders, your left arm in a makeshift sling, your earpiece missing. Your face was pale and smudged with dust and dried blood, a cut above your eyebrow, a bruise blooming along your jaw. Your hair was tangled and grey with concrete powder. Your lips were cracked. You looked exhausted. You looked battered.

You looked alive.

Your eyes found his through the crowd, and something in your expression shifted. Surprise. Relief. Then a small, trembling smile that barely held.

Leon moved. He didn’t walk, he crossed the distance in long, desperate strides, shouldering past a medic who tried to step in his way. His hands found your face before he could stop himself, cupping your jaw, thumbs brushing the dirt from your cheekbones. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his eyes searching your face, finding every scratch and bruise, like he needed to see for himself that you were real and breathing.

"You’re alive." His voice cracked on the second word. "You’re alive."

"I’m alive." Your voice was rough and dry. You whispered it. Your good hand came up to cover his, your fingers trembling against his knuckles. "I’m alive, Leon."

He pulled you into him.

The hug was fierce. Desperate. His arms wrapped around you like he was trying to press you into his chest, to fuse you together so you couldn’t ever be pulled away again. One hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling in your dust-streaked hair, while the other splayed across your back, firm and careful, mindful of the sling, mindful of everything. He held you so tightly you could feel his heartbeat against yours, fast and wild.

You buried your face in his neck and held on just as hard, your good hand twisting in the back of his jacket, the shock blanket falling from your shoulders. You breathed him in, smoke and sweat and gunpowder, the aftermath of every mission you’d ever survived together, and felt the tremors running through his body.

"I thought I lost you." His voice was wrecked against your hair. "I saw you fall and I couldn’t reach you."

"You held on." You murmured it into his neck. "Just long enough for me to grab a rebar on the way down. Swung into a slab on sub-level two instead of falling straight to the bottom. Thought I was dead for a second."

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "Sub-level two collapsed."

"Not all of it. The maintenance corridors were still standing... barely." You took a shaky breath. "Found a ventilation shaft. Crawled through until I hit a service tunnel. Came out by the east fence."

You reached into your jacket with your good hand and pulled out the containment case. Cracked but intact. "Didn’t let it get crushed."

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Of course you didn’t." He took it from you and set it aside. Then his hands found your face again.

"I’m never doing that again." His voice dropped. "I’m not letting you out of my sight. I don’t care what protocol says. I don’t care if you tell me to go. I’m staying."

"Leon—"

"And I need to tell you something." He exhaled hard. "Because I almost lost the chance, and I can’t keep pretending anymore."

Your breath caught.

He leaned in. The kiss was soft. Unhurried. His hands tilted your face up to his like you were something he’d been waiting to do right. You could taste the salt on his skin, feel the slight tremor in his breath that he was trying hard to hide. You kissed him back, slow and warm and full of every almost, every near-miss, every glance that lasted a beat too long.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes stayed closed, and he was smiling. Actually smiling. Small and real and unguarded in a way you’d only ever caught glimpses of before.

"I love you," he said quietly. "I’ve loved you for so long, and I’m done being stupid about it."

You smiled back, the kind that reached your eyes, and your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

"Took you long enough, Kennedy."

He let out a breathless laugh and kissed you again. Deeper this time. More certain. His hand slid into your hair while your good arm wrapped around his neck. Around you, the warehouse had gone quiet, agents pretending very hard to look elsewhere, the commander pressing her fingers to her lips to hide a small, rare smile.

You didn’t care. He was warm and solid and real, his heart beating against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

The facility was rubble. The mission was over. Your arm throbbed, and you were fairly sure you had a cracked rib, and you were covered in so much dust you looked like a ghost.

But you were alive. He was alive.

And the line that had kept you apart for two years didn’t exist anymore.

─

Later, much later, when the medics had finally pried you apart long enough to treat your injuries and you were settled on a cot in the medical bay, Leon pulled up a chair beside you and refused to move.

His hand found yours under the thin blanket, his fingers lacing through yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His hand stayed in yours the entire night.

Sometime around three in the morning, you stirred awake. Your eyes found him in the dim light, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. He looked younger asleep. Softer. The tension he carried in his jaw and his shoulders smoothed out, and for once he looked like someone who hadn’t spent the last decade carrying the weight of every nightmare the world could produce.

You squeezed his hand gently. His fingers tightened in response, even though he didn’t open his eyes. You smiled and let your eyes drift shut again.

And neither of you let go.

[crescentkalopsia]

Melting the Frost

The night was still, the kind of quiet that stretched on and felt heavy. You were fast asleep, tangled in the blankets, but your mind was far from peaceful. The nightmare had come quickly, like a riptide pulling you under. You were running, gasping for breath, but no matter how fast you ran, something was always behind you, the fear sharp enough to taste. It felt too real. The panic clung to you even as you woke with a sharp gasp, your heart racing, sweat cool on your forehead.

Your breath came in shallow bursts, your body trembling from the aftershock of the nightmare. The shadows in the room seemed to press in, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was still lurking just out of sight.

It took a moment to register the weight of the blanket, the familiar smell of your own space. But the remnants of the dream still had their claws in you. You sat up quickly, rubbing your face, trying to steady your breathing. The room felt too dark, the silence too vast, and you hated the way the fear refused to let go.

Then you felt the bed shift beside you. You turned, and there was Leon, blinking against the dark, his face sleep-rumpled but concerned. His eyes immediately softened when they met yours, and he shifted closer, drawn to you instinctively.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice low and thick with sleep, but full of that steady tenderness he reserved just for you. "You’re okay."

You didn’t answer. The images were still too vivid, the frost of the dream still clinging to your skin. You shuddered, pulling your knees to your chest. He reached for you, his hand gently brushing your shoulder. "You’re with me," he said. "I’ve got you."

Something in his tone cut through the panic, and you slid into the circle of his arms. His hands immediately moved to hold you, one settled against the small of your back, the other threading through your hair in that familiar way that made the world feel less heavy.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his touch gentle but firm, a silent anchor against the tide of the dream.

"Shhh," Leon murmured, his voice a soft, soothing hum as he continued to run his fingers through your hair. "I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you."

You nodded into his chest. The deep, rhythmic thud of his heart grounded you, and slowly the tremors began to fade, chased away by the solid heat of his embrace.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, just above your hairline. "You’re okay," he whispered, the words more of a vow than a statement. His arms tightened, pulling you flush against him until the sheer safety of his presence dissolved the last brittle edges of the nightmare.

You felt the tension finally drain from your limbs, the frantic racing of your pulse slowing as his comforting reality filled the room. You let yourself sink into him, his body a living barricade against the dark.

"I know," you murmured, your voice barely a breath lost against the steady drum of his chest.

And for a while, there was only stillness. His hand traced slow, lazy circles on your back, the rhythmic motion a lullaby in the shadows. His steady warmth seeped into your bones, burning away the lingering chill until the nightmare was just a distant whisper.

Eventually, sleep crept back in, but this time, it was soft and untroubled. And as you drifted off, wrapped safely in his arms, you knew that whatever hunted you in the dark could never touch you here.

[crescentkalopsia]

Echoes and ease: Life with Leon (Part 4)

• He picks up your habits without realizing it. You fold your towels a certain way, and now every towel in the house is folded that way. He swears he doesn’t remember changing how he does it. You use a specific phrase, something odd you made up, and six months later it slips out of his mouth during a briefing. He doesn’t notice. You tap your fingers in a certain rhythm when you’re thinking; one day you catch him doing the exact same pattern while reading a field report. He isn’t trying to copy you. You’re just becoming part of how his brain operates, like his subconscious quietly rewired itself to default to your way of doing things.

• Leon leaves small things for you when he knows you’re facing a long day without him. Never grand gestures. A sticky note in the coffee maker or bathroom mirror: You looked pretty this morning. Don’t work too hard. Your favorite candy bar tucked into the pocket of your winter coat with a tiny, poorly drawn heart on the wrapper. He doesn’t announce them. He just leaves them for you to find, slipping them into the margins of your day so you have to stumble across them.

• His phone is strictly for work and calling you. No social media, no games. But if you ever accidentally open his camera roll, it’s a chaotic, blurry shrine to you. Accidental burst photos of you laughing. Pictures of you mid-bite of food. Terribly angled selfies where only his chin and the top of your head are visible. He takes them when you aren’t looking, just snapping the moment before it passes, hoarding a private gallery of a life he’s afraid to lose.

• Leon has mastered the art of the power nap out of pure necessity, but he only allows himself to drift off if you’re within arm’s reach. If you’re reading on the couch, he eventually gravitates toward you until his head drops into your lap. He’ll claim he’s just "resting his eyes." But the moment your fingers start running through his hair, the tension in his jaw instantly unspools, and the soft snores that follow give him away.

• The man has been shot, stabbed, and exposed to who-knows-what, and he just walks it off. So when he actually gets a normal fever or a cold, his brain short-circuits. He tries to get up and do things like normal, and you have to physically push him back into bed. He argues weakly that he’s fine, voice hoarse and eyes glassy. When you finally get him to stay down, he becomes genuinely confused by the care. He stares at you when you bring him soup or adjust his pillow, looking at you like he doesn’t understand why someone would take care of him when he isn’t actively bleeding out.

