“No, no, no…” You plead in vain as the engine splutters, the car kangarooing forward at the loss of power as you manage to steer off to the side of the road. Well, if you could technically call it that – it was definitely more of a dirt track than anything else. There’s an awful sound as the carefully wrapped presents are thrown around and you’re hoping the vase you’d bought for your grandma has survived in the layers of bubble-wrap.
Damn it all. You’re so close too – just over three miles from town – but the whisps of smoke now emitting from the engine doesn’t seem promising.
Wait.
Smoke?!
You fumble with the handle, yanking it hard and flinging the door open in an attempt to throw yourself out of the car, nearly forgetting to unbuckle your seat belt as you do so. It’s not a graceful exit, a panicked tumble, scraping your palms on the dirt as you scramble up to your feet and try to create some distance between you and the machine you’re so is about to burst into flames.
Only to hear a dry chuckle.
You spin around in fright, barely keeping your balance – you swore there hadn’t been anyone in sight when you’d pulled over, the track had been dead as a doornail since you’d turned off the highway – but there, leaning against the beaten-up fence that lined the path is who you think is a man, the dipping winter sun silhouetting his figure, a stetson hat shading his face from view.
“Howdy, little lady”, a deep, oddly familiar voice greets. “Car trouble?”
“I…” You turn back to look at the vehicle, the smoke that had been emitting from under the hood is now just a non-threatening whisp. “I thought it was gonna explode. Complete hunk of junk.”
“Junk? Nah, she’s just a classic - like all the machinery on my ranch. Probably just needs a gentler touch. Mind if I take a look?”
Before you can answer, he’s hopping over the fence with the assistance of what you can now see is a particular toned forearm, clad in a grey – but what was once white t-shirt –sturdy denim jeans and striding over to you in a pair of black leather boots, finally lifting his head to reveal his face.
This is screaming stranger danger – out in the middle of nowhere, the setting sun, there’s never been any cell service on the outskirts in the town that you’d grown up in and you’ll be lucky to get a smidge of a bar when you even get there, and now you’re gonna be a headline on the town gazette about the abandoned truck on the side of the room, full of Christmas presents and-
Wait.
“Leon?”
His eyebrows furrow beneath the rim of his hat, blue eyes widening in realisation and suddenly you’re pulled into his chest by those muscular arms, an exclamation of your name into your crown in greeting.
He smells ridiculously good – a combination of musk, hay, a hint of oil from the machines at the aforementioned ranch… It’s only then that you realise your arms are still hanging limply by your sides that you return his embrace.
“I near about didn’t recognise you in the city get-up!”
You pull back, an accusatory look on your face that immediately falters when your heart skips a beat.
Of course he would only become even more attractive in your time away.
Leon S Kennedy had always been blessed in the looks department, that and his boyish charm had meant he’d always had a line of interested girls in high school and, with the way he seems to have aged like a fine wine, you don’t doubt that he must’ve made one his wife…
You shake off the thought, lying to yourself about why it had made your stomach sink in the first place.
“Uh-huh. My ‘city get-up’ compared to your look right now.” You can’t help but lift your hand and nudge the rim of the hat up with your forefinger. “When did you start wearing this?”
“Somewhere in the last, what, five years since you visited, right?” Leon tries to tease with a smile, arms still wrapped loosely around your waist, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah. Well…” You shrug, the uneasy feeling in your stomach now replaced with a knot of guilt. “There was classes and work, hard to get back down here. And Grandma liked to come visit.” It wasn’t a lie – she did. “But with her health not being so great this year…” You trail off, not really wanting to think about it.
You step back out of his embrace at last then, immediately feeling a little colder for doing so. You lift an arm to scratch the back of your neck and Leon immediately recalls it as an anxious tell from your youth.
“Yeah… I’m mighty sorry to hear about that. She seems fit as a fiddle to me, you know? I still see her every Sunday at the market. Hell, if I’m particularly lucky, she’ll let me carry the bags to her car.”
You force a smile. “That’s sweet of you.”
“Nah, it’s the least I can do.” He shrugs, looking like he wants to say more.
Instead, he claps his hands together and jerks his chin towards your car. “Let’s see if we can get you on your way, huh?”
“Sure. I’ll… I’ll pop the hood.”
--
As Grandma would say, gosh darn it all to heck and back.
You thought you were over him.
Leon had been your best friend since practically birth, right up until the end of high school when you’d headed off to the city for college and he’d stayed to take over his father’s ranch. It was the summer before college that something had changed, how butterflies had started to blossom in your stomach every time he smiled at you, despite doing it hundreds of thousands of times before and had made the goodbye as you’d packed up to head off to the city bittersweet.
You’d promised each other you’d stay in touch – every Thursday night you had a scheduled phone call where you’d tell him all about your classes, what annoying thing your room-mates had been up to, how your manager had changed round all your shifts at the coffee shop again… He’d regale you with tales of home, what he was planning on changing around the ranch, what the latest uproar was in the town meeting.
Thursday evenings had quickly become your favourite night of the week, sacrificing sleep as you and Leon would talk into the early hours of the morning, sometimes finding yourself even drifting out to the comforting sound of his voice, and looking forward to every night when you could cross another day off the calendar until winter break began…
The butterflies are swirling around your stomach now, sure, but you also remember how much it had hurt when you’d raced up to the ranch as soon as you’d got home, only to find him kissing Lorelie Becker the front of the stables, a solitary sprig of mistletoe hanging from the arched doorway.
You’d turned heel and sprinted off as quick as you’d ran there. Grandma had commented on how quick a visit it had been and you’d dug your nails into your palm, shrugging it off that, oh, he hadn’t been around and you’d catch him tomorrow, fibbing that you were tired and going to have an early night, sobbing into your pillow for being so stupid in the first place to think that he’d thought of you as anything more than a friend.
That winter break had been awkward. Interactions with Leon felt too forced and you’d fed him excuses about having to help your grandma out at home instead of any of the plans you’d made over the phone the weeks prior. You’d even headed back up to college early, managing to snag some extra shifts to fill the weeks – all just to get away from the heartbreak. Slowly, those scheduled Thursday calls turned into messages left on answering machine, the occasional game of phone tag in an polite attempt to reschedule and then, eventually, stopped altogether.
You’d shrugged off the feeling of loss whenever you thought of him, or been reminded of something that would’ve made him laugh, something he’d like, or when Grandma had mentioned seeing him in town.
The days had turned into weeks, months, and years…
And now, as you find yourself stood by the fence he’d hopped over, his hat resting besides you on one of the posts, staring at how dang good his rear looks in the well-worn, yet still stupidly fitted jeans, as he leans over, elbow deep in the components of your engine muttering under his breath, you realise how completely and utterly wrong you’ve been.
“Let’s see now...” Leon’s words break you out of your fixation as he stands up straight. He takes a moment to wipe off the oil from his hands on his jeans, drops down the hood with a satisfying thunk and turns to you, pushing the bangs out of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Keys, darlin’?”
Your scalp tingles at the term of endearment and you could swear his cheeks are tinged red, but he clears his throat with a forced smile before clarifying.
“Your keys. Wanna make sure she turns over.”
“Oh.” You nod, stepping away from the fence. “Yeah, they’re still in the ignition.”
You walk over as he heads to the driver’s door, still open from your hasty exit, and watch as he leans in and turns the keys. The engine appears to start as normal - not a sputter to be heard nor a whiff of smoke to be seen.
Leon’s face erupts into a triumphant grin, but you can’t mirror it.
“It’s… It’s definitely safe to drive, right?”
The smile drops as he nods. “It’ll get you back to your grandma’s right enough. Mack took over the autoshop – I suggest you visit him before you head back down the highway…” He steps out your way and you hop into the driver’s seat, hoping to make a hasty exit.
“Thanks – saved me having to walk into town.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “Glad I was around.”
“I should…” You nod towards the open door. “Sorry, Grandma will start getting worried.”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
--
“I always thought he was a nice boy.”
“Hm?” You mumble in reply, too focused on rolling out the dough on the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. Grandma liked to make gift baskets for the neighbours as presents – packed full of home-made preserves and baked goods – and you’d been trusted with making the sugar cookies, acutely aware of how strict she was about achieving the perfect thickness before she’d even entertain the idea of getting the cookie cutters out.
“Do you need these fangled hearing aid things, sugar?” Grandma teases, tapping the device on her ear. “I said – I always thought that Leon was such a nice boy.”
“He’s not a boy anymore, Grandma.”
“Nice man, then. You know, I always thought you two would end up together…”
“We were just friends, Grandma.” You reply on default – it’s not the first time she’s brought up the conversation after all. You’d dated, of course, over the last couple of years, but every time they’d fizzled out Leon’s name would eventually be mentioned.
“No, not just friends. I saw the way he looked at you! Besides, it’s not like he’s dating or anything. All the ladies at church are constantly pushing their granddaughters on him and he’s nothin’ but polite. Why, Maureen Becker has been going on and on about her Lorelie-“
“Grandma!” You snap – emotions still high, nerves frazzled after seeing Leon yesterday. You knew it had been a possibility but, heck, you wanted to be more prepared, more put together your first time seeing him face to face again. “Leon didn’t like me like that, okay? I don’t know what happened between him and Lorelie, but they looked pretty cosy that night I saw them under the mistletoe at the ranch, so just stop, okay?”
“What’s all this now?”
“Nothing. Forget I said anything,” you try and backtrack, leaning down onto the rolling pin a little too hard and with the next roll the dough is almost translucent.
“Well, all right, then.” Grandma purses her lips. “Say, I think we’re almost out of butter. You re-roll that dough and get the next batch on whilst I go fetch some.”
“That’s okay – I can go grab it and you just rest.”
“Hush”, she chides, already heading towards the door. “Doctor said it was good for me to do a little bit of a walk each day. I won’t be a tick.”
--
“Well, howdy, ma’am,” Leon dips his head in respect as he spots Grandma approaching, a determined look on her face as she stalks up the path to where he’d been mending a broken panel. “What can I do for…? Hey!”
She swats the hat off his head with a firm hand.
“Don’t you hey me – I’d love to take that hat and stomp it under my foot. Why, it would be mighty appropriate, don’t you think, the way you broke that poor girl’s heart? I would never-“
“Whoa, now.” Leon raises his hands in a practiced gesture – too often having had to use it on spooked horses – and takes a step back. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, ma’am.”
Grandma takes a breath and scowls. "Lorelei Becker."
"Lorelei..." Leon trails off as he scratches his chin, trying to catch up. “From high school?”
"Yes.” She punctuates her response with a firm poke to his chest.
“Well, what about her?”
“The last winter break my sugar came home - she came straight here, only to find YOU smoochin' Lorelei under the gosh darn mistletoe!"
"What? No - that..." Leon backs up as Grandma pokes at him again, the jabs feeling like they’re already going to bruise. "That's not what happened."
"Here I was, thinkin' you were a fine, upstandin' fella and all this time-"
"No - I'd set that up for her! I...” He steps to the side, finally managing to dodge an assault. “I put up that mistletoe. Heck, I know it was corny, but I thought she'd like it… Then Lorelei showed up and just grabbed me – I didn’t even see her that night-"
Grandma stops and stares at Leon – it took him right back to his youth, stood in the kitchen at your house where the two of you had been scolded for taking the tractor out on a joyride in the dark – and he shrinks back in himself.
“You promise that’s the truth?”
“I swear, ma’am.”
“Well,” her face relaxes, “seems this dilly-dallying has all been a big misunderstanding all these years.”
“Er, dilly-dallying?”
“Dilly-dallying.” Grandma bends down before Leon can stop her, picking up his abandoned hat and dusting it off before offering it back to him. “You swing by ours in about an hour and we’ll sort out this mess once and for all.”
--
You’re about to take the next batch of cookies out of the oven when there’s a loud knock on the front door and Grandma is quick to whip the oven mitts out of your hands. “Get that, will you, sugar? I’ll get these.”
“But surely it’ll be for you-“
“Go on now,” she swots you with the gloves on the back of your legs, urging you towards the door. She’d been in a weird mood since she’d returned with the butter, not letting you leave the kitchen for a second, whilst she’d fussed around with something in the hall.
You swing open the door only to feel something swipe across the crown of your head – mistletoe dangling on a red ribbon from the doorframe between you and an equally looking surprised Leon, before realisation sets in across his face.
Your stomach sinks at what he must think.
“Wait, I did not put that-“
He smiles. “It was for you.”
“Huh?”
“The mistletoe. Not this one.” He clarifies, the plant still swinging side to side between the two of you. “Last time you came back from winter break. I’d hung it up at the entrance to the stables for you getting back, wanted to surprise you and then Lorelie Becker walked up, got all giddy, pulled me forward. I didn’t know you’d seen-”
You shake your head. “Look, I don’t know what Grandma told you, but-“
“Can I kiss you?”
“What?”
“I said,” he dips his head to remove his hat, “can I kiss you?”
You don’t respond – your body apparently switching into autopilot instead to those four words. You stand up on your tip toes, a hand flat on his chest for balance and kiss him ever so gently on the lips before your mind finally kicks into gear and you begin to retreat, an apology on the tip of your tongue.
But there’s an arm around your waist now, fingers threading through your hair on the back of your head as you’re pulled back into a desperate and long overdue kiss.
hang on! we've got one last piece to hit the deadline before we'll drop and pin our masterlist for the event!
But before the final reblog, thank you all so much for participating in this year's event! It definitely wouldn't have been possible without all of you and Santa's elves thank all of you for your hard work and care for the event this time around (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)❅.ﾟmerry christmas, happy holidays, and all of the best wishes for everyone entering into the new year ❤️
featuring Leon S. Kennedy + christmas morning + forced proximity ( loose interpretation tbh ) + a reference to a christmas movie!
A/N: I want to profusely apologize for how late this is! I had something else written completely and absolutely hated it, scrapped it and now we’ve got this which i’m a million times happier with. I genuinely hope you enjoy this vivi, i feel so rusty when it comes to writing so the only thing i can do is hope you enjoy! and to everyone that participated in @leonsecretsanta , y’all did some amazing work and i can’t wait to enjoy it all
includes: agent reader. disappointing circumstances. being stuck in a hotel room for the holidays
wc: 1.2k
“Damn it.”
Your eyes flicker to your work partner across the room just as he tosses his earpiece onto his bed in frustration. Steel blue eyes meet your confused gaze and Leon can’t do much but offer you a shrug.
“Evac won’t be here for another twenty four hours.”
You stare, mouth falling open slightly in astonishment. “No way, It’s Christmas Eve. They can’t just leave us here.”
It had already been a day since the two of you had completed your last mission, sharing the best hotel room that the D.S.O. was willing to shell out on the other side of the country. Hunnigan had promised that the two of you would be back in time to spend Christmas in the comfort of your own home, but now? They decided to wait until 11pm to let you know that you wouldn’t be making it home in time for the holiday at all.
It wasn’t as if it was the first time they left the two of you stranded like this.
“Apparently, everyone else gets the pleasure of a half day. They forgot about us.”
You groan, falling dramatically into the plush of your own queen bed, face smushed into the low quality hotel comforter. Leon can’t do much past helplessly watching your plight in silence for a few minutes before sitting himself on the edge of your bed, a comforting hand finding a perch on your shoulder blade.
“It could have been worse.” his words weren’t as comforting as either of you wished they could have been, but it was enough to make you right yourself into a seated position beside him. Even if it was just to shoot him an annoyed glare.
“Easy for you to say.” you grumble.
“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes in response, standing up with a pat to your shoulder. “Just take a shower, get some sleep. We’ll figure out what to do about this in the morning.”
Inhaling sharply through your nose, you nod. “Yeah, you’re right. Nothing we can do about it now anyway.”
You begrudgingly stand, sulking your way to the bathroom to wash away the disappointment and wind down for bed, and when you emerge clean and in a slightly better mood, Leon is nowhere to be found.
Strange.
—
You awaken the next morning to the sound of shuffling. Eyes peel open in the soft morning light, the curtains having been drawn open in order to allow the sun to shine into the dingy hotel room, brightening it up ever so slightly. Letting out a soft groan, you let your eyes fall shut once more, remembering exactly where you are in the moment.
You flop onto your side, prying your eyes open once more to see him seated on the edge of his bed. He hadn’t returned back to the hotel room by the time you had fallen asleep, so part of you was surprised to see him here clad in a green sweater. As you right yourself, he holds something out to you with a halfhearted smile. “Here.”
Bleary eyed, you take the red bundle and inspect it further. It doesn’t take much to identify it as another sweater, the matching pair to the one he already had on his frame. Brows furrow for a moment as your sleep ridden brain slowly begins to piece things together.
“Just change into it and we can have some breakfast,” Leon ushers, motioning you towards the bathroom as he stands, turning his back to you rather suspiciously.
You shrug, tossing the covers off of your body before placing your feet onto the cool, carpet covered floor. Standing, you glance towards the man once more to find him glaring at you, a finger pointing towards the bathroom in a silent command.
“Fine, fine.” you grumble softly, shuffling your feet as you make your way into the bathroom to wash the sleep from your eyes and dress yourself in your new gifted sweater. A pretty little red cable knit number that you probably would have put back in favor of something with a little more festive flair, but it was definitely more pleasant to look at than the dull black you already had on.
The moment you left the bathroom, you halted in surprise at the sight before you. The first thing that caught your eye was the miniature tree placed on the desk in the corner of the room. Lights twinkled around it, reflecting off the small red and green baubles that decorated the branches. Tracing the perimeter of the room, you noticed the cheap paper snowflakes plastered to the window as well as a cardboard santa propped in the opposite corner as the tree. Leon had turned on the dinky television, now playing some stop motion animated christmas film you hadn’t watched in years. You hadn’t even made it to the “breakfast” spread atop his bed by the time you could feel yourself grinning from ear to ear.
“I take it you like it?” Leon perked up at the sight of your smile, unable to hide the one that was growing on his own lips. “I know it’s no Kevin Mcallister at the Plaza Hotel, but I figured it was better than nothing.”
You nod, turning to meet him with bright eyes. Without warning, you throw your arms around him, catching him by surprise. It takes a moment, but his own arms fold around you. You squeeze him tightly in your arms before taking a step back, face warm in embarrassment at the sudden physical contact shared between the two of you. He doesn’t seem to mind it however, instead leading you to the impressive selection for your holiday breakfast ( what appeared to be a variety of snacks emptied from the local gas station’s shelves ).
“How’d you manage this?” you question, taking a moment to sift through the pre-packaged pastries and snack sized bags of chips.
“Well, you seemed to be really disappointed about this situation so I thought I’d do something to make it better.” he started, propping himself on the edge of his bed.
“Not why, how?” you snort softly, nudging him with your hand before sitting down beside him, packaged cookie in hand.
“Oh, well after you went to shower I got the idea for all this. Spent half the night hunting for somewhere that was even open. Thank god for gas station convenience stores.”
You can’t help but laugh. “You got everything from a gas station? Even the tree?”
Leon nods, reaching behind him to pluck out a bag of chips for his own meal. “Remind me we need to take that back before we get picked up. They made me pay an arm and a leg for it and still want it back.”
You nod, silently taking in the hotel room around you that suddenly seemed to be much less miserable than it had been last night before turning your gaze back to him. “I don’t have anything for you.”
He shrugs, “I don’t need anything, just knowing you’re not miserable is enough.”
You smile softly once more, attention turning to the colorful characters on screen. Taking a bite of your cookie, your head falls to his shoulder.
christmas party / fake relationship / re2r leon! ❆ for @leonsecretsanta event! ❆ gift for @calbloodypigeon ! <3
tags: no outbreak au, rookie leon, journalist reader, gn reader but if i've accidentally missed something please let me know so i can fix it up! --- lots of stupid hallmark christmas cliches, heavily inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days.
summary: when the leads your chasing for your feature article for the local paper has gone ice cold, you've just about given up hope. that is until the rpd's newest rookie proposes a deal that might just save you. or blow up in your face.
word count: 6.1k --- i know i went over the word count IM SO SORRY 😭
a/n: CAL! HI! i'm SO beyond sorry this is late, i fucked up the timings so bad and stupidly miscalculated how much time i had left to finalise this and then i got roped into my own christmas fiasco so i was RACING against the clock to try get this out asap. BUT i hope you like it regardless!! i saw re2r leon as your wild card and my eyes LIT UP!! this was such a pleasure to write, i absolutely love writing rookie leon! (also yes i know the twelve days of christmas technically come after christmas day but shhhh) anyway, hope you have a wonderful christmas!! lots of love, amber xx
masterlist⭑AO3
It starts with a faulty office printer and a burnt cup of coffee.
You stare pitifully at the cup of coffee in your hand—if you can even call it that anymore. Half empty and completely unsalvageable, the acrid smell lingers in the break room like some unwelcome ghost of Christmas caffeine. If only you hadn’t slept through your alarm this morning, you could’ve avoided the morning rush (since it seems that nobody in Raccoon City knows how to drive through snow), and made a good cup of coffee to accompany you for the day instead of having to fight the shitty office coffee machine instead.
With a half-hearted sigh you turn the mug over and dump its contents into the bin, watching forlornly as the liquid soaks through shredded paper and old protein bar wrappers instead.
“Bad morning?” One of your coworkers, Claire, quips from across the way. A perfectly fine cup of coffee sits on her desk in a mug that reads Journalists do It With Integrity!
You shoot her a withering glare, but before you can deliver any sort of witty remark, the printer across the room coughs out a single sheet of crumpled paper, and promptly dies.
“Bad week,” you mutter, running a hand down your face before stalking towards the offending machine.
The office, already buzzing with the chaos of holiday deadlines, feels like it’s working entirely against you. The case you’ve been chasing—a string of thefts tied to the Raccoon City holiday markets—has gone ice cold. Your editor is breathing down your neck for a feature piece that you can’t write without new leads. You’ve got twelve days left, twelve days until your editor wants that final copy on her desk.
And now the printer has decided to stage a mutiny. Just your luck.
You try to print out the documents again, but when the printer does nothing but splutter, and kicking it doesn’t seem to work, you decide maybe it just needs new ink.
You’re about halfway through jamming your hand into its guts when a voice, sweet yet awkward, startles you. You hit your head on the way up, only to find yourself staring into a pair of warm blue eyes beneath a mop of golden hair.
He’s wearing a leather jacket over a navy button-down, his badge clipped to his belt. He looks familiar, like someone you might’ve run into at the bullpen when you’re down at the RPD.
“Uh, need a hand?” he tilts his head, same awkward smile unfaltering.
“I’ve got it,” you say, though you clearly don’t. The printer lets out a final, pathetic whine before dying completely. Well, now you just look stupid.
He grins, the kind of lopsided, sheepish smile that makes him look younger than he probably is. “Guess that’s a no.”
