Work Text:
It had been seven years since you had seen Leon Kennedy. Seven years since he had left to go to Racoon City. Seven years since he had left you alone to process the city’s destruction and what you assumed to be his death.
He was your boyfriend back then, still young and full of hope, so ready and willing to do anything to leave the world in a better state than he found it. Because that’s just how he was; bright and wonderful and so, so good. Better than anyone deserved. And he was ripped away from you, from the world that he was barely able to put a dent in because things were never fair. Not to people like him.
And you were right. Just not in the way you thought. Because there he was, standing down the aisle from you in a grocery store, completely unaware of how your world was crumbling down in front of you. Don’t cry, you thought to yourself, repeating it like a mantra as you stepped closer to a shelf, trying to focus on the different brands of spaghetti that you didn’t actually care about. It was definitely him, despite the longer hair and darker clothes. You’d recognize his face anywhere, even after all these years.
You shook yourself out of your thoughts, blindly grabbing at one of the boxes in front of you to just get out of the situation. It’s been seven years. Now wasn’t the time to confront the ghosts of your past. Unfortunately, the universe seemed to have other plans, since you accidentally caught the corner of a product display on your way out of the aisle and sent boxes of macaroni scattering across the floor.
You cursed to yourself, dropping down to start gathering up the boxes in a panic. And because Leon just had to be so good, so nice and lovely and so fucking kind, he came over and knelt down, helping you recover the dropped boxes and return them to the tacky cardboard display they were sitting on.
“You alright?” he asked quietly, because of course he did, glancing at you from beneath his bangs. He couldn’t see your face since you were still ducked down over the macaroni, but something about you struck him as familiar.
You nodded in response, gathering up the last boxes and standing up to dump them back onto the display with your head turned to the floor. With your limited visibility, you didn’t see Leon before your elbow hit his arm, nearly making you drop the boxes if he hadn’t grabbed you to steady you. And like an idiot, you looked up, making eye contact with him before you could stop yourself.
You saw the way he instantly recognized you, saw the familiarity in his eyes that were still the same shade of striking blue that you remembered. He breathed your name, a soft look making its way across his face as the syllables fell from his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. He sounded tired, you noted, voice deeper with age and whatever he’d experienced since you saw him last.
“Hi,” you greeted curtly, pressing your lips together and averting your gaze awkwardly. You still had the boxes of macaroni in your arms for some reason, and you jolted forward to drop them on the stand.
It took a moment for him to recover, to break out of whatever stupor he fell into upon seeing you again. “It’s been a while,” he said, voice soft and filled with a restrained awe. He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were here, as if you were the one who fucked off to a city days before it was destroyed and promptly disappeared without a word and left him to assume you died. He looked at you like you weren’t real.
And you stood there, wishing that he wasn’t real. It took so long to get over him, to make peace with the thought that you would never see him again, hear his voice, hold him in your arms. But you eventually did, since you couldn’t spend the rest of your life mourning the boy you were so, so desperately in love with, no matter how much you would’ve gladly done so. You knew that Leon wouldn’t want you to. He would’ve told you to move on, to seek out the same happiness he gave you. He hated seeing you sad, would’ve done anything to make it better. And the same want, the need to make you smile, ached in his chest now.
Because there you were. After seven years, he finally had a chance to see you again. And you were standing there, gritting your teeth and clenching your fist because he had hurt you, even if unintentionally.
“Yeah,” you managed, voice strained and small and painful for Leon to hear because he knew he was the reason why.
You stepped back, clearly trying to remove yourself from the situation but too polite to just leave like that. It was one of the reasons he loved you— still loves you, he realized. It was so easy for him to fall back in love, even after all these years. Even though his heart was guarded by layers upon layers of walls and locks, built up over the years and reinforced by everything he had seen, it was so easy to let you back in, to fall back into you like he never left in the first place. It was almost dizzying.
“Can we talk?” he asked, softly, tentatively. Like you were a wounded animal that he was trying to approach. You supposed you were.
You swallowed, thick and too dry, and resisted the urge to cough. Your hands here trembling and your knees felt weak. When did it become this hard to talk to him? It was a stupid question with an obvious answer, but you still felt the need to ask yourself. “I don’t think-”
“Please,” he cut in, eyes dilated and filled with desperation despite how even his voice sounded. His arm twitched at his side, fighting the urge to reach out to you, to touch you like it would solidify the reality of the situation.
And your resolve crumbled. Because you could never say no to him, not to Leon. So, you sighed and nodded, mumbling a small “Okay,” before swallowing again.
You both agreed to finish up your shopping and head down to a local coffee shop, one that you had befriended the owner of after spending so much time at a corner table lost in your own grief. You spent the car ride there trying to get a handle on your raging emotions, trying to tamp down the anger and push away the confusion and the hurt and even the slight elation that arose from seeing him again, from learning that he had somehow lived through whatever happened in Racoon City all those years ago. Overall, you were just trying to guard yourself, to prevent yourself from getting hurt again, repeating the words to yourself like a mantra, a lifeline in the raging sea you’ve been thrust into.