• He gets aggressively invested in the terrible reality TV you watch. You put on a dating show or a baking competition as background noise, and within fifteen minutes he’s narrating the screen from across the room. "He’s lying. Watch his hands." "That cake is going to collapse." By the end of the season he has strong opinions and a nemesis. When you tease him about it, he gets defensive. "I couldn’t care less." He gasped when Sarah dropped her macarons. He cares.

• After years of choking down cold MREs in muddy ditches, Leon views a warm kitchen as holy ground. He eats everything you put in front of him with a quiet, genuine enthusiasm. You could serve him a completely burnt casserole, and he’d eat the blackened edges without a single complaint, purely because you made it. He doesn’t see it as just food. To him, it’s time and effort and warmth, things he was never supposed to have. He cleans his plate every time. Not out of politeness, but because leaving it would feel like walking away from something he spent half his life surviving without.

• Leon is terrified of your parents, but not because he’s intimidated by them, rather, he’s desperate to make a good impression for your sake. He shows up to family dinners in a crisp button-down shirt. He’s the epitome of polite: "Yes, sir," "No, ma’am," and he always brings a host gift. He wins your dad over immediately by offering to help with the grill or fix a leaky faucet, and he wins your mom over by listening intently to her stories and clearing the table without being asked. He wants them to know that even though he has a dangerous job, he’s the one taking care of you.

[crescentkalopsia]

Better Than I Imagined

The evening had been nothing short of a dream, dinner at a quiet Italian place, soft candlelight, and a conversation that flowed so easily it felt like you’d known him for a lifetime. But as the night drew to a close, neither of you seemed willing to say the words that would end it.

Leon was walking you up the driveway now, the gravel crunching softly under his boots, a rhythmic sound that matched the beating of your heart. The air was crisp, bitten by the chill of late autumn, but the warmth radiating from him as he walked beside you was magnetic. You found yourself subtly leaning closer, drawn to him like a flower to the sun, desperate to soak in that heat.

He was being the perfect gentleman, of course. Walking on the outside of the path, carefully unlatching the gate for you, but there was a nervous energy about him that you’d never seen before. The usually confident agent seemed a little undone, wonderfully so. He kept shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, his shoulders tense in the cutest way, chewing on his lower lip as he stole shy, sidelong glances at you whenever he thought you were distracted.

You reached your front door, but instead of unlocking it, you just stood there, fiddling with your keys to delay the goodbye. You could feel him standing just behind you, close enough that the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne mixed with the cool night air into a fragrance that was already becoming your favorite.

You turned around, leaning your back against the wood of the door, and looked up at him.

Leon was looking down at his boots, a small, crooked smile playing on his lips that he couldn't seem to suppress. When he finally lifted his head, the warm yellow glow of the porch light caught the ocean blue in his eyes, making them shimmer. He looked so boyish in that moment, stripped of all his usual defenses and stoicism. Just a guy standing in front of the woman he really, really liked, terrified of messing it up.

"So," he started, his voice dropping an octave, softer and huskier than usual. He reached up to rub the back of his neck. As he did, you caught a warm flush creeping along his skin, a hint of pink settling high on his cheekbones. "I... I had a really good time tonight. Like, really good. Probably the best I’ve had in a long time."

"Me too," you breathed out, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard you were sure he could hear it, a frantic swarm of butterflies taking flight in your stomach. "Best date I’ve had in a long time."

He let out a soft, shaky breath of relief, his shoulders dropping an inch as the tension left him. "Good. I was hoping you’d say that. I was worried I talked too much about work." He took a small step closer, shrinking the distance between you until he was in your space in the gentlest, most intoxicating way possible. "I’d really like to do this again. Soon."

You smiled up at him, tilting your head slightly, your pulse fluttering in your throat. "I’d like that too."

The air between you seemed to crackle, electric and charged. His eyes dropped to your lips, then flicked back up to yours, searching for a sign. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out. His hand was trembling just a fraction, barely noticeable, but it made your heart ache with how sweet it was. He cupped your cheek, his palm warm and slightly rough, but his touch was impossibly light, as if he was afraid you might shatter if he held on too tight.

"Can I?" he whispered, the words barely audible, his eyes dark and searching yours for permission.

You didn’t trust your voice not to waver, so you just nodded, leaning into his hand and closing your eyes.

Leon leaned down, closing the gap between you. He didn’t rush. He took his time, savoring the anticipation. The first brush of his lips was impossibly soft, a question, not a statement. It was a tentative, sweet press of his mouth against yours, testing the waters, waiting to see if you’d pull away.

When you didn’t, he deepened it just a little.

It wasn’t a movie kiss with explosions; it was better. It was the feeling of his breath hitching against your cheek, the softness of his lips moving with yours, warm and slightly chapped. One of his hands came to rest on your waist, pulling you just slightly closer, while the thumb of his other hand stroked your cheekbone with a rhythm that soothed your racing heart. You could feel it in the way he held you, the desperate, aching care of a man whose life was rarely soft. He kissed you like you were something precious, slow and unhurried, memorizing the taste of your lip gloss and the way your breath caught in your throat. The world around you, the wind, the crickets, the streetlights, seemed to dissolve until there was only him and the warmth of his mouth.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, his nose bumping gently against yours, sharing the same breath. He kept his eyes closed for a second longer, like he was committing the feeling to memory, before blinking them open.

His eyes were hazy and unfocused, filled with a soft, wondering awe that made your knees feel weak.

"Wow," he breathed out, a shy, lopsided grin spreading across his face that was so purely happy it made your chest tight. He laughed softly, a low rumble in his chest. "Okay. That was... That was definitely better than I imagined."

You couldn't help but giggle, your face flushing. "You imagined it?"

Leon shifted back just enough to look at you, raising a teasing eyebrow, but his eyes were dancing. "Once or twice. Maybe fifty times." He bit his lip, looking at you with that heart-melting smile that reached all the way to his eyes. "Goodnight. I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise."

"Goodnight, Leon."

He waited until you were safely inside with the door locked before turning away. Through the window, you saw him shove his hands back in his pockets and look up at the sky, letting out a breath you could almost see in the cold. As he walked back to his car, you noticed a new lightness to his step, and if you listened closely, you could hear him whistling a happy tune into the quiet night.

[crescentkalopsia]

Habits and heartbeats: Life with Leon (Part 3)

• Leon can disassemble and reassemble a pistol in the dark in under a minute, but he cannot, for the life of him, fold a fitted sheet. This is the great, unspoken comedy of your marriage. Laundry day usually involves him staring down a balled-up sheet with intense frustration, huffing as he tries to find the corners. Eventually, he just shoves it into a messy square and hands it over in defeat. You take it from him, unfold the whole disaster, and make quick work of it while he watches in quiet disbelief.

• Leon is a notorious kitchen thief who has zero respect for the sanctity of the cutting board. While you’re trying to focus on chopping vegetables or slicing fruit, he hovers behind you like a shadow. He uses his elite reflexes to swipe a slice of cucumber or a strawberry right off the board without you even seeing his hand move. When you turn around to scold him, he’s already leaning against the counter, chewing with a guilty little smirk.

• He has a surprisingly decent singing voice, but he only uses it in the shower when he thinks the water is loud enough to drown him out. You’ll hear him humming or softly singing classic rock or '90s ballads while he washes up. If you catch him and tease him about it later, he turns bright red and denies everything, claiming he was just "clearing his throat."

• Leon knows you have a sweet tooth, even if you claim you’re "watching your sugar." He has a habit of sneaking treats into the house without you noticing. You’ll find your favorite chocolate bar tucked into your coat pocket, or a box of cookies strategically placed in the pantry for you to "accidentally" stumble upon. He plays dumb when you ask him about it, shrugging with a smirk. "I don’t know how that got there. Better eat it before it goes bad."

• He loves fixing things around the house. The squeaky hinge you mentioned once in passing. The loose bathroom tile. The window that sticks in winter. He takes care of all of it while you’re asleep or at work, and you’ll just find things quietly working better than they did before. He never mentions it. It’s his way of looking after you without making a fuss, the house becoming a love letter written in small repairs and adjustments. And it's therapeutic for him, to solve a problem with a wrench instead of a gun.

• He gets unreasonably attached to random things in your house. There’s a coffee mug with a tiny chip on the rim. You tried to throw it away three times. He fished it out of the trash every single time. There’s a specific throw pillow that has gone completely flat from years of him squishing it behind his back. He refuses to buy a new one. He likes the things that have been there since the beginning, the things that witnessed the two of you building a life. To Leon, that chipped mug isn’t broken. It’s a veteran. It stays.

• Leon has a thing for your hands. To him, they’re the softest, most delicate things in the world, a stark contrast to his own rough palms. Sometimes, when you’re holding hands or sitting next to each other, he’ll gently slip his fingers from yours, lifting your palm to his lips. He presses a slow, lingering kiss right in the center, then turns your hand over to place another warm kiss against the inside of your wrist, right over your pulse. It’s an old-fashioned, incredibly intimate gesture, one that makes your breath catch and your heart skip a beat every single time.