You sigh, looking over your shoulder to catch Claire hiding a smile behind her mug. You fold your arms. “Sorry, can I help you?”
“Names Leon,” He introduces himself, and it all clicks into place for you. This is the RPD’s newest rookie. The guy Claire’s been yapping your ear off about Chris yapping her ear off about. “I’m just dropping off some paperwork. But, uh… I overheard you talking to your editor earlier. You’re working on the market thefts, right?”
Your eyes narrow. “And what’s it to you?”
Leon raises his hands in mock surrender at your scathing tone, the picture of good-natured defensiveness. “Nothing! Just thought you might want some… unofficial insight. Off the record, of course.”
Your skepticism doesn’t waver. “Why would a rookie like you have anything I can’t get from public records?”
Leon hesitates for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “I’ve been helping out on the case. They’ve got me running reports, talking to market vendors, stuff like that. Not exactly glamorous work, but I’ve been hearing things that don’t make it into the official write-ups.”
Now you’re interested. RPD isn’t exactly known for transparency, you know that much. You also know better than most that a lot can slip through the cracks of “official” documentation.
“What’s the catch?” you ask, suspicious.
Leon shifts, “Well, uh… There’s this Christmas party at the precinct. And I might have mentioned to my coworkers that I was bringing a date.”
You blink. “You’re blackmailing me with case information to play your fake girlfriend at a cop Christmas party?”
“It’s not blackmail!” Leon protests, his ears turning red. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. You get your story, and I… avoid being the precinct punchline for another year.”
You’re still sceptical, but the desperation in his voice softens your resolve. Saying no to him right now would be like kicking a poor puppy.
You stare at him for a moment, weighing your options. It’s ridiculous, sure, but then again, so is everything else in your life right now.
“Fine,” you say finally, sticking out your hand. “Twelve days. You give me what I need, and I’ll be the best fake date you’ve ever had.”
Leon shakes your hand with a grin, relief written all over his face. “Deal.”
And just like that, the countdown begins.
On the second day of Christmas, Leon sends you flowers.
Big ones. Loud ones. The kind of bouquet you’d expect to see at a wedding reception or an apology press conference. They’re wrapped in glittering gold paper—Poinsettias, as Claire so graciously points out.
“Looks like someone’s got an admirer,” she singsongs, loud enough for half the floor to hear.
Your stomach drops. There, sitting right in the middle of your disaster zone of a desk, is the offending bouquet. It’s massive, covered in festive bells and ribbon, and the card sticking out of it reads:
“To my Christmas angel. – L.”
You mutter a silent prayer to whatever God might be listening, snatching the card up like it might explode before anyone else might see. Your coworkers are already murmuring around you, though, so that seems like a bit of a lost cause.
Claire leans back in her chair, still grinning. “So when were you gonna tell me you’re dating someone?”
“Firstly, that is none of your business,” you snap, grabbing the entire bouquet in a desperate attempt to get it out of sight. The glitter gets everywhere, including your coat, your desk, and, somehow, your coffee. “And secondly—” You start, but backtrack when you remember that the deal you struck with Leon may require some confidentiality. Damn you for not figuring out boundaries sooner. “—that is also none of your business.”
You turn on your heel and you don’t stop moving until you’re outside the building, your fingers already dialing a number you swore to yourself you wouldn’t use unless absolutely necessary.
Leon picks up on the third ring. “Hey! What’s up?”
“Don’t you ‘what’s up’ me,” you hiss, pacing in the cold December air. “What the hell were you thinking sending me flowers? To my office?”
Leon hesitates for a second, and you can almost hear him cringing through the phone. “Uh, I thought it’d make things more… believable?”
You stop in your tracks. “Believable?”
“Yeah! You know, if people saw that you’re, like, dating someone, it might help sell the whole… thing.” His voice trails off, and there’s a pause before he adds, quieter, “Was it too much?”
“Too much?” you echo, your own voice rising in disbelief. “It’s not even lunchtime and I’ve already been asked twice if I’m engaged. At least take me to dinner first!”
There’s a beat of silence on his end before he says, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
You stop in your tracks. “Do what?”
“Dinner,” Leon says, like it’s obvious. “Tomorrow. You said I should take you to dinner, so… I’ll take you to dinner.”
You blink, your annoyance faltering for a second, only to give way to mild confusion. “Are you asking me out, or are you making this part of the deal?”
“Can’t it be both?”
You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the sheer absurdity of the situation that makes you smile, but you sigh and say, “Fine. Dinner. But you’re picking the place, and it better not be one of those sad 24-hour diners cops hang out in.”
Leon laughs, the sound warm enough to cut through the winter chill. “Deal.”
On the third day of Christmas, Leon takes you to dinner.
And yes, it is a sad diner.
It’s the kind of place that looks like it hasn’t updated its decor since the 70s, with faded garlands drooping from the light fixtures and a suspiciously sticky Rudolph figurine parked on the counter. Which is fine, in honesty. It’s perfect for this not-date, because that’s what this is. Not a date. Absolutely nothing about this screams romance.
Well, except maybe the crooked twig of mistletoe hanging over the entrance, but even that you’d pointedly avoided much to Leon’s amusement.
“So, remind me what I’m doing here,” you hum, pushing around your leftover pancakes on your plate. Leave it to Leon to convince you pancakes for dinner is an entirely acceptable meal choice.
“Well, we’re on a date,” Leon states matter-of-factly.
Across from you, he looks all too comfortable. You, on the other hand, feel like you’ve just agreed to help pull Santa’s sleigh blindfolded.
“Yeah, well, a date’s pushing it, rookie,” You all but scoff, setting your fork down before meeting his gaze properly. “Look, if we’re gonna do this, we probably need to set some ground rules.”
Leon raises a brow, lips curving into a half-smile, “You’re serious? This isn’t Fight Club.”
“Can’t believe you just broke the first rule of Fight Club,” you shoot back, matching his half-smile with your own self-satisfied one. “Okay, first off, who gets to know?”
“That this is fake? No one,” Leon says all too firmly, “I don’t need this blowing up in my face.”
“Likewise,” you hum. “Okay, next, how often are we gonna see each other outside of office hours? Are we really trying to sell this?”
“Well a coffee or two wouldn’t hurt,” Leon suggest. “And, uh… Physical stuff?” He asks, a generous blush dusting his cheeks.
You can’t hide your smile. “Afraid to hold my hand or something?”
“No! No— just… Don’t want to make this any more awkward than it has to be.”
“Alright, so no kissing unless absolutely necessary. And I’m talking someone-shoves-us-under-mistletoe-and-starts-chanting levels of necessary.”
He lets out a laugh, soft and boyish, and you can’t help but feel the corners of your mouth tug upwards.
On the Fourth Day of Christmas Leon takes you ice-skating. Well… Sort of.
You’d come to pick up some paperwork about the Christmas Market case Leon had promised you—an errand you figured would be quick and painless. No mingling, no unnecessary chit-chat, and absolutely no run-ins with anyone who might make this fake-dating charade any harder than it has to be.
The first hiccup comes the second you step into the precinct. You immediately spot him, leaning against the reception desk with an easy grin, chatting with some colleagues. You only recognise one of them, from the photo sitting on Claire’s desk no-less. Chris Redfield. The woman beside him, who’s donning a festive antler headband, looks oddly familiar as well, though you can’t quite place it.
Fantastic. Just what you needed.
“Leon!” you call, keeping your tone as casual as possible. You walk briskly, plastering on a tight-lipped smile, trying your best not to look like a deer caught in the headlights and to very pointedly avoid any eye-contact with Chris.
Leon turns at the sound of your voice, his expression brightening instantly. “Oh, hey! What’re you doing here?”
“Paperwork,” you reply, holding up the empty manila folder in your hand like it’s your golden ticket out of this situation. “You said you’d have it ready for me?”
Before Leon can answer, the woman next to Chris perks up—it’s then you recognise her as none other than Jill Valentine. You chalk it up to the antlers making it hard to recognise her.
“Paperwork? Wait, is this her?” She elbows Leon in the ribs, earning a flustered yelp from him.
“Her?” you echo, narrowing your eyes.
Chris leans forward, “Wait, you’re Leon’s girlfriend?”
You feel your stomach drop, the word girlfriend ricocheting around your brain like a pinball.
Leon is already mid-spiral, his cheeks flushed red as he stammers out a reply. “Well, I didn’t say that— I mean, I said some of that, but not like that!”
Jill crosses her arms, smirking. “Well, now we have to meet her. What are you two doing tonight?”
“Nothing!” you and Leon blurt at the same time, a little too loudly.
Chris raises an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Jill before grinning even wider. “Perfect. You guys should come ice skating with us tonight, most of the Precinct will be there.”
Your mouth opens, ready to reject the idea outright, but Leon beats you to it.
“That sounds great!” he says, his voice breaking slightly on the last word. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If you could hit him over the head with this manilla folder right now, you would.
“Great,” Jill says, clapping her hands together. “Meet us at the rink at around seven tonight.”
“What the hell was that?” you hiss once both Chris and Jill have had enough teasing and they’re out of earshot.
“I panicked!” Leon whispers back, looking genuinely apologetic.
“You just signed us up for the least romantic fake date activity imaginable.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You owe me so much for this, rookie.”
“I’ll buy you hot chocolate?” Leon tries, sweet boyish smile and all. You hate how you feel your resolve begin to soften already.
“You better make it with extra marshmallows.”
He nods, his expression softening as his smile melts into something tentative yet determined. “Deal.”
You’ve decided you don’t like ice skating. Chalk that up to the fact you haven’t been to the rink since you were eight and using a push-along penguin to keep you upright.
“This is fine,” you mutter under your breath, wobbling precariously as you step onto the ice. “Totally fine. Nothing humiliating about face-planting on ice.”
“You’ve got this!” Leon cheers from a few feet away, his enthusiasm wildly misplaced considering he’s not doing much better. He looks like a newborn deer, legs flailing every time he tries to take a step.
“Don’t patronize me,” you hiss back, gripping the railing like your life depends on it.
Behind you, Jill glides past with all the effortless grace of an Olympic figure skater, followed closely by Chris—who despite a few wobbles—isn’t much worse. They’re laughing at something—probably you and Leon—but you’re too busy trying to avoid an embarrassing collision with the ice to care.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” Leon says, inching toward you with the kind of determination usually reserved for hostage negotiations. “You let go of the rail, and I’ll catch you if you fall.”
He looks just about as stupid as he sounds, you decide. “That’s assuming you don’t fall first.”
He grins, cheeks ruddy from the cold. “Have a little faith, would you?”
Against your better judgment, you release your grip on the rail, immediately flailing as your skates slide out from under you.
Leon lunges to catch you—a valiant effort, truly—which would be heroic if it didn’t result in both of you landing in a tangled heap on the ice.
“Well, that could’ve gone better.” Leon groans, pushing himself to his knees and wincing.
“You think?” you say, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh as you roll onto your side. Your knees are sore, your pride is bruised, but when you look over at Leon—cheeks flushed, smile sheepish— it all feels a little less mortifying.
“Here,” he says, extending a hand to help you up, and there’s something strangely endearing about the gesture. You hesitate for a moment before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t let go right away, steadying you as you find your balance.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now.
“Yeah,” you reply, surprised to find that you actually mean it.
And somewhere between all of this chaos a group of kids barrels past, laughing as they race each other in a blur of neon jackets and mis-matched scarves. You and Leon instinctively jump out of their way, your skates sliding in all the wrong directions. You nearly crash into him again, grabbing his arm for balance as he steadies both of you.
And suddenly, you’re close. Closer than you’ve been all night.
His face is just inches from yours, his breath visible in soft clouds in the frigid air. His cheeks are bitten by the cold, his boyish grin tugging at his lips, and his eyes—God, his eyes—are the kind of blue that could rival a frosted winter’s lake.
You swallow hard, heart giving a little flutter you’d rather not think about. Brushing it off with a laugh, you take a step back, releasing his arm. “Okay, new rule: avoid the speed demons at all costs.”
“Agreed,” Leon says, but his voice a little softer now, his gaze a little firmer.
The rest of the night is chaos, as expected, and by the time you stumble off the ice, breathless and pink-cheeked, you’re smiling so wide and genuine that your cheeks hurt from it all.
On the sixth day of Christmas, Leon comes over for a very professional movie night.
The plan was simple enough: a low-key night to sort through leads and discuss the finer details of the article. Nothing more than that. Just two friends (are you even really friends?) mocking bad Hallmark movie tropes and terrible one-liners. But—as fate would have it—somewhere between the half-hearted scribbles in your notebook and the opening credits of the first movie, the evening takes a sharp left turn.
Popcorn crumbs litter the coffee table, and the air hums with laughter as you and Leon pick apart every ridiculous trope on the screen.
“New rule,” you declare, pointing at the screen with a handful of popcorn. “No more movies where the leads magically fall in love because of forced proximity. It's lazy writing.”
Leon raises a brow, smiling at you over his mug of cocoa. “Do you just... make up rules for everything?”
You shoot him a look, though your lips twitch in betrayal. “Rules are important. They keep things from going off the rails.”
“Sure they do,” he says, grinning. “But I think you might have a thing for them. Maybe it’s your love language”
You toss a kernel of popcorn at him, which he catches with an annoyingly quick reflex. The movie continues, but your attention drifts, his sweet smile lingering in your thoughts longer than you’d care to admit, and all at once you want to suffocate yourself with a pillow.
By the time the credits have rolled, the conversation has veered wildly away from work and movies. You find yourself talking about everything and nothing between here and there, the space separating you both narrowing in a way that feels very not-professional. Your leg brushes against his and his hand brushes against yours.
You didn’t make a new rule about that. Maybe you should have.
On the eighth day of Christmas, you finally chase down some of those leads for your article.
Or at least, you try to.
The holiday market is bustling with lights, laughter, and the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts. It’s picturesque enough to be a postcard: striped tents draped in garlands, vendors bundled in scarves, and the faint hum of Christmas carols floating through the crisp evening air.
You’re here for work. This is professional business. Totally, totally.
“Professional” is exactly why you’re letting Leon lead you to a vendor handing out roasted chestnuts in steaming paper cones.
You raise a brow at him. “Seriously?”
“You’ve gotta try them. It’s tradition.” He says as if it’d be crazy to deny him.
And before you can even think about protesting, he’s already handing you a cone, the warmth seeping through your gloves as you eye the chestnuts—then him—warily. You pop a few in your mouth, only to find yourself pleasantly surprised.
“Good, right?” he asks, smug as anything. You scrunch your nose in response.
Next is funnel cake. Leon orders one to share, dusting himself in powdered sugar as he pulls off a piece and offers it to you.
“I could’ve got my own,” you reason, but take what he offers you anyway.
“Well that wouldn’t make me a very good date.”
“Fake-date,” you correct.
“Uhuh,” Leon hums, but he’s not even looking at you when you glance back up at him, already dragging you towards the next stall, and the next.
“I’m serious!” You call after him, trying to keep up as he weaves through the crowd like he’s trained to do this. Well, he probably is.
You don’t even realise how long it’s been until you're walking past empty market stalls, every other vendor packing up for the night. Leon leads you out into the street, strings of warm white lights swaying gently in the winter breeze.
Leon’s hands are stuffed into his coat pockets as the two of you walk side by side, your boots crunching softly against the thin dusting of snow on the pavement.
The streets are mostly empty now, save for a few stragglers heading home, but Leon leads you straight into the middle of the road without a second thought. You hesitate for half a second, glancing both ways like a habit.
“There’s no one out here,” he says over his shoulder, that lazy grin curling at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not scared of breaking the rules, are you?”
“Isn’t it your job to enforce rules?” You argue, but follow after him anyway.
When you tilt your head up, you feel the breath escape your lungs all at once. “You can actually see the stars tonight,” you murmur softly in awe, your breath clouding in the cold.
Leon doesn’t say anything right away, but when you glance over, you catch him watching you instead of the sky, his gaze softer than you’re used to. He quickly looks up, clearing his throat as if he hadn’t just been caught.
You don’t know what’s worse: the way his cheeks flush from something other than the cold or the fact that your stomach flutters in response.
And you don’t know what to do with the quiet that stretches between you, either, the sound of your steps filling it up like placeholders. You hadn’t meant for the day to linger this long—hadn’t meant to still be here, walking home with him.
Leon breaks the silence first. “You know, I thought you’d be sick of me by now.”
You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I am.”
He laughs then, genuine and bright. “Oh thank God, I’d hate for this to actually be enjoyable for either of us.” Sarcasm laces his words in a way that makes you laugh in kind.
He’s grinning like he’s got all the time in the world as he turns to walk backward in front of you, and suddenly all at once this feels like something out of one of those Hallmark Christmas movies you swore to yourself you’d never recreate.
“You still haven’t thanked me for helping you today.” He says.
“Helping me?” you snort. “All you did was get funnel cake powder on my coat and in my cocoa.”
“Hey, I got you a quote from the candy vendor, didn’t I?” he defends, arms spreading wide.
“You mean the guy who told us about his grandma’s cookie recipe?”
“Hard-hitting stuff,” he shrugs.
You shake your head, but you’re smiling, and you hate that he notices. He spins back around to face the road ahead, walking a little slower now, like he’s dragging his feet.
“So,” you say after a moment, picking up your pace to fall back into step with him. “Why do you care so much about this Christmas party, anyway?”
Leon doesn’t answer right away. You glance over, and the grin that’s usually on his face has faded into something smaller, quieter.
“Guess I just… don’t want to look like a total loser,” he says eventually, his voice low but even. “It’s been a long first year. People talk.”
You frown at that. “They don’t have anything better to do at the RPD?”
“Apparently not.” He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, but you can tell it does, at least a little.
The two of you walk in silence for another block, and when you speak again, your tone is softer. “You know, you could’ve asked someone who actually likes you to be your date.”
Leon glances over, and for some reason, his answer catches you off guard. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “but then it wouldn’t have been you.”
You look away too quickly, your chest tightening in a way you can’t explain. He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t push him for more.
Instead, you both keep walking, the street stretching out ahead of you, the night colder and clearer than it’s been in weeks. The faint glow of your building comes into view up ahead, and for a moment, you wish it was just a little farther away.
On the tenth day of Christmas, Leon does something so absurd you briefly consider chucking him—and his ridiculous ideas—into a snowbank.
Leon shows up at your door, determined and annoyingly cheerful, with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof of his car and a twinkle in his eye that should’ve been your first warning. You don’t have the heart to turn him away or give him a lecture about how this is breaking at least three of your fake-dating rules.
Dragging the tree up the stairs is a disaster, his optimism only barely keeping the whole endeavor from collapsing. Decorating it? Worse. Leon’s enthusiasm for tinsel is unmatched, his ornament selection downright offensive. A plastic Rudolph here, a lopsided snowman there—it’s a full-scale disaster in red, green, and glitter.
By the time the tree is finally standing—crooked, but still standing—the living room is a war zone of tinsel and broken bulbs. Yet somehow, it feels like the coziest place in the world.
You sit side by side on the couch, legs brushing as you both watch the twinkling lights. The quiet settles in like freshly fallen snow, and for a moment, you wonder if this fake-dating thing is starting to feel a little too real.
By the end of the night, the tree looked more like a festive crime scene, fairy lights as police-tape and all, but you can’t bring yourself to care. The two of you collapse as you both watch the twinkling lights. A ribbon is tangled in your hair; Leon has tinsel stuck to his sleeve. The quiet settles in like freshly fallen snow, and for a moment, you forget this isn’t supposed to feel real.
You spent the eleventh night at Leon’s place. It was his idea to go over the finalities of this agreement, set your story straight in case anybody at the party asks too many questions. Make sure you're both on the same page.
But when you rocked up at his little studio apartment, it felt like he’d compensated for much more than a quick flashcard night.
Cinnamon scented candles burned and flicker, accompanied by a plate of cookies on the counter. Your half-crumpled notes quickly joined, as well as two cups of cocoa that have long-since gone cold.
“Alright, one more time, how’d we meet?”
Leon props his head up on his palm, looking like he’s had more than enough of your pointless flashcard game. “Coffee shop. You spilled hot chocolate on me, laughed, then walked away.”
“I offered to buy you a replacement!” You shoot back, hitting him atop the head with your stack of cards.
He winces dramatically, swatting our hand away. “Well I think it’s more believable if I pretend you didn’t and you bicker back. Y’know, like an old married couple or something.”
You reach for your cold cocoa to hide the way you splutter. “Woah, rookie, I only signed up for a fake-date, not a fake-wedding too.”
Leon grins, but something about him still looks oddly distant.
He kicks his feet off the barstool, takes your cup of cocoa and his to clean them away. “Have you finished your article at least?”
“Nearly,” You hum, but you’re more lying through your teeth. You’ve barely worked on it despite all the extra input Leon’s given you. Something, something, a very distracting Christmas fiasco got in your way. “I should be done by the end of the week.”
“And what happens once it’s done?” He asks, and you know in your right mind he means what happens to you. Promotion? New story? Next assignment? But instead your mind stupidly jumps to the idea that he’s asking about the both of you. What happens to us? written between the lines in invisible ink.
“Well, I suppose I find a new story to chase.” You clear your throat, “and you?”
“Go back to handing out speeding tickets,” Leon smiles through a sigh, “and I guess we drop this whole fake-dating thing, huh?” He asks, and you refuse to let yourself believe there’s any hope in his voice.
“Don’t see a reason to keep it going,” you shrug, to which Leon simply nods.
“Anyway, don’t try changing the subject on me,” you clear your throat, shuffling back through your pile of cards. “Next question: what’s my favourite holiday tradition?”
Leon shelves the now clean and dried mugs, “stealing Christmas cookies when no one’s looking.” He hums smugly over his shoulder.
You blink, “I never told you that.”
“Don’t need to, I pay attention.” He grins, pointedly flicking his gaze to the now empty plate of cookies. But you’re still hung on his words, the casual admission throws you entirely off kilter, and it seems by the twelfth day he still has you feeling that way.
You feel entirely out of place standing in the RPD. The precinct is sparkling with every Hallmark Christmas cliche imaginable—oversized tinsel, plastic mistletoe (that you’re still doing your best to avoid), and a garishly large tree that stands off to the side, completed by a shining white angel on top.
Leon, of course, has dressed the part. And damn him for looking so good in a navy suit and deep red tie to match your own attire. His presence is steady when you feel out of depth—it’s funny how he does that, despite usually being the one who requires an anchor.
“Are you alright?” He asks, leaning closer to be heard over the obnoxiously loud Christmas music. His voice is low, warm, entirely too distracting.
“Fine,” you lie with a sickly sweet smile, downing the last of your punch, “totally fine.”
Leon doesn’t buy it, and you’re starting to think he’s getting too good at reading you (which is your job, not his), but before he can press any further, your worst nightmare seems to come to fruition.