You arrived first, parking your little second-hand car in your usual spot on the side of the shop and making your way inside with shakier steps than normal. You pushed open the door, flinching at the bright chime of the overhead bell, and made your way to the counter, ordering drinks for both you and Leon. Beth, the owner, gave you a weird look, but made the drinks without further questioning, and you were soon sitting at your normal corner table, staring at the empty seat across from you with nerves building up in your chest.
The loud hum of an engine brought your attention to the large window that faced the front of the shop, and you watched as Leon pulled into the parking lot on a motorcycle. That was a new development.
He dismounted and came into the cafe, and you promptly ducked your head down like a coward. He saw you regardless, and came over to your table, taking the seat across from you casually, like this was a completely normal outing and there wasn’t years of history between you two. Your stomach churned, and you set your drink down, unsure if you could stomach it anymore.
Silently, you pushed his coffee towards him, the warmed paper cup feeling too hot against your hand. You knew Beth was watching from behind the counter, probably trying to unravel the situation you were in, and you almost wished you could let her handle the interaction for you, tap her in like a relay race and let her take off with it. You couldn’t though, no matter how much you wished you could.
Leon raised an eyebrow, taking in the way you refused to look at him properly and kept tapping your finger against your own cup. It was a nervous tick you displayed while you were dating, and it brought him just the slightest bit of comfort to realize that at least some things about you stayed the same. He picked up his cup, taking a cautious sip, and his eyes widened when he realized you still remembered his order. A small part of him (a big part, actually, but he wasn’t willing to admit it) was soft from it, and the hope that you still cared about him persisted in his chest.
“You remembered my coffee order?” he asked quietly, to which you had to nod because it hadn’t really hit how he had changed so much and so little at the same time.
You lapsed into silence after that, the tension in the air palpable. It seemed he wasn’t sure how to approach this conversation either, and that at least brought you some kind of comfort, in its weird, slightly twisted way. You took the chance to look at him, truly look at him, and you could see the toll the years took on him. He still looked young, without a doubt, but his eyes were tired, plagued by atrocities that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, that you weren’t sure you wanted to comprehend. He was hardened by time, the young, ambitious rookie you had loved so vehemently having been weathered away, chipped apart piece by piece and leaving a callused man in its wake, broken and battered from the hardships he faced without much choice. And your heart ached for him.
Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, how much you wanted to insist that you were okay, that the wounds he left were healed, you were still so hopelessly in love with Leon Kennedy. And the thought made your throat close and your heart clench. “What happened to you?” you eventually whispered, voice shaky and fragile. You were still struggling to accept the fact that he was real, that he was sitting in front of you, alive. You were scared of waking up and realizing it was a dream, a scenario conjured up by your subconscious to try to get over him fully. But you were awake, and your hand was scalding against your cup and your cheeks stung in the air conditioning.
Leon’s breath hitched, still adjusting to the sharp pang of sorrow that hit him every time he heard your voice, was reminded that he left you seven years ago with an infinite amount of questions and no answers. “A lot,” he managed, raking a hand through his hair in an effort to calm himself. All it did was remind him of how you used to do it, and he felt worse. “Too much.”
And he told you. Not all of it, but the pieces he could, the ones you deserved to know. He told you how he had arrived in Racoon City, a week after he was supposed to start his new job, a week after he had gotten a phone call to stay away. You remembered helping him prepare for the job, remembered searching for apartments for the two of you in the city and even looking for your own job there. You had encouraged him to go when he expressed concern over the radio silence. Now, you wish you hadn’t. He told you how the city was overrun with a virus, a sick lab experiment that turned people into zombies, and he told you how he had to fight his way out of an infected police station, into a sewer, and out of an underground lab. He told you how he had been picked up by the government, offered a position as an agent that he took to protect a little girl. Because of course he did, because Leon was good like that, so kind and warm and nice, and he didn’t deserve any of what he’s been through. By the time he was finished with his hushed explanation, you were clenching your fist beneath the table, trying to resist the urge to spring up and hold him, because who knew the last time he had been comforted properly. You were angry. Angry at the universe for putting Leon through all that, angry at the government for pulling him off the streets before he could get back to you, for covering up what really happened in Racoon, and you were angry at the way you were frozen to your seat, stunned to silence and grasping uselessly for something to say. What could you even say?
“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing you could think of to say. Because what were you even supposed to say to that? To all the trauma he had endured and somehow come out of, beaten and bruised, but alive?
He didn’t respond, only nodding softly and taking another sip from his drink. When he set his cup down, he looked up, and you locked gazes. You didn’t rip yourself away from it this time, and you could see his eyes dilate as he took you in, studying you like it would be his last opportunity to do so. You hoped it wouldn’t be.
“How’ve you been?” he asked eventually, pulling you out of your thoughts and forcing you back to the present.
What the hell were you supposed to say to that? He just told you that he’s gone through seven years of trauma. Seven years of fighting against horrors that would have you breaking at the seams. Seven years of unrest. It wasn’t fair.
“I’ve been…” Good? Bad? Missing you more than you would ever want me to? “Okay.”
It was a shit answer and you both knew it, a deflection, a way to avoid the question because nothing seemed like a good enough response after everything he just said. And Leon didn’t push. He didn’t feel like he had any right to. Not after the years of no contact, of you assuming him to be dead. He wasn’t your boyfriend anymore, no matter how much he wished he was. He was too different now. He wasn’t the bright-eyed rookie that you fell in love with, he hasn’t been for a while. He was older now, jaded and pessimistic and nothing like how he used to be. Nothing like the man you loved.
Another silence, more averted eyes, more tension thick enough to tie it into a noose.
“Did you…” You trailed off, hating the way you broke the silence. The question was eating at you, gnawing through your bones and scraping at the marrow, stripping you down to nothing but a racing mind. But you had to ask, had to know if he was on the same side of your coin, had to know if he was hurting in the same way you were. “Did you ever… think about me?”
You felt every second that Leon took to respond, the slices of time stretching and elongating in your mind, sending doubt after doubt after doubt through you before he inhaled deeply and looked away.
No answer felt good enough. Leon was stuck, caught between wanting to spill every thought, every emotion he’d felt pertaining to you over the last seven years, wanting to tell you everything about how he’s been missing you, longing for your gentle touch and voice, and staying silent. He was afraid. Afraid that he would push you away, that the bridge between you two was too new, that it was just barely being reconstructed, held up by nothing but wood that was too thin, swaying with the wind. He was scared of having it splinter, collapsing out from under his feet and sending him plummeting back into a prison of loneliness and stress, trapped in the same cycle he’d been caught in ever since Racoon City. He wanted to reconnect with you, ached for it, and he was scared that he couldn’t anymore.
“I did,” he admitted, voice low, nearly inaudible. He gripped the fabric of his jeans with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his drink, trying to ground himself when every word he spoke tried to rip him out of his seat and out the door. “A lot. I…” The words died in his throat.
There was so much he wanted to say, too much to unload, and he couldn’t even bring himself to begin. “I missed you,” is what he eventually muttered, staring down at the table. He’d never felt so small.
And the words hit you like a knife straight to your heart. It was so little, but it spoke volumes. He was just as scared as you were, maybe for different reasons, but still scared, treading so lightly that he was barely moving, stuck in a stalemate that seemed to draw on for years.
You sighed, leaning back in your seat. There was so much to say and not enough words to say them. Everything was pushing and pulling, stretching the thread between you thin and bringing you in too close before you could think, your chest was growing hot and then dipping into cold, leaving you lost in a sea of sensation and emotion, spiraling into a storm in the middle of a cafe where you could do nothing but get lost in it.
So you didn’t try to say any of it, only tapped your fingers against your cup again, losing yourself to feeling. “I missed you too,” you said, voice thick with everything you couldn’t say. You were scared you’d choke on it.
This time the silence felt lighter. Like maybe, you managed to take the first step down a new road. Like maybe you were finding stability in the storm.
“Can I..?” Leon trailed off, his hand extended across the table as his eyes flicked between your eyes and your arm, and it felt like the wind kicked up at the question. Without saying a word, you brought your own hand up, slowly reaching out and letting your fingertips graze across the callused skin. A shiver crawled up your spine from the contact, and you nearly pulled away, mind swirling and thoughts howling in your ears, but after a deep breath through your nose, you lowered your hand and let it rest in Leon’s. You nearly twitched out of his grasp. His hand was rougher than you remembered, but still as warm when he wrapped his fingers around yours gently, like he was afraid of breaking you. The touch was enough to ease the storm in your head and your shoulders relaxed, finally reaching a point where everything felt calmer. It wasn’t over yet, you doubted it would be for a while, but you were grounded, no longer caught in the middle of everything and disoriented. Now, Leon had you, an anchor keeping you moored to stable ground. You felt like crying from how comforting and familiar it all was, and you could feel the tears well up when he brushed his thumb over your knuckles.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said softly, staring at your hand in his. He loosened his grip, giving you the room to back out, to decide that you want nothing to do with him now, letting you choose to hold on. “If you’d be okay with that.”
He knew that things weren’t the same as they were seven years ago. He knew you had both changed, grown up, and that you weren’t the same young adults, so deeply in love with each other, that you used to be. But maybe you could build something out of what you were now. Maybe you could pick up the pieces of what you used to be, find a new normal that worked. You both still loved each other, that much was obvious in the gentle touches and longing glances, but you loved the version of each other that existed seven years ago. Maybe with some time, you could fall in love with the version that exists now.
You gripped his hand tighter, keeping him from letting go. “More than okay,” you said, holding eye contact with him. It was a quick response, maybe a little desperate, but you didn’t want to lose him again. You spent seven years holding on to him, to his memory and his love, and now you knew that he was still on the other end of the line, grip just as tight as yours. You’d be damned if you threw it away now.
And his grip tightened in response. Not a word spoken, but you understood. You saw it in his eyes, felt it in the way his fingers trembled wrapped around your own. He wouldn’t let go.
For the first time since seeing him again, you let your lips tug upwards, the faintest ghost of a smile, tense, but genuine, graced your face, and Leon’s eyes softened. For the first time since seeing him again, you were at peace.