part one; “so, this is christmas…and what have we done?”
leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: you're sent on an undercover mission to a remote village with your coworker. except you pretty much hate each other. except leon has always spent the holidays alone...until now.
cw: this part is pure tension and forced proximity, even with some fluff i would say! + fake marriage.
a/n: heyy so..back in the ring. i know christmas already passed but i didn’t want to let go of the opportunity to post this while the spirit still hangs around. if it goes well, i would love to make the second part :)—didn’t write it all together cause i thought it was getting so long—so lmk what you think ❗️
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙
“Are you certain this is the route?” Leon’s voice was dangerously level, a low-frequency hum that vibrated through the floorboards of the rented sedan. It was the fifth time he had posed the question, and the meticulous, almost white-knuckled grip of his hand upon the steering wheel hadn't loosened once. His eyes, perpetually narrowed against the gathering dusk, never left the ribbon of asphalt unraveling ahead.
And for the fifth time, you forced the single, crisp syllable out. “Yes.”
You were practically squatting on the stiff leather seat, your body hunched, both hands rigidly clutching the source of his doubt: a colossal, crinkled paper map, its edges yellowing. It was so absurdly large it draped over your lap and rose like a fortified curtain, effectively bisecting the vehicle. You couldn't see the passenger window; you couldn't see him.
“Then why are you still looking at it..?”
You let out a sharp, ragged puff of air—a sound that was pure, unfiltered annoyance.
“Maybe because I don’t want to see your face.”
A beat of charged silence hung between you, thick and cold as the mountain air. Then, a sudden, forced agreement that stung more than any argument. “Lovely. The feeling is entirely mutual.”
You've been paired together for a covert data-gathering mission. The worst of their kind, you thought, because you didn't really have to do anything except to keep a low profile and stay proximate to the target for passive scanning. Observe, wait, pretend — report, repeat. Ridiculous, isn't it? You two being high-ranking, risk-qualified agents now stuck in this..holiday postcard.
Fat, wet snowflakes began to crash against the windshield. Leon activated the wipers, and the blades swept away the melting snow in rhythmic, frantic arcs, leaving less and less of a trace with each stroke. The road had become a monotonous path lined with towering, identical pines. The light was fading rapidly, and the silence in the car felt less like a truce and more like the prelude to an explosion.
A knot began to tighten in your stomach. You were now actively doubting whether this was really the designated service road, but the very thought of admitting that Leon Know It All Kennedy had been right to question your direction felt like a surrender you simply couldn't afford. You gripped the map harder, the paper protesting with a dry, ripping sound.
With a final, desperate sigh of defeat, you let your head fall to your knees, the map finally slipping from your numb fingers to crumple into the space beneath the seat.
“So it 's not.” Leon stated instantly, his voice now calm, terrifyingly victorious.
You shoot him a withering look out of the corner of your eye.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳❅*°⋆
You pull the sedan into what it looked like the last gas station there’ll be. It was less a business and more a skeletal relic: the pumps were faded yellow, the main building was dark and the windows opaque with dust and neglect. It smelled faintly of stale diesel and pine resin.
You catch yourself thinking it’s the perfect, forgotten backdrop for an apocalyptic scenario—a typical, desolate refugee point. The thought flashes through your mind: you and Leon, surviving a week here, armed, before the supply run turns bloody. It's a darkly humorous fantasy that grounds you, a reminder that the real-world threats you face are just as absurd, if less eccentric, than zombies.
Leon stretched the map out on the hood while you fill the tank. "...As much as it genuinely pains me to say this," he mutters, running a gloved finger along a marked blue line, "your guiding was technically correct. We are heading the right way."
You let the gas pump click off, pulling the nozzle free with a satisfying, metallic clink. “Of course we are. I’m a freaking genius.”
He didn’t look up. “You just read a map, don’t get so excited.”
You rolled your eyes, a small smile touching your lips. “Hardly.” You tap the sedan's roof twice—a familiar signal. “Ready to get back on the road.”
Leon finally lifted his head, his eyes widening marginally as he watched you bypass the passenger side and open the driver’s door. The look of faint, weary betrayal was instantly readable. You simply settled in, your hands already on the steering wheel. He sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of inevitability. “I guess,” he conceded, dragging himself around the hood.