You're pulled then pushed, and before you can register what’s even happened you're colliding with Leon’s chest.
“Mistletoe,” he mutters, and when you finally lift your gaze you catch the offending sprig. Jesus Christ.
Honestly, this is your fault. You should’ve accounted for something like this. Nothing like a good bit of rookie hazing at a work party, right? Dammit. The rest of the precinct seems to cheer and chant, and you’d foolishly thought you’d left this behaviour behind in high school.
God, you wish the ground would part beneath your feet and swallow you whole right now—
“Well, this doesn’t break any of your rules, does it?” Leon asks then, and you can hear the smile in his voice, something about the way he says it makes it sound like he knows the answer.
And he does. Because if Leon’s good at one thing it’s remembering the finer details. No kissing unless absolutely necessary, you’d said. Like someone-shoves-us-under-mistletoe-and-starts-chanting levels of necessary, you’d said.
Okay, now you really want the ground to swallow you up.
Leon seems to pick up on your unease, and ever the gentleman drowns out the obnoxious chanting of his colleagues to focus on you.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he offers.
You shake your head. “It’s part of the deal.” You say firmly. You’re not going to back down now, you’re a stickler for rules, deals, and contracts. Totally not because you’ve been wondering what Leon’s lips might taste like for the past five minutes. Totally.
He counts you down, which feels stupid, but does actually help quell your nerves. What doesn’t help, though, is the way his hand slides to your jaw and his lips slot against yours so effortlessly. You forget the world exists, heart beating out of your chest before you let yourself melt into it, your own arms looping around his neck just before he pulls away.
He’s got blush on his cheeks, his eyes bright, smiling widely like he’s just one the powerball. And suddenly, all at once, your brain catches up to your heart and you realise how none of this seems to feel fake anymore.
Three days later, and your article had gone live that morning. Your editor had been quick to praise it, Claire more than proud when she’d shown up with a mini Christmas gift basket for you. But still, as the day wore on, the victory felt hollow. The article might have just been your best work, but now that the dust—or snow, rather—has settled, all you can think about is Leon and the strange ache left in his absence.
You glance out the window of your tiny office, the skyline glittering with holiday lights. It’s quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the rhythmic tapping of your pen against your desk.
“You know, I expected a little more Christmas cheer from the person who just saved Christmas,” a familiar voice says.
You jump, spinning around in your squeaky office chair to find Leon leaning casually in your doorway. He’s dressed down from the last time you saw him after the party, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, but the sight of him is enough to send your heart racing.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he shrugs, pushing himself off the cubicle wall and stepping inside.
You raise a brow. “The precinct is five blocks away.”
“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “Neighborhood.”
You roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. He steps closer still, and you feel the air shift.
“Look,” he starrs, running a hand through his hair like he’s still trying to work up the courage. “The other night, you said that after this was over, we wouldn’t have to see each other again.”
You swallow hard, your heart already knowing where this is going but your mind refusing to believe it. You remember how casually you’d thrown that out there, as if the thought hadn’t stung more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Well, I don’t want that,” he says simply.
Your breath hitches, but he keeps on going.
“I don’t want to go back to pretending this was all fake,” he continues, his voice steady but his eyes searching yours. “Because it might’ve started that way, but it didn’t end that way—not for me.”
The words hang in the air like softly drifting snowflakes, fragile and perfect, waiting for you to catch them.
“Leon…” you try, but your voice falters.
“I know,” he cuts in quickly. “I know this wasn’t the plan. But plans change, right? Rules get broken—and I know you hate that but hear me out—if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past twelve days, it’s that maybe breaking a rule or two isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
You laugh softly then despite yourself, a mix of nerves and something lighter. “You do realize you’re ruining my perfectly crafted narrative, right? Fake dating, falling in love…” you click your tongue, “this is all so cliché.”
He grins, stepping closer until there is almost no space left between you. “Then let’s give it a good ending.”
Before you can even give what he’s said a minute of thought, his hand is on your jaw again, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s unhurried and undeniably real.
When he finally pulls back, he stays close, his forehead resting against yours. “So,” he hums, his voice soft and teasing, “how’s that for a rewrite?”
You can’t help but laugh, your chest light for the first time in days. “It’s a start.”
The city sparkles outside as you stand there, snowflakes fall, the faint hum of Christmas carols from the office speakers bleed with the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Whatever comes next, you know one thing is for sure: this story isn’t over yet.
Your seasonal secret-agent roommate got too into the holiday punch and he's bursting with a secret you're not too keen on coming to terms with.
secret santa fic for @crsssie!! roommates + mistletoe + one serving of cuddling <3
HUGE thank you for setting up Leon Secret Santa 2024 and a HUGER apology for messing up the time 😭 i love you LOADS cressie and i hope this fic has banter that lives up to the wonderful dialogue in your fics <3 MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
f / m, romance, fluff, BANTER, leon is SO BAD at feelings, roommates au, love confessions, leon WORRIES about you, close your eyes and ignore canon for me <3 cw: alcohol / drunkennness
word count: 1.5k // read on ao3
“Shit, I didn’t-”
“Open your eyes, Leon! You’re going to fall, just hold on to me, we’re almost-”
“...don’t need you to,” he slurs, “I got it!”
Leon, of course, has got nothing at all besides shitfaced drunk. Your key is currently deciding not to fit into the convoluted lock he’d decided was absolutely necessary for your shared apartment. It was something about you having the fighting talent of a bedbound sloth (completely subjective opinion, you’d argued) and him being out of the country every few weeks.
The snow must’ve frozen it over while you two were out tonight, and between shouldering 165 pounds of muscle mass and manifesting a bobby pin into existence from your now-bedraggled hairdo to work into the keyhole instead, the start of Christmas Day is starting to look like Mission Impossible.
“Don’t make this harder for me,” you plead to both your problems.
The lock seems to be the only one to listen. Please, please – yes! The mahogany door to the apartment swings open, and you shoulder in your precious cargo, tracking snow all over the floor that’s sure to melt into sludge come morning. Luckily, the chore chart’s on your side tomorrow: Leon’s due for mopping.
Once he wakes up from his alcohol induced nap, that is. And then you’ll have your fun.
You deposit him on the couch faster than your paycheck, and your lungs inflate three sizes once his back makes contact with the cushions. “God, you’re heavy,” you pant, wiping your forehead.
“‘Cause you don’t go to the gym with me. Gotta get stronger.”
“I’ll quit my job and get buff once you start paying more than a third of the rent, yeah?”
Leon snorts. “‘m only here a third of the time anyway,” he says under his breath.
He’s right, of course. The rent split was your idea, fair and square. But you pretend he isn’t. Pretend that it doesn’t hurt, either, like his punches when he tries to teach you self-defense whenever he’s free.
A cherub ornament must’ve fell from the Christmas tree in the kitchen and crashed on your couch. Frosty blue eyes flutter open to gaze up at you from the cushions. There’s roses in Leon’s pale cheeks, flushed from the outdoors combined with him drinking his head off tonight, and when a wistful, angelic expression spreads across his face, you wish the snowstorm outside would’ve frozen over your heart instead of the door lock.
He crooks a finger at you. Whispers like it hurts him, “Got somethin’ to tell ya.”
Your breath hitches. “Yeah?”
“‘s goddamn freezing in here.”
Unbelievable. You throw a couch cushion at his chest and he has the nerve to giggle while you stomp away to shut the front door. “You shouldn’t have gotten so drunk, Leon, what were you thinking?” you scold the subzero air.
“I can handle my drinks!” he shouts back.
“Then why are you passed out on my couch?”
And despite having your back to him almost ten feet away, you can practically hear his brow scrunch at your words. “Thought it was our couch.”
You wave a flippant hand. “You know what I mean.”
“But you’re right,” he barks out a laugh. “Should be yours. All of it, I…I shouldn’t be here.”
He might be the one drunk tonight, but you’re the one feeling that telltale nausea all of a sudden. Leon’s laugh never makes your stomach roil like this. Screw all the little catches and springs – you twist the biggest one on the door’s lock closed and power walk back to the living room, taking a kneel on the couch next to Leon’s head. He’s turned to the other side now, broad back facing you. Tit for tat.
“What are you talking about?” Digging your fingers into his right delt, you pry him back to look him in the eye, barely keeping the alarm out of your voice.
“Uh, coins. Lotsa coins in the couch.” Leon fishes out a dime, shoots you a plastic excuse of a smile like you were born yesterday, “Yours?”
You shake his shoulder. “Don’t play dumb with me, come on. What did you say about you not being here?”
“Mistletoe too, so much stuff in here…”
You don’t even spare it a second glance, snatching the sprig out of his fingers. “What’s going on?” you ask, voice trembling.
Because truth be told, security obsession and his pain-in-the-ass work schedule besides, you really can’t imagine living with anyone else.
It’s been a year with Leon, your mysterious government agent roommate, the one who you’d spent nights hunched over the kitchen counter with corner store ramen. You’d gripe over your shitty coworkers, he’d threaten to tear them each a new one, and you’d half-pretend to beg him not to. And then you’d both couch surf until the sunrise, with you ending up cuddling into his chest and magically tucked into bed the next morning with your share of the chores done before Leon left for the day.
Leon’s shoulder was always there for you to cry on after failed first dates. It was the one favor you couldn’t pay back in kind; the man seemed to have zero interest in dating with a curious tendency to grow quiet whenever the question got brought up. But for him, you kept your first aid kit stocked. You’ve lost count of how many times you’d stayed up past two AM cleaning his cuts and icing his bruises upon his return home.
It was a shared agreement. He kept his secrets, you got a built-in best friend. Or at least you thought you did before now.
Your throat stings. “Is this why you drank so much? You didn’t have the guts to tell me you hate living together?” you crumple the hem of his sweater in your fist.
The faraway look in Leon’s eyes clears instantaneously once he registers what’s starting to spill down your cheeks.
Your next demand comes out riddled with cracks. “You have to be h-honest, Leon, promise me. Why don’t you want to stay?”
“Then you’ll stop crying?”
Leon’s hands clumsily drift up to cup your cheeks, but the world’s gone full snowglobe through your haze of tears. You don’t pay them any mind, nodding fervently.
“It’s you,” he breathes.
You smell the mulled wine in his breath. Your holiday once-favorite, sweet and and now sickening. You’re a bruised peach, frostbitten and smashed under his Timberlands. Leon had it all wrong; it wasn’t the front door that needed to be padlocked, it was your stupid heart and the creeping realization that you’d tried to stave off with all those horrible dates and more excuses to fall asleep in his arms.
The thing Leon did get right, though, was that you had no fighting chance. How could you let him break his way so completely into your life? He wasn’t even here half the time and here you are, fighting the clock to greet him home like he even wanted you there.
You shake your head, interrupting the thumbs trying to wipe away your tears. “That’s fine. Yeah. Totally fine,” you sniffle, putting on your customer service brave face.
“No,” Leon frowns.
“If I’m such a horrible roommate, we can sto-”
“No,” he repeats firmly. “Don’t…ugh,” he claps a hand to his forehead, the alcohol headache hot on his heels.
“Don’t what?” you cry.
“Not helping,” Leon grits.
“Sorry for being sad that I’ll miss my best friend? I don’t know what you want me to-”
There’s a sharp pull on your wrist. With an exasperated sigh, Leon lifts the fist at your side with the sprig of mistletoe still in it above your head. You get one, maybe two seconds to wonder how he remembered it was there before his lips collide with yours, his calloused palm guiding your cheek towards his cherry-flavored mouth. The wind knocks out of you – more than when you dared him to throw you over his shoulder.
The mistletoe falls out of your fingers. Leon’s thumb brushes the last tear out of the corner of your eye and mulled wine becomes your favorite again.
“Didn’t have the guts to say I liked ya,” he mumbles, and your heart skips. Leon’s smiling.
“You’d rather move out than admit you like me?” you giggle, breathless, arms circling around his neck the way they always do when he princess carries you.
“Sweetheart, y’know me.”
And yeah, you do. Nobody else does quite like you.
“Stupid.” You let him kiss you a moment more before pulling away; you can’t help that his frowny face is your favorite expression on him when he’s drunk. “And you know what happens when you pull stupid stunts like that?”
Leon blinks at you, the consequences of bad backflipping flashing through his head. “Don’t want plunger duty!” he groans, flopping back onto the couch.
He’ll be wishing the toilet rats a Merry Christmas, poor guy. Your guy. You’ll just have to wait to cuddle him after he takes an hour-long shower.
@leonsecretsanta MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL!! link to my masterlist lol
note : SECRET SANTA FIC FOR @candlekiss !!! MERYY CHRISTMAS THIS IS EXTREMELY RUSHED BUT I WISH YOU THE MERRIEST CHRISTMAS I HOPE YOU GET EVERYTHING YOU WANTED!!!! the quality inst that good because I didn’t write this in like an hour im so so sorry erm
wc : 1.5k
tags : @withonly-sweetheart
desc : roommates and mistletoe don’t mix well. roommates to lovers, fluff (??), re4r!Leon, fem!reader, not proofread
It feels like you have to force Leon to do anything that involves socializing. He can manage the dishes and laundry by any other chores himself, but when it comes to having people over, he always shuts himself away in his room. You really shouldn’t care, it’s none of your business and not everyone likes having company over, but you can’t help but wish he’d come out for at least an hour or two and have some fun.
He's always been nice to you, civil, at least. He's appreciative of any dinner you cook for him or taking time out of your day to take care of him while he's sick, he does the same for you, if he's able. It's typical roommate behavior, you think. Maybe Leon's just more comfortable around you than others, though it could also be that it's your friends that come over more than his.
But he's never really had any of his friends or coworkers come over. You've met Chris and Jill a few times, same with Claire and Marvin, but you've never come home to see any of the four sitting on the couch talking with Leon. The times that you've met them you seemed to get along, they had mentioned Leon talking about you and that you seem as sweet as he says, so that's a good thing, right?
So you get the idea of throwing a Christmas party for yours and Leon’s friends, no big deal. It's not like it's a huge thing, just a few more people in your apartment than normal, you're doing this for Leon's sake, anyway.
Only Chris and Claire had shown up thirty minutes early to help set up (which they hadn’t really mentioned to you) along with Sherry, Jill brought Carlos and they both brought more than enough booze, Marvin’s arrival was fine, your own friends came in a little loud, but they brought pies so it was ok.
But now you’re jammed in the kitchen with Sherry whose trying to scoop cookie dough onto the cookie sheet, Claire whose pulling turkey out of the oven, Carlos whose coming back into the kitchen for more beer, and yourself who has been trying and failing to make eggnog. People are still running in and out of the kitchen, squeezing behind everyone cooking, yelling over the Christmas music that was playing.
“I put up mistletoe,”Claire nudges you as she walks past, carrying the pot full of stuffing. “Keep an eye out.”
“You decorated?” You turn to face her, licking some of the eggnog off your finger.
“Sherrys idea,”
“Pssh, sure.”
“Honest! Come on,” Claire laughs, “Is there a problem?”
“I’m not kissing you,” Claire rolls her eyes, setting the pot of stuffing down onto the table and starting to scoop it out into a big bowl. Two of your friends squeeze behind you to get first pickings of the food being set out, Chris and Jill follow after.
“You gotta kick Leon off the tv, the only thing he’s watching is that stupid Christmas baking show.” One of your friends giggles trying to get your attention as you help Sherry slide the cookie sheets into the oven.
“Yeah? What do you wanna watch?”
“Well, we were supposed to turn on Home Alone ten minutes ago…” She mumbled, already shoving turkey into her mouth. You flinch away from the heat of the oven and shake your hands as you pull away, standing upright.
”Alright, alright, I’ll talk to him.” You shove by Carlos and Sherry, through the doorway into the living room and walking towards Leon who is still hogging the remote. Leon can hear you walking towards him, he looks to you, his resting face changing into a smile.
“Got no holiday cheer?” You tease, sitting next to him on the couch.
“I’m filled to the brim with it,” He mutters rolling his eyes slightly.
“Oh my God, let’s just watch some Christmas movies. I spent hours in the kitchen for this, y’know.” You lean on his shoulder and pry the remote from his grip, he sighs.
“You’re so lucky I like you,”
“No shit, come on.” You grab his hand and pull him to stand up with you, dragging him towards the doorway and into the kitchen, getting plates for the both of you while the others continue to rush around the two of you.
You’re sure that if you and Leon had a driveway, Leon would find some reason to be outside shoveling, or if you had decorated outside, he’d find another reason to fiddle with the lights. He does come out of his shell a bit and chimes in to talk to Chris and Claire, he jokes with Sherry, pokes at Carlos and plays up being offended.
He’s not paying attention to the movie, but he taps his foot along to the Christmas music that’s still playing, he follows you around, though.
Leon normally does this if the two of you are ever out together, he trails after you, trying to hold k to your sleeve so he doesn’t lose you in a crowd. You know it’s not typical roommate behavior, but you find it cute, plus it’s not hurting anyone, right?
Even when you and Leon get knocked around by everyone else in your small apartment and end up bumping into each other, he holds your gaze and almost reaches out to grab you so you can stay for another moment and ignore the party.
There are kisses under the mistletoe— all between Carlos and Jill, though.
Leon and you do get held under the doorframe for a moment. It’s when Chris is talking to Sherry in the living room while she was trying to make her way into the kitchen and when one of your friends was trying to come into the living room, both you and Leon were standing and chatting.
Leon didn’t kiss you, unfortunately.
Claire didn’t take down her decorations when the party was over, everyone helped pick up the mess they made, but your apartment looked more holly-jolly than it did before the party.
You’ve already brushed your teeth and changed into your pajamas, Leon’s done the same, but he’s been looking up for the past few minutes.
“What’re you looking at?” You question, setting your cup of water down on the counter and stepping closer as he waves you over. You stand beneath the doorframe with him, looking up at the mistletoe hanging from it.
There’s a kiss pressed to your cheek within the next second, you look back to Leon to see the grin on his face.
“Just on the cheek?” You tease, crossing your arms.
“You want it on the lips?”
“Well, that’s the tradition, isn’t it?” You giggle, bringing your hand up and cupping his cheek, he pulls you in at the same time for the kiss you both expected, only he’s a bit more passionate than you.
ID!Leon x GN!Reader ; roommates/house decorating || Leon Secret Santa || 🎁: @uhlillie 🎄: @leonsecretsanta <3
Leon's operations always proceed as follows: infiltrate, carry out, and slip out covertly. It's always that easy in principle, but in practice, things never turn out the way he had hoped. He's tired of it all; it's the holidays, goddamn it, but work won't let him take a break for even a moment. A gloved finger releases the safety catch as a far-off, rhythmic vibration brings him out of his reverie. He is driven insane by the absence of any other sensory cues than touch, sound, and sight, as well as the darkness trails behind him where his flashlight isn't focused. The experienced agent feels as though he is heading down a path with no assurance of return since the tunnel seems to go on forever in front of him.
“Hunnigan, are you sure this is the right one?” He asks into his comms, voice low. “I’ve been walking for 30 minutes but I did hear a noise earlier.”
He hears her type into a keyboard and click a mouse before she responds back to him. “Yes, I’m tracking you now and you’re exactly where you need to be. The tunnel is purposely long to throw any wanderers off; years ago, there were functioning gate systems for every kilometer walked but it appears that they’re not employed anymore and haven’t been for a few years now. Stay vigilant Condor One, I’m picking up a heat signature somewhere in the system. Stay safe.”
“Copy,” he responds before turning it back off to listen to his environment better. He sighs before he continues forward, unable to speed through things and wrap it up for the year– he can’t afford to do that.
After a few more minutes of walking, he reaches a seemingly unassuming manhole in the ground and after receiving instructions from Hunnigan, he opens it with some effort and descends down the narrow opening. Before he can totally reach the ground, something grabs him by his ankle and yanks him down with enough force to smack him down; the impact forces air out of his lungs, stunning him for a moment as he tries to take in large amounts of air. He recovers quickly though, retrieving his loaded gun and aiming at his beastly assailant: an alligator as tall and long as a double-decker tour bus in the roads of LA, its scaly body covered in green grime and some sort of slime mold. The BOW lunges at him, its hideous maw wide open as it charges but Leon dodges the charge, aiming expertly at fatal points but his bullets do little damage to its thick hide; he realizes this, also recognizing that using a grenade in this space would kill him as well, opting to run to safety to avoid the gator as much as he can. Luck not being on the agent’s side, the alligator is a lot more intelligent than he thought it was, using its tail to slam Leon and send him flying into a wall, landing awkwardly into his forearm before a particularly nasty fall. Pain struck through him like a thunderclap, a resonant ache too powerful for Leon to ignore, amplifying the sickening awareness that something had been horribly misaligned. His consciousness was ebbing, bending to the will to cave into the fresh surge of torment, yet he managed to retrieve a grenade from his gear. With his good hand, he pulled the pin and sent it to the gator’s direction. Right before it explodes, he gathered whatever strength he had left to find the most secure spot around to duck in. A white-hot brilliance is followed by a roar that interrupts the air, from the grenade or the BOW Leon isn’t sure but he’s relieved that the damn beast is in chunks and bits now, turning on comms again to relay information back to HQ.
“Mission cleared,” he grunts. “Request back-up… broken arm…”
“Report your status agent,” Hunnigan asks to repeat.”
“Just said my arm’s broken,” Leon repeats with a slight edge of impatience. “Rat bastard flung me against the wall… goin’ to fucking pass out…”
“Copy,” she responds. “Hang in there Leon, I’ve dispatched a rescue team and they’ll be there in 20. Stay with me.”
“I’ll… try…”
He groans a little more, trying to limit movement in his bad arm as he props himself up from his previous ball curl position. Such a simple injury shouldn’t render him this weak but that hit was just too strong for him to make it out unscathed, his consciousness beginning to give way to a creeping desire to fall asleep. The world began to darken around him, vision unfocusing but he kept his resolve steadfast: if he could make it through this one, he won’t let the holidays pass without him letting you know your laugh, your kindness, and your mere presence had kept him fighting. He’d trade his silence for vulnerability because if he could survive this madness, he’d be able to survive the terror of telling you that he’s loved you from the start. He admires your mind, how your thoughts could dance between profound and playful, how you could say something so wise and crack him up with a stupid joke at the same time; he adores the way you make him feel understood and be his truest self, and how enchanted he is with the way you can be fiercely independent and also nurturing– your existence is proof that the universe fought tooth and nail to bring such a blessing in his dark life.
The scent of antiseptic, the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, and a soft pillow supporting his head greets Leon as he stirs awake from his unconscious state. The blinds are drawn around his bed and his bad arm is now in a black sling, taken care of by the doctors who tended to him. He quietly groans, running his hand through his face and feeling the prickly stubble that’s begun to grow on his cheeks and chin. Somewhere in the room, he hears Hunnigan’s faint voice conversing with someone and since it sounded like she’s the only speaker present, it must be over a call. He doesn’t have the energy to eavesdrop, preferring to close his eyes and fall back asleep for a little longer but his FOS agent interrupts his plans, pushing aside the curtains and greeting Leon.
