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It’s been a few days since Leon’s returned from his latest mission in Spain and customary to his awaited return, he’s glued himself to you. Any chance he gets - he’s skin to skin with you - head in your lap whilst you silently work away, delicate hands on your waist as you brush your teeth or prepare dinner, limbs tangled in yours as you slumber. Relentless in his aim to be consumed by you, the average joe would grow rather sick of the incessant touches that never seem to leave you. But, you’re not the average joe; you miss Leon’s touch just as much as he does yours and with the harrowing atrocities that plague his mind, you’re sure his touches translate to desperate grips of security in his mind.
You try not to worry. After all, it’s usually a matter of days before Leon has a pep in his step that washes your worries away. But it’s been a week now and nothing’s changed. It’s like he’s returned home every day, ruminating himself to ruins. You’re there for him, without a doubt, making sure to never pry but always serve a remainder to the refuge he might seek. There are some things that we just need to experience alone. You’re all too aware of that. If it was up to you, you’d eat all the monsters in his head for breakfast and kiss away the scars they leave. Alias, you do not hold such power, even if Leon looks at you like you create the constellations in the sky.
It’s a little bit past 10 now. A dull ache thumps in your feet from a long day of work and your attention span suffers too. Mindlessly staring at the TV screen before you, your fingers thread obliviously through the soft strands of Leon’s hair while he lays still in your lap. You think back to how not even an hour ago, the man approached you; figure looming over you as his stature entirely blocked your view. With how sunken in and purple-rimmed his beautiful eyes were, you could easily picture how menacing they were when his life was on the line. But, no. In the case of meeting one’s fate with a bullet to the head, Leon opts for an extension of his hand, hair brush in his grasp.
His hair could use a good brush. He could do with a good brush. So, you let him - legs lazily draped over his shoulders as he relaxes into you, fingertip treading ever so lightly against your skin as you begin to work.
“Think you missed a spot,” he chimes in when your movements come to a final halt. “My hair needs more work than that.”
In one swift motion, you circle your legs around his chest and bring them towards his throat with force. It happens so quickly but Leon still manages to get a hand in to prevent the tighter grip that would have been against his throat. “Don’t push it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You hear the smile in his voice and there’s a lightness in your chest you haven’t felt in a while. It’s good to hear how humoured Leon’s responses are. Makes you feel like you’re one step closer.
The phone rings and you’re back pedalling again. You know it’s the sound of Leon’s work phone. It wouldn’t be ringing this late if it wasn’t, right?
Except he doesn’t move, only nudges his head back. “You gonna get that?”
Oh.
It’s yours. How silly of you.
Perhaps, in the chaos of over-concerning yourself with Leon’s state of mind, you’ve managed to absorb yourself into the ugly anxiety it carries. The ring of your phone indicating so. You exhale at the top of your lungs and with the blink of your eyes, you make up your mind.
“Nah,” you smile without the burdens on your shoulder, fingers carding through dusty blond strands. “It’s probably not important.”
It’s almost as if Leon can hear the airness of your voice; the changed way you’re carrying yourself, to which he hums and closes his eyes as the brush bristles graze tenderly against his scalp.
At some point, you knock the back of the hairbrush softly against his scalp and unravel yourself from his grip. Having nodded into a shallow slumber, Leon’s head gives a quick shake before his arm reaches behind him, taking the object and standing to his feet. You expect him to return the hairbrush back to your shared room as he regularly does, but with a careless toss, the hairbrush clatters against the coffee table and he’s collapsing into your lap.
Your hands are thrown up, to express your surprise and slight frustration. “All my hardwork.”
With his curled up body facing the TV, the best face-to-face contact Leon can give you with his head in your lap is a side eye. You snicker at the sight. “It was gonna get messed up anyways.”
“Yeah, later ,” you stress with the tug of his hair. Your longtime boyfriend can only laugh as you drag your firm hold. “Not when I’ve just finished brushing it.”
“Oh, boo hoo,” he mocks and you’re pulling at his hair again. At this point, you’re the one messing with his hair and it’s evident to Leon too, who simply laughs at your annoyance. “Thank you, though. It’s been a while since you’ve done this.”
Five weeks ago, you think. That was the last time Leon nestled himself into you, mumbling underneath his breath about how his latest mission required for his hair to be cut short enough that he couldn’t fully enjoy the drawn out brushes of the comb. You laughed, reassuring him that when he ambled through your doorway after a successful mission, his head of hair would be long enough to receive its five star treatment.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
With your chin burrowed into the palm of your hand, you watch the credits roll for the rerun episode you completely missed deep in your thoughts. You settle for another episode’s worth of television before heading to bed. Expecting the light snore of Leon’s slumber, you don’t move around too much but when your eyes cast down to admire your sleeping beauty, he lies awake. Eyes scarlet and forehead puckered. If not for how private the moment seemed, you would have ran your fingers over his forehead creases with the joke, “Don’t think too hard, handsome.”
As you decided earlier, if Leon was open to discussing what had been bothering him, you would be all ears. However, you were not going to overextend yourself to an area you didn’t belong. It wouldn’t be fair to you nor Leon. So, without much to worry, you rest your hand against Leon’s warm shoulder and begin to watch whatever 90s show was playing before you.
It isn’t long - give or take - ten minutes into the show, during the ad break where Leon finally breaks his silence.
“Do you,” he croaks, body unmoving except for the desperate fingernails that grapple at the material of your trousers. You hold your breath. “Do you think I’ve changed?”
The question is so innocent in nature, but it carries a storm as treacherous as a hornet’s nest. If things were different, if Leon hadn’t boarded that plane to rural Spain, maybe you wouldn’t have to think as hard about your answer. A moment’s glance at his face would lead you to your answer, still quite casual but definitely making sure to let it be known that Leon’s change was evident. Given everything he’s been through and what’s to come, you’re surprised he hasn’t completely shapeshifted into a brand new person. You don’t talk about it much, but that night in Raccoon City changed a lot of things for him and you’re unsure whether it's something he wants to hear. Even now, after pondering the fact on days he was away, you’re still in doubt. The silence is loud and you can’t see his face. It’s truly up to you and you alone to come to your own conclusion.
“In some ways, yes,” you test the syllables that leave your lips, unsure if they bring peace of mind to Leon who quietly listens.
The moment is so delicate, like a basket of eggs. One wrong word, the wrong tone; even an exhale could shatter the dozen, leaving Leon’s vulnerability damaged forever. You want to say everything that’ll keep him here. Long enough, at least, to let him know where his refuge lies.
“I’d say for as long as we’ve been together, there are some differences in you. And, in me too,”
“But, I think what’s good to keep in mind is that it’s ok to not change and to not feel any shame in that regard.”
Your hands that found a home in the dusty blond locks of his hair move towards his jawline, the bone highlighted by the singular tear that cascades down the ivory of his skin. A quick brush of the thumb and you’re talking again, knowing the additional attention would have him gone with the wind. “No matter what the circumstances, or how many years have gone by, the way I see things is that it’s ok to still care, to still be soft or to even be scared. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of those characteristics if they make you who you are or shape your experiences.”
You say no more, content with the sentiment your words carry. With the entirety of your heart, you hope in the maze of your words, Leon’s found the treasure he’s looking for; the treasure that soothes his wounds and ease his burdens. He’s been through so much , you think to yourself. So, the least you can do is remind him of the man he is, jaded by the terrors of the world but still so full of love, of care and of kindness.
There’s a sniffle and it breaks your heart. In the warmth of your lap, your long-time boyfriend moves subtly, staring up at you with dazzling eyes of blue that pool with his heartache. The sight imposes a hefty anguish burn in your chest, but it does not compare to the relief you see settle into Leon’s features. Everything is so easy now; everything goes.
You give a small comforting smile, thumb grazing against the light stubble across Leon’s cheek.
“You should come with a warning sign, you know,” he jokes, all smiles and laughter as he wipes away the remainder of his tears. “Making a man cry over here.”
You press a soft kiss against Leon’s forehead and he instantly leans into your touch. He’s just the sweetest thing, deserves nothing but the utmost of love and affection . “Boo hoo.”
He gives a pointed look and as you pepper the surface of his skin with indulgent kisses, you and him both know it’s easy going from here.