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"I still don't get why you're doing this." Leon furrowed his eyebrows, daring only to look at his own hands, which fidgeted with the hems of the old fraying white shirt he was wearing. Better to wear that right now than something new he had bought.
Or, come to think of it, when was the last time Leon had treated himself to some new clothes?
“He felt like all of his clothes were too big nowadays” . He wasn't built as he used to be; his tendency to get lost in a bottle (or three) helped to soften his once toned abs, he was eating far less and hadn't been out on the field much, opting to hide out literally any place where he felt no one would bother him.
That plan had worked up until last week when Chris Redfield, along with Rebecca Chambers demanded his help with a case involving yet another fun virus with some ambiguous letter of the alphabet. Not without resistance or the fact the previously mentioned Rebecca had gotten kidnapped, Leon finally decided to get his head out of the nth bottle of whiskey and do some good. Again.
A week had passed since Rebecca had been returned safe and sound, with the neutralisation of Glenn Arias and his threat to infect all of New York. Seriously, why do bad guys think mass murder is the answer to their grief? Do you know how many people Leon would've put in the grave if that's how he coped?
"It makes you feel more like yourself." Chris answered, pulling Leon out of his thoughts. Of course, the BSAA agent saw through all of Leon's actual shit coping mechanisms (which—if you need a reminder—are feeling sorry for himself, drinking, not eating, drowning in his sorrows, drinking and did he mention drinking ?) and knew he just needed a pick-me-up and to feel like his old self again.
His old self: Determined Leon S. Kennedy, one of the few survivors of Raccoon City, the hero who rescued the president's daughter, the—Chris' point was that Leon needed to see the old him, the one that had a will to live. And, if he was being honest with himself, he needed to see that version of Leon too. He wished for nothing more than for a genuine smile to appear onto Leon's face, which neither of them were sure had happened in… maybe years.
And that is what brings them here, sitting in Chris' barely lived in house (due to the amount he's away) in his kitchen with a bottle of hair bleach and blonde box dye. Leon used to get this done professionally —maybe twice a year— ever since he was around fifteen. He had stopped getting his hair done as frequently roundabout 2006 and the last time he had actually gotten it dyed at all must've been 2013.
His final straw was when he was forced to put a bullet in President Adam Bendford's infected skull. His friend's skull. After that mission, Leon truly fell apart. He’d always had somewhat of an alcohol problem (not knowing his limits and whatnot) since he was about seventeen, but Alcoholics Anonymous had been calling his name a little louder every year since 1998.
Chris knew this. Chris knew what Leon had been through and what he had lost. He felt sorrow, he wished he could remove all the pain his friend felt, and he wished for that reality like he himself was free of any deep, harbouring scars - which he certainly wasn't.
"You don't have to do this," Leon grunted, eyes still not moving from his fingers. He meant that truthfully. He meant what he said: If Chris didn't want to do it, he didn't have to. There was no 'I don't want you to dye my hair for me, Chris' underneath Leon's words, because truthfully, he did. Truthfully, despite all the horrors he had seen, went through, fought against, Leon hoped just as much as Chris that everything he did for his friend would heal him of some wounds. Perhaps, heal his inner rookie cop, heal his inner rookie agent. He debated hoping it would heal his inner child, but the wound of his parents cut too deep, spanning over every moment of his life since it occured when he was young. "I'm not even sure you know how to do this."
A hidden truth about Chris Redfield was that he actually did sort o f know how to do hair. Claire had become obsessed with dyeing her hair red during her early teens and with no parents (what a fun common theme we have going here) to talk to about how to safely dye hair, Chris learned.
By learned , he definitely didn't mean by reading the instructions (thoroughly, of course, so very thoroughly) on box dyes and picking up the odd thing from beauty magazines.
It had been quite some time since Claire was still a little too nervous to dye her own hair, and therefore quite some time since Chris had experience, but he had done it enough times in the past to feel confident he wasn't going to make Leon go ginger… Or green… Or… Bald.
He was… fairly sure.
Like… 85% sure.
"Just you wait, Leon." Chris smirked, confident despite his 15% of doubt, as he opened the lid on the bottle of bleach–his hands already covered with the plastic gloves the box of dye had provided him with.
He squirted the dye into the little tray he had and began mixing it gently into the brush he'd bought during his rush to the local convenience store - along with the bleach and dye. Remembering that factor may have just caused his confidence to drop another 5 or 10%.