• Leon gives you nose kisses when he’s being playful. When you’re both in a good mood, when the weight is temporarily lifted and he’s actually relaxed, he’ll tilt your chin up with his finger and gently bump his nose against yours. He’ll do it once, then twice, a tiny eskimo kiss that makes you scrunch up your face, and then he’ll smile. It usually happens in the kitchen on lazy Sunday mornings, when the sun is coming through the window and he’s wearing a t-shirt and his hair is a mess and he looks more like the man he was supposed to be than the man the world made him.

• When Leon hugs you from behind, he always sways. It’s unconscious. He’ll wrap his arms around your waist, fold himself over you, and start swaying, barely perceptible, side to side. It’s not dancing. There’s no music. It’s just his body moving because holding you makes him feel something that physical stillness can’t contain. The sway is the overflow. It’s the affection leaking out of him in the only way his body knows how to express something that big. And you lean back into him and sway with him, and for a few minutes, you’re not a government agent's wife and he’s not a survivor. You’re just two people in your own little world, moving together, simply, impossibly in love.

• Leon has the face of a movie star and the flirting skills of a brick. His attempts at being smooth usually involve leaning against a doorframe, dropping his voice two octaves like a bad Batman impression, and saying, "You look nice today." The line falls completely flat, leaving an awkward silence that turns his ears red. He inevitably tries to play it cool, only to catch his foot on the rug and stumble into the counter with a strained "I’m fine." He’ll just clear his throat and ask what’s for dinner like it never happened. He doesn’t realize the stumble is the best part. A man who has stared down the end of the world without flinching gets so thrown by you that he forgets how to walk, and that means everything.

• Leon is not a funny person to the rest of the world. Dry, sarcastic at best. But with you, he tries. He makes the dumbest observations, delivers the worst puns with a completely straight face, and does impressions of people you both know that are so accurate they border on cruel. His humor is unexpectedly silly, almost boyish, like the version of him that existed before everything went wrong is peeking through. The first time you snort-laughed at something he said, he froze, his surprise shifting into a slow, real smile. Now, he collects your laughs like a hobby, knowing exactly which joke will earn a giggle, a full laugh, or that ugly snort.

• Leon hates leaving for a mission. He stands by the front door, gear bag slung over his shoulder, and pulls you in for a kiss. He tells himself it’s just a quick peck, but he always lingers. He pulls away, looks at you for a second, and then leans back in for "one more." This happens about three or four times before he finally forces himself out the door. It’s a series of soft, urgent kisses, each one silently saying, "I’m coming back, I’m coming back." He leaves your lips slightly swollen and your face flushed, which gives him a smug little smile as he finally walks to the car.

[crescentkalopsia]

Our Little Sanctuary

Morning came softly.

Not with alarms or urgency, not with the sharp, jarring edge Leon had spent half his life learning to respond to, but slowly, gently, like it knew it didn’t need to rush. Sunlight spilled through half-closed curtains in ribbons of warm gold, stretching lazily across rumpled sheets and pooled blankets.

Leon was already awake. He’d been awake for a while, long enough to watch the ceiling shift from pale gray to honeyed yellow. Long enough to memorize the exact way his daughter fit against him.

He lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting carefully around the small, warm weight curled against his side. She was half on top of him, half tangled in the blankets, like she’d migrated across the mattress in her sleep. One tiny hand was fisted in his shirt, knuckles pale with the grip, like even in her dreams she was making sure he wouldn’t leave. The other was tucked under her cheek, pressing her face just softly into itself, her lips parted, a faint trace of drool darkening the fabric.

Her hair was a chaotic halo, sticking up in every direction, defying gravity and reason.

Leon just watched her.

Quiet. Still. The kind of stillness his body didn’t know how to hold on its own, the kind he had to reach for, remind himself was allowed. His jaw was loose. His shoulders, usually carrying a tension he’d long stopped noticing, were flat against the mattress. His breathing had matched hers without him realizing, slow and even.

No noise. No danger. The earpiece dark for once. No need to be anywhere, do anything, be anyone, except right here, right now. A father. A husband. Just a man in a bed, in a life that still sometimes felt borrowed.

A small movement at the doorway caught his attention, but not sharply, not with the instinctive reach for a weapon. Just a slow, easy shift of his eyes.

You leaned against the doorframe, already watching them. You were wearing one of his old shirts, the worn-in one with the frayed collar you’d claimed months ago and he’d never asked for back. Your hair was loose, still faintly messy from sleep. You held a mug in both hands, steam curling up lazily behind you.

You smiled when you saw he was awake. Small and private, the kind meant only for him.

"Don't move," you whispered.

Leon huffed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Wasn’t planning on it."

You stepped inside, slow and careful. The floorboard near the door creaked, and for a split second Leon tensed, a reflex so deeply wired it bypassed thought entirely. His arm around his daughter tightened.

But she didn’t stir. She just pressed her face deeper into his chest with a tiny, contented sigh.

You exhaled and moved like the floor might betray you. When you reached his side, you sat down on the very edge of the bed, one hand braced behind you, mindful not to shift the mattress.

Leon glanced up at you, and his eyes were soft in a way that still made your chest tight, even after all these years.

"Nightmare?" he asked, voice low and rough with sleep.

You nodded. "She came in around three. Didn’t make a sound, just climbed right in. I almost didn’t notice until I felt the bed move." A fond, weary smile pulled at your lips. "She’s getting good at that. Silent footsteps. Definitely your genes."

Leon’s mouth quirked. Shifting his weight with infinite care, he tilted his head to get a better look at her face. He freed his hand just enough to brush a stray curl from her forehead, the touch barely there, like she might shatter if he pressed too hard, and then let it settle back over her.

"She knows where it’s safe," he murmured.

"And she knows who keeps it safe," you whispered back.

You set your coffee mug on the nightstand with a quiet clink. Leon’s gaze shifted from her to you as his arm slid free from behind his head. His hand found yours and closed around it, firm and warm and sure.

He didn’t squeeze, just held. His thumb traced slow circles over the side of your hand, grounding. A silent reminder that he was here. Not on a plane. Not in some nameless country. Not bleeding in a place you couldn’t reach. Here, in this bed, holding your hand.

You both just stared at her in silence, smiling. But it wasn’t empty. It was full of tiny sounds you’d learned to treasure. The soft whistle of her breathing, the gentle hum of the house settling into the morning, and the brush of Leon's thumb still moving over your hand, never stopping.

She shifted, a small restless adjustment, her fist tightening in his shirt. She made a sound almost like a word but not quite, something shapeless that got lost against his chest. Leon’s hand spread over her back, palm nearly covering her completely, and he rubbed a slow line from her shoulder blades to the small of her spine. Once. Twice. Automatic, like breathing. His other hand never let go of yours.

You watched his face. Watched the faint crease between his eyebrows, checking her over even now, making sure the nightmare hadn’t left any lingering shadows. Then the furrow smoothed out. She was safe. The tension drained out of him as quickly as it came.

"She’s so beautiful," you breathed, barely louder than an exhale. You weren’t really talking to Leon. The words just fell out of you, the way things do when you’re looking at something that makes your chest too full to keep it all in. "Just look at her. She looks so peaceful. Like none of it ever happened."

Leon’s gaze drifted down to her face, and something in his expression shifted, softened even further, if that was possible.

"Yeah," he said quietly. Not just agreeing. Savoring it, like he was committing the image to a place in his mind where nothing could touch it. "She really is."

A beat passed. Then another. His eyes stayed on her, but you could feel something turning behind them, some thought taking shape, rising slowly from somewhere deep.

Then he turned his head and looked at you.

"Promise me something?"

The words came so quietly you thought you’d imagined them. But his thumb had stilled against your hand, and you knew he'd meant to say it now, here, with her heartbeat steady under his palm.

"Anything."

He was quiet for a moment, not searching for words, but turning something over, making sure it was real before letting it into the air. His eyes never left yours.

"Promise me we’ll always remember this. These mornings. This feeling." He paused, and you watched his throat move. "No matter what comes next. No matter how far away I have to go, or how long I’m gone… we come back to this. To her. To each other."

The weight of it settled deep in your chest. This wasn’t just sweetness. This was a man who had stood on the edge of things most people never see, asking you to hold onto something with him.

You leaned closer to him. The lines of his face caught your attention, the ones that hadn't been there when you first met, mapping a history he'd never fully tell you. But right now they were soft. And the way he looked at you still stole the air from your lungs.

"I promise," you whispered. "Always."

A stillness followed. The kind that holds something fragile in the air long enough to feel it settle into your bones.

He exhaled slowly, relief and gratitude and something raw all tangled together. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and lingered. You felt the slight tremor that ran through him, so subtle anyone else would have missed it. But you weren't anyone else. You caught it. You held it. You didn’t mention it.

