Homecoming Chapter 13: Something Almost Beautiful Part 2
Part 1
Word Count: 10.5k words
Summary: Leon always said he wanted to bring you home.
But home has never looked like this.
Candlelight. Silk. Rings on your finger that should no longer belong there. A dinner set for two. A room dressed like romance and built like a cage.
Still caught between fear, memory, and the strange pull of a man who has already broken every boundary between love and possession, you wake to find Leon trying to rewrite the night into something softer. Something familiar. Something almost beautiful.
But the truth keeps bleeding through.
And the cruelest part is not that he still wants you.
It’s that some ruined, exhausted part of you still remembers wanting him too.
Triggers / Content Warnings: Dark Leon Kennedy, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, stalking, surveillance, coercive control, gaslighting, emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, captivity-adjacent themes, forced proximity, locked doors, unsafe safe house, restraints, being restrained while impaired, drugging/sedation aftermath, loss of bodily autonomy, dressing someone while unconscious, wedding rings placed on reader without consent, trauma responses, dissociation, confusion, impaired memory, gaslighting about events/phone call, Chris/Ryan confusion, references to Ryan being denied access, past domestic violence, broken nose flashback, physical abuse flashback, victim blaming, abuser rewriting events, forced intimacy/sexual assault memory reference, marital abuse, coercive relationship dynamics, trauma bonding, unhealthy attachment, emotional dependency, obsessive love, romanticized horror imagery, non-consensual/ambiguous consent sexual content, impaired consent, aphrodisiac-adjacent body response, body betrayal, explicit sexual content, oral sex, penetrative sex, unsafe relationship dynamics, aftercare in a coercive context, abuser remorse/apology cycle, psychological horror, dead dove adjacent themes.
MDNI. 18+ only. This chapter contains explicit mature content, dark psychological horror, coercive control, abuse dynamics, impaired consent, drugging/sedation aftermath, restraints, trauma responses, and sexual content within an intentionally unhealthy and unsafe relationship dynamic. This is not a healthy romance. Please read with care, mind the tags, and prioritize your own comfort.
This one is heavy. 🖤
Please, please mind the warnings on this one. This chapter contains explicit content, coercive dynamics, impaired consent, abuse references, restraints, trauma responses, and dead dove adjacent material.
MDNI. 18+ only.
Take care of yourselves, and I’ll see you in the next one. 🖤
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Leon went very still.
Not confused.
Not surprised.
Still.
That was answer enough.
You felt the warmth inside you twist into something colder.
“There it is,” you whispered.
His eyes stayed on yours.
“Yes.”
Your breath caught.
“What?”
He looked away toward the fireplace.
You hated when he did that.
“Look at me.”
His eyes came back immediately.
Too obedient.
Too careful.
Too late.
“What?” you repeated.
Leon’s jaw tightened.
“There was a man.”
Your stomach dropped.
“What man?”
“A nobody.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His face hardened in a way you knew too well.
Not at you.
At the memory.
“A man from the grocery store.”
The room seemed to narrow.
Your pulse changed.
You remembered grocery stores after Leon.
Bright lights.
Carts with bad wheels.
Buying the same four things because cooking felt too permanent.
Parking under lamps.
Checking reflections in windows.
Telling yourself no one was behind you.
Telling yourself you were paranoid.
Your mouth went dry.
“What grocery store?”
“Your second apartment. Nine months after you left.”
The specificity made your skin prickle.
Leon watched your face.
“He saw you in the parking lot.”
Your breath thinned.
“Stop.”
“He followed your car for six miles.”
“Stop.”
“He parked two houses down.”
“Leon.”
“He waited.”
The word slid into the room and stayed there.
Waited.
You stared at him, unable to breathe around the image your mind gave you.
A car behind you.
Headlights.
A man you did not know sitting close enough to see your door.
A danger you never noticed.
A danger Leon did.
“How do you know?”
Leon’s expression went flat.
Mission flat.
Killing flat.
“Because I was already there.”
Your stomach twisted.
“Of course you were.”
