Leon Kennedy

You and Leon don’t say much on the drive home. It’s not uncomfortable—just heavy in that quiet, loaded way. His hand rests on your thigh the whole time, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles like he needs the reminder you’re real. Dinner had been nice. Too nice, almost.
Too normal for someone who just got back from hell.

The apartment is dim when you get in. Shoes kicked off, jackets dropped. A bottle of wine opens somewhere between the kitchen and the couch, and before long, he’s sitting close—too close. His knee pressed against yours.
His arm stretched along the back of the couch behind you. His gaze lingering.

“Missed this,” he mutters, voice already a little rough from the alcohol. You glance at him. “The wine?” A quiet huff of a laugh. His fingers come up, brushing your jaw, slower this time. Intentional. “No. You.” …Yeah. He’s gone.

It doesn’t take much after that. A look turns into a pause. The pause turns into him leaning in. And then he’s kissing you like he’s been thinking about it for weeks, his stubble scratching deliciously against your face.

It’s not slow, not really—there’s something hungry under it. His hand slides to your waist, gripping just a little too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on hard enough.

“Leon..” you barely get his name out before he kisses you again. “C’mere,” he murmurs against your mouth, already pulling you closer, already chasing. He tastes like wine and something deeper, something tired and desperate. You shift, half in his lap now, and that’s when it really changes.

His hands start wandering to your back, then your hips, before pulling you flush against him. He exhales sharply when you move against him, like the contact alone is enough to undo him.

“God, I—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head, pressing his forehead briefly to yours. “Missed you. Didn’t sleep worth a damn over there.” There’s a vulnerability in that admission that hits harder than anything else. You soften for a second. Just a second. Then you move again—slowly, deliberately and feel him tense under you. Not in the way you expect.

It takes a second to register. Another second for your brain to catch up. And in that tiny pause, everything shifts. Leon notices it immediately. Of course he does. His hands still. His breathing stutters. And then he pulls back just enough to look at you—and yeah, there it is. That flicker of confusion turning into something worse. “…wait.” The word comes out quieter than anything he’s said all night. He shifts slightly, like maybe it’ll fix itself. Like maybe it’s nothing. Yet, it doesn’t.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Suffocating. You open your mouth,probably to reassure him, to say something, anything, but he beats you to it. There’s a short, awkward laugh. The kind that doesn’t belong to him at all. “That’s… new.” He looks away immediately after saying it, jaw tightening. “It’s uh..” he clears his throat, shaking his head like he can brush it off. “Never done that before.” And there it is. Not anger.
Not frustration. Embarrassment. Sharp and immediate.

He shifts back, hands dropping from you like he suddenly doesn’t know where to put them anymore. “Sorry,” he mutters, too quick. “I don’t— I don’t know what the hell..” He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t look at you. And somehow, that hits harder than anything else. “Jesus— fuck, don’t look at me like that. Just give it a minute.. I’m just as confused as you are.”