He lowered your hand back to the mattress but didn't let go. For a long moment, you simply existed there together. Him on his back. You at the edge of the bed. Your daughter’s small body rising and falling against his chest, his hand still over her back.

Leon hummed something soft under his breath, barely a melody, more of a vibration rumbling through his chest. Rough and tuneless and imperfect, the kind of thing he'd never let anyone else witness. It might have been the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard.

"She’ll grow up knowing this," you murmured. "Knowing how safe love can feel. How it's supposed to feel."

His thumb resumed its slow circles over your hand. He didn't look away from her.

"And I’ll make sure she always does," he replied, his voice settling into something firm. The kind of resolve that comes from staring down the worst the world has to offer and refusing to break. "I’ll make sure you both always do."

And you believed him. Not because he’d said it, but because everything he did proved it every day. You saw it in the way he held her now, like she was the most important thing he’d ever been trusted to protect.

Because she was.

Outside, the world waited with all its noise and danger and demands, its impossible missions and people who would eventually call and pull him back into the fold. But in here, in this small room, none of it existed.

Your daughter stirred again, and this time her eyes fluttered open, barely, just thin crescents of sleepy lashes. She made a small, confused sound. Then her fingers tightened in Leon’s shirt, and she seemed to decide that wherever this was, it was exactly where she wanted to be. Her eyes closed again. Her breathing evened out, pulled under by the kind of trust only children carry, the absolute, unquestioning certainty that the person holding her would never let go.

Leon looked at you. You looked at him.

And something passed between you. Not a word, not a gesture, just a shared understanding that this was it. The thing worth fighting for. The weight of her on his chest. The warmth of his hand wrapped around yours. The smell of coffee and baby shampoo and the faint scent of his own shirt on your skin.

This was enough.

[crescentkalopsia]

Shields and stories: Life with Leon (Part 2)

• Leon is the ultimate girl dad, which means he treats you like a queen and teaches your daughter to do the same. If you ask him to handle a chore, he does it immediately. "Yes, ma’am," he says, throwing a wink your way. If your daughter ever tries to talk back to you or raise her voice, Leon gently corrects her. "Hey," he’ll say softly, pulling her onto his lap. "We don't speak to mommy like that. She’s the lady of the house. We treat her with respect, okay?" He leads by example, always opening your car door, pulling out your chair, and kissing your hand in front of her so she knows exactly how a man should treat a woman.

• Leon can withstand torture. He can resist mind control. But the moment his daughter looks up at him with her big, watery eyes and says, "Please, daddy?" his resolve crumbles. He is completely wrapped around her little finger. If she wants ice cream before dinner, he’s already opening the freezer door. If she points to a stuffed animal in the store window, he’s reaching for his wallet before she can even finish the sentence. The man who stared down a horde of infected villagers without flinching is absolutely defenseless against a trembling lip.

• Leon loves reading bedtime stories, but he can’t seem to turn off his agent brain. While reading The Three Little Pigs, he’ll stop mid-sentence to frown at the page. “Okay, look. The straw house? I’ll give you that. But sticks? Come on. If you use proper lashings and cross-bracing, that structure holds against heavy wind. I’ve built field shelters in worse conditions than a wolf’s breath. That pig was just sloppy with his knots.” You and your daughter have to shush him, shouting, “Just read the book, Leon!”

• Leon has faced bio-weapons and mutated monsters, but his greatest nemesis is glitter. That stuff gets everywhere. He finds it clinging to his tactical vests, tangled in his hair, and stuck to his eyelashes days after a simple craft session. Once, a rookie partner pointed at the shimmering pink speck caught in the corner of his eye. Leon just looked at him, deadpan. "Battle scar," he said, his expression completely unreadable. He hates the mess, but he hates saying "no" to his daughter even more, so he resigns himself to being a sparkly secret agent.

• Leon keeps a folder in his desk at work labeled "Top Secret." It’s not classified intel; it’s every drawing she’s ever made him. Inside are crayon renderings of him fighting "bad guys" and pictures of your family holding hands. If he’s having a particularly bad day at the office, he opens the folder to look at a stick figure of himself with a smiley face, and it grounds him again.

• As your daughter gets older, she starts to notice the scars on his arms and chest, the knife wounds, the bullet grazes, the burns. Instead of hiding them, Leon turns them into bedtime stories. He sits on the edge of the bed, pointing to a jagged line on his shoulder and says, "See this? This is where a dragon tried to get me, but I was too fast because I had to get home to mommy." He turns his trauma into fairy tales where he is the invincible knight, always victorious, because he knows the truth is too scary for her. He wants her to see him as a hero, not a victim.

• On family walks, Leon insists on holding hands. Usually, he holds yours, and your daughter holds his other hand. If the sidewalk gets narrow, he simply picks her up and carries her on his shoulders so he doesn’t have to let go of you. He likes the physical connection; it reassures him that you're both right there, safe within his reach. Every so often, he squeezes your hand three times, a silent code that means "I love you."

• Even though she’s only five, Leon is already mentally preparing for the day she brings a date home. He’s only half-joking when he says that any boy who wants to take her out will first have to pass a rigorous background check conducted by the DSO. You’ll often find him sitting at the dining table, staring off into space as he mutters that "No one is good enough for her." You simply watch him with a smile, knowing he’s going to be a terrifying force to be reckoned with when the time comes.

[crescentkalopsia]

Safety and sanctuary: Life with Leon (Part 1)

• Leon would never admit to being touch-starved, but his actions betray him. When he’s home, he’s constantly seeking contact. On the couch, his hand inevitably finds yours, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. If you’re cooking, he’ll come up behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder or wrap his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck just to breathe you in. He needs to feel the warmth of your skin to remind himself that he’s actually home, not shivering in some cold safe house in Eastern Europe.

• Leon has lost so many people in his life that he never takes your presence for granted. He thanks you for things that most people wouldn’t think twice about. He thanks you for cooking dinner. He thanks you for waking him up from a nightmare. He thanks you for just sitting with him. There’s a genuine, broken sort of sweetness in his gratitude when he looks at you and says, "Thanks for staying," as if you were the one doing him a favor by loving him.

• It’s an unbreakable rule for him: he always walks on the street side of the sidewalk. It doesn’t matter if you are in a quiet suburb or downtown; he instinctively positions himself between you and the traffic. If a car drives by a little too fast, his hand will immediately come out to guide you behind him, his body tense for a split second before he relaxes. It’s muscle memory. Shielding you is his default setting.

• Leon has a habit of quietly observing you. You’ll often look up to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, just watching you read or work on your laptop. He has a soft, contented look on his face that he only wears when he thinks you aren't looking. If you catch him and ask what he’s staring at, he’ll just push off the wall, walk over, and kiss the top of your head. "Just admiring my favorite view," he’ll murmur.

• Leon has seen the worst of humanity, making him fiercely protective of your peace. If you’ve had a bad day, his demeanor shifts instantly. His stoic exterior melts away, and he becomes the ultimate listener. He won’t try to fix it with logic; he’ll simply pull you into his lap, hold you tight, and let you vent. He creates a sanctuary for you where the chaos of the outside world can't touch you.

• Even with bad knees and aching back, Leon stubbornly refuses to let you carry anything heavy. Groceries, moving furniture, carrying a laundry basket, he's taking it from you. "I’ve got it," he says automatically, his voice low, reassuring rumble. He likes feeling useful. He likes feeling like your provider and protector, even if the only thing he’s protecting you from is a heavy bag of dog food.

• Leon is a designated driver by nature. He has a hard time letting anyone else drive. On long road trips, he insists on taking the wheel so you can sleep. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh, his thumb stroking your jeans or your skin softly. When the sun starts creeping into your eyes, he instinctively reaches over to adjust the passenger visor before you even ask.

• One of his favorite pastimes is watching cheesy action movies with you on the couch. He acts like a grumpy critic, pointing out tactical errors with a smirk. He’ll mutter, "That trigger discipline is terrible," or "He’s holding the knife wrong, he’d lose his fingers." The second a romantic scene comes on, he pretends to be unimpressed and scoffs at the sappy dialogue, but he's actually taking mental notes to use on you later.

• Because he knows the darkness of the world better than anyone, he insists on teaching you basic self-defense. However, these sessions are less about combat and more about an excuse to hold you. He stands behind you, guiding your arms gently to show you how to punch or break a hold. He’s incredibly patient and soft, praising every small movement. It usually ends with him hugging you from behind because he hates pretending to be the "bad guy" even for practice.

• When he’s away on work, he’s terrible at talking about his feelings over the phone. He’s brief, stoic, and always says "I’m fine" even when he’s bruised and battered. Instead, he sends you photos of mundane things: a weird-looking cloud, a blurry photo of a stray cat he saw near the safe house, or the sunset over a foreign city. Sometimes it’s just: "Miss you. Coffee here sucks." It’s his way of saying he’s thinking about you without breaking his professional composure.

[crescentkalopsia]

The Charm of Age

Leon had always taken pride in his appearance, the sharp suits, the steady hand in a firefight, the calm, collected air he carried wherever he went. He liked to think of himself as timeless. At least, that’s what he told himself as he studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror of your shared apartment.