The next two hours passed in the same way as the sun set, a constant tug-of-war between you two; if you weren't fighting over a sliver of air from an open window, you were fighting over the overhead light, and if not that, over the radio station. You wanted to listen to cheesy Christmas songs because come on, let’s get in the mood, right? But Leon simply clung to the station that played nothing but Three Days Grace, with a few songs by My Chemical Romance and Smashing Pumpkins thrown in.
“Home sweet…home?” You let the car door slam, the sound echoing too loudly in the frozen silence of the woods. You gripped your suitcase, eyeing the structure looming ahead. You didn't want to call it old; perhaps "rustic" is the right word. The wood was still standing, but it wasn't in its best condition... and that's okay, you weren't expecting a 5-star hotel, given the story that had been put together for you. You're a couple on vacation before your wedding. Yeah, right.
“It’s probably going to collapse on us the moment we close our eyes.” Leon muttered, stepping past you.
“One can only dream.” You shot back, following him up the rotting porch steps.
Leon kicked the door open with a sharp thrust of his hip, his hands full of tactical gear and duffels. The frame groaned in protest, shaking loose a flurry of dust and wood shavings that drifted down like grim confetti. Something small and furry scurried into the shadows, but Leon didn’t flinch. He just stopped dead in the entryway.
“Oh,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
You craned your neck to look over his shoulder “Oh.”
In the center of the cramped room sat a single, solitary bed.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩
The winter chill didn't take long to find the gaps in the cabin’s cedar walls. As the sun dipped below the treeline, the room turned into an icebox, leaving you no choice but to drag the heavy mattress across the floor until it was flush against the stone hearth.
“I’m taking the side by the fire,” you declared, claiming the spot before he could even look at it. “Non-negotiable.”
“All yours.” With his back turned on you, Leon didn’t even bother to protest.
“Right. Good.” You exhaled, feeling the smallness of the victory.
After a quick, cold wash and a change into your thermals, you slid under the heavy wool blankets. You stared at the ceiling, tracing the knots in the wood and trying to regulate your breathing. You were a professional; sharing a bed was just logistics. But then, the rustle of fabric caught your attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leon’s hands hook into the hem of his shirt.
“Sorry,” Leon’s voice was a low rasp in the quiet room. He paused, the shirt pulled halfway up his torso, bunching around his ribs. “I usually sleep like this. Does it bother you?”
“Wha—no. No, it’s fine,” you blurted out, the words tripping over each other. You waved a hand dismissively, silently cursing the heat rising in your cheeks.
You couldn't be sure in the flickering amber light of the fire, but you thought you saw the ghost of a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth.
“Great.” He finished the motion, tossing the shirt onto a nearby chair.
You whipped around almost instantly. “Night,” you snapped.
“Night-night,” he replied, his tone far too amused for your liking.
The silence in the cabin was thick, broken only by the frantic whistling of the wind through the eaves. You lay as stiff as a board, eyes wide open, staring at the darkened wall. You could hear everything: the slow, steady rhythm of Leon’s breathing, the rustle of the sheets when he adjusted his weight, the heat of him radiating like a second hearth.
An hour dragged by. Your mind was a frantic loop of mission parameters, but your body was hyper-aware of the man inches away.
Suddenly, the floorboards outside groaned.
You felt the bed shift violently as Leon moved. Before you could even draw a breath to ask, his hand was over your mouth—warm, calloused, and smelling faintly of gun oil.
“Quiet,” he breathed against your ear. His chest was pressed firmly against your shoulder, his bare skin shocking against your thermal top.
You didn't nod; you went limp. With his other hand, he reached under his pillow, the distinct click of a safety being disengaged echoing in the dark. You reached slowly for the holster you’d tucked into the side of the mattress.
For three agonizing minutes, neither of you moved. You were fused together, two predators waiting in the dark. You could feel his heart thudding against your back—not from fear, but from the adrenaline of the hunt. It was the first time you’d been this close without trying to throw a punch at him.
The sound didn't repeat. A heavy thud followed—the sound of snow sliding off the roof and hitting the porch.
Leon didn't let go immediately. He stayed there, his hand lingering over your lips for a second too long, his breath hitching as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving only the awareness of the position you were in.