“You’ve been out for nearly an entire day,” she points out. “How are you feeling?”
“Crusty.” He deadpans, earning a nod from her.
“Makes sense.”
Silence fills the room again before the FOS agent speaks up again. “Called HQ today and field for a 2-month rest and recuperation period for you. You deserve it after 7 years of non-stop work. They’ll still need a written report from you though but I told them to cut you some slack since your arm’s broken and the holidays are right around the corner.”
She purposely leaves out the part where she nearly instigated an argument because her and Leon’s higher-ups refused to let him off, standing her ground fiercely and convincing them to let the man off the hook otherwise she’ll personally email the President herself and send in documented reports of over fatigue, violation on ethics, and liability regarding an overworked employee being denied a recuperation period; Leon certainly wouldn't like hearing about her nearly getting nasty with his boss so she decided to keep this to herself.
“Thanks, Ingrid. I appreciate it,” he says with a closed lip smile. “So, uh… when do I get discharged? And the hospital bill?”
“You’ll be discharged in about… 4 hours and the agency’s got your bill covered, just focus on getting better soon. Anyway, how’re things between you and them?”
A barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lip though briskly concealed carelessly with a clear of his throat that gave away the simmering nervous excitement beneath his nonchalant exterior.
“I’ll do something about it soon,” he carefully responds, it being his tender affections kept lock-and-key in his heart. He looks up at Hunnigan whose arms are crossed, looking down at him with a look that shows that she doesn’t quite believe that that is all he has to say.
“What?” Leon asks with a shrug. “You look like you want me to say more.”
“Because I know there’s more than just that,” she points out. Leon looks down and stays silent, remembering the promise he made to himself moments before he passed out. “Don’t act like you don’t spend your work break talking to me about them and texting me at ass-scratching hours of the night because Jill and the Redfields are sick of you not doing anything.”
“Guilty as charged,” he says with a half-smile. He took a moment to collect himself internally, to shift in his hospital bed that will display a convincing feigned indifference that will redirect attention away from the telltale crimson burning in his ears. “But I… I promised myself that I won’t let the holidays pass me by without letting them know that I’ve loved them for so long, so that's something, right?”
“Mhm.”
“They deserve to know how incredible and precious they are to me but there’s this voice that tells me they’re better off not knowing, and I hate how much I listen to it. It sounds selfish of me but I don’t want them to walk out of my life just because I couldn’t keep myself in check.”
“Why do you think that they’re better off not knowing? Sometimes we assume that silence is safer but it can create a distance when there doesn’t need to be any,” Hunnigan begins. “It’s okay to feel scared but don’t let it rob you and them of a chance to experience something genuine. Do you trust them to treat you well, Leon?”
“Yes–”
“Then trust that they’ll handle your feelings with care. Certainly you’ve got reasons on why you trust them and I’m sure that it’s because you’re treated kindly and valued so why not trust them with your feelings? With your heart?”
Chapped lips parted with the intent to say more words but instead, a soft sigh of resolution is released. Hunnigan gave him an encouraging pat to his shoulder before walking to the other side of the bed, letting the nurse who came to do their rounds in. “Good to see that you’re back with us, Mr. Kennedy. How are we feeling?”
In the meantime, he will have to accept rides from friends or use public transit a bit more frequently; his beloved XDiavel will have to spend the next six months gathering dust in the basement parking of his apartment complex. It will take some time to get used to using his left arm, and asking for help from others will make it even more difficult. He is unsure of how he will handle this aspect of his life for the time being, but he is aware that he will need to practice putting on shirts with his less dominant hand, especially sweaters and button-ups now that the weather calls for layering clothes. He will definitely miss the thrill and breeze that riding his bike brings him, but it's a welcome change if it means allowing his arm to heal properly.
The car ride to Leon’s apartment is filled with comfortable silence, neither agent energized enough to start small talk, especially at 2:17 AM. As he looks out the car window, blue irises meeting the sight of ice white like the sclera of eyes, he internalizes the fact that he’s lucky to make it to the end of the year, still alive to see another Christmas; the year has been rough, like last year and the year before last year, but he’s amazed at how long he’s kept going despite it all. Instead of the weariness and stench of his line of work sticking to him, it’s the stingy scent of hospital disinfectant that clings to him like a distant memory. He leans his head against the window, the coolness of the external environment oddly grounding as he thinks of his dear roommate and a clandestine focal point of his most tooth-rotting indulgent domestic dreams– you, who unknowingly filled in the cold and empty spaces of his life. Even when he’s out in the field, hyperfocused on the mission objectives, his thoughts always find a way to circle back to you: he swore to protect you from the horrors he’s faced, even from afar, yet he’s too terrified to ask for more of you. For the longest time, as a man who is no longer a stranger to losing people he cares about the most, the idea of being your trusty roommate was enough for him.
“Catch some sleep, Leon.” He cranes his head to look at his coworker from the corner of his eye.
“We’re still a few minutes away. I’ll wake you up once we’re there.”
Leon mumbles a faint ‘thanks’ before settling cozily into his seat, succumbing to the bone-deep exhaustion and dozing off to a light slumber.
He tries to keep his footfalls as light and muted as possible, a conscious effort to make the pads of his heavy combat boots lighter. Now, he stands in front of the door; he’s sure that you're fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the world around you as you’re somewhere in dreamland. Carefully, he unlocks the door and steps inside a dark home before locking it once again behind him; everything is neat and in order, just like how he left it 3 months ago, though the couch definitely looks a lot cleaner, the throw pillows have cases he’s never seen before, and the air smells faintly of mistletoe room spray. He walks down the hall, careful to avoid bumping into anything, and turns the corner where the bedrooms would be– yours to the right and his to the left. He doesn’t mean to be creepy or unsettling but as he stands near your door, he listens closely for any noise and to his relief, he only hears soft snores which ever so slightly tilts the corners of his lips skyward. Once he realizes that he’s grinning fondly, he brings a hand to rub at his stubbled chin as he chastises himself for foolishly folding for something as simple as a soothing slumber of the one person who unknowingly occupies all 4 chambers of his heart.
“Mushy,” he inaudibly scolds himself while still sporting a stupidly-in-love grin.
Shaking his head to rid his mind of such soft thoughts, he decides to head into his room and have the first proper sleep he’s gotten in months. He forgoes a shower– too tired to have one, fuss around with his sling, and wait for the water to run warm. Grabbing a clean blanket from one of the cabinets inside his bedroom, he kicks off his boots then lays down on his bed and drapes it over himself, laying on his bare mattress in his Levi’s and the same black shirt, his leather jacket now on the ground somewhere near his boots.
Morning comes, prompting you to start your day a minute before your alarm disturbs the tranquility. After your morning rituals, you cook yourself a packed lunch to bring to work in order to save up for a gift for Leon– that is, if work won’t hog him until Christmas. You’re not even sure what he likes aside from sleek watches and neat jackets, something within the bounds of your salary. A shaving set? Premium leather cleaner? A gift card to a popular barbershop in town? Something for a grill? Does he even own a grill?
“I swear, Leon, you’re so going to get Vaseline lip balm from me because I don’t know what you want that I can afford,” you tell yourself as you flip the food over to thoroughly cook the other side. “What the hell do you even do for a living to earn 6 figures? How are you still living in an apartment and not in some mansion at a mountain overlooking an ocean, seriously. Might just be a man thing.”
“Not really a big fan of huge houses,” a raspy and baritone voice coming from behind you responds.
Your heart leaps and lodges into your throat, turning quickly as your breath hitches while you come face-to-face with the owner of that voice with your eyes wide. A soulful, honest-to-god scream coming from the depths of your chest crawls its way out of your chest and it’s now Leon’s turn to be wide-eyed and off-guard, his face nearly mirroring the same shock from your own face.
“Easy, it’s just me!” Leon explains, voice tinged with his own nerves– too much for just having woken up in the morning.
“You scared me! Why are you freaking out?!” You say with a flinch. “What the hell, Leon?!”
“Smelled something good cookin’ so I got up,” he begins to explain as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Missed your cooking.”
Unable to form coherent words with the overwhelming blend of emotions, you opt to go in for a hug. In your haste, you don’t notice the black sling that nearly blends in with his shirt. To your confusion, he steps away an inch and politely extends a hand to place some distance between you both.
“Arm,” he points to his injured left arm. “I just got it treated yesterday so uh… we’re gonna have to find an alternative to the usual hugging.”
With the dramatic overload of information dumped on you all at once in under a minute, you end up sobbing instead and you’re certain you don’t look a single bit attractive which definitely won’t work in your favor if you want to woo your roommate.
“Don’t scare me like that again!” You sniffle as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand. “And your arm too, that looks like it hurt like a bitch.”
He chuckles and steps closer to you, bringing you into a one-armed hug as you press your face to his chest and cry a little more at him being back home safely, at the injury he sustained, and at the unintentional scare he gave you.
“It’s so good to see you again, Leon. I was wondering if you’d even be back for the holidays,” you say as you begin to calm down.
“Yeah, me too. I’ve missed seeing you,” he regrets his words when he sees your eyes subtly widen at his phrasing. “And uh… I’ll be here until March so you can have me as long as you want. Feels good to not be bothered for a couple of months, y’know.”
“That sounds great. You’ll finally be able to watch the DVDs you have stacked,” you motion to the neatly kept stack on the center table beneath the wall-mounted TV.
“You can watch them with me if you want,” he instantly offers. You’re not sure if his cheeks have always had that subtle flush in them or if his pupils are normally large, but you agree to take his offer anyway.
You finish up cooking your miraculously unburnt lunch, packing it in tupperwares as Leon watches from the dining table while he nurses a mug of instant coffee; it’s a little sweeter and creamier than how he usually has his but he doesn’t mind, you cared enough about him to even share some of the sugary coffee you enjoy. You chatted about whatever happened in your life while he was gone– being a contender for a promotion, a plan on adopting a kitten around the new year, unproductive coworkers making workload heavier, and other random things that come to mind. Leon chuckles and offers his own commentary, missing your voice more than he previously thought; he notes how your hair is now a little longer, there’s slight bags under your eyes, and you’ve got a new bracelet; he wonders from who.
“Sorry but I’m going to cut my yapping short, I gotta clock in to work now.”
He nods, getting up to place his mug in the sink before walking you to the door.
“I’ll be here waiting, it’s not like I can go anywhere with this arm.”
You smile and give him a kind pat to his right shoulder. “Right. Welcome home, Leon. Feel free to grab some sweets by the way, they’re in the left cabinet.”
He nods and watches you leave, only shutting the door once you’re out of his sight. Looking down at himself, he decides to take a shower but first: he’ll have to figure out how to put on the waterproof cast by himself and thoroughly clean himself up.
In the days leading up to Christmas, your routine merges with his in order to help him out; frequently seeing Leon shirtless becomes the norm along with helping him put on button-up shirts, slip his arms into cozy sweaters, changing his slings, and cooking meals for two… almost like how couples do. Despite how often you see his chiseled midriff, fingers cautiously ghosting over scar tissue and lean muscles, you always require a breather afterwards in order to rid your face of that telltale redness. Just hours ago, your cheek brushed against his and you swear you felt him rein in a sigh from escaping his lips; you wished that he was feeling just as clammy and nervous as you were, hearts synced in beats and powerful emotions. His eyes trailing your movements as you secure his sling doesn’t help your confusion too, causing you to frequent ‘signs that he is in love with you’ articles each night. On a more surely positive note, his fast food intake has been reduced and he’s been enjoying healthier meals that you cook: constantly giving you compliments and his detailed praises for each dish and technique. You cringe at yourself whenever your mind automatically drifts to your wild imaginations at being happily married to him.
Leon finds himself unable to fall asleep; he’s tried everything– white noise, a sleeping mask, and getting off of his phone but to no avail. Each time he sleeps a little deeper into his slumber, images of the grotesque and macabre dance through his mind and drive him mad. It’s not like he can even get into his usual sleeping position due to his arm, preventing him from fully getting comfortable, so he sits up with a groan before slipping out his room and into the living room; christmas decorations are half-up, some adorning the room in festive reds and greens but there are some that appear as if they were placed there without a care, a little more of the decorations still in boxes. You did note that you’ve been busy covering shifts and working overtime, leaving no time and energy to finish furnishing the house in time for Christmas. Struck by a brilliant idea, he takes the initiative to complete the rest of the decorations so you’d wake up to a Hallmark movie dreamscape in the morning… and it’ll all be thanks to him and you’d smile real wide and call him charming– he’s getting ahead of himself, a mindless smile once again gracing his features. He gets to work on what he can, finding little to no trouble on using one hand for this task.
He shocks himself with how good and fitting his pairings are: the decorations, tinsel, wreaths, and holiday charms complementing each other a lot better than he expected. Maybe he should come over to the Redfields and help them put up decorations, Chris could seriously use some lessons on coordinating and matching. One break per hour turns into two then three and eventually, he’s conked out on the couch with a box of christmas balls on his lap and tinsel on his free hand; his mouth his open, head thrown back and some brunette fringe curtaining an eye. You’d love to spend the entire day giggling and describing the state you found your endearing roommate, teasing him to no end– the poor man woke up confused, seeing the first rays of daylight filter in and hear your muted chuckles as you took pictures of him.
“Fell asleep decorating?” you ask, though it’s a little pointless to ask: you know the answer.
“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck before setting aside the box and standing. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I decided to get busy. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I seriously don’t mind. I could use some help since I’ve been so busy and tired so you’re heaven-sent for putting some of it up, thank you again. You’ve done so much for me already–”
“No, you’ve done so much for me already. Don’t give me all the credit,” he says with a timid grin.
You walk around, stopping around the walls and tables and in front of the tree. “You’re really good at this! You even swapped out some of the things I already put up– no biggie though, it looks even better now. Who knew Leon Kennedy could make a–”
“Hallmark movie dreamscape?”
“Yeah!”
The entire thing isn’t particularly funny or the pinnacle of comedy but you both find yourself sharing a fond chuckle and you feel your hummingbird heart rattle against its bone-cage and Leon already knows he’ll be obsessing over this moment all day long.
“You’re great at this, Leon– genuinely. It’s so… pretty and magical and basically the stuff of dreams. I love the arrangements, I don’t know what’s better to keep staring at: you or this Christmas wonderland.”
He’s sure to yap Hunnigan’s poor ear off all afternoon while you’re out.
From that day on, he spends most of his days (and sleepless nights) planning the perfect confession: writing it down on paper, pacing around the room acting it out, and mumbling the words he’ll use. He knows he’s acting and treating this like a silly teenage boy with an out-of-league crush and in a way, he thinks you are: you’re heaven-sent, God’s apology for all the evil and scum in this world. He giggles and chuckles at the prospect of confessing to you, getting all wiggly until an ache in his bad arm cuts it short and causes him to wince for a moment before getting back to where he left off. Claire calls him delusional, Leon thinks he’s being a romantic visionary.
The sight of Leon’s brightened, reinvigorated puppy eyes stuck with you until you reached your workplace; those bedazzled eyes, coupled with his perfect smile, is the kind of thing that belongs to someone who has it all: charm, looks, and confidence. If there were already others interested in him, surely you can’t compete: he deserves someone bolder and more upfront, not just someone fumbling with half-hearted attempts to be seen by their secret darling. Every attempt to flirt and hint at your affections seemed to go unnoticed, his responses always polite but never suggestive of anything more; maybe you weren’t clever enough to capture the attention of someone as effortlessly suave as Leon Kennedy
“It’s not his fault,” you bitterly thought to yourself as you bit on the edge of your pen. “I’m just not that outstanding for him to leave an impression…”
“Who’s fault?” your coworker asks, peeking over their cubicle.
“Nothing,” you quickly dismiss the slip-up. “Work must be getting to me, I’m talking to myself now, haha...”
There’s already an ‘incident’ wherein you took the time to shape the foam in Leon’s coffee into a heart. “Thought I’d sprinkle some love for your day.”
“Lattes aren’t really my preference but thank you,” he responded that one embarrassing morning. “Mm, this is really good.” Despite him enjoying the coffee enough to take it to work, it still left you red-faced and ashamed of yourself.
Unwilling to let other embarrassing memories like these get the best of you, you push those thoughts down before they have a chance to simmer up and bother you so you occupy yourself with work.
“I can do it myself,” Leon mutters half-heartedly though his predicament betrayed his words: the remaining sleeve of his favorite sweater dangling around his neck like a sad scarf.
You ignored his stubbornness, hands gentle as you fumbled with his sweater as you fixed it up for him before slipping his bad arm inside with tender care.
When the sleeve finally aligned, it’s as if your heart overrode your ability to logically reason with yourself and so, you placed a hand on his stubbled cheek to steady him. The touch lingered for a little longer, the seconds stretching on a little longer. Leon’s breath camps out in his throat, too terrified to make a little move and shatter the magic. Unfortunately for him, you took your hand back as if his face was a cup of hot cocoa too hot to hold.
“Sorry,” you whisper before backing off, leaving an achy emptiness in the blue-eyed agent’s heart. “Is it all okay now?”
“Huh? Right– yes, it’s fine now. Thanks, by the way.”
You nod, excusing yourself from his presence to occupy yourself with something else, the awkward void palpable than ever though you both know that you felt a shared crackle of something precious.
The night is all so perfect and cozy– a delectable Christmas feast, soft Christmas sweaters, and a comforting atmosphere settling over your shared apartment with Leon. You don’t want this night to ever end, for this feeling to dissipate come morning time. It’s now or never, so you direct Leon to stand with you in the arch of the doorway. Taking a deep and steadying breath, you let your feelings be known before the fear can ruin everything again.
“I know you probably think that this is sudden,” you carefully begin. “But it’s not. It’s been simmering for a year and 3 months now– each time you come home from some work-related thing or when I make you smile or when I help you out with your sweaters and shirts, there’s this feeling that threatens to crumble me deliciously and it’s all because of you.”
Leon tilts his head, unconsciously mimicking a confused puppy. “What do you mean…?”
“Under this stupid mistletoe that I placed while you were taking the pies from the neighbor, I can’t let this moment pass without me being honest to you: you mean so much to me– so much that if I lost you, I’d go insane. I’m completely, overwhelmingly, and all-consumingly in love with you and honestly, it’s impossible not to.”
Your voice trembled and if even the slightest thing didn't go your way, you’re certain you’ll cry from the immense pressure on you. You laugh softly, trying to soothe yourself as a nervous warmth flows through you.
“You’re not the only one,” Leon speaks up, voice thick with emotion, “who’s been thinking about this moment.”
He steps closer, cautiously perching his right hand on your hip.
“I was going to say something first but you beat me to it first,” he adds while sporting a tantalizing smile. “I planned on telling you later tonight but guess I’ll have to let you win this time.”
Your eyes locked with his, the weight of formerly unspoken feelings suddenly lifting and giving way to something charged. Taking a tiny step closer, you cup his face in your hands again and you sigh at how perfect the fit is.
“So… what did we learn?” You jokingly ask.
“That we both suck at keeping secrets?” He jokes back.
A shared and equally shy giggle erupts between you two like you’re both teenagers new to the whole shtick of love.
“So… you do know what being under a mistletoe requires us to do right?” he softly asks.
Beneath the mistletoe, time seemed to stop and the seconds that flowed were tinged with genuine nervousness intensifying as your faces drew ever nearer.
“I love you,” Leon says before meeting your lips with his, gentle and feather-light with hints of hesitation. It was slow yet sweet, sweeter than all the combined holiday treats you both had. The shared warmth and affection blurred the rest of the world into insignificance; each brush of lips were delicate like falling snowflakes. As you both pull away to catch air, you rest your foreheads together and share a giggle in the tingly aftermath of your first kiss.
NOTE - Happy holidays everyone <3 I would like you to give yourself either a tight hug, a pat to the shoulder, or both for making it to the end of the year. The year certainly wasn't smooth or easy for some of us but I'm proud of you for ending the year with me and the rest of us who deeply care about you. I hope that every single one of you are warm and cozy in your homes, with stomachs happily full from a tasty dinner, and content with your lives right now. If you're currently going through something, please hold on and stay strong: things will all be okay in the end and if they aren't okay right now then it's not the end just yet-- rest and slow down if you must but never give up <33 You got this and I know you do because I believe in you, sending virtual hugs and kisses to every single person who sees this post on their dashboards *<]:D !! If you're seeing this, thank you for taking time to read and interact with this post :3 I <3333 UUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The dividers are made by @cafekitsune (the moving red line divider), @bernardsbendystraws (the Christmas lights divider), and @wcnderlnds (the red and blue snowflakes) + the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).
Dectorating the home, meet cute, proposal || Leon Secret Santa || Gift for @lysa1201
leon kennedy x gn reader
synopsis: while decorating your tree this year, Leons got something besides the ornaments on his mind with memories of your relationship bubbling to the surface
word count: 4.1k
warnings: sfw, no reader description but they have hair long enough to stick out of a hat, mentions of past alcoholism, one off mention of sex but no descriptive content, nightmares, injury (no specifics), blood mention, flashback, meet cute, marriage proposal, Christmas themed
a/n: merry Christmas to everyone celebrating! I had so much fun participating in the secret santa event and thank you so much to @leonsecretsanta for putting this together for everyone <3 ^_^
“Oh look, this is the one you picked up for me in France!”
You beamed at him, cupping a little ornament of a glass ballerina in your hands the way they make those stylized cutesy animals hold things in movies. It was so objectively adorable it made his teeth ache from the sweetness. You routinely had that effect on him, so much so that if he were a more clueless man he probably would’ve made several panicked dental appointments in the beginning of your relationship. But of all things Leon isn’t clueless, he’s been acutely aware for a very long time regarding how you make him feel.
The ring box in his pocket feels like a lead ball. Or one of those tungsten cubes he’s seen pictures of online. Since you decided, hands on hips as you gazed at the empty space in front of the bay window of the house, today was the day to drag all the old boxes of Christmas decorations and the faux tree from the attic, he’d been sweating. Before, up in the dusty attic air with motes dancing through the slices of dim, yellowish light he could blame it on the exertion from lifting and pushing those brick heavy boxes. Now, however, he had no convenient explanation for why sweat was slicking his palms, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his back and arms.
“You with me?”
He blinked at you a few times. “Oh- yeah, yeah, right here sweetheart. Do you want the hooks?”
He held out the box of ornament hooks, the hard clamshell packaging squeaking against his moist skin. It made him grimace, just barely, but it was enough of a reaction to make you frown, setting down the ornaments and rising from your multicolored tissue paper faux skirt on the hardwood floor.