But today, something caught his eye. A single silvery strand, glinting in the light.

"No… no, no," he muttered, tugging at it in disbelief. "This can’t be…"

You leaned casually against the doorframe, a coffee mug in hand, watching him with an amused smirk. "What’s wrong?" Leon turned slightly, holding up the single strand between his fingers. "I think I just found my first gray hair."

You pushed off the frame and stepped closer, leaning in for a better look. "Hmm…" you said thoughtfully, your eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "I think that’s kind of sexy."

Leon stared at you, brows knitting together. "Sexy?"

You nodded, the teasing still there, though your voice softened when you met his eyes. "Definitely. There’s something about gray hair that just makes men even more irresistible."

He lifted an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You’re messing with me."

"Nope." Your hand slid to his cheek, thumb grazing the line of his stubble as you leaned in just slightly. "It’s like… the perfect mix of experience and mystery. It’s not just the color, Leon. It’s the story it tells about someone who’s lived, who’s seen it all, and made it through."

His breath caught for a moment, uncertainty flickering across his face. He couldn’t tell if you were teasing or saying something deeper. But the look in your eyes made him pause, quietly challenging everything he thought he knew about age and appearance.

"It gives you that… silver fox vibe," you added, your tone still light, though unmistakably sincere.

Leon snorted, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m not old enough for that."

"Give it time." You teased, a soft laugh escaping as your fingers brushed along his jaw. Then you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Still ridiculously handsome. Age doesn’t change that."

Leon’s expression softened as he looked at you, more thoughtful now. Maybe he wasn’t as immune to change as he liked to think. Maybe you were right.

In your eyes, there was only admiration. Not for the man he used to be, but for the one he was becoming.

[crescentkalopsia]

Welcome to the Team

"There you are," Leon said as he stepped into the kitchen, his voice low with that familiar, worn ease. The familiar sound of leather shifting filled the quiet apartment as he loosened the strap of his shoulder holster, easing it off with the tired routine of someone who had done it thousands of times. He set it carefully on the counter beside the keys he dropped from his pocket. "Thought you might’ve gone to bed already." You shook your head from where you stood in the kitchen. Your fingers rested against the edge of the counter, gripping it lightly like you needed the steady surface beneath your hands.

"A little early for that." Leon glanced at the clock out of habit, his brows lifting faintly at the time. But whatever mild surprise he felt faded the second his attention returned to you. Something felt off.

It wasn’t obvious. Most people probably wouldn’t have caught it, but Leon had spent years reading the smallest changes in people, the twitch of a hand, the way someone breathed before they spoke, the subtle shift in posture when something wasn’t right.

He saw it now in the tension sitting in your shoulders, in the way your fingers pressed just a little too tightly against the counter.

His expression softened almost immediately. He crossed the kitchen in a few quiet steps. When he reached you, he slipped an arm around your waist, drawing you gently closer. The gesture was instinctive and grounding, something that felt natural after everything the two of you had been through. "Everything okay?"

You nodded too quickly.

"Yeah." He didn’t pull away. His gaze stayed on your face, calm and patient as he studied you, not prying, just watching. Listening to what you weren’t saying. "You sure?" "Leon…" The way you said his name made something uneasy shift in his chest. Your hands slipped away from the counter, twisting together as your eyes dropped. You took a breath, but it didn’t quite settle. Whatever you were trying to say, it wasn’t coming easily. "I just—" You swallowed. "I need to tell you something." Leon went still. Not dramatically, just enough that the shift was noticeable if someone knew him well.

Something to tell him.

His mind moved faster than he could stop it. Was something wrong? Were you hurt? Sick? Had something happened while he was gone? Or—

The thought hit harder than the rest. Were you leaving him? The possibility landed heavy in his chest before he could push it away. It wasn’t a logical leap, not really, but it didn’t matter. His brain filled in the gaps anyway, dragging him straight to the worst possible conclusion. He wouldn’t blame you. Not after everything, the constant danger, the sudden missions, the long stretches where he disappeared without warning and couldn’t explain why. People didn’t exactly sign up for a life like his.

Still, the thought of coming home one day and finding you gone left a hollow feeling in his chest he didn’t care to examine too closely. Leon forced his expression to stay steady, even as unease crept up his spine. "What’s going on?"

You were still fidgeting, clearly trying to gather whatever courage this moment required. He shifted his weight slightly and cleared his throat.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" You shook your head. Your gaze flicked briefly toward the hallway before returning to him.

"Can you just, wait here? For a second?"

That did absolutely nothing to settle his nerves. If anything, his pulse kicked up a notch. But Leon simply nodded.

"Yeah," he said easily. "Of course."

He let you go and watched as you disappeared down the hallway. The moment you were out of sight, he exhaled slowly and dragged a hand back through his hair.

"…Yeah," he muttered quietly to himself. "That’s always a good sign."

He didn’t pace. Didn’t spiral. He just leaned back against the counter, arms crossing loosely as he listened to the quiet sounds drifting from down the hall.

A drawer sliding open. A pause. Then closing again, more carefully this time.

Leon had fought monsters that tore through buildings and faced things that most people wouldn’t believe even existed. But waiting in the quiet of his own home for news he couldn’t predict felt worse. That kind of tension got under his skin in a way gunfire never did.

A moment later, your footsteps returned. Leon straightened slightly as you stepped back into the kitchen. You still looked nervous, but there was something different now, something more certain.

His eyes dropped to your hands tucked behind your back, then lifted to your face again.

"What’ve you got there?" he asked.

You stepped closer, stopping just in front of him. For a second, neither of you spoke. Then you brought your hands forward. A small white box rested in your palms.

Leon’s brows pulled together slightly, confusion replacing the tension he had been carrying.

"A gift?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Did I miss something?" "Just… open it." He studied your face for another second before nodding and taking the box. It was light in his hands. No rattle, no sound when he moved it.

He lifted the lid. The faint scrape of cardboard sounded louder than it should have in the quiet kitchen. He tilted the box, peering inside, and paused.

Inside was a small piece of fabric, folded neatly at the bottom. He reached in and lifted it out, unfolding it slowly. A tiny onesie. Soft cotton rested between his fingers, the sleeves barely wider than two fingers across. Printed across the front in small, simple letters were the words, Daddy’s little rookie.

Leon didn’t say anything at first. His brain stalled for half a second before the meaning caught up. His gaze lifted slowly back to you.

"…This is—" He stopped, searching for the right words. "…Are you telling me—"

"Yes." Your voice was quiet but steady now.

Leon looked down at the onesie again. His thumb brushed lightly across the fabric.

"You’re pregnant," he said, more to confirm than to ask.

You nodded. "Yeah."

He let out a slow breath, the air leaving his lungs in a steady exhale. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the impossibly small piece of clothing in his hands. It looked absurdly tiny, like it belonged to a different world entirely.

His fingers adjusted slightly around it, careful without realizing it.

A kid.

His kid.

His gaze drifted down to his hands. Faint scars crossed his knuckles in pale lines, old marks that had long since healed but never truly disappeared. Hands trained for weapons. For fighting, for surviving, not for holding something fragile.

Doubt crept in. His life wasn’t exactly built for something like this. Late-night calls. Missions that took him halfway across the world. Danger that followed him home more often than he liked to admit. And soon, there would be a kid caught somewhere in the middle of all of it. Could he really do this? Be there enough. Be careful enough to keep the things he fought from ever getting close to them. He swallowed faintly, his grip on the onesie tightening just a fraction before easing again.

Memories surfaced uninvited, years of them. Things he’d seen that most people would never believe. Innocents caught in chaos, friends lost in the line of duty, missions that ended with him walking away while others didn’t. Loss had a way of sticking to him. No matter how far he traveled, it never seemed to stay behind. Raccoon City flickered in his mind. Fire lighting up the sky, sirens echoing through empty streets, everything collapsing faster than anyone could keep up with. It had been his first day wearing the badge, and the city was already dying around him. He had been thrown straight into something impossible, with no idea how he was supposed to survive it.

And somehow— He had.

His thumb brushed over the words again.

Daddy’s little rookie.

A quiet breath left him, softer this time.

Rookie.

That had been him once, uncertain, unprepared, stepping into a world he barely understood. And still, he had kept going. Learning as he went. Adapting. Protecting people.

That part, he knew how to do.

His gaze lifted to you.

You were watching him closely, nerves written plainly across your face. But beneath it was something else too, something hopeful. Something that trusted him with this.

And then, somewhere in the middle of the uncertainty, a warmth settled in. For a moment, he could almost see it—

A small pair of hands gripping his finger. Tiny footsteps across the apartment floor. A little laugh that sounded like yours.

Maybe he didn’t have this all figured out. Maybe he never would. But that didn’t mean he would fail.

Leon looked down at the onesie one more time before carefully folding it. Then he stepped forward and closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you. The hug was tight, grounding, almost a little breathless, like he was still catching up to the reality of it. But beneath it was something stronger.

Steady. Protective.