He did not flinch.
“What happened?”
“He left.”
The answer was too clean.
Too sterile.
You stared at him.
“What did you do?”
Leon was quiet for a long moment.
The music kept playing.
The candle wax kept melting.
Your rings kept glittering on your hand like proof of something you could no longer name.
“What did you do, Leon?”
His eyes lifted back to yours.
“I broke his hands.”
Your breath stopped.
Leon’s voice stayed even.
Too even.
“Both of them.”
The room tilted slightly.
“Every finger.”
A cold wave moved through you.
“And his wrists.”
You stared.
His face did not change.
Not with pride.
Not with shame, either.
Something worse.
Certainty.
“I told him if he ever followed you again, if he ever said your name, if he ever drove near your street, if he ever looked at another woman like she was something he could take—”
Leon’s jaw flexed.
“—then hands would be the least of what he lost.”
You could not speak.
For a second, every sound in the room seemed too far away.
The fire.
The music.
Your own breathing.
Leon’s eyes remained on yours.
“I’m not proud of it.”
You laughed faintly.
A broken, disbelieving little sound.
“No?”
“No.”
“But you’re not sorry.”
His silence answered.
Your stomach tightened.
You hated him.
You hated him.
You hated him.
And still, beneath all that hate, something inside you shifted around the knowledge that he had been there before the danger reached your door.
You hated that too.
You hated the little loosening in your chest.
Hated the way your body reacted to the idea of him between you and something worse.
Hated that some damaged, traitorous part of you still knew the shape of protection when it wore his hands.
Leon saw it.
Of course he saw it.
His expression softened.
You went cold.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
His mouth closed.
Good.
You shifted your legs against the loosened restraints, weaker now, needing something solid to push against.
“You want me confused,” you said.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you confused.”
“You do.” Your voice shook. “You want me thinking about him. Thinking about what could have happened. Thinking maybe you were right to be there.”
Leon stepped closer.
Only one step.
Your body noticed.
Not with fear first.
That scared you.
“You asked if I ever protected you from something real,” he said.
“I didn’t ask you to use it.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
His jaw tightened.
“I am telling you the truth.”
“You tell the truth like a weapon.”
The words landed.
He stopped moving.
Then he crouched in front of you.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His hands rested on his knees, open and visible.
You noticed.
You hated that.
This close, the candlelight softened him into something almost unbearable. His eyes were tired, blue gone dark in the dim room. The open collar of his shirt exposed the hollow of his throat. You could see the faint pulse there.
Alive.
Too alive.
Too close.
“You think I wanted it to be like this?” he asked quietly.
Your laugh came out thin.
“Yes.”
Pain moved through his face.
“No.”
“You built the house.”
“I did.”
“You bought access to me.”
“Yes.”
“You tied me to a chair.”
His eyes flickered.
“Yes.”
“You dressed me.”
“Yes.”
“You put my rings back on.”
His gaze dropped to your hand.
“Yes.”
Your voice softened, slipping without your permission, thickened by something slow and honeyed in your veins.
“So what part didn’t you want?”
Leon looked at you then.
The room seemed to stop breathing.
“This part,” he said.
Your chest tightened.
“What part?”
“The part where you look at me like you’re trying to find the man you loved and the monster keeps answering first.”
The words hit somewhere soft.
Too soft.
You hated him for knowing where to aim.
You hated yourself for bleeding anyway.
Your eyes burned.
“Don’t.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I know,” he repeated, quieter.
Something in you gave.
Not forgiveness.
Not trust.
Something older.
Something that had been waiting.
Your breath trembled.
Leon noticed.
His eyes moved over your face, careful and aching.
You should have looked away.
You did not.
The pull sharpened.
Not clean.
Not safe.
But there.
A thread drawn tight between your body and his.
Old.
Terrible.
Alive.
Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Why can’t I hate you right?”
Leon’s face changed.
For the first time all night, he looked unprepared.
You swallowed hard.
“I know what you are,” you whispered. “I know what you did. I know this is wrong.”