Chris began carefully applying the product to Leon's hair, starting at the left with the intention of ending at the right. He was cautious not to bleach directly onto the scalp until the end of the process (which was definitely not a mistake he'd learned the hard way with Claire) but not cautious enough to not look like he was trying to bleach his hand as much as Leon's locks. Thank God for the gloves.
"This always takes forever. You know I can just-" The soon-to-be-blond-again protested, really not wanting to burden Chris anymore than he already felt he had this past week.
"I'm doing it." Chris interrupted, folding a strand of hair into some kitchen foil. "I used to do this all the time."
This opened up a conversation about the Redfield siblings' upbringing and all the ways Chris had perfected dyeing Claire's hair various different shades of red during their teens. He explained all the tips he’d learned, some through trial and error, to Leon.
"It must've been so nice growing up with her," Leon said, almost solemnly, the side of the foil harsh against his ears. "You both lost so much but, you had… have each other." He had always been an only child, even before his parents were killed. He had no family to take comfort in, no more mother, no more father, no siblings to begin with. Not even a cousin, nothing. He sought comfort in a stranger . A police officer, yes, and his inspiration for pursuing his once dream, but not family .
Leon was not jealous. Maybe slightly bitter, yes, in his own heart, not outwardly to Chris. But not jealous . He was glad the two siblings had each other, he was glad they still had each other. Perhaps, he thought, if he wasn't so keen to isolate him, he could have a family just like they did. Not by blood, but a family nonetheless.
Chris sighed, working the bleach into the ends of his friend's hair. "You're not alone, you know. You have us, we're here for you." Leon didn't respond, but it wasn't awkward, it wasn't ignorance; It was acknowledgement. That much was evident in the way his tense shoulders dropped under Chris' hand - who wasn't sure when his hand had actually found its place sitting there.
An oddly comforting silence later, Leon's hair was coated in bleach and his roots had finally been done. "Bottle says leave it for 30 minutes." Chris announced, patting his bleach-covered friend on the shoulders. A sigh left Leon's nostrils as he picked up the bottle to examine if those words were true; they were.
He nodded and rested his chin on his fist, staring at the empty sky outside, save for a few staggering clouds and the occasional bird.
"Do you want anything to drink?" Chris offered, finally meeting Leon's eyes as he leaned over the other side of the table. "Something non-alcoholic”, he continued.
Leon chuckled. Something clicked inside of him last week, since the incident at the lodge. He had been sober since then, a real record for him. He didn’t tell anyone he was completely cutting out alcohol. Half because who cared? It wasn't any of their business. But half because he couldn't stand to disappoint anyone if he failed. Especially not Chris.
Despite keeping quiet about it, Leon had the feeling Chris already knew about his plan. Getting sober wasn't easy, but he had gotten through much worse things in his miserable life. He was determined to find a better coping mechanism.
He opted for water.
Leon's scalp began to tingle a little about 25 minutes into the processing, which made Chris panic and opt to take the foils off just a little bit early. The blue colour of the bleach was all that was visible, leaving Chris with a lot of scepticism to his own ability.
"Let's get this rinsed off and we'll see about applying the colour." Chris' eyes were fixated on Leon's hair, whilst Leon stared into Chris' eyes, perhaps a bit longingly. He nodded and followed his friend into the bathroom. "This probably won't be comfortable for your neck or knees, but kneel over the bathtub for me."
Leon followed the instructions, letting his knees meet the tiled floor before Chris gestured for him to place the rug under the joints for support. Chris hovered over Leon's unmoving figure, draped over the bath as a few drops of bleach made contact with the tub. He grabbed the showerhead and began rinsing the bleach off, running his fingers through the younger's hair as his chin relaxed on his arms that lay against the side of the tub.
The sound of the water running past his ears was almost therapeutic for Leon. He couldn't help but relax his body at the feeling of Chris' hands running through his hair. He had never experienced this sort of intimacy. The way those skilled hands massaged ever so slightly into his scalp made Leon a little sleepy. His eyes closed shut, no longer watching the discoloured water swim away from him, down the plughole.
"Is this okay?" Chris checked in. A muffled ' mmhmm' was all Leon could muster, causing the other man to laugh. "Feel nice?" He received the same response as before.
"Want this off. Wet." Leon announced (or perhaps demanded) sleepily, once again gripping at the hem of his white shirt. It was true, the neck was damp and sure to be uncomfortable. Chris placed the shower head down and placed his hands over Leon's. "Arms up." Both men lifted their arms, taking–or rather peeling-the fabric off, which only got wetter as it passed over his hair.