Like he was already holding both of you.

For a moment, he just held you there, breathing you in like he was anchoring himself to the moment. Then he pulled back slightly, his hand drifting down to rest against your stomach. The touch was careful, almost hesitant.

"…There’s really a little one in there?"

You nodded, smiling through nervous tears.

"Yeah."

His thumb brushed lightly over the fabric of your shirt as he let out a quiet breath.

Then he smiled. Not the cocky smirk he wore in the field. Not the tired half smile that came after long missions. Something softer. Warmer.

"I can’t believe it," he murmured.

His gaze lifted to yours again before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. When he pulled back, there was a quiet softness in his expression you didn’t see very often.

"…Hey," he said quietly.

You looked up at him.

"We’re gonna be okay." His fingers found yours and gave them a gentle squeeze, his other hand still resting against your stomach. Then his eyes drifted down again, the faintest smile touching his lips. And under his breath, almost like he was already talking to them, he murmured,

"…Welcome to the team, kiddo."

[crescentkalopsia]

Safe With Me

The apartment was bathed in a soft, honeyed glow, the last stretch of evening slipping through the window and settling over everything like a quiet promise. It blurred the edges of the room, turning worn surfaces warm and familiar, making even the silence feel gentle.

Leon sat at the small kitchen table, half-reading a report he’d been avoiding all evening. The overhead lamp cast a warm pool over the scattered papers, while the rest of the room dissolved into shadow. Every few minutes, he glanced up without thinking, his eyes drifting toward you on the couch, just checking, like he always did.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, a blanket gathered loosely in your lap. The TV was on, filling the room with quiet motion, but you didn’t register a single image, lost entirely in your own thoughts. The standing lamp cast a soft yellow glow, shapes stretching across the walls, too long, too still, unfamiliar enough to make your chest tighten.

Something felt off.

The silence came first. Not gentle, comforting, just wrong. It pressed in around you, thick and heavy, crowding your ears. And then it wasn’t quiet anymore.

Your breathing sounded too loud. The faint electrical hum buzzed under your skin. Every small movement dragged against the stillness, sharp and impossible to ignore. The room hadn’t changed, but it didn’t feel the same anymore.

Your fingers tightened in the blanket, bunching the fabric in your grip, trying to anchor yourself in something real, but even that felt off somehow, like it wasn’t enough to steady you.

Why does it feel like this?

The thought slipped in without warning, and your body reacted before you could catch up.

Your chest tightened, not painful, just wrong, like something had shifted out of place. A second later, your heartbeat surged, fast and heavy, climbing into your throat until you could feel it there, pulsing.

It drowned everything else.

You tried to take a breath, but it caught halfway in. You tried again, deeper this time, but the air felt thin, like it slipped through you before it could settle. Your lungs wouldn’t fill the way they should. The tightness didn’t ease.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But the rhythm was gone now. Each inhale caught halfway, each exhale came too quickly, like your body had forgotten how to do something it had always known.

Your grip tightened on the blanket, knuckles paling as your fingers curled into the fabric.

Something is wrong.

The thought landed heavier this time, solid and immovable.

Something is really wrong.

Your mind latched onto it instantly, spiraling before you could catch it.

What if I can’t stop it? What if it gets worse? What if—

Your breathing broke into something uneven and unsteady, your chest rising too fast, falling too fast. The room began to feel off, tilted in a way you couldn’t explain. Too close and too far all at once, like you weren’t fully inside it anymore.

The edges of your vision blurred. Shadows stretched longer than they should. Light flickered in strange angles across the walls. The faint hum of the TV scraped at your nerves, every small sound magnified.

Your heart thudded in your throat. Your stomach lurched. Every muscle coiled tight, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

The panic was a living thing, crawling over your skin, pressing in your chest, twisting your thoughts, impossible to ignore.

"I—"

The sound slipped out of you, thin and unsteady, more breath than voice. At the table, Leon froze. The page in his hand paused mid-turn, forgotten. His head lifted, focus snapping into place. He knew that sound. He had heard it in war zones, in survivors, in himself.

And then he saw you, curled in on yourself, shoulders drawn tight, your breathing uneven.

That was all it took.

"Hey—"

The report slipped from his grip as he crossed the room, his steps quick with concern but soft enough not to startle you. He crouched in front of you, lowering himself to your level, letting his presence anchor the space. "Hey, hey… what’s wrong?"

You shook your head too quickly, trying to pull in a breath but it caught in your chest.

"I’m—" You swallowed. The word stuck. "I’m fine."

It didn’t sound convincing. Not even to you.

Leon didn’t pull away. His gaze stayed fixed on you, quiet but sharp, taking in everything at once: the uneven rhythm of your breathing, the tension in your shoulders, the way your eyes kept drifting without settling.

Your chest tightened again, sharper this time. The next inhale hitched halfway and stalled, like something inside you refused to let it go any further.

No—no, not now.

Your heartbeat surged again, louder, faster, everywhere at once.

Why is this happening? I was fine. I was just—

The thought shattered as the panic crested.

Your breath fractured into short, uneven pulls, each one stopping before it could fill your lungs. You tried to drag in a full inhale, but it wouldn’t come. The tightness in your chest held everything locked in place.

"I can’t—" you managed, your voice breaking. "Leon, I can’t breathe—"

"You can," he said immediately, firm and certain. "I know it feels like you can’t, but you are. It’s just too fast right now."

He reached for you carefully, easing your fingers from the blanket before you could hurt yourself gripping it so tightly. His hands closed around yours instead, warm and steady, grounding without trapping.

"Hey," he murmured, voice low and even. "Look at me."

It took effort. Your vision wavered, focus slipping, but slowly you managed to lift your eyes to his.

Your thoughts were still racing, colliding too fast to hold onto.

What if I pass out? What if something is actually wrong? What if I—

"I’ve got you," Leon said, gentle but firm, as if he could hear every one of them. "Everything is okay."

Your mind refused to believe him. It clung to the panic, to the certainty that something was wrong, spiraling faster.

"Focus on me," he murmured again. "Just me. Nothing else."

Your breath hitched once more, but this time you felt the weight of his hands, steady and present, anchoring you, even if just a little.

Your chest rose and fell again, unevenly.

"I can’t breathe."

"Yes, you can," he said gently, unwavering. "We’ll do it together, alright?"

He shifted your hands slightly, guiding one until your palm rested flat against his chest.

"Feel that?" he asked.

His heartbeat was slow, steady, and sure.

"Follow it," he continued, breathing with measured rhythm. "In… slow. No need to force it."

You pulled in a breath. It came shaky, catching, but it came.

"That’s it. Good." His other hand stayed firm around yours, holding you gently but securely.

"You're going to be okay," he told you, gentle but sure, letting the words settle.

Your thoughts still pushed in—

What if this doesn’t work? What if it doesn’t stop?

He squeezed your hand lightly, keeping it pressed against him. "I’m right here," he said steady. "You’re safe with me. I won’t let go."

He inhaled again, slow and controlled. Exhaled just as steadily.

"Breathe with me."

You followed as best you could, but the air still felt thick and heavy in your lungs, catching and slipping away before it could fill you. Your chest tightened, ribs pressing inward, your heart hammering like it would burst. Your hands trembled in his grip, fingers tightening as if clinging to him could pull the panic out.

"It’s not working—" you whispered.

"It will," he assured you. "We’re just getting there."

His thumb rested lightly over the back of your hand, tracing slow, deliberate patterns, steadying you as he spoke.

The next breath came a little easier, the tightness in your chest loosening just enough to let air fill you, just enough to let you feel it move through.

"There," he said gently. "Good… just like that."

A tear slipped down your cheek. He brushed it away, thumb lingering to press softly against your skin. Your breathing was still uneven, but the sharp edge of panic had dulled, no longer consuming everything at once.

"You’re safe," he said quietly. "I promise."

The words sank deeper this time. Safe. With him, it didn’t feel like a lie.

Leon watched you carefully, then shifted slightly, his voice still soft but more structured now.

"Okay," he said softly. "Let’s try something, alright?"

You shook your head weakly. "I… I can’t think—"

"That’s fine," he said right away. "You don’t have to. I’ll guide you."

His hands settled over yours once more, firm but gentle. Just the weight of his touch tethered you, guiding the panic back into something manageable.

"Look around," he said gently. "Can you name five things you see in this room?"

Your breath stuttered.

"I—Leon—"

"Just try," he encouraged. "There’s no wrong answer."

Your gaze drifted, unfocused at first, then slowly began to catch.

"The… lamp," you whispered. "In the corner…"

"Good. That’s one."

No rush. No pressure.

"The coffee table… the books on it…"

"Three. Just like that. You’re doing great," he said, letting the praise settle around you.

Your breathing hitched, but it didn’t spiral.

"The window… the curtains…"

"Five. Perfect." His voice remained calm and steady, giving each word room to land.

He let a quiet pause stretch between you, just long enough for the counting to sink in, for your breath to follow.

"Okay," he continued gently. "Now four things you can touch."

"You…" you said first, gripping his hand tighter. "Your hands."

"Good."

"The couch… the fabric… my shirt…"

"One more."

You hesitated, then let the tips of your fingers brush over the blanket in your lap, careful not to let go of him. "…The blanket," you whispered softly.

"Right," he said quietly encouraging.

He kept hold of your hands, the warmth of his grip and the gentle pressure of his thumbs grounding you, easing the panic just enough for a trace of calm to return. Your breathing was still uneven, but each inhale came a little fuller, each exhale a little longer, as if your chest were remembering how to move again.

"Now three things you can hear."

You listened.

"The TV… your voice…"

"One more."

"…Cars outside."

"That's it."

A slow, steady rhythm seemed to settle around you, the quiet back-and-forth of movement and breath grounding your focus.

"Two things you can smell," he continued gently.

Your brow furrowed slightly as you focused.

"The… coffee," you said after a moment. "From earlier…"

"Yeah," he murmured. "That’s good. One more."

You inhaled carefully, slower this time.

"…Your body wash," you added quietly.

Something in his expression softened, but his voice stayed even.

"Good."

A small pause.

"And one thing you can taste," he said, quieter now. "Just one."

Your tongue felt dry, but you focused anyway.

"…The mint from my gum," you whispered. "Perfect," he said softly.

He didn’t pull away. He stayed with you, letting the moment stretch, letting your breathing slow. The room seemed to ease with it, the edges no longer sharp or threatening, just familiar. Shadows softened. The hum of the TV faded into the background.

Your body gave in slowly, the tension draining as panic loosened its grip. Without thinking, you leaned forward. Leon caught you immediately, pulling you fully into his arms.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, softer now.

You clung to him, fingers curled into the back of his shirt, face pressed into his shoulder. Warm and solid, he gave you something real to hold onto.

His hand rose to cradle the back of your head, holding you with gentle care. Neither of you spoke. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t pull away. He simply stayed. His other hand moved in slow, steady strokes along your back, quiet and reassuring. His breath brushed softly against your cheek, giving you a rhythm to follow, even now.

"C’mon," he murmured after a while. "Let’s get you comfortable."

He shifted slightly, pulling the blanket back around you and settling beside you on the couch. One arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulders, holding you close.

You didn’t protest. You curled into him, head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The warmth pressed against you, grounding in a way the room alone couldn’t.

"You don’t have to hide this from me," he said softly. "Not ever."

You swallowed. Your voice was small. "I just… didn’t want to worry you."

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "I’d rather know," he whispered. "So I can be here when you need me."

You stayed quiet, letting the rhythm of his heart fill the space between you. The panic that had gripped you moments ago was now just a faint echo, manageable and softened by his presence. You breathed slowly, letting the warmth sink in, letting yourself simply be.

Finally, softly, almost reluctantly, you murmured, "Thank you."

He nodded once, his hands still holding you gently. "You don’t need to thank me. You did all the hard work. I just helped you remember you could breathe through it."

You closed your eyes, letting yourself simply exist in that quiet, steady warmth. The room no longer felt suffocating. The silence wasn’t heavy, it was calm.

And Leon was still there.

He always was.

[crescentkalopsia]

A Touch of Coral

Leon Kennedy had steady hands.

It came with the job.

Years of training, firearms practice, and high-pressure missions had made his hands reliable in ways most people didn’t even think about. When Leon aimed at something, he didn’t miss. When he needed precision, he had it.

Ironically, right now he couldn’t seem to keep his hands still.

Leon sat cross-legged on the living room floor, his hands carefully positioned in front of him. Across from him, you sat with your chin propped on your hand, looking far too entertained.

"This is ridiculous," Leon said.

"You agreed."

"I didn’t agree to this," he replied, pointing at the small nail polish bottle sitting open on the coffee table. "You asked me to help you test a color."

"That’s what we’re doing."

"You’re painting my nails."

"One nail," you corrected.

Leon stared at his hand like it had personally betrayed him. It looked huge compared to the tiny brush you were using.

A federal agent. Survivor of Raccoon City. Government operative.

Now sitting patiently while you painted his thumbnail.

"…If this gets out," he muttered, "I’m losing my job."

You snorted.

"Leon, you’ve fought monsters the size of trucks. I think you’ll survive a little nail polish."

"It’s pink."

"It’s coral."

"It’s pink."

You leaned forward and blew gently on his nail to help it dry.

"There," you said proudly, closing the bottle.

He held up his hand, inspecting it with the serious focus he usually reserved for weapons. The glossy coral nail looked absurd on him.

Leon sighed.

"…I look like I lost a bet."

You were already laughing.

Leon looked at you, unimpressed.

"…You’re ruthless."

"You agreed!"

"I was manipulated."

"You said you were bored."

"I meant like… watching a movie or something."

"You should’ve been more specific."

Leon sighed again.

"Great. If Chris sees this, I’m never hearing the end of it."

"Oh my god!" You shouted, eyes lighting up. "We should send him a picture!"

Leon turned to you, panic flashing across his face.

"Absolutely not!"

You were already unlocking your phone.

Leon reacted immediately.

"Hey—"

He leaned forward and caught your wrist before you could lift the phone all the way. Not rough, just quick, like muscle memory from stopping people from doing stupid things.

"Don’t."

You raised an eyebrow.

"It’s just Chris."

"That’s exactly the problem," Leon said, still holding your wrist. "Chris doesn’t let things go. Ever."

You tried to twist your hand free so you could line up the shot.

"Hold still."

"I’m not posing for this."

"It’s just one nail."

Leon groaned quietly, lowering his voice like this was a classified negotiation.

"Okay, listen."

You paused, amused.

"I’m listening."

He pointed at his thumb with his free hand.

"You send that picture, and by tomorrow, it’s in a group chat."

"That’s not—"

"Then Jill sees it."

You hesitated.

Leon continued.

"Then Claire sees it."

Your phone slowly lowered an inch.

"And then," Leon said gravely, "someone prints it."

You blinked.

"…Prints it?"

"Yes."

"And what would they do with it?"

Leon stared into the middle distance like a man reliving trauma.

"Chris will frame it."

You burst out laughing.

"He will not."

"He absolutely will."

Leon let go of your wrist and leaned back slightly, crossing his arms.

"I guarantee you there will be a framed photo of my hand on his desk."

"That’s ridiculous."

"There’ll be a plaque," Leon said flatly. "Something like 'Agent Kennedy – Beauty and Bulletproof.'"

You were laughing harder now.

"Stop."

"I’m serious."

"You’re making that up."

Leon held up his thumb again, the coral nail gleaming brightly.

"…Look at it," he said. "You think he’s letting this go?"

You bit your lip, trying not to smile.

"…It is kind of funny."

"Please," Leon said, the word coming out in a long sigh.

You glanced up at him.

He wasn’t panicking anymore, just watching you with that tired, patient look he got when he was trying to reason with someone.

"C’mon," he said quietly. "You already got your entertainment."

You tilted your head.

"Maybe I want to share the joy."

Leon shook his head slowly.

"How about a deal."

You perked up immediately.

"What kind of deal?"

"If you don’t send the picture," Leon said, thinking for a moment, "I’ll…"

He paused.

You waited.

"…I’ll let you pick the movie tonight."

"That’s not a deal. I already do that."

"…Fine."

Leon sighed again and ran a hand through his hair.

"If you don’t send the picture," he tried again, "I’ll make dinner."

"You burn toast."

"That was one time."

"You set off the smoke alarm."

"It was overly sensitive."

You grinned.

Leon watched your phone slowly rise again.

"…Okay, wait," he said quickly.

You stopped.

Leon leaned forward slightly.

"…Please don’t send it."

You blinked.

The way he said it wasn’t dramatic or panicked this time. Just quiet, slightly embarrassed.

You studied him for a second.

Then you looked at the phone, then at his thumb, then back at him.

"…You’re really worried about Chris, huh?"

Leon gave a small, defeated nod.

"You have no idea."

You stared at him for another second. Then, slowly, you locked your phone and set it on the coffee table.

"Fine."

Leon let out a soft, skeptical huff.

"…Fine?"

"I won’t send it."

He studied you carefully.

"To anyone?"

"To anyone."

"Ever?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Leon."

He kept looking at you for another second, that same quiet, suspicious focus he got when he was trying to decide if someone was lying to him.

You sighed. "No pictures. No evidence," you raised your hands in mock surrender. "Your reputation as a big, scary government agent is safe."

Leon searched your face a moment longer, then finally, his shoulders loosened a little.

"…Thank you."

You smiled at him innocently.

Then Leon glanced at his thumb one last time and shook his head.

"…Still can’t believe I let you do this."

You grinned.

"Admit it."

“What?”

"You’re gonna leave it there."

Leon paused. Then he casually stood up.

"…It’ll wear off."

"Leon!"

[crescentkalopsia]

Making Up for Lost Time

The quiet of the apartment broke at the sound of the front door opening.

A moment later it clicked shut again, the noise echoing softly through the space that had been far too silent while he was gone. The faint rustle of movement in the hallway followed, familiar and unmistakable.