His breathing changed.
“Then why—”
“I don’t know.”
Too fast.
Too desperate.
“I don’t know.”
The music moved around you.
The candlelight flickered.
Leon stayed crouched in front of you, close enough that if he reached out, he could touch your knee.
He did not.
That made it worse.
Your body remembered his hands.
All of them.
Your throat tightened.
“I should want you dead.”
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
“I don’t.”
The words slipped out like something long buried finally surfacing.
Leon’s gaze lifted slowly.
Hope moved through his face.
Small.
Dangerous.
You saw it.
“No.”
He froze.
“No,” you repeated. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t take one broken thing I say and build a house around it.”
His face crumpled slightly.
“You’re right.”
“I know I am.”
He nodded.
But his eyes did not leave yours.
Neither did yours.
The air changed.
The fire burned lower now, warmer than bright. The music softened into something slower, heavier. The candles threw gold across Leon’s shirt, across your rings, across the black silk on your thighs.
You shifted without meaning to.
The dress whispered against your skin.
Your breath caught.
Leon heard it.
His eyes darkened.
He looked away immediately.
That should have helped.
It didn’t.
The restraint.
The effort.
The way he was holding himself back like it hurt.
It made something inside you ache.
“Untie my ankles,” you said.
Leon’s eyes snapped back to yours.
“What?”
“My ankles.”
His gaze flicked beneath the table.
Then back to your face.
“You’re still unsteady.”
“I’m tied to a chair.”
“You said that already.”
“I’ll keep saying it.”
A pause.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
He reached under the table.
Your body went rigid when his hands touched the restraint near your ankle.
He felt it.
Paused.
“I’m only undoing the buckle.”
“Then do it.”
He did.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Both restraints came loose.
Your legs were free.
The sensation of it sent a strange ripple through you.
Too light.
Too warm.
Leon stayed low, one hand hovering near your ankle.
“You cut it deeper than I thought,” he said.
“You sedated me before I could check.”
Pain flashed across his face.
“Yes.”
He rose.
You stood too fast.
The room tilted.
Leon moved on instinct.
You hit his chest.
Your hands landed against his shirt.
Warm.
Solid.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
His arms closed around you.
Not tight.
Just enough.
You should have pushed away.
You didn’t.
Your cheek hovered near his collarbone.
His heartbeat thudded beneath your palm.
Your breath tangled with his.
Everything slowed.
Everything thickened.
Like the air itself had turned to honey.
“Let go,” you whispered.
He did.
Immediately.
But you didn’t step back.
Not really.
Your hands stayed on him.
Your fingers curled into the fabric.
You looked down at them.
So did he.
Silence.
Your rings glittered against white cotton.
Leon’s voice came rough.
“Baby.”
Your breath hitched.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Okay.”
But he didn’t move.
Neither did you.
The pull stretched tighter.
Your chest rose and fell too slowly.
Too deeply.
Like every breath was dragging something sweet and dangerous through your lungs.
Leon lifted his hand.
Stopped before touching your face.
Waited.
Your eyes flicked to his hand.
Then back to his.
“Tell me no,” he whispered.
The word sat on your tongue.
It didn’t come.
Your fingers tightened in his shirt.
“I don’t know what I’m telling you.”
His breath broke.
Something in him snapped quiet.
He didn’t step back this time.
He didn’t move at all.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because now it felt like the choice was yours.
And your body—
your body leaned.
Barely.
But enough.
Enough that his breath caught.
Enough that his hand finally closed the distance.
His fingers brushed your cheek.
Light.
Careful.
Like he was touching something fragile.
Your eyes fluttered.
The contact sent something molten through you.
Slow.
Heavy.
Wrong.
You should have pulled away.
You didn’t.
His thumb traced just beneath your eye.
Your breath shook.
“Leon…”
A warning.
A plea.
You didn’t know which.
His forehead dipped toward yours.
Stopped.
Waited.
Always waiting.
Always giving you the space to stop him.
You didn’t.
Your lips parted.
His gaze dropped to them.
That was it.