“Lugging all this downstairs was a lot, are you sure you don’t need to rest for a little bit?” You came towards the couch but before you could start the nursemaid routine he grabbed your wrist, pulling you lightly until you crashed down on his lap. Getting situated was a little awkward, your giggles between huffed breaths making his heart run like a jackhammer against his ribs as you settled into straddling his lap. His hands easily, reflexively, found their home on your hips, kneading tiny circles into the fuzzy material of your pajama pants.
“Next thing I know you’re gonna tell me you’re putting me in a nursing home.”
You rolled your eyes scoffing, placing your hands against his jaw to cradle his face as you rested your forehead against his. He hoped the stubble he neglected to shave this morning didn’t scratch against your hands too much, prayed he didn’t have too much coffee on his breath. Since you came into the picture he hadn’t worried nearly as often about the scent of liquor on his breath.
It was a few days before Christmas, almost a decade ago now. He’d been drug out by colleagues yet again for some forced socialization and while he was grateful, of course, that they wanted him to enjoy himself if he was being entirely honest he would’ve much rather been nursing a drink a solitude than sitting in a bar with people he’d prefer to keep firmly separated into the “professional” category.
Christmas lighting always felt so… garish. Something that didn’t belong to him, didn’t belong in his life. There was never going to be some Hallmark, made for a TV moment where his heart swells five times in size with some shit like “the joy and magic of the season”. The best anyone like him could hope for is that there’d be a discount on booze for the holidays.
Once a few of those wet behind the ears agents had to call cabs to get home he decided it was time for some air. Again, it was a kind gesture and they’d have no way to know about his history with alcohol but goddamn was it a terrible idea to drag an off and on recovering alcoholic to a bar during the biggest drinking season of the year. Like some twisted joke. As the sticky, pockmarked door swung open to the night, a wall of arctic air hit him full force in the face, the kind that makes your lungs seize up for a second before they remember how to breathe in subzero oxygen. His boots, scuffed from snow and the residue of road salt, crunched against fresh powder and ice as he made his way to the sidewalk haloed in dim, rotten orange streetlights.
Bethesda is hardly a podunk town but thankfully it was fairly quiet in the streets despite the holiday season. He hadn’t driven, and honestly didn't want to bother with it since the hole in the wall they’d chosen actually wasn’t that far from his own place. They didn’t need to know just how frequently over the years his ass had been glued to one of those patchwork upholstery stools. A familiar itch was going haywire in the back of his throat, his hands trembling in his pockets but not the sort of shaking that can be blamed on the temperatures. Truthfully he hadn’t had a drop of liquor in his system for over a year now, but didn’t have the heart nor the masochism to tell his coworkers just how awkward being in that kind of setting would be for him.
It just wasn’t the sort of thing you spoke about to people you spent every waking minute keeping at arm's length.
While the building he lived in was hardly run down, it was definitely not… well kept. Which was fine, he didn’t need to live somewhere pretty or fancy. He’d survived with less, it was nice to just be comfortable and not in the piss freezing cold. As he trudged up the stairs, the flight that always cracked a little too much for comfort, he nearly collided full force with someone struggling to push a box at an upward angle.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” The voice, your voice, had been panicked and apologetic. It was a mild annoyance, but he’d live. Keeping one arm braced against the box you half turned, flashing him a guilty smile. Your hair was sticking out a little wildly from the knitted hat you had on, your eyes watery from the cold. Cute.
“Do you need a hand?” He asked, eyeing the box that was definitely larger than you distrustfully. With how slick the outside steps were you were lucky you hadn’t taken a nasty tumble down them yet.
“Oh my god, thank you, yes.” You spoke in a rush, like you were out of breath and he quickly gestured for you to step aside.
Honestly he forgot sometimes that for an ordinary person lifting anything over fifty pounds was a struggle. Now was not one of those times, not with the incredulous look you were giving him as he used his knees to give him the momentum to lift the cumbersome box, arms wrapped securely around it.
“How in the hell can you even lift that?” Your voice was cute too, giving him a little surge of bravado as he shrugged, hefting the box to get a better grip as you led the way to your unit.
“Forget that, what do you have in here, bricks?” He knew the joke was lame as soon as it came out but still, you gave him a little courtesy giggle and his grip nearly faltered, causing the box to slip and make a little tinkling noise from within. Clearly something glass or ceramic was inside.
“Worse, ornaments.” You said, shaking your head with a smile. “I don’t know why I insist to myself that I have to decorate, I mean, I live alone. But you know, holiday spirit and whatnot.” You shrugged, coming to a stop in front of one of the old, heavy wood doors. 304. Just a flight above him.
“Have you, uh, have you been here long? I mean, I live downstairs and I haven’t seen you around before.” Like he pays much attention to his neighbors anyway, but still, he definitely would’ve noticed you coming and going.
“Oh no, I moved in like a month ago. New job, you know how it is.” You smiled again as you pushed open the door, gesturing for him to follow.
God you had a nice smile, one of those warm ones that people always mention in books but that rarely exist in the real world. Following you in he tried his best to not gawk or seem like a creep looking around a little too hard, but naturally his eyes were drawn around the unit. You decorated nice for having moved in not long ago. From the little foyer he could see a cozy looking living room with throw blankets and books. The kitchen, although dim, was clearly done in the same vein; you liked comfort, obviously. It smelled nice too, something a little sugary and a little warm.
“Thank you so much for doing that.” You say as he sets the box down on your countertop. “Can I make you tea or anything? To say thank you.”
“Oh no, don’t worry about it. But I’m Leon, by the way.”
You tell him your name, neither of you yet aware that name would remain at the top of his list in the coming years.
“Well, thank you, again. I probably would’ve ended up sliding down the stairs and falling right on my ass without your help.” You laugh as you walk back to the door with him, smiling again before saying goodnight.
His eyes linger on the worn, rust flecked numbered plaque affixed to the door after you close it.
He came back to your door in less than a week. Record timing, not that he really kept count of all the times he’s embarrassed himself for a woman. Even so, you didn’t say anything other than welcoming him inside again. He learned quickly, after frequent visits, that you liked providing. There was never a time when you weren’t handing him a mug of some hot liquid, offering a snack, or making a meal and telling him to stay since he was already there. You also had a behemoth of a cat skulking around your place, nearly giving him a heart attack one night when it lept on the counter mid sentence as you two chatted about nothing in particular. Thank god he didn’t do something stupid like pull his firearm in the middle of your apartment, the one time his reflex didn’t kick in all these years.
Turns out the beast's name was Blueberry, or just Blue for short. He and Blue maintained a tenuous agreement for your sake in the beginning. Not that he was an unfriendly cat, just a bit of an odd one. Quiet, prone to scuttling around like a criminal. As long as he didn’t do anything like piss in his shoes, Leon was fine with a stalemate agreement.
It was a little over half a year of knowing you when Leon eventually spilled his guts. Honestly it’s still shocking he managed to hold out on you that long. Not that you ever needled him for details, you seemed to understand there were certain things about him and his life that were strange but you never pressed the issue. That night, some mid June evening when the weather was sweltering and cicadas droned endlessly in the background, he’d pounded on your door unceremoniously and some godforsaken hour of the night. Was it selfish? Yes. Was it idiotic? Also yes.
But god there was nothing in that moment he craved more than that specific brand of tenderness he’d come to associate with you.
After dragging his sorry ass inside, blubbering like a baby, he’d metaphorically up chucked his whole sad, sorry story to you in the middle of your living room as you rubbed his back. It was reckless, beyond stupid but what else was he supposed to do when he had relapsed yet again? Just another year of failure and disappointment. Of horror and all encompassing pain. And he couldn’t put it on Chris or Claire, not again. Not after everything. One thing you learn when struggling with any kind of addiction is that there is a limit to people's patience. And that you, as the addict, will exhaust it very, very quickly.
His eyes had burned, a combination of being absolutely loaded on liquor and from managing to cry his body weight in tears and snot (no easy feat for a man like him). But you hadn’t done anything he feared: not looked at him in disgust or judgement, hadn’t told him to leave. You silently went about making coffee to sober him up, getting blankets from the hall closet, and then told him to stay put as you rummaged around a still packed box shoved in the bottom of the closet before returning with clothing in your arms.
“Sorry, they’re an ex’s clothes actually but hopefully they fit. You should shower once you're a little less… unsteady, get changed. You can stay here tonight, I promise Blue won’t terrorize you on the couch.” You spoke softly, setting the bundle down on the couch beside him and taking the empty mug from his hands.
“You’re not- you aren’t even gonna ask any questions?”
“I don’t think you’re really in any shape to be answering if I did. And besides, it’ll all still be there in the morning, so we can talk about it then. If you want.” You added the addendum quickly, and his heart nearly broke apart in his chest like a cinder block hit with a chisel.
He wouldn’t blame you if you did demand more answers from him, fuck he just told you the worst nightmares of the world exist and have existed for a long, long time. Told you about his own gory encounters, though in not so many words. But still, any other person would either interrogate him or throw him out on his ass to sober up on his own, write him off as a crazed drunk.
But not you. You gave him coffee, clothes, you’re standing there telling him to stay and sleep it off.
“I don’t blame you if you don’t want anything to do with this. With me.” His voice had cracked but he didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed, not after the emotional whiplash he’d just gone through. This could’ve been something good for once, but of course he has to bungle it like everything else. His life is one big never ending cosmic joke and simultaneous tragedy.
“Stop it. Everyone’s got some shit they’re dragging around Leon, not just you. I’m telling you to stay not because I feel sorry for you or whatever, I want you to stay because we’re friends. We’re friends and I care about you.” Your voice was firm, the firmest he’d heard all this time and immediately he straightened up, a reflex from always being attuned to authority.
He doesn’t remember if he even thanked you for that, not that it matters. You’re not the type to hold tiny slights or impoliteness against anyone. But he does remember the conversation afterwards. Every painful detail.
Sure, you hadn’t pressured him and he was thankful for that but he knew it wasn’t right to leave as if everything were normal. That would’ve been worse than just telling you the truth, and he didn’t want to shoot himself in both feet when one was already bad enough. So, over breakfast that he felt guilty you made for him he told you the entire sob story, from beginning to end. You were owed that much, at least.
“So the real reason I don’t see you for gaps at a time is because you’re off somewhere getting shot at, attacked, and torn up because the government knows about literal flesh eating monsters but those monsters got out and now just anyone can make them if they’re insane enough? And it’s your problem to deal with it when they do? Christ alive.” Your voice had been equal parts awed, disgusted, and afraid. That was worse than anything so far, you feeling afraid made him feel sick to his stomach.
“Yeah, that's basically it.” He spoke into the glass of juice in his hand, hyperfocused on the film gathered along the sides of the glass, too ashamed to even look at you.
“Jesus Leon, did you really think I’d be mad at you? Even after hearing all that?” You grabbed for his hand, startling him enough to look at you sharply. “Listen, it’s okay. I mean it’s not, but this,” you gestured back and forth with the hand not holding his, “ between us is fine so please stop acting like you’re waiting for me to scream in your face.”
He's pretty sure he ended up accidentally doing his best impression of a fish after you spoke, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Were you altruistic or just idiotic? How could you sit there like any of what he told you was normal?
From then on you remained a mystery he couldn’t even begin to unravel. You never asked him point blank about any of it again, not even when he would be over and you’d catch sight of bruising, fresh scarring. Not even on one particularly brutal night when he’d popped stitches after Blue had decided to take a flying leap onto his chest from the highest point on the stairs which coincidentally, were directly above the couch he’d been laying on.
You kept that faintly bloodstained couch for years afterwards, stubbornly insisting it was nothing a little peroxide and borax couldn’t handle (it in fact couldn’t, but you said it was just an excuse to keep the blankets on the couch now rather than in the ottoman).
He loved that you were everything he wasn’t. Kind, patient, somehow always able to see something good even in the middle of some of the most god awful shit imaginable, and you were stubborn as hell which was oddly endearing. More and more he came to you, craved that patience and compassion almost as badly as he craved drinks sometimes but another positive effect of your presence was that slowly, inch by inch, those cravings lessened and the hand that had squeezed him so tightly since his life went to shit relaxed its grip.
He could almost fool himself, on nights when he felt so relaxed the edges of his vision would blur until the lights around your place resembled some fuzzy, abstract source, that he had managed to carve out an idyllic life for himself. Could pretend for a while that he was somebody that deserved the loving, beautiful partner, the comfort of a cat on his lap, warmth and happiness in a home.
As years passed he slowly had the realization that he wasn’t fooling himself, actually. The two of you had become interlocked pieces, you were such an important part of who he was that it was unimaginable that you weren’t always in his life. He would even end up placing you in memories sometimes, swearing up and down that you were present even though there was no way you could have been. It’s just a testament to how perfectly you melded into his life and he into yours.
Your first kiss had been in the middle of that kitchen, in your old apartment. The kiss itself hadn’t been shocking honestly, it was the ease with which he’d done it that surprised the hell out of him. You were talking about work after he’d once more helped you set up the seasonal decorations you insisted on every single year, he was helping you cook dinner while fending off the cat to keep him from chowing down on human food, when he’d just dipped down and kissed you. As if it were something you two did a million times; casual, easy.
It didn’t even register until he realized you had stopped talking, weren’t moving in front of the stove despite the bubbling pot on the burner, framed in the soft white lights he’d hung around the ceiling of the back hallway off from the kitchen. Your hand lingered on your mouth, index balanced delicately against the bottom lip as you gazed at him with wide eyes. Of course he rushed to fumble out an apology but you shook your head, getting on your tiptoes to place a chaste peck to his cheek. He’d flushed hot all over in response, suddenly extremely fidgety at having the affection returned.
“Good thing we’re already making dinner, normally I’d tell someone if they wanted to kiss me they should at least take me out first.”
Some might point to that and say it was the official start of your relationship, but Leon knew it wasn’t so easy to articulate a “beginning”, so to speak. The same might be said about the first time you technically slept together: you and him in the bedroom but it had hardly been anything romantic or sexual, no you kept watch over him as he thrashed and cried out in his sleep. He’d already fallen off the couch and you dragged him to the bedroom, insisting there was no way he’d be able to fall out of a bed and could at least get some better sleep in a more comfortable place. He didn’t know until much later that you’d been beside yourself all night, watching him like a hawk but unable to rouse him from his manufactured hell.
You could even say the real beginning was him managing to walk home at just the right time to bump into you on the stairs, lugging around a box of decorations.
The same box that he just brought down from the attic of the home he signed on two years ago, the house he’d specifically selected because it could accommodate another person. Because it could accommodate you. That was always the first thing in his mind when he’d looked at a few places, and took a few of the house tours. He knew it had to be spacious enough that there’d be no way you could hem and haw about moving in.
Your relationship wasn’t so much a straight line as it was a chaotic, messy zigzag but it was the only one he could ever imagine for himself. He wasn’t a man of much faith or particularly taken to belief, but sometimes, on nights when he gets in late and sees you passed out on the couch waiting for him or like this morning when you were all smiles and laughter setting up that gaudy fake tree he can almost believe that maybe it was some divine intervention, some act of god that night.
Crystal blue eyes open into yours, crows feet and smile lines patterning the skin, and his calloused hand slides around to the back of your neck, holding you firm in your position on his lap.
“I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know how I even lived without you.”
You smile softly, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips.
“Where's all this coming from?”
He offers his own smile in return, the stubble he had worried over now forgotten as your hands move from his jaw down his chest, tucking your head against the side of his neck as he stroked your hair.
“Call it the holiday spirit, or whatever.” You snort, press another kiss to his jugular before rising back up to look at him.
“Mhm, if you say so.” You reach over to run a hand through Blue’s fur, a little more silver flecked now as the years have passed, as the cat sleeps soundly next to you two on the couch. “I think we should take a break, the tree isn’t going anywhere. But I do think we should have hot chocolate, didn’t you grab some at the store?”
He watches as you get up, moving into the kitchen and tidying as you put mugs on the granite countertop, humming some nonsense holiday song while you look for the milk in the fridge.
The ring box feels less heavy, his skin less clammy. Why was he nervous to begin with?
It’ll always be you two and one curmudgeonly cat, framed in the hazy glow of Christmas lights. Only next year, that ring will glitter on your finger as you laugh at some cheesy romance movie together, as you rummage around in these same boxes for the ornaments he brings back like they’re your most treasured possessions.
He’s always coming back to you. Home to you, ornament from some far off place in hand and a syrupy sweet kiss on the cheek.
Because if his partner wants an ornament, they’re getting the ornament. Even if this one so happens to go on the finger, not a tree.
decorating home/sickfic/civilian!reader || LSS gift for @delphi-shield
Summary: deck the home with warmth and laughter, falalalalalalalala
"Really, Claire. It's fine." You wrap the garland around the porch. "He's busy. I get it."
"Yeah, but it's not really an excuse for it." She mumbles. "I'm sorry, I really did try and convince them."
"It's alright." You sniffle. "I'll just rest up at home. Even if he comes late, it's fine."
"And you're working up a cold! Ugh. Where's the man of the house when he's supposed to be helping you?" She mumbles. "I'd drop by, but Chris is kind of..."
"It's fine." You laugh. "I'm not dying."
"Are you sure? It's so snowy in the neighborhoods. Isn't the snow stacked up already where you are? And you're out on the porch? Ugh, wish there was an HOA service for shoveling snow off the driveways. They only do the streets." She sighs. "Oh, Chris is calling. Call me if you need anything! Happy Holidays!"
"Happy Holidays." You laugh. "See you around."
You sneeze as soon as the call ends, and you glance at the finished porch.
Really, it's a shame Leon isn't coming home until a little bit later. It's cold and lonely alone, but you suppose you knew it was coming when you first got married to him.
The ring makes your ring finger feel extra cold. Stupid metal.
You kick the plastic box back inside and shut the door, glancing one last time at the wall of snow that's built up around your porch. Even if Leon wanted to come home, he'd probably have to stay out. No way he would be able to get through all that snow.
You reach for the mistletoe and get the hook ready, humming slowly to yourself as you twist the hook into the hole as you peel back the tape. A fun little tradition. Most couples walked in together anyway, and on occasion there would be two unfortunate souls. It's not like you were really enforcing it as a rule anyway. You bring a folded chair over to get the final bit of the screw into the door.
The mistletoe glimmers under the houselights, and you step down from the chair after hooking it on.
The front door jingles with the sound of keys, and you spin around with the chair in hand to a sight of a very sweaty Leon and a hole in the snow.
"What— oh, oh my god? What? HELLO? HI?!" You gasp, tossing the chair as your arms find themselves around Leon's neck, and he laughs, squeezing you back. "How did you get here? You're supposed to be back tomorrow? What?!"
Leon's laugh rumbles through his chest to yours, and he rests his cheek in the crook of your shoulder. "Hi sweetheart."
"Oh my god!" You pinch at his cheek, eyes sparkling as he hums. "Did you dig through the snow? Honey, we're snowed in!"
He glances up at the mistletoe and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.
"You were snowed in. Nothing stops a man from getting to his spouse." He hums, raising a brow at the color on your nose. "Have you been sniffling?"
"A little. Just winter chills."
"Oh, sweetheart." He mumbles, hauling you up into his arms as you yell.
"Wait, wait, Leon the chair."
"I'll grab it later. Did you finish decorating?" He hums, pulling his luggage with him as he kicks the door close behind him.
"No. I was about to start on the porch since the snow isn't that bad there."
"I'll deal with that later." He hums. "I'll shovel out the driveway too. Did you run up a fever?"
"No, just chills. I'm just congested and sniffly." You hum, and he presses his forehead to yours.
"You're fine. At least you're not burning up. Did you make yourself a cup of tea?"
"Leon, I'll be fine. I just need—"
"I'll get you a cup of tea, light the fireplace, and then you can tell me which ornaments go on the tree." He hums. "I know where the box is. I'm horrible at driving, not cooking."
"I'm shocked you didn't crash the car in the snow."
"Almost did."
"What."
"I couldn't possibly die before I get to see you for Christmas again." He hums.
"And if I get you sick?"
"Then hot tea on the couch for us both with the fireplace and TV on."
"Sounds fun." You sniffle. "Not the part where you get sick, though. I think I'll be fine."
"You want me to get you some ginger?"
You grimace. "...sure."
Leon hands you a glass of tea and bundles you up as he sits on the ground, pulling out ornaments from the box.
"Which ones are you feeling?"
"Shouldn't you shower first?"
"I'm clean, sweetheart. I swear." He hums. "It wasn't a mission this time. Showered at the gym before I came."
You sigh, humming as you press the tea to your lips. "I want the white ornaments."
"A boring white christmas?"
"The house is set up with white and blue this year for some reason. Maybe that's what I'm leaning towards."
"Thoughts on gold?"
"Yes."
"Thoughts on green."
"Too many colors." You hum. "Gold white and blue."
"Sounds good. No silver?"
"No. Need something warm." You hum. "The gold is a nice pop."
"Whatever you say, sweetheart." He hums. "You got a placement you want?"
"Nah. Put em where you think they look good."
Leon hangs the ornaments up, the crystal ones he got for each year on display next to them, and the crystal droplets he had made a while back when he had been bored at home over break. Leon does a lot around the house, and it seems he found joy in making things for fun.
The mug in your hand warms your heart as you watch Leon hang everything up and look back at you for nods of encouragement and hums of approval.
"Look good?"
"Looks wonderful." You hum quietly to yourself. "Nicely done, Leon."
He walks around the couch with the box, not forgetting to lean down and catch a quick kiss before he puts everything back into storage.
"Thank you, sweetheart. Do you want anything for dinner? Did you eat already?"
"I had dinner already." You hum. "Leftovers are in the fridge."
"Alright."
You huddle on the couch and turn the TV on, catching up on a show you had missed out on while decoration, humming as Leon heats the food in the back.
"Food on the couch?"
"As long as you don't stain." You hum, throwing the blanket over his legs as you lean on him. "Anything fun happen at work?"
"Nah. Just the usual. I'm offended the president made me stay behind just to toast me in private."
"It's an honor, honey."
"Yes, but it's the handful of days before Christmas." Leon mumbles. "I'd like to spend time with you for as long as possible before they send me back to the middle of nowhere."
"Fair." You hum.
"Did you open today's advent calendar?"
You blink at him, and he raises a brow back at you.
"Day... twenty five?"
"Merry Christmas, baby." He laughs, kicking off the blanket and putting his plate of food down.
He hands you a box, and you raise a brow. "gold bars."
"Guess again."
"Plane tickets."
"God, how the hell do you even guess shit like that?!"
"Plane tickets?!" You gasp, tearing the envelope open as you scream. "Where the hell are you flying us?"
"To your retirement home. It's bingo time for you, sweetheart."