He slowly retracted his hand, but he didn't pull away.
“Just the snow,” he rasped, his voice rougher than usual.
“I knew that,” you whispered, though your heart was still hammering against your ribs. You finally turned your head, finding his face only inches from yours in the gloom. The "enemy" you’d been bickering with all day looked different in the dark—less like a rival and more like the only person in the world you could trust to keep you alive.
“Sure you did,” he murmured. He didn't move back to his side. Instead, he settled back into the pillow, his arm inadvertently brushing yours. “Go to sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”
“We’re supposed to be on vacation, Leon. Agents don't take watches on their honeymoon.”
“Then pretend I’m protecting my investment,” he said dryly, though there was no bite in it this time. “Sleep.”
You turned back toward the fire, but you didn't feel the cold anymore.
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙
The sun hadn't even cleared the pines when a heavy, rhythmic thudding echoed through the cabin. Someone was pounding on the front door.
Beside you, Leon was already a blur of motion, rolling out of bed and grabbing his shirt in one fluid movement.
"Company," he hissed, sliding his sidearm into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. "Remember: we’re a 'happy couple.' Lose the killer glare."
"I’ll lose the glare when you lose the attitude," you whispered back, frantically smoothing your messy hair and trying to look like someone who had just spent a romantic night by the fire rather than a night on high alert.
Leon reached the door, took a centering breath that transformed his entire posture from lethal to lethargic, and swung it open.
Standing on the porch was an older man in a thick flannel coat, holding a crate of firewood. He looked exactly like the kind of local who kept a mental map of everyone in a ten-mile radius.
"Morning!" the man boomed, his eyes immediately darting past Leon to find you. "Saw the smoke from the chimney. Thought the city folks might need some more birch. The storm’s coming back tonight."
Leon leaned against the doorframe, a lazy, charming smile spreading across his face—the kind of look he never gave you. "Much appreciated. We were just debating who had to go out and forage." He reached back, blindly finding your hand and pulling you toward him.
You stumbled into his side, and his arm draped naturally, heavily, around your shoulders. He pulled you flush against his warm chest.
"Sweetheart, this is...?" Leon trailed off, prompting the man.
"Arthur. I manage the properties around the lake." The man peered at you both, his gaze lingering on the way you were tucked under Leon’s arm. "You two look a bit peaked. Cabin fever setting in already?"
"Just a long night," Leon murmured, his fingers idly tracing circles on your shoulder. It was a calculated move, a performance, but the heat of his touch through your thin thermal shirt felt dangerously real. "Wedding planning is exhausting. We came here to forget the world exists for a bit."
"Is that so?" Arthur looked down as if searching for something and that’s when you realized: the rings. Neither of you had them. You subtly ran your left hand down Leon's hip, toward his back. Arthur raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He looked at the bed pushed up against the hearth. "Resourceful. Most folks just complain about the draft. I see you’re keeping each other warm, at least."
You felt Leon’s chest vibrate as he let out a low chuckle. "Doing our best." He looked down at you, his eyes brimming with a fake devotion that made your stomach do a somersault. "Right, darling?"
"Absolutely," you said, forcing your voice to go soft and honeyed. You leaned your head against his shoulder, looking up at him with a gaze that felt like a lie and a confession all at once. "Though I wouldn't mind if he let me sleep past dawn just once."
Arthur laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "That’s the spirit. Well, I’ll leave you to it. There’s a market down the road if you need supplies, though I’d get there before the ice sets in."
As soon as the door clicked shut and Arthur’s footsteps faded into the snow, the warmth vanished. Leon dropped his arm and stepped back, the charming "fiancé" mask sliding away to reveal the cold professional underneath.
The silence in the cabin suddenly felt much heavier than it had before the visitor arrived.
"He was checking our story," Leon said, his voice flat as he moved toward the window to watch the man drive away. "He didn't buy the 'vacation' bit entirely. We need to be more convincing if we go into town."
"More convincing?" You crossed your arms, trying to shake the lingering sensation of his hand on your shoulder. "You were practically purring, Leon. Any more 'convincing' and he’ll expect a wedding invitation."
Leon turned back to you, his eyes unreadable. "Then maybe you should start acting like you actually like me. It’ll make the lie easier to swallow."
“What I believe will make us seem more real is a pair of engagement rings.”
The confidence on Leon's face vanished at that statement. He had forgotten that detail and now he knew you thought about it first.
Where were you supposed to get a couple of rings in the middle of fucking nowhere? That was a great question.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳❅*°⋆
Whether you were officially engaged or not in the eyes of the neighbor, you still had to get on with your work, so the situation was temporarily relegated to the "Low Priority Pending Matters" mental folder.
The cabin, which had felt tiny during the night, felt even smaller as a makeshift command center. You set up your laptop on the rickety pine table, the screen’s blue glow clashing with the warm orange of the dying fire. A few feet away, the bed served as Leon’s workbench. The only sounds were the rhythmic clicking of your keys and the metallic snick-slide of Leon’s weapons maintenance. You were deep-diving into the target’s digital footprint—analyzing travel routes and encrypted comms—while Leon methodically stripped his sidearm. He worked with a silent, terrifying grace, his large hands moving over the steel components with the same focus he’d used to caress your skin earlier.
"Target just pinged a local cell tower," you muttered, your eyes scanning lines of scrolling green data. "He’s early. He’s not waiting for the holiday—he’s moving into the estate across the valley tonight."
Leon didn't miss a beat. He slid a fresh magazine into his sidearm with a sharp, echoing clack. "That changes the window. We’ve gone from forty-eight hours to six."
He stood up and moved toward you, leaning over your shoulder to see the monitor. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his chest. One of his hands planted on the table right next to your mouse—you didn’t want to move your hand.
"Look at the encryption on the security feed," you said, trying to ignore how his scent was filling your senses. "He’s not just hiding. He’s expecting a delivery."
"Or an extraction," Leon countered, his voice a low vibration near your ear. He pointed a finger at a shimmering heat signature on the satellite map. "There. That’s a landing pad. If we don’t move by sunset, we lose him."
“Right,” you murmured, biting your lower lip as you ran the numbers. “We can't roll in as a strike team..”
“No,” Leon agreed, a slow, dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was the look he wore right before something exploded. “We go in as two lovesick idiots looking for a scenic spot to watch the sunset. Very romantic. Very loud.”
He reached out, his fingers brushing yours as he snapped your laptop shut. The sudden darkness of the room made his eyes seem brighter. “Get your coat, darling. We’ve got a date.”
The scenic route involved a grueling mile-long trek through waist-deep snow, circling the perimeter of the coordinates you’d pulled from the satellite. You and Leon moved with synchronized silence, despite your "tourist" gear.
"The landing platform is just over this ridge," Leon whispered, his hand going to the grip of his concealed weapon. "If the delivery is happening now, he’ll have at least four guards on the perimeter."
"On my mark," you breathed, heart hammering. "Three... two... one."
You both crested the ridge, weapons ready, prepared for a tactical nightmare.
Instead, you were met with a glow of warm, tacky neon lights and the muffled sound of Jingle Bell Rock.
You blinked. Below you wasn't a secret compound or a black-market exchange point. It was Miller’s General Store & Outpost. The "landing platform" you’d seen on the thermal map was actually a reinforced flat roof used for heavy supply drops during the off-season, currently decorated with a giant, inflatable, illuminated Santa.
And there, standing by a rack of somewhat pathetic-looking Christmas trees, was your target. He wasn't holding a briefcase of plutonium; he was squinting at a box of tangled tinsel and holding a frozen turkey like it was a precious artifact.
"Is he... is he checking the expiration date on that poultry?" Leon hissed, his tactical intensity crumbling into pure confusion.
"The intel said 'High-Value Acquisition,'" you whispered, feeling your face heat up. "I think he's just buying dinner."
"We have to get closer," Leon muttered. "If we turn back now, we have nothing."
You both descended toward the store, trying to shed your 'special-ops' aura for 'annoying tourists.' You entered the store, the bell above the door ringing loudly. The target looked up, and for a split second, you panicked. You needed a distraction—something to make you look harmless.
Leon reached for a shelf of ornaments, but his gloved hand was still clumsy from the cold. He bumped a massive display of "Handcrafted Vermont Cider" bottles.
It was too late. He lunged to catch a falling bottle; you tried to grab him, but you tripped over a bale of decorative hay in the way, and you both tumbled embarrassingly. You were trapped beneath him, amidst a pile of tinsel and spilled cider.
A pair of polished boots appeared in your field of vision. You looked up to see the target—the man you were supposed to be investigating—looking down at you with a mix of pity and amusement.
"Rough start to the holiday, eh?" the target asked, chuckling as he offered a hand to help Leon up. "I haven't seen a spill that graceful since the ice storm of '98."
Leon took the hand, looking appropriately embarrassed—though you knew he was actually recalculating the entire mission in his head. "Sorry. I’m a bit of a klutz when I’m trying to impress my fiancée."
The target’s eyes softened. "Fiancée, huh? Newlyweds-to-be? You two look like you've had a hell of a trek. You staying at the old Miller cabin?"
"We are," you said, brushing fake snow off your coat. "We just... wanted to make this Christmas different. Clearly, we’re getting there."
The man laughed, a warm, booming sound that didn't fit a criminal mastermind at all. "Do not worry, in this valley it is all about survival, not perfection…” Was that a threat, or a motivation? Had he already discovered you? “Listen, my place is just up the hill. I’m hosting a small dinner tomorrow night—mostly just my family and some local friends. It’s better than eating canned beans in a musty cabin. Why don't you two join us? Bring some of that 'city energy' to the mountain."
Leon looked at you, a silent, panicked conversation happening in the span of a heartbeat.
"We wouldn't want to intrude," Leon started.
"I insist!" the target said, patting Leon on the shoulder. "I like your spirit. Seven o'clock. Don't be late, or the turkey gets it."
As he walked away toward the checkout, you let out the air you were holding in.
Leon leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, mocking rasp that barely carried over the store’s tinny Christmas music. "Well, looks like we’ve got a dinner date with a ghost. Try to keep your feet under you this time, sweetheart. I'm not sure the hay bales can take another hit."
"And you," you shot back, brushing a stray bit of tinsel off his shoulder with more force than necessary, "try not to let your sudden love for cider blow our cover before the appetizers are served."
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩
Unfortunately, you didn't have time to watch the sunset like the couple you pretended to be would. You had to get your costumes.
Advising Leon on his wardrobe was surprisingly entertaining, though the man was annoyingly easy to dress. He had the kind of frame that made off-the-rack pieces look like custom tailoring. You settled on a crisp, designer white shirt—simple, but with a thread count that whispered "private wealth"—and tailored black trousers that hugged his legs in all the right places. The burgundy vest was your final touch, a splash of festive warmth that made his eyes look darker, more dangerous. As for your appearance, you were quite pleased with a dress you had spotted at the same store; it was earthy green, with a tie at the waist that accentuated your figure and then fell to just above your knees. It was pretty, modest and practical, but a hand on your waist interrupted your moment of great femininity.
"Green's not your color” Leon said in an unnecessary whisper, he stepped closer, resting his chin near the side of your head. In the mirror you looked like a portrait—a perfect, golden couple.
“So which one is it, then? Since you know me so damn we–”
“Red.” He stated it without hesitation and without letting you finish. "Red like your scarf. Like your nails. Like your lipstick. It simply suits you."
“And as always, I believe the darkest red is the safest option…” he continued, his hand sliding slowly down from your waist, his touch deliberate and grounding. He reached past you, his arm brushing yours as he hooked a finger under a different hanger. “Something like this.”
He pulled out a deep, wine-red dress. It was silk, the kind of fabric that didn't just hang—it draped. It was bold, elegant, and..
“Because I know you so damn well,” he murmured, meeting your eyes in the reflection with a look that felt far too honest “I know that sometimes you might overlook things that are right in front of you.”
“Take it and let’s go” his tone turned back to normal–careless, indifferent–as he stepped back and left.
What the hell was wrong with him?
That night in the cabin, it was all about restructuring the plan. It was no longer just distant surveillance; now social infiltration was included, and you had to be prepared for it. You had your looks, but that was just a tiny part of it. The trick was almost entirely not just on acting, but on the little details nobody thinks about.
“We need a story,” you said, laying your dress out on the bed. “Arthur and the target—Silas—are going to dig. They’ll ask how we met, who proposed, what our first fight was about..”
“Our first fight was about who would drive the first leg of the trip and what radio station we should listen to.” he reminded you, unbuttoning the shirt he had worn from the shop.
“I know that.” You sighed, scratching the bridge of your nose as you subtly turned away, avoiding seeing him and his bare chest, again. “But that´s not even nearly romantic, is it? It could be more like.. we met at a rainy bus stop. You gave me your umbrella and got soaked. You looked like a drowned rat, but I still gave you my number sort-of-thing.”
Leon let out a short, dry laugh. “A drowned rat. Endearing. Fine. Who proposed?”
“You did. Six months ago. On a bridge,” you said firmly.
“Silas is a structural engineer by trade,” Leon said, his eyes narrowing. “If I say ‘a bridge,’ he’ll ask which one. Let’s say the Key Bridge at sunset. I’m a traditionalist.”
“Alright, most important part.” You turned to face him, regardless of his condition. “The first kiss.”
The air in the tiny room went still. The old clock on the wall ticked louder than it should have. For a second, neither of you moved. Then his eyes flicked to your mouth—quick, instinctive—before snapping back to yours.
“Third date,” he said, his voice lower now. “Outside a jazz club. It was snowing, just like here. I didn't want to let you go home yet.”
The way he said it—so effortlessly, so convincingly—It gave you a feeling you didn't welcome, a lurch in your stomach, a dizziness.
“And what about..personal space?” he asked the question lingering in your mind, stuck in your throat.
Leon tilted his head. “And what about personal space?”
You scratched at your eyebrow, buying a second. “We… stay close, I guess.”
He stepped in, close enough for the firelight to catch the sweat on his skin and the faint lines of old scars. You put a hand on his chest, meaning to stop him there.
“Like this,” you said. “Exactly like this.” You expected him to step back. Instead, Leon’s hand came up, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with a grip that wasn’t meant to hurt, but to hold. He didn't move your hand away; he just looked down at it, his thumb beginning a slow, hypnotic stroke over the copper wire band you’d twisted earlier and used as a ring.
“Well, maybe we are metaphorical and these are..symbolic”
He laughed under his breath.
After years of missions and late-night watches, that sound was still rare enough to catch you off guard.
“Symbolic,” he repeated. “Yeah, that could work.”
⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙
The rays of dawn struck your face.
You turned over in bed, stretching, to find Leon hugging his pillow. He looked so annoyingly undisturbed, the sun didn't seem to bother him; his hair blocked it and acted like a reflective shield, creating golden twinkles.
You wanted to punch the beauty out of him. But instead you got up and channeled all that anger in two very hot coffees.
“Hey,” you said softly at first, almost tender. “Leon…” You insisted, cup in hand. Which was trying to burn, actually. “Come on.” Your free hand landed on his bare shoulder, slightly pushing it.
Finally, he reacted, lazily opening his eyes and making cute strange noises as he fully woke up.
“Welcome to the world of the living, I thought you left us for a sec.” You greeted him, handing him the cup once he sat up in bed.
One side of his hair seemed to suffer a little friction during sleep and was now pretty disheveled.
“Sorry, practicing our bonding last night really drowned me, I suppose.” He raised his eyebrows and took a long sip.
“That sounds really bad if you take it out of context…I’d prefer calling it a Chemistry Test.” You sat in front of your computer, reviewing data and names, connections and companies. All you needed to know by heart at the end of the day.
“Well, that. Exhausting.”
“You'll find that it won't be tiring at all when it comes to getting to know the one you truly love…” You said naturally, without giving it much deep thought, while clicking. Leon kept quiet for a second that seemed imperceptible for you.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳❅*°⋆
“Are we forgetting something?” You ask one last time, double-checking the list on your mind before leaving the cabin.
Leon lifts your dress slightly and confirms that your knife is tied to your leg.
“I believe we have everything we need.”
“I knew I had that, Idiot.” You glared at him as if you were about to bite him in defense. “I meant you, do you have your stuff?”
Leon doesn't answer but opens his vest, revealing 3 knives of different sizes and textures on one side, a small pistol on the other and a set of bullets that he takes from his pocket, hidden in a pack of cigarettes.
“Nice.” You smiled, satisfied. “We have a Christmas party to attend to.”
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