And then you saw him.

Leon.

His jacket still clung to him, dark leather creased and worn from travel. His hair was slightly tousled, his usual composure unraveling just enough to reveal the exhaustion beneath. You could see it in the slight hunch of his shoulders and the way his steps were slower than usual. He’d been gone on another mission for the past three days, and whatever he’d been dealing with out there had clearly taken its toll.

But the moment his blue eyes met yours, something shifted. The weariness in them softened, something warmer taking its place, as though the simple act of seeing you had brought him back to life.

"You’re back," you breathed.

Relief washed through you at the sight of him, and before you realized it, you were already moving toward him. Leon didn’t say a word. He simply watched you approach, his gaze fixed on you with a steady intensity, like he was grounding himself in the sight of you after everything he’d been through.

The instant you were within reach, his hands found your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you close in one swift motion. Before you could react, your back met the wall and he stepped in close, his body pressing flush against yours.

"Leon—"

His name had barely left your lips before he leaned down and kissed you.

There was no hesitation or slow build. None of the calm, patient affection he usually carried into moments like this. Leon kissed you deeply, almost fiercely, the sudden intensity catching you off guard. His lips moved against yours with a quiet urgency, firm and demanding, the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words ever could.

His hands tightened at your waist as the kiss deepened, drawing you flush against him until there wasn’t even the smallest space left between your bodies. You melted into him, your arms sliding around his neck as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His scent surrounded you, the familiar mix of leather, faint smoke, and the cool bite of night air that had followed him inside. It clung to him like traces of the long road that had brought him back to you. As if afraid he might disappear again, you held on tighter, your hands gripping his shoulders as you leaned into the kiss, pouring every restless hour you’d spent waiting into that single moment. The kiss held that same breathless intensity for several long moments before gradually slowing. Leon’s lips lingered now instead of chasing, the desperate edge softening into something calmer, more familiar as the tension in his shoulders slowly eased beneath your hands.

Leon finally broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips as the two of you tried to steady yourselves. You stayed like that for a while, your hands lingering on his shoulders while his remained at your waist. Neither of you moved, simply standing there in the quiet, letting the moment settle after the rush of it.

A small laugh escaped you, breaking the silence.

"That’s… one way to say hello," you teased, a smile tugging at your lips.

Leon huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound low and a little breathless. His forehead stayed resting against yours.

"Yeah…" he murmured. "Guess I got a little carried away."

"A little?" you echoed, amusement in your voice.

His lips twitched into that familiar crooked smile.

"I missed you," he said quietly, his voice soft between you. "Didn’t realize just how much until I walked through that door."

Your hand drifted down the front of his shirt, settling lightly over his heart.

"I missed you too," you whispered, your voice barely a breath against his lips. "The days felt longer without you here."

His hands moved from your waist to gently cradle your face, his gaze softening as he looked at you. For a moment there was nothing but the two of you standing in the quiet apartment, the air between you filled with the relief of finally being together again.

"I kept thinking about you," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, the sincerity in it making your heart ache. "Every damn second… you were on my mind."

You reached up and brushed your thumb along his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingers. "I kept thinking about you too," you said softly. "About what it would feel like when you finally came home… but it was never enough. I just wanted you here."

Leon’s hands slipped from your face back to your waist.

"Well, I’m here now."

Before you could respond, he moved again.

His hands slid beneath your thighs and he lifted you easily, like you weighed nothing at all. A small surprised sound left you as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands catching on his shoulders to steady yourself.

"Leon—!" you laughed, startled by the sudden lift.

He didn’t look the least bit strained, one arm supporting you while the other settled securely at your back. Years of training made the motion effortless.

That familiar crooked smile appeared again, a little more playful this time.

"Three days," he said under his breath as he started down the hall with you in his arms.

You raised a brow slightly, your arms still looped around his neck. "And?"

Leon glanced up at you, blue eyes warm, that teasing spark flickering behind the lingering exhaustion.

"And," he said, tightening his hold on you just slightly, "I’ve got some catching up to do."

He carried you toward the bedroom without rushing, his steps steady and unhurried, like he was savoring the simple fact that you were back where you belonged. In his arms.

When the bedroom door came into view, he looked up at you again, that same crooked smile still there.

And something told you he fully intended to make up for every second he’d been gone.

[crescentkalopsia]

Something About Groceries

Evening had settled softly over the apartment, the last of the daylight fading beyond the windows.

The kitchen carried that easy, lived-in warmth that came after a quiet evening at home. A dish towel hung loosely from the oven handle, and a couple of mugs sat near the sink beside a drying rack with two plates left over from dinner. The air still carried the faint scent of coffee and something sweet you’d baked earlier that afternoon.

Leon stood near the counter with a coffee mug in his hand, leaning against it in that relaxed way he only seemed to have when he was home.

You were moving around the kitchen as you talked. "…so Claire said she might actually come next week instead of the week after," you said, opening the fridge and glancing inside before closing it again. "Which means we should probably go shopping tomorrow, because if we wait until Saturday it’s going to be packed again…"

Leon nodded faintly, lifting the mug for a small sip.

At first, he really was listening. He followed the thread of the conversation without much effort. Claire visiting, groceries, something about a movie you’d mentioned earlier. The small, normal plans people made without thinking too much about them. You continued, walking past him toward the table while still talking. "…and if she does come we should get something she actually likes, because last time she complained about the snacks you picked." Leon gave a quiet huff of amusement. "They were fine." "They were protein bars." "They’re still snacks."

You shot him a look over your shoulder before continuing, already moving on to the next point.

"…anyway, I was thinking tomorrow evening would probably be better because it’ll be quieter and—"

Leon’s attention started drifting somewhere around that moment.

Not away from you. Just… away from the topic. His eyes followed you as you moved around the kitchen. He noticed the way you paced slightly while you talked, thinking out loud as you pieced together your plan, and the small gestures you made with your hands when you explained something.

He’d seen you like this hundreds of times. Still, he found himself watching.

Your voice continued steadily, your thoughts unfolding one after another as if you were figuring everything out while saying it.

"…and we should probably make a list this time because last time we forgot half the things we needed and—"

The warm light softened the edges of your face. A loose strand of hair had slipped forward near your cheek, and you tucked it behind your ear without even thinking about it.

You kept talking, piecing the details together as you went.

Leon heard you, but the words themselves started slipping past him.

His mind wandered, and his thoughts settled somewhere quieter. For years, his life had been a relentless cycle of survival. Sirens, gunfire, radios crackling in his ear, always moving through spaces that never felt like his own. Safe houses, temporary shelters, rooms he barely remembered after leaving. None of them had ever felt like they belonged to him. But this did.

Standing here in a kitchen, listening to someone talk about something as ordinary as groceries. It still caught him off guard sometimes, how much moments like this meant to him now.

You talking without realizing how long you’d been going. The way the apartment felt lived in. The simple fact that he was here, and that you were here with him.

His gaze drifted back to your face as you continued explaining something about the grocery list. For a moment, he tried to focus again. But the longer he watched you talk, the more another thought began to form in the back of his mind.

One that had nothing to do with any of that. "So what do you think?"

A brief pause.

Leon blinked.

"…What?"

You stared at him.

"Leon."

He shifted slightly from where he’d been leaning against the counter. "Yeah?"

Your brows pulled together slightly. "Were you even listening to what I just said?"

The silence that followed was enough of an answer.

You exhaled, rubbing your forehead. "I’ve been talking for ten minutes."

Leon let out a quiet breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"…I got distracted."

"Oh really?" you said, folding your arms. "By what?"

For a moment he didn’t answer. 

Instead, he straightened from the counter and set the coffee mug down beside him with a soft clink. The small sound filled the quiet space between you. 

When he looked back at you, something softer had settled in his expression. "You," he said simply.

You frowned. "That’s… not much of an explanation."

Leon shook his head lightly, a faint hint of a smile touching his lips. "I was listening at first," he said. "But then... I started thinking about something else." "And that something was more interesting than what I was saying?"

His eyes softened slightly.

"…Yeah."

Your expression shifted, caught between annoyance and curiosity.

"Well?" you said. "What was it?" Leon pushed himself away from the counter and walked the short distance toward you, his steps slow and unhurried. He stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head up slightly to meet his gaze.

For a second he just looked at you.

Then he said quietly,

"I was thinking about kissing you."

The words caught you completely off guard. Before you could even form a response, his hand lifted gently to your cheek. Then he leaned down and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed.

It was soft and warm, the kind of kiss that felt unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. His hand stayed at your cheek, steady and gentle, while his other arm slipped around your waist, pulling you a little closer.

For a moment the rest of the apartment seemed to fade into the background, the quiet kitchen, the hum of the fridge, the soft light on the counters, all of it falling away until there was only the warmth of his arms and the way he held you.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. His forehead lingered close to yours, his hand still resting against your cheek. "You were saying something about groceries," he murmured.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. Your mind had gone completely blank.

Leon’s lips curved into a small, amused smile as he watched you struggle to find words.

For once, you had absolutely nothing to say.