That was the moment.
The one you would hate yourself for.
The one you would remember.
The one that felt like something you had been falling toward for years without knowing it.
He kissed you.
Soft.
Careful.
Like he was afraid you would disappear.
For one second, you froze.
Then something inside you gave.
Your fingers tightened in his shirt.
You kissed him back.
It wasn’t gentle.
Not really.
It was slow.
Heavy.
Like moving through something thick and golden and impossible to escape.
His hand slid to the back of your neck.
Not forcing.
Holding.
Anchoring.
Your body leaned into him without permission.
Your chest pressed to his.
Your breath tangled with his.
The world narrowed to heat and breath and the taste of him.
Familiar.
God, it was familiar.
That was the worst part.
Like no time had passed.
Like your body had been waiting.
His other hand moved to your waist.
Hesitated.
Then pulled you closer.
You made a small sound against his mouth.
You didn’t recognize it.
He did.
It broke something in him.
The kiss deepened.
Still controlled.
Still restrained.
But heavier now.
Hungrier.
Years of things unsaid pressing into it.
Your hands slid up his chest.
Over his shoulders.
Into his hair.
You shouldn’t have.
You did.
He exhaled sharply against your lips.
Then suddenly—
movement.
He lifted you.
You gasped.
Your hands clutched at him.
He set you on the table behind you.
The silverware rattled softly.
The candles flickered.
The world tilted again.
But this time you didn’t care.
His hands braced on either side of you.
He leaned in again.
Kissed you again.
Slower.
Deeper.
Like he was memorizing you.
Like he had been starving.
Your legs shifted instinctively.
The silk of the dress slid against your skin.
Your breath broke.
Everything felt too sensitive.
Too close.
Too much.
His mouth moved against yours.
Then your jaw.
Your cheek.
Back to your lips.
You tilted your head back, baring your throat to him, and Leon’s mouth followed like he had been waiting for the invitation his entire life. His lips dragged open and hot along the column of your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make your breath stutter.
One of his hands stayed at your waist, anchoring you on the edge of the table, while the other slid lower, bunching the black silk higher and higher until the cool air of the room kissed the bare skin of your thighs.
He kissed you like he was still trying to be careful.
Like he knew he had already taken too much and was terrified of taking more. But his hands betrayed him. They shook faintly as they mapped the shape of you through the dress, as if relearning every curve he had once known by heart.
You should have stopped him.
You didn’t.
Your fingers stayed buried in his hair, tugging when his teeth found the sensitive spot just below your ear. A small, helpless sound left you.
He answered it with a low groan that vibrated against your skin and sank straight between your legs.
Leon pulled back just far enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, almost black in the firelight, pupils blown wide. His chest rose and fell too fast beneath the open collar of his white shirt. The wedding ring on his finger caught the glow of the candles as he reached down and gently—reverently—parted your thighs wider.
His fingers hooked into the delicate waistband of your underwear. He slid them down your legs slowly, almost reverently, kissing the inside of one knee, then the other, as the fabric whispered away and disappeared somewhere on the floor. He looked at you there, fully bare now in the candlelight.
And something in his face cracked open.
“God,” he whispered, voice rough and disbelieving. “You’re this wet for me.”
The words landed like a blow and a caress at the same time. Your cheeks burned. Your body clenched around nothing, another rush of slickness answering him without your permission. You hated it. You hated how easily he could still pull this from you. You hated that some broken, starving part of you thrilled at the awe in his voice.
Leon’s hands slid up the insides of your thighs, thumbs stroking slow, soothing circles.
He leaned in and pressed his forehead to the soft skin just above your knee, eyes closed, breathing you in like a man at confession who already knew he would sin again before the night was over.
Then he dropped lower.
He sank to his knees between your spread legs like gravity had finally won.
His broad shoulders fit between your thighs as if they belonged there.
One hand stayed on your left thigh, holding you open. The other slid beneath you, lifting your hips just enough to bring you to his mouth.
The first drag of his tongue was slow.
Deliberate.