"Leon Scott Kennedy, if anything, you're the one who'll be stuck in a retirement home." You huff. "You and your broken joints."
"It's a box, sweetheart."
"Is it a plush." You hum, opening the box as you gasp. A weighted pokemon?!"
Leon nods. "Saw you looking at them."
"Did you stalk down my amazon wishlist?"
He averts his eyes, and you laugh.
"I have a gift for you too, honey."
"Is it a new watch?"
"You might want to check the garage." You kick at the blanket and take your mug with you. Leon stops to wrap the blanket around you before tugging you along with him.
"You got me something to crash again?"
"Maybe." You hum. "You'll live. Your health insurance covers everything."
"Aren't you happy one of us risks our life in our day to day to pay little to nothing for insurance?"
"Fuck, yeah." You hit the lights to the garage as Leon opens the door, and he blinks.
"My bike?"
"Not yours, but the same model and everything. I found it while I was—"
Leon wraps his arms around you, forcing the arm with the hot tea to the side as he takes it from you, letting you wrap your arms back around him.
"You like it?"
"I love it, baby." He mumbles. "You wonderful thing. Love you so much."
"Love you too." You hum. "I bought full coverage insurance, so they'll replace it if you crash it again."
"God, I think I must've done something better than save Ashley in a past life or something." He mumbles into your skin as you laugh.
"Maybe you were a survivor of war or something." You hum, running your hand through his hair. "You like it?"
┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐
leon kennedy x reader ( roommates / christmas morning / musician!reader/leon || gift for @its-wolfgangster )
summary: after leon's unfortunate mission to spain, you've taken it upon yourself to get him into the christmas spirit with a long string of presents. leon tries to make it up to you. (2.5k words)
tags: fluff, romance, no use of y/n, post-re4!leon, mentions of alcohol.
a/n: merry christmas babies! this work was done for a @leonsecretsanta event, and i am so honoured to be included in the list of super talented artists and writers for this!! please check out everyone else's pieces and especially check out @its-wolfgangster they're a super talented writer AND artist!! their stuff is just so chefs kiss. wolfie, i'm pleased to be ur secret santa, and i hope you like this!!!
└─── °∘❉∘° ───┘
Leon finds the first on a rather unremarkable Tuesday, well before the first snowfall. Over two months since he had returned from Spain— barely conscious and half-delirious, mind you— before promptly falling asleep for two straight days. Over two weeks since he had finished the necessary reports and administrative work post-mission, only for Hunnigan to push him into a temporary leave of absence for ‘health reasons’. Over five days since he had poured his last bottle of whiskey down the drain and told himself that he had to be better this time.
Over six years, two months, and three days since you had moved in, threaded yourself into every aspect of his life, and slowly stitched him back together.
Whatever Leon had expected next in this long string of near-misses and almost-dying, it wasn’t this. A perfectly wrapped box, tied together with a bright blue bow, nestled into his closet.
It’s noticeably out of place with the rest of the room. Beautiful and picturesque— all tight corners and pressed paper, where the rest of his belongings is usually scattered haphazardly into its approximate area. In a cramped space of wrinkled post-ironic t-shirts and combat boots, it sticks out like a sore thumb. He has to run his fingers along the wrapping just to ensure it’s not a trick of the light, or maybe the remnants of some undiagnosed disease playing tricks on his already vulnerable mind.
It’s real, at the very least. And saves him from a very awkward doctor’s appointment and government appointed psych eval.
It doesn’t take him long to find the culprit. Leon just follows the faint sound of strumming into the living room, holding the box in one hand like a piece of delicate evidence. You’re sitting there, casual as ever, tuning your guitar like Leon isn’t giving his signature cop-stare from across the room.
“This your doing?” He’s holding it up for inspection with one hand, the other placed perfectly on his hips. Ever the stance of the interrogator, practiced with years of getting answers from belligerent detainees.
Which apparently does not work on you. You just shrug nonchalantly, staunchly avoiding eye contact with him.
“I’m just trying to figure out if we need to update the security system.” He tries again, shaking the box in his grasp. It doesn’t rattle— clue number one. Another hint at whatever gift you thought was so necessary that you’ve given it to him weeks before actual Christmas. “Lots of robberies in this neighbourhood, you know.”
The slightest raise of your eyebrows and twitch of your fingers over the strings. Guilty.
“Maybe the person just really wants you to open it.” You half-concede, still maintaining at least some air of dignity. “And robberies kind of require the person taking something from the house, not leaving things there.”
He doesn’t take the bait. Giving Leon anything that isn’t directly asked for requires some degree of inconspicuousness, like replacing his boots after they’re nearly falling off his feet when he’s not looking. It doesn’t really help, most of the time. He’s nothing is not observant, and more than a little justifiably paranoid, given the circumstances.
So he does exactly what you expect him to do. “What if it’s a bomb?”
“It’s not a bomb.” Your fingers pluck one of the strings in annoyance, and the high-pitched squeal of the chord only succeeds in making him laugh.
“How would you know?” Leon asks innocently, even if he’s already pulling the tape off the box. If it’s from you, he’ll go through the increasingly annoying task of not ruining the paper, especially since you insisted on one-upping him on the presentation factor. “Comes with the job, you know. Maybe I pissed some asshole off, they break into the apartment, leave an inconspicuous gift to-”
“Can you focus on opening the damn present?” You finally snap, even if the anger is half hearted. The admission of guilt makes him smile, even if it’s quickly schooled by his usual intense look of focus. “Like pulling teeth with you.”
He just scoffs, finally pulling the last of the paper off and letting it flutter to the ground.
It’s a songbook. One he had been eyeing at the music shop, only to convince himself out of it. The home recordings of Kurt Cobain, most definitely inspired by his longing gazes and Spotify playlists. The gift is personal, authentic, caring. Everything you are, and everything he is decidedly not.
“I-” he stammers, clutching the book like it will dematerialize from his sight if he were to let go. “You-”
“Articulate.”
A hint of faux-annoyance flicker over his features, almost too quickly for you to clock had you not been searching for any sign that Leon suspects the true nature of your supposed generosity.
“You wanted to learn,” you answer simply, like you didn’t just rip out his heart and hold it still beating in your hands. “It’s easier when it’s music you actually like, rather than just playing a single chord progression over and over.”
Moments pass in a stiff silence. There’s an expression you recognize— gratitude with the slightest twinge of guilt. Either about the gift, or for the annoyance of listening to his half-tuned strumming at all hours of the night. Before you can say more, his face falls back into something unrecognizable, before he’s giving you a stiff nod and walking briskly back to his room with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
You feel unaccountably pleased with yourself. Getting him to quip back with a sarcastic remark is easy. Given, almost, given his penchant for brushing off any form of emotional confrontation. Reducing him speechless required a great deal of effort and was, therefore, exceptionally rare.
The gift is placed on his bookshelf, finding its resting place on wood that’s been collecting dust for quite some time. He swore to himself he would fill it eventually, only to realize just how much of his life had been rendered empty. There’s no souvenirs to document his life, no gifts from family or friends to remind him of home.
A bookshelf, dust, and you.
He hasn’t even bought your present yet. There’s a notes app on his phone, ironically also collecting dust, of potential gift ideas that he’s scrapped over the past few weeks. Nothing ever seemed right— nothing encapsulated the lengths of his gratitude towards the one frustrating constant in his life. The one person who had invited him into your life like he had always been a part of it.
That’s the part he felt the most guilty about. What could he possibly give you that you could keep without him?
The portrait of Cobain looks disapprovingly at Leon from across the room, like he too understands just how terribly inconvenient it is to have the one person he shouldn’t have wriggle between his ribs and nestle next to his heart.
•,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•
The second time, Leon becomes understandably frustrated at just how thoughtful the gift is, and how sneaky you’ve become at leaving it somewhere you know he’ll find it before he can stop you. Bioweapons and double agents, sure, Leon can handle that. His roommate sneaking around at all hours just to give him presents is apparently where Leon’s agent skills are tested.
Then the third happens, and the fourth; each more creative than the last. Hidden at the bottom of the laundry basket, under his pillow, and then on his work desk. Apparently you’re charming enough to rope Hunnigan into this little scheme too.
Not that he’s all that surprised about it. He too has been a victim of your whims— roped into whatever you desire by batting eyelashes and pouting lips.
A new pair of guitar strings, a model of his old Heckler, and a bottle of cologne join the book on his shelf. Things he’s been secretly eyeing for weeks, and another thing he’s been meaning to replace. It softens his heart more than he should let himself, more than he’s ever let himself.
And he still hasn’t bought your gift yet. Not for a lack of trying, mind you, he’s been stalking the nearby mall for days in hopes something would just scream out at him. Christmas is still creeping ever-closer, the clouds above swelling with unfallen snow.
Leon scowls. It’s been an unusually warm winter, which makes his sixth trip to the mall slightly more bearable, but the clerks are starting to recognize him at this point. Somewhere in your shared home there will be another present, this he can be certain of. It will be a decoy, a pretense: small enough to get under his guard before the big present comes and simultaneously sweeps Leon off his feet.
It only achieves in making him more irritable— at the consistent blaring Christmas music, the swarms of people around him, at your persistent cheeriness around the apartment. Like you don’t know how many nights he’s spent sleepless, guilt gnawing at every piece of him.
The coin is already in his pocket when he thinks to look for it. HIs thumb absentmindedly rubs the worn face of it, at the memory of his fingers repeating the same motion every time he feels his heartbeat start to double in his own chest.
Something he can give to you, that you can keep when he’s long gone. Either stuck on a helicopter halfway across the world, or buried six feet under the ground. Something that will prove he existed, at least for a time, and had the privilege of circling in your orbit.
•,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•
The persistent cloudy weather eventually gives way to snow by the time Christmas actually rolls around. Thick snowflakes stick to every surface they touch: his hair, his thin jacket, his month-old boots. They endure on the box in his hands too, which unfortunately lacks your flair for presentation.
He had to pack it at work, with Hunnigan snickering behind him the whole time, hurling accusations of Leon being a secret romantic. His grumbles deterred her little, and he was forced to eventually cave to the idea that he had become much softer than initially intended.
By the time he opens the front door to your shared apartment, you’re already sitting by the tree, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.
The near-sodden box nearly crumples in his tight grip at your easy smile.
“Merry Christmas,” you call out, pulling out the final gift from under the tree. Another painfully thoughtful gift, he guesses, if the others were any indication.
“Merry Christmas.” Leon tries, not quite successfully, to hide his smile. His present is unceremoniously handed off to you, and his fingers just ever-so-slightly graze your wrist when he does. Your skin is warm, as it always is, and he can just barely feel your shivering pulse ringing through his skin.
Leon really doesn’t know how to untangle any of that, so he picks the easiest reply he can think of. “It’s no Ferrari.”
His quip only dims his nerves a little, and is barely heard over the rustle of your hands ripping apart the wrapping. While you may lack the careful precision he usually enacts, your excitement makes up for it tenfold.
“Good. We’d only ruin it.”
Leon’s watching you from the edges of his vision, like staring at you too directly would forever burn your image into his retinas. A small box is sitting in your hands, and the small click of its opening feels more like a gunshot in a painfully silent room. The shared silence sings with uncertainty, and Leon is almost sure he’s going to throw up if it endures any longer.
A coin sits on the cushion inside, rusted and worn from years of use. Imprinted with the constant movement of his thumb, rubbing over the metal before and after every mission. A reminder that someone’s at home waiting for him, that he actually matters enough to at least try to return unscathed.
A coin that you had given him in the wreckage of Racoon City as a meagre attempt to bring him protection. It was simple instinct, a soft I’ll take care of you that Leon has been trying to make up for in each passing day. You just happened to have it in your pocket, he’s smart enough to know that, and yet he carried it with him every day for exactly six years, two months, and fifteen days since.
A coin that is currently being held up by a chain in your hand, glittering in the dimming light.
The silence lingers. A long, impenetrable pause.
“Leon,” you mutter eventually, “I-”
“Very articulate.”
“Asshole.” Ever observant as always, Leon catches the slight hitch of your breath that will soon give way to tears. He also knows that you won’t let them fall until you’ve successfully sequestered yourself away, while he feels unimaginably useless puttering outside your door like a lost puppy.
“A good luck charm.” His voice softens as he kneels in front of you, thumbing the budding tear from the corner of your eye. “To keep you safe. At least while I’m gone.”
Leon spent six years lingering in the edges of your life, trying to keep himself as close to your orbit when his routine was so often upended by an emergency halfway across the world. Chaos had become his trademark, and he didn’t often get to feel the privilege of becoming familiar with things.
Sometimes, he just wants time to stand still for a while.
His hand lowers to the cusp of your jaw, holding the weight of it in his palm. Ever so gently, your fingers curl around his wrist, and his heart fucking soars.
“Can I?” He finally asks, nearly begs, because his heart is and always has been inextricably entwined with yours ever since the burning ruins and the end of the world.
There’s a pause, before a meek nod.
It’s shy, at first. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more, just holds his lips against yours. Like if he sits in this moment, completely unmoving, maybe it will stretch on and on until the end of time.
Twenty minutes later, when he’s been thoroughly kissed and properly sated, the two of you are sitting on your shared couch as he strums on his new guitar. The movements are stiff and clumsy, requiring your helpful intervention to get the right chords.
Your hands are pressed against his, and every so often, your lips pepper small kisses along his neck. His fingers hurt from the strings, but it’s a comfortable and controllable sort of pain. One that can be managed and packed into neat little boxes, rather than scattered through his life and inflicted on random and excruciating intervals.
“I can teach you a song from the book, if you have the time.”
Leon smiles and presses one final kiss against your cheek. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
First snow / Fake relationship / Ugly sweater || Leon Secret Santa || Gift for @sillydicejelly as part of the @leonsecretsanta event
Summary: It’s not every day that you bump into the one and only Agent Kennedy alone at the office. And it’s certainly not every day that you invite a stranger to your family’s Christmas party. The question is, can you convince Leon to celebrate his most hated holiday with you?
Time flies. Before you knew it, nearly another year had gone by, along with its series of missions done and dusted. It was a week before Christmas, and a particularly unassuming mid-December morning when you stepped into the office elevator, engrossed with your phone and the multitude of messages coming in from your family group chat. The screen lit up with a loud ping each time a new one was sent.
“Aunt Gretchen won’t be able to make it this time.”
“Damn, that’s a shame /s”
“Language!”
“Yes, mooooommmm…”
“Anyway, don’t forget the dessert!”
“And the dress code!”
“Hey! Could you hold the doors for a sec—” A deep baritone voice rang out in the distance, interrupting your reverie.
Oops. You shook your head from your thoughts, glancing up at an all-too-familiar face and a pair of cerulean blue eyes piercing through dirty blonde curtain bangs. He made a run for it as you slammed your hand against the closing elevators.
“Agent Kennedy,” you greeted politely with a simple nod.
“Uh, uh,” he wagged his finger cheekily, somehow managing to slide through the doors gracefully without breaking out into a sweat. “It’s just Leon.”
“Leon,” you acknowledged.
It was refreshing how he didn’t have a stick up his ass like the rest of the goons who worked in the DSO, regardless if he was the golden boy or not. However, since you were in different departments, you hardly interacted with each other outside of the required formalities. It didn’t help as well that you considered yourself more of a wallflower than anything. Surely he wouldn’t—
As if right on cue, he uttered your name, followed by, “Angela’s PA, right?”
“How did you—”
“You think I wouldn’t know who the amazing PA of the head honcho is?” he rebutted, his lips curling up in a smile as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.
You were at a loss for words. “Um,” was about all you could manage.
“Come on, don’t die on me now,” he laughed, shrugging as he continued, “I’m just good with names, faces, you know, all that jazz.” He fanned his hands to illustrate his point before pausing abruptly and dropping them down to his sides, as if he had remembered that he was in a security division, not a children’s playground.
Clearing his throat sheepishly, he turned to the control panel. “Second top floor, right?” Without waiting for you to answer, he punched the button and the lift started to move.
The silence in the space was awkward and deafening, so much so that you felt an innate desire to make small talk to pass the time.
“So, you doing anything for Christmas?”
For a split second, you spotted a wince in Leon’s expression before he masked it, and you instantly regretted the words you had blurted out.
“N-nah, not really,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze as he forced out a cordial smile. “Not my thing.”
Pursing your lips, you recalled the way your colleagues often heaped praises and compliments onto the man before you, only to gossip about his personal life in hushed whispers behind his back. That was the double-edged sword of being something akin to a celebrity hero in the office. It usually went along the lines of:
“Poor Leon, that guy’s a loner. No partner, no kids, no family.”
“No wonder he’s a workaholic!”
“I heard he’s pretty good friends with the bottle, if you know what I mean.”
“With the kinda shit they put him through? I’d be damaged goods myself.”
You had heard it all. And though you were never consulted for your opinion of him, you found their talk a little mean-spirited.
Without thinking, you stated, “We’re having a small celebration at my parents’ house. It’s only about an hour and a half’s drive away. You’re welcome to join if you want?”
Your hand flew to your mouth, shocked that you had actually uttered the first thing that came to your mind. Leon just stared at you, seemingly having trouble finding the right words to say.
Scrambling to come up with an excuse or to backtrack, or both, you sputtered, “Well, uh, you see, we have this thing where, uh, it’s not great to spend the holidays alone. You know? So, well, sorry, forget what—”
At this, Leon chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you. “Thanks, really, it’s nice of you to offer, but I’ll be alright.” On my own.
You had no idea what possessed you to do what you did next, but you whipped out a sticky note from your bag and scribbled down your number with a ballpoint pen.
“Here,” you thrust it into his hands. He looked just as surprised as you. “Just… think about it, okay?”
Ding.
The doors opened and you hastily made your exit, mentally cussing at yourself for being so bold and assuming toward an almost-stranger.
“What’s the dress code?” you heard his voice call out from behind you.
Spinning around, you caught a glimpse of his lopsided grin as you smiled back. “Ugly Christmas sweater, of course.”
━━━━━━━━━━━
“No promises.”
That was the last text you received from him on the day of the Christmas Eve party. Leon appeared to have cold feet, which didn’t take you by surprise, seeing as he had been hesitant to begin with.
You sighed.
Perhaps it would take him a couple more years to come round to it. What on earth were you thinking anyway, inviting him to a family-do like that? Not to mention, you had already written in the group chat about bringing a plus one. Jumping the gun much? Well, at least you still had an afternoon’s worth of errands to run and distract yourself with. You could worry about the explanation later.
Soon, the gifts were wrapped up and ready to go, and the spiced ginger Yule log you had baked sat pretty on the counter. After loading all of the goodies into the backseat of your car, you started the engine and embarked on the long drive to your parents’ house.
In the meantime, Leon had been lounging on his living room couch, complete with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand as he swirled the melting ice in it lazily. Such a let-down, he thought. You didn’t deserve that, and as a matter-of-fact, you didn’t deserve any of this. He peered at the liquor bottle he had just cracked open, mocking him as he gulped down the remnants of the liquid from his chilled glass.
Smacking it onto the table, he was about to pour himself another shot when his phone buzzed. He saw your name flash up on his screen. Normally, he wouldn’t bother to check or answer it during his drinking sessions, but this time, curiosity got the better of him. It was a message with an attachment. Hmm, interesting.
Upon opening it, he saw a selfie of you posing in your horrendous-looking sweater and a mouth-watering dessert behind you. You were holding a present in one hand and making a funny face. The message read, “Come to the dark side, we have cake…”
He burst out laughing—he had to admit, it was rather cute of you to try, especially when no one else had before. Fiddling with the device in his hand, he hesitated, wondering if he should spend another night drowning himself in alcohol at home, alone, or whether he should take a chance on you and celebrate the holiday he hated the most with a bunch of strangers.
“Ahh, what the hell,” he mumbled before pocketing his phone and coming to his decision.
━━━━━━━━━━━
It was half past seven in the evening when you reached your parents’ house. Most of the guests had arrived by then and the celebrations were underway. The hallway was bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights and a large fir tree stood by the corner, decked out in festive garlands and ornaments as presents were tucked beneath its coniferous branches. The delicious smell of stuffed turkey, rib roast, baked ham, mince pies, and eggnog wafted through the air. Your family had prepared a feast and you were surrounded by your close ones. All was in its rightful place, but there was just one thing missing—Leon.
“So… I’m looking forward to seeing this plus one you’ve been talking about,” your mom nudged you as she sauntered over with a plate full of food.
Sensing your unease, your older sister came to the rescue, which you were ever thankful for. “Mom, stop, give it a break already.”
“I’m just curious! It’d be nice to meet this mystery person, hmm?”
You shifted between your feet uncomfortably. At this rate, you were pretty sure that Leon had bailed on tonight’s plans, so you might as well come clean about it. “Well, um, he—”
Before you could finish your sentence, the doorbell rang. Wait, could that be him? Your heart leaped in its cage.
“I’ll get it!” your younger brother yelled as he ran toward the door and you chased after him.
Yanking it open, both of you were greeted by the devil himself. The corners of his eyes crinkled, deep blue set against his pale skin, flushed from the cold.
“Sorry for being late,” he said, extending his arms toward you as you froze up in astonishment. Your younger brother stealthily gave you a push forward and you stumbled—quite literally—into Leon’s awaiting arms.
“Oof, hey!” he laughed. “Nice to see you too.”
“Sorry,” you stammered while you held onto him to find your footing.
Once you had regained your balance, the scratchy material of his outfit caused you to have a proper look. From the porch lights, you could just about make out the knitted design. There was a figure of who you assumed was meant to be Jesus, sitting on a reindeer and riding it into an explosion of stars with an assortment of ill-matching Christmas trees in the background.
Noticing the perturbed expression on your face, Leon asked with a tinge of anxiety in his voice, “Ugly sweater, right?”
That was when you started giggling, realizing that his sweater definitely outclassed yours in whatever imaginary competition you had in mind. “God, that’s terrible! Okay, you win.”
“Oh yeah? What’s the prize?” he smirked.
At this point, your parents had come to the door to see what the commotion was about. Upon seeing Leon standing outside in the cold, they ushered him in quickly, asking him to make himself at home.
As Leon settled in and went through the customary round of introductions, the topic that you had been dreading came up—naturally, from your nosey mom of course. “How well do you two know each other?” she pried. “Are you two…”
Leon glanced between you and your mom as she trailed off purposefully, and while you nearly choked on your saliva, he didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead, he responded with a disarming smile, “Yes, we are.”
Your mom emitted a contented hum, turning to your dad with a knowing look, and your eyes shot up to meet his in panic. However, he placed a hand on your shoulder comfortingly, mouthing the words, “Relax, I got this,” as he gave you a brazen wink.