Leon now sat shirtless on Chris' bathroom floor, marks and scars on full display as Chris guiltily drank all of him in, cheeks oddly flushed.
Once most of the bleach was out from Leon’s hair Chris squirted some conditioner into his hands and began massaging it into Leon's hair and scalp. He found himself doing this in an attempt to treat Leon well, as well as taking care of his hair (which had turned out to be a little warm toned, but once they got the dye on, it was sure to look alright).
The younger of the two felt like he was in heaven, save for the dull ache in his neck. Those trained fingers ran through his hair harmoniously , and Leon made noises of satisfaction to accompany it. Chris couldn't help but chuckle at the way he nearly went limp. When was the last time Leon had gotten to relax like this? Also, note to self, Leon really likes head massages. Alas, he said nothing. He just wanted Leon to relax into his touch.
The shower came back on to rinse out the conditioner, and Leon definitely internally protested against the massage stopping. A towel was pulled from the rack and Chris began drying Leon's hair with it.
Once it was no more than damp, Chris had one final inspection of the freshly bleached hair and nodded, satisfied. Once they got the dye on, it would be back to that iconic beige blond.
"Thank you." Leon spoke, flashing a genuine smile.
Chris couldn't have held back his own smile if he tried. "We're not done yet."
Leon let out a laugh through his nose. "That was rather… intimate, wasn't it?" Surprisingly, there was no awkwardness behind it.
"You seemed to really enjoy it”, Chris shrugged, not feeling confident enough to meet Leon in the eyes - which he obviously picked up on because the next thing he knew, Leon's fingers were placed on his chin, lifting his head up to look him in the eye.
"I just enjoy being with you." Chris wasn't sure when Leon had inched so very close to him.
"Leon..."
" Chris ."
What felt like an eternity of consideration was really just a second, before Chris finally closed the distance Leon was so eagerly fighting against. Their lips met as they shared a tender kiss with one another.
"When I imagined kissing you for the first time, it wasn't on my bathroom floor."
"Oh, so you've thought about it before?" Leon dared to tease.
"Yeah." Chris thought there was no point in hiding it.
Leon was silent for a second. "Me too."
The pair laughed, and finally decided to get up off the bathroom floor, Leon's knees burning with a dull pain. They made their way back to the kitchen, but not before grabbing Leon one of Chris' old shirts to put on (he really didn't want to get any dye on his torso, especially not into one of his newer cuts which had just begun to heal).
Maybe it would be best to wait for the bleach to settle properly first, but they didn't have all the time in the world.
"Can I…" Leon trailed off. "Uh, kiss you again?" Chris nodded, and those soft lips were on his once again.
"Now sit." And Leon did, having a new brush coat his hair, not bothering to wait until it had fully dried (he didn't care enough at this point).
They barely talked about what had just happened, just ended up reminiscing about old missions, times they'd spent together in the past. There were more touches than there had been before and a few kisses were snuck in - which Leon protested against, not wanting Chris to get too close to the chemical concoction that was his hair at the moment.
Soon enough, Leon was leaning over the bathtub again, having his hair rinsed through and enjoying a nice massage- Uh, having conditioner and softener applied, he meant.
One quick session with the towel and the hairdryer (because after obliterating Leon's hair with chemicals, some heat damage couldn't hurt all that much, right?), Chris held Leon closely as they looked into his full length bedroom mirror.
"What do you think?" Chris smiled at Leon's reflection.
Leon didn't speak. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just stared. He just stared for what seemed like a good five minutes, but was probably only thirty seconds.
He opened his mouth to finally speak, but was choked up by the rising tears and warmth threatening to spill out of his eyes. Chris held him closer which pushed him past his breaking point, sobbing softly as a smile found its way onto his face.
The reflection staring back at Leon was him, sure. The signs of aging were there, his scars (from his face, all the way down to his v-line - he had taken the shirt off again , because the damp neck was irritating him again and he was probably going to end up stealing another one of Chris' shirts again ) were there, but the look in his eyes when he was sober was there. He looked like he was able to focus. The colour in his face was there, like he'd been eating properly and staying sufficiently hydrated with something other than whiskey. The bags underneath his eyes were still there, but faint, like he had been getting enough sleep.
Leon took a deep breath. He could see the same hair colour that he had all throughout his youth. Chris had done an amazing job, it was incredibly similar to what he'd pay the stylists for, but it was even more special, knowing that Chris had done it for him, because he wanted to see Leon happy. Leon exhaled.
"Me."