A long, flat stroke through your slick folds that made your entire body jolt. He groaned against you like the taste of you was something he had been craving in the dark for years. His tongue circled your clit once, twice, then sealed his mouth over it and sucked gently.
Your head fell back with a broken moan.
Everything felt too much.
Too thick.
The pleasure moved through you in heavy, syrupy waves, slow and overwhelming, like your body couldn’t quite keep up with what he was doing to it.
Your thoughts fractured.
You couldn’t hold onto the anger, the fear, the certainty that this was wrong.
All you could feel was the hot, wet pull of his mouth, the way his tongue worked you with devastating patience, like he had all night and intended to use every second of it.
Leon ate at you like a man starved and reverent at once. He licked and sucked and kissed like he was trying to memorize you, like he wanted to ruin you for any other mouth. His tongue dipped lower, pushing inside you in slow, deep strokes before returning to your clit, flicking and circling until your thighs started to shake around his head.
Your hands fisted tighter in his hair. You didn’t know if you were trying to pull him closer or push him away. Maybe both.
“Leon—” His name came out shattered.
He hummed against you in answer, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
One thick finger traced your entrance, teasing through the wetness he had drawn out of you, then slid inside in one smooth glide.
He curled it immediately, finding that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes, and kept his mouth working you at the same time.
The combination was too much.
Your back arched hard off the table. The silk dress bunched uselessly at your waist. Your left hand—the one with the rings—pressed to the back of his head, holding him there as your hips rocked helplessly against his mouth. You could feel the cool metal of your wedding band catching in his hair.
The sight of it should have made you sick.
It only made you wetter.
Leon groaned like he could taste the change, like your body confessing for you was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. He added a second finger, stretching you gently, scissoring them while his tongue circled and sucked and worshipped. The wet sounds of his mouth on you mixed with the crackle of the fire and the low, aching music still playing somewhere behind him.
You came with a broken, sobbing cry, thighs clamping around his head, inner walls pulsing hard around his fingers.
The orgasm rolled through you in thick, endless waves, the honey-slow haze in your veins making it feel endless, almost too much.
Leon didn’t stop.
He gentled his mouth but kept licking you through it, drawing it out until you were gasping and twitching, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.
Only then did he pull back.
He kissed the inside of your thigh, soft and lingering, like a thank you or an apology or both. Then he rose slowly, mouth slick and shining in the firelight, eyes wild and tender and terrified all at once.
He leaned in and kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
You moaned into it, dazed, your body still fluttering with aftershocks.
His hands moved to his belt.
The sound of the buckle was loud in the quiet room. He freed himself, the thick length of him heavy and flushed against your thigh.
He nudged the blunt head through your slickness, coating himself in you, and paused with just the tip pressed against your entrance.
His forehead dropped to yours.
Breathing ragged.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice shredded raw. “Baby, please. Tell me no.”
You should have.
The word sat on your tongue.
Your legs wrapped around his hips instead, ankles locking at the small of his back, pulling him closer. Your hands framed his face, thumbs brushing the dark shadows beneath his eyes like you could erase the years and the damage and the lies.
“I can’t,” you breathed against his mouth. “I don’t know how.”
Something in him broke.
He pushed inside you in one long, slow thrust, filling you completely.
The stretch burned sweet and deep, the thick fog in your mind making every inch feel amplified, overwhelming. Your nails dug into his shoulders through the white shirt.
A sob caught in your throat—not from pain, but from the years of absence crashing into this single moment of being full of him again.
Leon groaned, low and guttural, his forehead pressed hard to yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying not to come immediately. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he bottomed out.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel like home. I missed you. God, I missed you so much.”
He started to move.
Slow at first. Deep, deliberate strokes that dragged every inch of him along your sensitive walls.
The table creaked beneath you.
The fire popped.
Your rings glittered on the hand you had fisted in the front of his shirt, right over his heart. He looked down at them once, something raw and possessive flashing across his face, then kissed you again like he could swallow every conflicted sound you made.
You kissed him back.
You hated yourself for it.
You couldn’t stop.
Your body moved with his, hips rolling to meet every thrust. The pleasure built again in those same thick, syrupy waves, too intense, too slow, your thoughts fragmenting until all you could hold onto was the feel of him inside you, the way his ringed hand gripped your thigh, the broken little sounds he made every time you clenched around him. Your legs tightened around his waist. Your hands slid into his hair again, tugging. He groaned and thrust harder, the rhythm turning deeper, more urgent.
“Look at me,” he whispered against your mouth. “Please. Let me see you while I’m inside you.”
You did.
Blue eyes locked on yours, open and terrified and full of something too big to name. He kept one hand between you, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you higher. The double stimulation shattered what was left of your control.
You came again with his name on your lips, body bowing hard, inner walls fluttering and clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. Leon followed with a broken groan, burying himself as deep as he could go, pulsing hot inside you. His arms wrapped around you like iron, holding you through it, like if he let go you might disappear again.
For a long time there was only breathing.
The crackle of the fire.
The soft, aching music.
His heart hammering against yours where your chest pressed to his.
He didn’t pull out. Stayed buried inside you, softening slowly, his face tucked into the curve of your neck. He pressed soft, trembling kisses to your throat, your collarbone, the corner of your jaw. His hands stroked your back in long, soothing lines, like he was trying to calm both of you.
You stared at the ceiling, the rings heavy on your finger where your hand had fallen to rest on his shoulder. The silk dress was ruined, bunched and wrinkled around your waist. Your thighs ached. Your body hummed with the afterglow, still too sensitive, still wanting in a way that didn’t make sense.
Leon lifted his head.
His eyes searched your face like he was waiting for the moment you would shove him away, for the hate to come rushing back in.
You didn’t shove him away.
You didn’t know how.
Instead you reached up, slow and unsteady, and brushed a strand of damp hair off his forehead with fingers that still wore his ring.
The pull between you tightened.
Thick.
Sweet.
Terrifying.
And somewhere in the honeyed confusion still clouding your mind, you knew this was only the beginning.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
The dining room stayed suspended around you.
Candles burning low.
Music still drifting softly through the air.
Firelight moving over the walls in slow, golden pulses.
The table beneath you was cold where your body touched it. The silk dress was twisted, wrinkled, ruined. Your hands rested against Leon’s shoulders like they had forgotten where else to go.
Your rings caught in the candlelight.
His did too.
Two small circles of gold.
Two lies pretending to be vows.
Your breathing sounded too loud.
His sounded worse.
Ragged.
Uneven.
Shaken.
Like whatever had just happened had not steadied him at all.
Like it had undone something.
Leon’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, his hands still braced carefully at your sides. Not gripping. Not holding you down. Just there, as if he needed the table to keep himself upright as much as you did.
You stared past his shoulder.
At the fireplace.
At the wine.
At one candle trembling in its own melted wax.
Your body felt distant and too present at the same time. Heavy. Warm. Oversensitive. Exhausted in a way that did not feel like rest was coming, only collapse.
You tried to pull one thought into focus.
Just one.
What happened?
The question formed slowly.
Then came apart.
It was too large.
Too many pieces.
The chair.
The dress.
The rings.
Leon’s mouth.
Your hands in his hair.
The way you had not said no.
The way you had not said yes either, not in any way that felt clean enough to hold.
Your stomach twisted.
Leon opened his eyes.
He saw the change in your face immediately.
Of course he did.
His expression shifted.
Softness first.
Then something tighter beneath it.
“Hey,” he whispered.
You blinked.
The word landed strangely.
Too normal.
Too gentle.
You looked at him like he was speaking through glass.
Leon’s hand lifted slowly, then stopped before touching your cheek.
Always stopping.
Always waiting after.
“Are you with me?”
You didn’t answer right away.
Because you didn’t know what that meant anymore.
You were here.
On the table.
In the dress.
With him.
But being here wasn’t the same as being with him.
“I don’t know,” you said finally.
His face tightened, just slightly.
“Okay.”
You closed your eyes for a second.
The room tilted.
Leon moved immediately.
“Easy.”
His hands came to your waist, careful now, almost overly careful, like he was trying to correct something after the fact.
You opened your eyes again.
“Don’t.”
He froze.
“Don’t what?”
You hesitated.
The words didn’t come clean.
“Don’t… make it something it’s not.”
His gaze searched yours.
“I’m not.”
“You always do.”
His breath caught.
The music shifted behind him, slower now, quieter.
Leon looked down.
At the table.
At your hands.
At the rings.
Then back at you.
“I should get you upstairs.”
Your body tensed automatically.
“No.”
The word came fast, instinctive.
Leon stilled again.
“Okay.”
You swallowed.
Your head felt heavy.
“I don’t want—”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
He paused.
Then nodded once.
“You’re right.”
That didn’t help.
Nothing helped.
He glanced toward the hallway, then back at you.
“Can I carry you?”
Your stomach turned at the idea.
Not because of him exactly.
Because of everything.
Because of what it meant.
Because of how easy it would be to let him.
You shook your head at first.
Small.
Automatic.
“No.”
Leon didn’t push.
Didn’t argue.
Just waited.
And that waiting—quiet, patient, familiar—made something in your chest twist in a way you didn’t like.
The dining room felt wrong now.
Too full.
Too staged.
Too much.
Your hands trembled slightly where they rested against him.
You didn’t want to stay here.
That was the only clear thing.
You exhaled slowly.
“…not that room.”
His eyes lifted.
“I won’t take you there.”
You studied his face.
Trying to decide if that mattered.
It did.
A little.
“Then where?”
“My room,” he said.
You hesitated.
His room wasn’t better.
Just… less.
Less arranged.
Less intentional.
Less like a performance.
You didn’t want that either.
But you didn’t want this more.
Your shoulders sagged slightly.
“…fine.”
The word came out quieter than you meant it to.
Leon didn’t react right away.
Like he didn’t trust it.
“Okay,” he said carefully.
You almost told him to stop saying that.
You didn’t have the energy.
“I’m going to lift you,” he added. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
You let out a small breath that might have been a laugh.
“Would you?”
His expression flickered.
“I’m trying to.”
That wasn’t an answer.
But it was honest enough.
You didn’t argue.
When he slid one arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees, you didn’t resist.
You didn’t lean into him either.
You just… let it happen.
Your body shifted with his.
Your head tipped forward, resting lightly against his chest before you could stop it.
You didn’t move away.
Not because you wanted to stay there.
Because moving felt like too much.
His heart was pounding.
Fast.
Unsteady.
You noticed.
You didn’t know what to do with that.
The silk slid against your legs as he lifted you fully from the table.
The room tilted.
Candles blurred.
Firelight stretched.
Your hand pressed faintly against his shirt, rings catching in the fabric.
Leon glanced down at them once.
Then looked away.
He carried you out of the dining room.
The music followed for a few steps.
Then faded.
The house felt quieter out here.
Too quiet.
Too warm.
Too full of everything he had set up.
Everything you hadn’t asked for.
You watched the WELCOME HOME banner pass above you.
The letters looked different now.
Heavier.
Less like a greeting.
More like something fixed in place.
Your stomach tightened.
Leon felt it.
His arms adjusted slightly.
Then stilled again.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
You didn’t answer.
Because you didn’t know what that meant anymore.
He kept walking.
Down the hall.
Past the stairs.
Past the room you didn’t want to think about.
To his.
He nudged the door open with his shoulder.
His room was dim.
No candles.
No music.
Just a lamp.
Gray blankets.
A desk.
Books.
A half-open duffel.
Your old sweater draped over the chair.
You noticed it immediately.
Your throat tightened.
Leon followed your gaze.
Then looked away.
He set you down on the edge of the bed carefully.
Too carefully.
Like you might break.
Your body swayed slightly when he let go.
Leon crouched in front of you instinctively, hands hovering but not touching.
“Can you sit?”
You nodded faintly.
“I think so.”
He stayed there a moment longer, watching.
Then stood.
“What are you doing?” you asked.
“Getting you something to change into.”
“No dress.”
He paused.
Then nodded.
“No dress.”
He pulled out soft clothes.
Simple.
Nothing deliberate.
Nothing arranged.
He set them beside you.
Not on you.
Beside.
“I can leave if you want.”
You looked at the door.
Then back at him.
The idea of standing.
Moving.
Doing anything.
It felt distant.
“I don’t think I can.”
Leon’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I can help.”
Your body went still.
Not cold.
Not sharp.
Just… unsure.
He saw it.
“I know,” he said quietly.
You looked down at the dress.
At your hands.
At the rings.
“I don’t want to be in this anymore.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
You exhaled slowly.
“Don’t look.”
He turned immediately.
Facing the wall.
Still.
You watched his back for a moment.
Waiting for him to glance over his shoulder.
He didn’t.
That made something in your chest twist again.
You reached for the zipper.
Your fingers fumbled.
The silk slipped.
Your rings caught.
You made a small frustrated sound.
Leon’s shoulders tensed.
“Do you need—”
“Yes.”
The word came out before you could stop it.
You closed your eyes briefly.
“…just the zipper.”
He nodded, even though you couldn’t see it.
“I’ll only do that.”
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Measured.
His fingers found the zipper.
Careful.
Steady.
He pulled it down.
The sound was loud in the quiet room.
Your breath caught.
His did too.
When it was done, he stepped back immediately.
Turned away again.
You slipped out of the dress slowly.
Pulled on the shirt.
The pants.
Everything felt distant.
Muted.
You didn’t rush.
You didn’t linger.
You just moved through it.
When you were done, you sat there for a second.
Grounding yourself.
Leon stayed turned away.
“Okay,” you said quietly.
He turned back.
Careful.
Like he was checking if it was safe.
You didn’t react.
He crouched again.
“Your foot.”
You glanced down.
The bandage had bled through slightly.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
You didn’t argue.
You just held your foot out a little.
Not inviting.
Not refusing.
Just… allowing.
He understood.
He worked quietly.
Cleaning it.
Rewrapping it.
His hands steady.
Familiar.
You watched him.
“You’re angry,” you said.
“At myself.”
You didn’t respond.
When he finished, he sat back.
“All done.”
You nodded faintly.
“My rings.”
His gaze dropped to your hand.
You held it out.
“Take them off.”
He hesitated.
Then reached for you.
Slowly.
You let him.
He slid them free one by one.
Set them on the nightstand.
Not hiding them.
Not holding onto them.
Just… placing them there.
You watched.
Your chest felt tight.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
He looked at you like that hurt.
“You shouldn’t have to thank me.”
You didn’t answer.
You were too tired.
Your body swayed slightly.
Leon noticed.
“You should lie down.”
“I don’t want to fall asleep.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I might.”
He nodded.
“I’ll stay here.”
You looked at the chair.
At your sweater.
“Leave it.”
He didn’t move it.
“Okay.”
You lay down slowly.
Careful of your foot.
He turned away again while you settled.
You noticed.
You didn’t know why that mattered.
The blanket was warm.
Simple.
Your body sank into it.
Leon dimmed the lamp.
Not off.
Just softer.
You lay on your side, facing the door.
He didn’t comment.
He moved to the chair.
Sat.
Hands clasped loosely.
Head lowered.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The house settled.
The silence stretched.
Your eyes drifted to the nightstand.
The rings.
Small.
Bright.
You looked away.
Sleep pressed in slowly.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
“Don’t come over here,” you murmured.
“I won’t.”
“If I wake up and you’re in the bed—”
“I won’t.”
You believed him.
Not completely.
But enough.
Your eyes closed.
The room softened.
Dim light.
Gray blankets.
Leon in the chair.
The rings on the nightstand.
Everything quiet.
Everything unresolved.
You didn’t feel close to him.
You didn’t feel far either.
Just… suspended.
And then sleep took you.