You had no idea what sort of game he was playing or where he was going with this, but he had a way about him that made you want to place your trust in him. And so, you eased up, allowing him to take the lead in the conversation while showing him to the dining table. Your dad served him a plate and Leon poured out the wine he had brought as a gesture of appreciation.
Dinner went on without a hitch, filled with warm-hearted chatter and a never ending supply of food and beverages, in which all of you ate and drank until you were stuffed. Although your family could use a lesson in minding their own business, they were relatively easy-going and laid-back, so much so that Leon appeared to be enjoying the company. He seemed brighter and lighter than when you usually saw him in the office, away from all the scrutiny and judgment that could be found there. It was as if he was getting energized by the banter and a social environment which expected nothing from him, but to just be himself.
Your parents took to him and so did your siblings, being none the wiser to the fact that you and Leon were still practically strangers. Well, strangers was too harsh a word. It was more like: not quite friends yet not quite strangers. Occasionally, you would sneak a peek at each other from across the room, sharing shy smiles and furtive glances.
You were pleasantly surprised by how smooth Leon could be when he wanted to, considering that your earlier exchanges with the man had been stilted at best. It was never like how it was in the movies, where couples would hit it off instantly at ditzy meet cutes. Hold on a minute—couple? You mentally berated yourself for thinking about you and Leon on romantic terms. It must be the holiday season making people feel lonely, you figured. How many times had you received drunken, emotionally-wrought texts from exes, only to have them fumble with excuses for sending it out the next day? Anyway, this was nothing. What you had with Leon would only last for tonight, like a trick of the light. You went back to rearranging the gifts under the tree for the umpteenth time.
It was getting late. As your family had a tradition of only opening their presents on Christmas Day itself, they wanted to head to bed soon.
“Leon, you’re very welcome to take the bed in the guest room if you like,” your father offered.
“It’s a long drive back after all,” your mother hinted with a wily grin on her face. Your sister sighed and rolled her eyes while your brother suppressed an obvious laugh.
You saw a slight blush creep up Leon’s neck, but he relented. “Well, if you insist. I can’t thank you enough for all your hospitality.”
Your parents waved off his comment as everyone helped to clear up the dishes. When the remaining chores were finished, you brought Leon to his room, giving him a fresh set of towels, toiletries, and spare clothes from your dad as the rest went to sleep.
“You didn’t have to lie about us, you know?” you mentioned, touching his arm gently. “I mean, I appreciate it.”
“I know.” He brushed his thumb against the back of your hand, causing it to tingle. “It’ll be our little secret.”
You scoffed at his quip, shaking your head in mock disbelief before pulling away. “Well, I’ll get ready for bed. Let me know if you need anything, alright?”
“Mm-hmm.”
After you cleaned up and changed into your pajamas, you went outside to sit on the old wooden swing by the porch. It was draped with fluffy cushions and a thick fleece blanket, which you snuggled under to get comfy. This was your favorite time of the night, when the world was quiet and through the darkness you could spot faint glimmers of light from the street. The air was frosty and you could see your breath condense into puffs of mist.
“Is this a party of one?”
You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even heard the front door creak open. Leon was standing beside the swing, motioning to the empty spot beside you. “Mind if I join you?”
Scooting over to give him some room, you jested, “Sure, as long as you don’t steal the whole blanket.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked as he sat down, wrapping his body with the covers.
You trembled as the chilled air hit your skin and he raised an eyebrow. “Cold?”
“No—” But your body betrayed you as you shivered uncontrollably again.
“C’mere,” he muttered, shifting his position as he opened his arms so that you could scuttle in between them.
You gulped nervously but gave in, moving closer as you leaned your head against his chest, catching a whiff of his musky cologne. In response, he snaked an arm around your shoulders in the form of a semi-embrace. His chin rested on the top of your head, and the warmth radiated from his body to yours and back again as you heard his heart beating—maybe a little faster? If someone had told you that you would end the night cuddling with Agent Leon Scott Kennedy, you would have said they were out of their mind, but yet here you were.
“Your Yule log was delicious,” his voice cut through the tense silence and you could hear it reverberating through his chest.
“I knew it’d sway you over to the dark side,” you teased. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t miss out on that?”
His fingers stroked through your hair absentmindedly. “I’m glad I didn’t miss out on all of this.”
You peered up at him inquisitively as he continued, “I haven’t… done something like this in a long time. I kinda forgot how nice it can be…”
Reaching out, you took his hand in yours and squeezed it. “I’m happy that you’re here.”
“I’m happy that you’re here too.”
It came out as a barely-heard whisper, but before he could speak any further, a crystallized snowflake fell onto your cheek. You thought it might have been a fluke at first, but soon, more and more feathery flakes landed on your clothes and hair, littering the floorboards of the front porch in a myriad of geometric shapes.
“It’s snowing,” you gasped.
“First snow of the year.” Leon looked up, similarly in awe at the blinding yet beautiful scenery before him.
You stuck out your tongue to taste the fluffy, sticky ice which fizzled and melted on it. Then, a sudden thought struck you.
“What time is it?” you asked.
Leon untangled his arm from underneath the layers, squinting at the clock face of his leather-strapped wrist watch. “Just past midnight—”
You jolted up, taking him by surprise. “It’s Christmas?”
Grinning at you, his hands encircled your wrists, the palms of which still laid on his chest. “Uh-huh, so, about my prize…” he tapered off suggestively.
“We’ll unwrap the gifts later with the rest of my family,” you scolded playfully.
“No, I mean, the prize I get for wearing the ugliest sweater in town,” he snickered.
Your heart was in your mouth as your mind raced, simultaneously attempting to come to terms with what he was implying and second-guessing yourself.
“What kind of prize…” you began, but didn’t manage to complete the sentence as you found yourself drifting toward him on your own accord, closing the gap as you licked your lips and watched with bated breath.
His gaze dropped to your lips as he caressed your cheek with his knuckles. Cupping your face in his hands, he tilted his head, nudging his nose against yours as he planted a tender kiss along your parted lips. You stayed like this for a while, tentatively exploring, soft kisses and skin upon skin, tasting each other until the both of you were satisfied.
When you finally broke away, there was a fond look in his eyes, as though he was seeing you for you, just like you did with him. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, voice half-dazed and husky.
forced proximity/mistletoe/historical au | Leon Secret Santa | gift for @mandalhoerian
Leon Kennedy x f!Reader
Claire's stifled giggles and knowing smirks all go unnoticed by you, never raising a single alarm as all she's content about speaking with you today is Leon. Perhaps you should have noticed the extra creaking noises coming from the spare room, but the thought of Leon always has you spiralling, it seems.
warnings: this is just fluff. rest easy. oh, and grammatical mistakes, of course.
word count: 3.6k
a/n: please imagine a ribbon tied around it that's made into a pretty bow. I hope you like it💗🎄
“There’s something happening outside.”
“There’s something happening inside too if you care to notice.”
Claire scoffs at your remark, twisting the linen cloth of the curtains with her nose still pressed firmly against the window. “No, I can feel it. There is far too much hustle and bustle outside the Kennedy house.”
You supress a laugh, straightening the wreath hanging above the burning fireplace, moving carefully as to not scorch your skirt. You brush shoulders with Claire as you come to stand next to her, joining in with pressing your nose against the frosted glass. You make note of the swirling snowflakes joining the others in a sheet of white laid thick on the ground, attention immediately grabbed by the old sycamore tree standing tall and proud in front of the Redfield household.
It looks as breathtaking as ever, your lips curling in a genial smile, the sound of children’s laughter echoing in your ear, almost seeing the shadows of four little heads playing about in the hearth of the tree. It stands tall and proud, growing old with grace, its thick branches stretching out great distances, dusted with ethereally with snowy peaks glittering under the orange haze of the sun.
Your gaze barely makes past the grand trunk of the tree all the way across to the Kennedy household, too enraptured in fond memories to take notice of anything out of the ordinary. The old swing hangs from the sturdy branch, gathering snow demurely, decorating itself very lovingly with the white sheets. You nearly let out a wistful sigh, the taste of hot cocoa lingering on your tongue from the past, giggling into the winters night, bundled up in blankets with hands wrapped around warm mugs, shoulders brushing with the others as you all tried to fit under the one huge blanket.
Friendship was the natural course of way with you, the Redfield’s and the Kennedy’s living only a few steps away from each other. Endless days spent trudging to school together and back, playing knights in the yards to scaling the old sycamore tree. Or at least you standing on the ground with a pout, too scared with the possibility of falling as you would witness Chris, Claire and Leon scale the tree without an issue. It would be tugging and blowing the dandelions for you, pout still evident on your face, trying to distract yourself by naming the plants you could recognize in the grass.
Your recognition game would be interrupted with a flower tucked softly behind your ear, any semblance of anger vanishing from your system by a sweet smile from Leon as he would join you. Wordless and completely deaf to Chris’ protests, he would lean over next to you, curiosity filled in his aquamarine eyes, hanging onto every word you would say, the soft pink of his lips upturned into a gentle smile. It was always moments like these that had your heart fluttering, breath stuttering when he would lean in too close, making you feel foolish for getting your heart twisted over menial things and gestures that were second nature to Leon.
Childhood was soon over and before you knew it, you were underneath the sycamore tree once more but this time Leon’s clenched fists did not go unnoticed by you, jaw tight as he dare not look at you. So you pointed out the constellations, telling stories of Greek heroes and their adventures before he finally confessed to you that he would be leaving soon. An ‘oh’ was all you could manage to say, a sudden weight apparating in your stomach. But of course, you put on your brave smile, he had to leave, to travel the world for both himself and his late parents. You laugh gently at the manner that he’s breaking the news to you, as though he is off to war, you reassure him that you will see him again but it does less to ease the tension in his shoulders.
You don’t get it, it seems. He will be gone. For a very long time. He will grow, learn new things and become a man. Away from you. And you will also grow more beautiful, more intelligent and more wonderful in ways that he will not be around to see. He even let’s out a shaky laugh. Leon is almost desperate when he asks you to wait for him and all you can do is look confused, jokingly shoving him as you inquire where you will run off too.
You don’t get it. And he doesn’t push it.
Maybe some other time where maybe he will be less of a coward when he holds the pen under candlelight, staring at the blank parchment, ink dribbling down his fingers as he struggles to find the words. They never come anyways, try as much as he can. All that ever does is your face, your laugh, the softness of your touch, the sparkle in your eyes and the shine of your hair. It is enough to upend him but never enough to overcome his cowardice.
But he writes to you nonetheless. Very diligently, not daring to miss a day, always knowing of the nearest post office, making sure to let you know of his address in case you want to write him back. And you do without fail, your letters acting as Leon’s own personal pockets of oxygen, always keeping you over his chest.
And its enthralling for you as well, grin wide on your face when a post comes for you, marvelling in awe at the address, astounded at the journey it made to reach you. You read his words. And then again. And then again until they are etched onto your memory before they are preserved in your box. All the jewels in the world and they wouldn’t amount to anything next to the box of Leon’s letters, clinging onto it ferociously when you had come to stay at the Redfield’s for the holiday.
Claire had just grinned at you wickedly, wiggling her eyebrows and inquiring coyly about the contents in the box. Your heated face and pointedly dodging her eyes was answer enough, making Claire snicker as she knowingly nudged her brother.
“I don’t even know how you see past this tree,” You wonder, letting the curtain fall. “Besides why would there be movement on the Kennedy property. Unless its being pillaged by thieves.”
Claire waves you off, pressing her nose firmly against the cold window, “That’s because you’re not truly looking are you.”
“Why?” You jokingly tug at her skirt, “Is this your devious plan for cornering Leon to pay you back for the money he borrowed?”
“He still hasn’t paid me back!” She grumbles, straightening her back, “It’s been years! If he thinks I’m gonna let him off easy, he has another thing coming.” She steals a quick glance over her shoulder at you, a devious smirk already plastered on her lips. “Anyways isn’t he in Italy right now?”
“India.” You rush to correct her.
You purse your lips, eyes wide when you register your slip up. You spin around and rush towards the tree, fiddling with the ornaments, feeling Claire’s stare heat up your back.
“India,” Claire said coquettishly, wrapping her hands behind her back. “I didn’t know that. Well maybe because he hasn’t written to me in a long time.” She pops up next to your shoulder. “Still wrote to you didn’t he?”
You try to twist away from her line of sight, backing away next to the fireplace, bumping into a stocking as warmth creeps up your neck. “Don’t be ridiculous! He contacts you and Chris just as much as he does me.”
Claire laughs, planting her hands on her hips, “Honey, he hasn’t written to Chris in over three months. And I haven’t gotten a post from him since about four weeks. Or was it five?” She smiles warmly, fluffing the branches of the Christmas tree. “You always had a special place in his heart. So, where is he headed off to next?”
You purse your lips, trying to find the words that doesn’t give too much away. They don’t come but the scent of burning cloth reaches your nose quick. Claire scrunches up her nose, raising her eyebrows at you before panic flitting her features. Heat burns a little too close to you from the fireplace, making you jump at the same time Claire pulls you away from it, hands slapping against the skirt of your dress putting out the flames. You check the full circumference of your dress, inspecting to make sure there aren’t any more.
“Wow,” Claire huffs, “Can’t believe your passion nearly ignited your dress.”
You pinch her sides, sending her into a fit of giggles as you stumble away from her grasp towards the stairs, muttering something about needing more ornaments for the tree from the attic. You pat at the burnt portion of your dress subconsciously, the warmth still emanating as the words of Leon’s last letter to you burned in your brain. The stairs creak underneath you as you make your way to the third floor, hand reaching into the pocket of your skirt, feeling the parchment there, resisting the urge to pull it out and mull over his words.
Just thinking about it made your heart race, blood rushing into your cheeks. Perhaps they were not of the scandalous variety as one would think, not containing boisterous proclamations of his passion for you. Never like the raging flames of an unquenchable forest fire but his words always remind you of the embers in the hearth of a fireplace, diligently keeping the frost away. He misses you most ardently, comparing your presence to that of the sun, how your radiance puts all the stars in the sky to shame.
He feels restless, he writes, a strange emptiness having come grasped him suddenly one morning, an ache in his heart that cannot be subdued. He knows that he should not sound ungrateful, that he should be thankful for the sights he is seeing, the adventures he is experiencing but he wishes, knows that it would be more fulfilling if he had someone to share them with. He thinks about you often, dreams of your laugh and your smile, eager to see your eyes once again. Maybe that is what he truly misses, you. And if it would be agreeable to you, he would adore nothing more than for you to join him so that he could share this journey with you.
It had been about three weeks since the arrival of this letter, your answer always failing you whenever you sat down to write back to him. What do you even say? Were you being too presumptuous in assuming his feelings behind his words? Perhaps he had meant it as a friendly gesture and here you were cooking up tall tales of romance in your head. Was there even romance? Or what if he has changed his mind since then? Finding someone else to bestow his affections on.
You shake these thoughts out of your head, hiking up your skirt as your boots hammer against the wooden stairs finally reaching the landing of the attic. You bend down to collect the wooden log lying next to the door, propping it open with it, not wanting to be locked on the furthest floor with no-one to hear your banging. Or at least you don’t want a repeat of what had happened to Chris, forcing him to spend hours in the room with a stuck door until Claire had finally opened it from the outside.
You let out a timid cough, waving your hand in front of your nose to move the dust. Sunlight filters in through the windows, bouncing off the pristine, white coat of the snow outside. The dust particles part as you glide across the room to the shelf on the far end, hands in your hips and eyes scrunched in scrutiny as you try and find the box labelled as ‘Christmas Decorations’. You spot it in the back, eyes glinting and then dragging the small footstool to help you reach it.
You give your arms a good stretch, bracing yourself to hoist the box when you hear the gentle creaking of the stairs come from the other side of the door. “Claire?” You call out, dragging the box to the edge of the shelf, “I hope you are coming to help and not tease me further.”
You are still wrestling with the box when the door swings open, hinges protesting loudly and its the clicking shut of the door that sets off the alarm in your mind.
“I can be of some assistance.”
The box slip from your grasp, shoulders stiffening when the baritone of a voice you had not heard in a long time hit you with full force. It is as though there is a shift in the air, the cold room now suddenly flooded with warmth. The crashing sound of the box is of no consequence to you as you brace yourself, slowly twisting your neck to look over your shoulder. The blue of his eyes swallows you whole, so jarring and real against the tan of his skin. A few freckles dot his face, sun-kissed cheeks standing out on his face, the glistening pink of his lips like a honey suckle trap calling your name. Leon.
Your feet stumble making the stool wobble as you comically clutch on to the shelf, Leon’s face contorting in panic as he steps out, hands outstretched should he need them to break your fall. You hold out your hand, stopping him as you regain your footing, heat shooting up your neck in embarrassment. You haven’t seem him in nearly a year and suddenly you’re adamant on making a fool of yourself.
You gape at him, eyes wide and mouth bobbing like a fish. “Leon!? What are you-? How did-? When-?” You could be able to run a steam engine with how hot your face had become, positioning yourself so that your burnt dress was not in his view.
Leon smiles at you sweetly, crinkles shading the edges of his eyes as he ties his hands to his back, glancing at the floor abashedly, “Oh, yes I uh returned a bit suddenly. I was actually getting a bit worried.”
“Oh,” You hop off your stool, making an abrupt beeline towards the door, unable to make eye contact with Leon as you swerve past him. “You must be exhausted! Let’s get you downstairs and all warmed up. Maybe a cup of tea and I’m sure Chris and Claire would be delighted to know you’re back.” You pull at the door as it refuses to open, “You know she was peeking put the window at your house just moments ago.” You pull again. “And how strange!” God, why won’t it open? “That you appeared too! Ugh this darned door.”
All it takes is for Leon to whisper your name that makes you pause, a tingle reaching up from your spine, pausing your ministrations, pleading with you to turn around and look at him. Your eyes have ached for this moment and now that he is here, it is nearly unbelievable, your gaze drinking him in. He looks changed, in a good way you decide, standing taller and broader in his suit. His sleeves are protesting against the size of his arms but it all adds to him as he graces your eyes with his form. You fingers burn with desperation to run them through his hair.
“I never got your answer,” Leon says, running a hand through his hair.
Your throat dries up, the weight of the parchment in your pocket suddenly increasing exponentially. “What?”
“I wanted to do it differently,” He runs his tongue over his lips, “Perhaps in person. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you so suddenly and then when I didn’t hear from you, I got worried. And so I came back.”
You blink, stunned. “What? You came back because I didn’t write you back?”
Leon’s face turned pink. “Yes, of course. I thought perhaps you had maybe gotten sick or perhaps I was too eager in telling you or asking you but that was not my intention! And you can turn me down if you do not...reciprocate. But I just had to see you.” A realisation comes across his face. “Oh and to give you this.” He reaches into his pocket and brings out a little wrapped gift, holding it out to you earnestly.
You shuffle closer, wiping your sweaty palms off of your skirt as you come up in front of him. You glance at him before focusing on the package in his hand. It’s the smallest thing you’ve ever seen, wrapped so neatly in red with a green satin ribbon. You take it from his hand, fingers grazing his ever so lightly, allowing yourself to linger for a moment, cherishing the feel of him. Grounding. Resounding. Real.
You tug at one end of the ribbon, slowly unravelling it, Leon’s hands tangling in yours as he take it from you, freeing you to unwrap the present. With the paper out of your way, you gasp, eyes widening in wonder. The gift sits soundly in the palm of your hand, its embroidered linen grazing your skin so lovingly. It is perhaps the smallest encyclopedia you have ever seen, the cover filled with tiny embroidered flowers and plants. You skim through the pages in wonder, heart expanding with excitement as you read off names of flowers you had never heard of before.
“Oh my gosh, Leon!” You laugh in disbelief, rifling through a few more pages, “This is amazing! Where did you even find this?”
“Saw it in one of the markets in Paris,” Leon whispers leaning towards you. “It reminded me of you. I’ve been keeping it here,” He pats at his left breast pocket, “Ever since.”
He watches you laugh with glee, unable to help himself tug away the hair strands from your face. Leon lingers before retracting his hands back. “Why didn’t you write me back?”
It hits you, a symphony of butterflies exploding in your chest and fluttering about, eyes focused on the pages. “I...I thought that perhaps you misspoke. That you had not intended those words for me or simply just changed your mind.”
Leon’s hand caresses your face with such ardour, slipping his fingers underneath your chin as he lifts your face up to meet his eyes, stopping your spree of shuffling through the book. “Have I really been so lacking in my ways that it would make you doubt my affections towards you?”
Your breath catches in your throat, eyelashes fluttering under his mirthful eyes. “I...”
He fully inspects your face, humming to himself, “You really have grown more beautiful in my absence. God I hope there isn’t anyone else.” You watch his Adams apple bob up and down forcefully, his breath mixing with yours, planting his forehead against yours, voice coming out a but strained. “Is there someone else? Tell me, I will be brave about it.”
You huff out a laugh, closing your eyes and letting your lashes flit with his. You breathe him in, holding back the You silly boy on your tongue. Doesn’t he know? There never has been anyone else for you. Only him. You melt into him, molding your body to his, every breath matching with his, time slowing down as though in reverence for the two of you. It is lovely, nothing but the sound of beating hearts and shuddering breaths in the air. Your thumb still holds open the little book by the seam, stuck on the page of in the section of evergreen shrub; the mistletoe.
“There is no one but you,” You hum against him.
Relief is all Leon feels as he pulls away, fingers sliding against your cheek and holding you there as though you would disappear like a mirage. His eyes fall down to the book in your hand, letting out a knowing scoff and looking back up to you. Time does it again, brushes the dust off its skirt and gently takes a step back, head bowed in its wait for you.
Leon brings you closer to him, holding you by the waist, and tenderly brushes his lips against yours, luring you into him, securing one hand behind his neck. He does it again and this time nuzzles the edge of your lips, delighted at the laugh that flows through you. Your fingers graze the hair at the bottom of his neck, tugging at it in protest before he shares a laugh with you, whispers alright under his breath and finally places his lips on top of yours.
The kiss warms you, envelops and overwhelms all of your senses, having to tighten your grip on him to remain steady as he sweeps you off your feet. It is wonderful, much more encompassing than you could have ever imagined. He softly tilts your head back, allowing him to kiss you deeply, more fiercely, saying all now that he could not before. Leon breaks sway first, gasping in need for air, once again resting his forehead against yours. “Come with me,” He rasps, “I have found paradise out there and you are the only one I want to share it with.”
You close your eyes, shaking away and burying your nose in his neck, breathing him in deeply. “I would follow you into hell, Leon Kennedy.” You grin at him, stroking his cheek, “But I think our first adventure shall be to get out of this room.”
fake dating/christmas party/hurt/comfort ❄️ leon secret santa ❄️ gift for @mydarlingclaudia
MERRY CHRISTMAS MISS CLAUDIA i'm your secret santa! i've wanted to write og4 leon for this blog for a while and when i got you for secret santa i was like IT'S TIME lmao. i hope you enjoy and i hope you have the best christmas!
wc: 5k
summary: leon's in a bind. he thought he would have a love life by christmas, but the holidays have rolled around and he's still single. you'll pretend to be his date for just one night, right?
content: fake dating, real dating, coworkers, christmas parties, mistletoe, lots of late night conversations, lots of self-doubt, secret loser leon, technically post-re4. divider from @/strangergraphics
Over the past year, you've discovered that Leon's really good at pitching a fit when he doesn't want to do something - or, at least, when he thinks he doesn't want to do something. He'll bitch and moan about being tired, about how he just wants to stay in and have a 'chill date' with some old movie. No amount of assuring him that he would have fun once he got there would make him stop dragging his feet. That very night, you’d been waiting for him at the door with arms crossed, already decked out in your Christmas sweater, cheap reindeer antler headband affixed to your head.
Leon lets out a quiet puff of laughter when he slouches into the room, looking considerably less festive than you. He takes in your appearance - your tacky sweater, your headband, the way you pout and tap your foot impatiently. How, exactly, was he supposed to take this seriously?
“What, no one let you play any reindeer games?” Leon quips, taking his sweet time putting his shoes on.
You roll your eyes. When you finally manage to get him out the door, he has a blast. You know it, he knows it - this part is just mandatory torture, a bonding experience he loves to put you through.
"We go, we say hello, we leave." You assure him. “We don’t have to stay long.”
Leon might buy that at this moment, but you know the second you step through the door, you won't be leaving that Christmas party until the very end. Two hours in, you would be ready to go and Leon would be having the time of his life. You would be tugging at his sleeve, checking on him:
Ready to go? No, sorry, hun. Let me finish my beer and we can go.
Like clockwork. You weren't even sure he knew that he did that.
The Christmas music on the radio doesn’t do much to assuage his mood. He’s pouting the whole drive over. As soon as he pulls up to the house, he repeats the same mantra:
"We get in, we say hello, we leave." His hand smacks against the steering wheel to emphasize each point in the plan. You already have your door open, swinging out the side and marching up the freshly shoveled sidewalk.
"The decorations are so cute," you coo, crouching down to examine a particularly adorable light up gingerbread house - and to give him time to catch up.
Leon guides you up from the ground with a hand hovering behind your back. He herds you further down the sidewalk, still eager to get this over with. By the end of the night, you would be the one begging him to leave, but for now, you let him grouchily jam the doorbell.
Warmth floods out to greet you when Claire opens the door, the scent of cider and cinnamon rushing up to usher you in. Claire coos over your outfit, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.
"I should have put more effort in," she says, the pom of her Santa hat bouncing against her cheek. She's otherwise under dressed for the occasion, choosing comfort over festivity.
"What? No. Look at this place. You did all the decorations. That's way more effort," you counter, toeing off your shoes and stripping off your heavy coat.
Claire laughs. "I made my brother do most of it."
"Good to see you, too, Claire," Leon says, bristling over being ignored. She waves her hand, half hello, half dismissing him, and guides you further into the house, pointing you to the refreshments and giving a quick tour of the decorations.
Wherever Leon slinks off to, you're unconcerned. You have catching up to do just as much as he does.
Claire pops her hip up against the drink table. You twist the cap off your beer. Claire fishes one up for herself and pops the lid off against the table in one fluid motion. You huff a quick laugh - her party, her rules.
"So," Claire starts, leaning back against her elbows and surveying the crowd. She tracks your eyes for a moment, watches you watching Leon across the room. "I’ve been wondering. How did you guys actually meet?"
"What?" You laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. You take a drink, buy yourself some time to feel out Claire's intention.
"Well, obviously, the first story you told me was a crock of shit," she laughs.
You can't argue with that. The first time you had met Claire, you had been masquerading as Leon’s partner, sparing him the embarrassment of turning up to her Christmas party alone. You hadn’t exactly announced to his friends that your first time meeting them had been a lie.
"I didn't lie," you point out. "Not totally."
"A lie by omission is still a lie."
"We actually did meet at work."
Claire rolls her eyes. She won't put up with this for long. “I mean, I buy that. But he absolutely did not charm you over the comms on some classified mission.”
There’s no part of you that wants to argue in Leon’s defense. He was a nightmare to work with, knew just how to get under your skin, and you were more than happy to have Hunnigan continue to babysit him.
“If you really want to know…”
It was the Wednesday before Christmas Eve when Leon's coiffed head popped up above your cubicle. Never a good sign. Where he went, trouble (and acclaim) followed. You filled in for Hunnigan once when she was out with bronchitis, and now you can't get rid of her puppy. He keeps coming back, a particularly malignant tumor that metastasizes over the walls of your cubicle, spills onto your desk and messes with your letter trays.
“You busy?” His arm slings over the top, hand drumming against the wall of your cubicle.
Stay strong, you think. Try not to move. Play dead. Maybe he'll get bored and move on. You try to type faster and only wind up jamming the keys down harder. Leon drums his hand quicker, rhythm irregular.
“What does it look like?” You bite out.
Mission failed. You weren't trained to resist torture like he was. In fact, you specialized in answering stupid questions and pointing out the obvious. It was a key component of your job.
Leon’s job, apparently, entailed blatantly ignoring hints. He swings into your cubicle, brushes aside a stack of documents to sit on your desk. His forearms balance on his thighs, hands held together between his knees.
“I need a favor.”
It just gets worse. What kind of favor could Special Agent Kennedy possibly want from you, and why did you have a feeling that it was going to be off the books?
"If I'm doing favors, I'm staying clocked in," you drone.
"Not possible for this one," he shrugs. "Sorry. I'll make it up to you."
You roll your eyes. Silence stretches between the two of you, filled only with the intermittent clicks of your mouse as you try to track down the most up to date geospatial information for your assigned agent - you know, the one you're actually supposed to be dealing with.
Leon's both annoying and persistent. He shakes his fringe from his face, stretches out 'so...' into an elongated, cowish sound that sets your teeth on edge. You roll your hand, gesturing for him to continue.
"I need a date," he blurts out. He's smart enough to continue speaking quickly, hand already raised - palm outward, begging for peace. "Not a real date. Just for a couple of hours, for a party. We go, we say hello, we leave."
A beat. You give him time to throw in a ‘just kidding’. God knows you aren’t throwing him a life preserver. When he twiddles his thumbs, content to sink instead of bail himself out, you scoff. You don’t even look up from your computer.
"That is, by far, your worst line."
"I’m serious. Please. Just a couple of hours. That's all I'm asking. You don’t have to talk to me ever again."
Your eyes cut over to him. Not a single smug smirk in sight. You're almost surprised by the pleading hiding behind his eyes. You take it all in, try to assess him for any hint of deceit. You only find the bags under his eyes, darker than you'd seen before.
“Go alone,” you shrug.
“I can’t. I’ve been –” Leon stops. He sits up tall, peers over the top of your cubicle to see who’s around. Meerkat is a good look on him, his nose sharp in profile, brow furrowed and focused. You avert your eyes back to your computer. He lowers his voice, his eyes still flitting around for eavesdroppers. “I’ve… exaggerated the truth about my love life to a few friends. I promised I would introduce them to someone at this party.”
You note the desperation, try to stay impartial. You're good at that part, too. Trained for it. He’s in a bind of his own making. Some humility would do him good. You’d be doing him a favor by making him own up to his lie.
Your gut flips when you consider his proposal. What was this, high school? Why could he possibly need a fake date? It was so immature, you almost couldn't believe it.
Another thought burns at the back of your mind, keeps you wary. You can't help but feel used. What, he was fine pretending to take you out but couldn't conceive of actually asking you to go to his stupid party? It had to be fake, a preservation of his ego. You weren't even a part of this equation.
You should say no. You should leave him high and dry, make him look like an idiot in front of his friends - because that's what he is. An idiot. An idiot who can't get an actual date to save his life.
"Match my salary, then we'll talk."
Leon groans, head flopping back against your cabinets. He’s considering it, you can tell.
What’s the harm in it, you wonder, casting him a sidelong glance. It would be nice to have something to do on Christmas Eve.
"You owe me for this. You're gonna pick me up."
Leon's eyes light up. He hops off your desk, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. You hold up a finger to stop him before he can talk himself out of this.
"And you're gonna buy me dinner."
"There's food at the party."
"Good food?"
"If you don't like it, I'll get you something on the way home."
That's more like it. You spin back to face your computer, pulling your report back up.
"Deal. What's the dress code?"
Leon's silence speaks volumes. He's completely helpless when it comes to the details. You had figured someone with his looks had a social life that was bursting at the seams, that he was taking the fat field agent paycheck and he was hopping from party to party.
It's at his friend's house, he explains. You note the hesitation before he says 'friend'. Maybe it is all a front. Kennedy can't really go home to an empty apartment and a silent phone, can he? Everyone made him sound like such a big shot. You didn't expect the snapshots of your lives to be matching photographs, a wide shot when you held them next to each other. You try to picture his living room and all you can envision is a beige box.
You wring what little information he has out of him with a series of direct, probing questions. You're both comfortable in this routine. The quick, perfunct back and forth, an exchange not unlike one you might have over comms. He scribbles his number onto a sticky note and slides it over to you. You’ll work out the details of your story later, make it bulletproof.
The idea has been ghosting around the crevices of your mind for the entire day. You force yourself to wait a little longer before calling him, give him time to get home and get settled in. Trying to do the same is fruitless. Your appetite has mysteriously vanished, your Wednesday night show not catching your attention. You choke down half a bowl of cereal before you drum up the courage to call him.
"So, how did we meet?" You start, skipping past hello.
"Work."
"Going with the truth on that one?" You toss a piece of popcorn into your mouth, eyes fixed on your show.
"Helps to sprinkle the truth in with the lie, right?"
You can practically hear the grin on his face. You roll your eyes and bite back a sharp response. No need spoiling the mood immediately. You already agreed to do this. You won't make it harder than it needs to be.
"When did you ask me out?"
“Does that seriously matter?”
Of course it matters. Leon’s completely useless at this kind of thing, it turns out. You had expected more. He seemed the type to have experience. Maybe your own naivety had caught up to you. His confidence had you fully convinced that this would be a cake walk.
Was this seriously the guy who had single-handedly rescued the president’s daughter a few months back? Because he was floundering when you asked him if he had met your parents yet.
“Do you want me to meet them?”
“Oh my god,” you laugh, “No. They would eat you alive.”
That one stays in the story. It’s too believable not to. You bet Leon makes a real fool of himself in front of parents.
That’s where you went wrong. As soon as you started to rationalize what a relationship with him might look like, to add that touch of realism that would sell this story, you were fucked. He indulges all your questions and your musings.
Thursday night, you call him to ask what shows you watch together. He doesn’t see the point, doesn’t get that TV is such an important, ritualistic component of a relationship - or, at least, one that you want. He lets you pick, snorting in surprise when you name a dating show on VH1. You assign him homework. Watch the newest episode the Sunday before the party, and you’d fill him in on the details on the ride to the party.
Friday, you ask him what pet names he wants to use. He flounders again, acting dismissive in a way that you’ve now identified as embarrassment. You bite back the urge to tease him and offer up some suggestions instead.
“‘Babe’ is fine, I guess,” he says, “but I’m probably just going to call you by your name.”
When you hang up that night, you wonder if he meant it. Babe fits your perception of him from a week ago, but now you aren’t so sure. You turn the question over and over in your head for the next day, trying out different names in his voice. Something simple and classic, maybe. ‘Honey’, or ‘sweetie’.
The question is still turning in your mind when he calls you on Saturday. You don’t have a chance to get your question out. He blindsides you with his own.
“Have we said ‘I love you’ yet?”
Your mind races to catch up. Had he? No way. He mumbled when he got off the phone sometime, but there was no way that was an ‘I love you’. There was no way. It hadn’t even been a full week yet.
Then it clicks for you. Right. This is fake, all of it. Every phone call was for his benefit. You had initiated all of this. You should be happy that he’s finally contributing to the planning. You feel sick to your stomach instead.
“I don’t care,” you say, entirely nonchalant, none of it forced. The silence hangs over the line. You pray for Leon to let it go, to give you the grace that you haven’t given him.
He’s smooth with it - doesn’t point out the strain in your voice, blames it on a bad connection. For once, he takes the reins. No ‘I love you’ yet. He’s working up the courage, he says, and your heart clenches, breath catches, head spins.
You make an excuse to leave early. He reminds you to tune in for your show tomorrow. You hang up without saying goodbye.
He picks you up just like he promised. As much as you’d wanted to wear the silly, light-up Christmas sweater at the back of your closet, you couldn’t. You couldn’t show up as his date looking like that. No one would buy it. You already look out of place on his arm.
You’d expected the car ride to be awkward. The last time you’d seen him in person had been when you struck this whole deal. Instead of rehashing your story, though, Leon asks you question after question about the dating show you told him to watch.
To your surprise, he’d actually watched it. You go over the contestants, the washed up rock star they were all attempting to date, even recap the most notable drama. He’s hooked. The veneer of disinterest he tries to keep up is so thin it’s see through. You almost want to tell him to turn the car around so you can catch the reruns instead of suffering through this party.
You don't know what kind of party you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. Every corner of the place was saturated in Christmas, inside and out. Garlands of popcorn and dried orange slices, a tree decorated so heavily with strands of lights and garish ornaments that it's branches sagged. The warm lights bathed everything in a smooth glow. The chill that had stung your face on the walk in melted away, leaving only the pulsing afterburn across your cheeks.
Plenty of people had already arrived - thank god. If you'd had to make awkward small talk with the host until people arrived to take the heat off of you, you might have just said fuck it and marched back to the car. You keep a firm grip on Leon's arm, eyes flitting across each and every face. You didn't recognize a single one of these people.
That's precisely why Leon chose you. It makes your stomach lurch to think about. You're convenient. A face to put to a title, to apply to the vague stories that Leon has fabricated. Anyone could be on his arm right now, and it wouldn't make a difference. No one would know.
You stay glued to his side for the first hour. It works well enough, a handful of people overjoyed to meet you after all the stories that Leon’s told. You do your best to keep the sparkle in your eye, to look at him like he makes the sun shine. It’s hard when it feels like the floor could open up and swallow you at any given moment, when each affectionate touch is just a tool.
You excuse yourself for a drink. That will help your nerves. It can’t make them any worse, that’s for sure. You have a clear window, the drink table empty. In and out, then back to Leon’s side.
Fishing up a beer from the ice chest, you scavenge around for a bottle opener. Christ - all these preparations and no bottle opener? You’re tunnel-visioned into your search, don’t even notice the woman joining you at the table
“Want some help with that?” A redhead chirps, sidling up to you. She holds her hand out for your drink.
What’s the harm? You pass it over with a ‘thanks’ that quickly turns to a sharp inhale. She pops the lid off the beer with the edge of the table, tears a jagged crescent through the plastic tablecloth - cut one of Santa’s reindeer clean in two.
“My party, my rules,” she laughs. “I’m Claire. You’re with Leon, right?”
Your stomach drops. You can practically peer down at yourself, your soul leaving your body for a brief moment. Shit– Leon had warned you about her. Said she wasn't malicious, per se, but she could sniff out bullshit quicker than most. You run the facts back in your mind. If you could get past her, you'd be golden.
Claire's finger bounces between you and Leon. She leans her hip against the table, folds her arms across her chest.
“I don't get that at all,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head. “What's the story?”
Holy shit, that was quicker than you expected. Stay cool. Remember your lines.
“We actually met at work,” you start. Easy enough. It’s not even a lie. You unravel the rest of the details for her one by one, plodding through the steps of your imagined romance with deliberate care.
Claire’s eyes stayed fixed on you. She smiles and laughs where appropriate, but she tracks you with the cold eyes of a wolf on the hunt. A chill pulses down your spine. Is it really so hard to believe that you’re with Leon? Do you look so out of place?
“Good for him,” she finally says. She takes a long drink, still watching you.
“He’s great.”
“He’s okay.”
Maybe she meant it as a joke, but you have to force your laugh out from around the lump in your throat. Did she buy it? You can’t tell. She claps you on the shoulder, harder than you expected.
“It was really great to meet you,” Claire says. She slips back into the crowd with a smile, flowing naturally into a group of guests. Your eyes linger on her, but she doesn’t look back. She doesn’t slip into hushed whispers, no one turns to stare in your direction.
You wind back through the crowd, glue yourself back to Leon’s side. He lifts his arm instinctively, curls it around your hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even pause his conversation.
How is this the same clueless man that you had spent half a week planning out every minute detail of your imagined relationship? How can he be so relaxed and in control now?
That’s the difference between the two of you, you realize. There was planning, and there was doing. Clearly, Leon could see his commitments through. You were botching this. Everyone knew you were a fake. They had to.
“You okay?” Leon asks, head inclined closer to your ear. You swallow thickly, force a smile.
“Are you about ready to go?” You ask, keeping your voice low.
He’s not - you can tell - but he tosses his snack plate in the trash and says a round of goodbyes anyway, urging you out the door.
The car is silent. Leon flips through radio stations, never staying on one for long. Christmas music, rock ballad, regular ballad, Christmas music again - repeat. He fidgets with the vents, turns the heat up, then down, one degree at a time.
"Seriously, you good?" he asks.You keep your face turned to the window, watching the decorations roll by.
Leon glances at you - or that's what he thinks, at least. His eyes linger for too long. He corrects his course sharply, swerving away from the curb at the last possible moment.
"Yeah. Fine."
Neither of you believe that. You’ve spent the whole night lying - he knows what it looks like, and he lets you get away with it.
Leon turns the music up a tick. You spend the rest of the drive in silence. He pulls up in front of your place and cuts the engine, and that has to be the record for world’s most awkward drive.
Bundling your things in your arms, you hurry out of his car with a quick ‘thanks for inviting me’ that feels misplaced given the circumstances - but what the hell else were you going to say? You needed to sleep this whole thing off.
"Hey."
You stop in your tracks. You're almost positive you've left a drag tail in the snow, stopped so fast you nearly slipped on the sidewalk. Leon's window is rolled down, his body nearly halfway out of it.
"I appreciate what you did for me tonight," he says.
Your heart deflates, a balloon released in your chest, bouncing off your ribs and drumming against your lungs before it floats pitifully to a rest in the pit of your stomach.
"No problem," you say, shoulders back, head held high. "To be honest, I didn't think anyone would buy it."
His head tips to the side. His eyes narrow, studying you, trying to figure out your meaning.
"Why? You did great."
"I don't know. I didn't think we would look like a very believable couple."
He sticks his head back into his car, fumbles with his seatbelt overlong, and finally pops the door open. His feet find traction on the icy sidewalk much easier than yours. You chalk it up to his boots, his training, anything to keep your mind on the little details instead of the big picture.
“I thought it was pretty believable.”
Don’t read into it, you tell yourself again and again. It’s just going to hurt if you try to interpret greater meaning from that.
“Yeah? Glad I could help.” You hook your thumb over your shoulder, fishing clumsily for your keys. “Guess I’ll see you at work, then.”
Leon’s eyes cut back to your door. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, balanced perfectly on the ice. For a moment, you think you see his hand twitch towards yours. You linger, waiting for the touch of his hand around your wrist, willing the warmth that you imagine to be real.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods.
“Yeah. See you.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Claire interjects. “He didn’t even ask you out that night? He walked you to the door and bailed?”
You shake your head. “I asked him out like a week later. We were working late on New Years. He said he knew a great spot for coffee if I wanted to go on break. I said we could only go on our day off.”
Her eyes sharpen, casting her hunt out into the crowd of party-goers. You find Leon first - hunched over a snack platter across the room, contributing minimally to conversation with some people from Claire’s work. Claire, experienced hunter that she is, tracks your sight to find her quarry.
“He is so stupid. So dumb. Look at you,” she declares, waving you up and down - presenting you. “He made you ask? Ooh, I’m gonna – Leon!”
Leon’s head pops up from the cheese tray - meerkat chic, swiveling in the direction of the woman on the hunt. Claire points to the ground in front of her sharply, doesn’t even have to bark out ‘c’mere’ before his training kicks in and he’s marching himself over.
“What’s up?” He pops a palmful of cashews into his mouth, then slides the same hand against the small of your back.
His casual attitude earns him no favors. Claire thwacks his shoulder, berates him for making you ask first. He shrinks away - play dead. You taught him that one.
“You ready to go?” You ask once Claire’s done ragdolling him and marches off to tell the others how spineless Leon is.
Leon surveys the party - that’s what you think he’s doing, at least. His gaze is focused higher, examining the doorways carefully. His eyes sharpen, lock on their target. He nods, his thumb rubbing gentle arcs against your back.
“Yeah. Let’s head out. Wait for me in the hall, okay? I’ll get our stuff.”
You follow his directions thoughtlessly, planting yourself in the hallway he had pointed to. Leon flits about, saying goodbyes as he weaves through the crowd. Your coat is slung over his arm when he winds his way back to you.
Before you can protest, tell him he forgot your bag and your scarf, he smacks a hand dramatically against his forehead. He holds up a finger - hang on, here, take this, I’ll be right back – kisses your forehead, and floats back into the crowd.
He comes out only holding your scarf. You huff. Leon’s not a forgetful man. This is clearly on purpose, for his own entertainment. He loops your scarf around your necks for you, settling it into place and tying a clumsy knot.
“Your bag. I forgot, I’m sorry.” He kisses your cheek as he turns.
There was a twinkle in his eye when he turned. You’d caught it. It wasn’t just the shine of the lights. He was up to something. You scan your surroundings, look for cameras hidden, for guests watching a little too intently. Nothing immediately jumps out at you. You glance up - and there’s the culprit. A little branch bound with twine, berries dotting the little branches, suspended over the doorway.
Schooling your face back into mild annoyance, you go so far as to tap your foot. If he wants to put on a show, so will you.
“Here you go,” he says, handing over your bag. You wait for his next move. No way this was the end of his plan - and you’re right. As soon as your bag is slung over your shoulder, he’s patting himself down. Front left, front right, back pockets at the same time, chest at the same time. “Shit. My keys. One second–”
You kiss his cheek before he can strike first.
“On the key rack,” you point out, hooking your thumb over your shoulder. “It’s bad karma to abuse the mistletoe, you know.”
Leon huffs. He spares the mistletoe above your heads a glance.
“You made that up.”
Absolutely, you did. He crosses through the doorway and snags his keys. Before you can head out the door, he dangles them over his head. You roll your eyes and kiss him square on the lips before he can justify his poor man’s mistletoe.
Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, @vampiricgf ! I am your Secret Santa🎅 I tried my best and I hope you like this little Leon drawing I made for you ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕
