Chapter Text
Leon woke up with no sound. Just opened his eyes, his gaze faced the same plain ceiling. The weight on his chest felt too normal.
He had the nightmare again.
The same one.
Not an ordinary nightmare — a memory that had been haunting him for almost 30 years now. When it first started, he used to wake up screaming, body twitching in adrenaline agony.
Right now when Leon was close to his fifties — there was nothing. No screaming. No shaking. Not a single gasp.
Just silence.
It was much scarier that way, because it meant he had accepted it as a part of himself.
Leon took a deep breath. He wouldn’t fall asleep tonight — that much was certain.
Sitting up, glancing over the shoulder to see a man sleeping peacefully on the second part of the bed, and for a good minute, Leon felt calmer. At least, the person he cared most about in this world could survive tonight. Leon knew that if he woke him up and share the concerns — the man would understand, like nobody else could, just like always.
But Leon didn’t dare to touch. Not now. Because Kennedy knew it would make his own thoughts even louder than now.
Instead, Leon placed his feet on the cold floor and went to the kitchen.
He avoided looking in the mirror hanging on the wall of the corridor. Meeting his own gaze, framed by smile lines, wasn’t something he could handle right now.
While sitting on the kitchen chair, Leon was irritated by many things: the night lamp being too bright, the clock ticking too loudly, the kettle screaming too mournfully. No peace of mind tonight, just Leon and his biggest enemy — himself.
No matter what, his mind kept circling back to one question.
Has anything really changed in the thirty years I’ve been doing this?
Then as the pain in his chest sharpened, the second question hit him:
Am I really doing my best?
That one wounded harder. It started something that was putting pressure on him most of these nights.
The dam had been breached. Multiple thoughts struck his mind like arrows in the air, and he wasn’t able to dodge for a second, getting each of them right through his body like they were real.
The ticking clock drilled into his ears, the lamp felt ready to explode, the kettle screamed with a voice from the past. His senses hardened the same way they did on the battlefield. However, right now the real battlefield was his kitchen.
The jaws tightened. Temples felt that pressure.
Leon snapped. He grabbed the car keys.
The night road was clear. Neon lights slid past like thin lines.
The Porsche sped up. It wasn’t a rebellious kind of speed, it was about his own control — something he couldn’t feel safe without.
I tried so hard and got so far. Leon kept repeating as a prayer.
Did it all matter in the end?
However, the faster the Porsche was sliding along the road, the slower the mess in Leon’s head was getting. The sirens didn’t chase him, nobody was following. Leon was racing fast not because he wanted to die, but because he wanted to make sure the surroundings were still reacting to his actions. He felt an urge to prove his own presence.
And then something happened.
Kennedy didn’t tend to believe in omens. Not usually.
But tonight was different.
Everything just got slow: the streets, the alley trees trees, the few people wandering like lost ghosts by closed shops and overturned trash bins. It was the same route he had been driving for at least twenty years now.
The same cheap hamburger place, insanely unsanitary, open 24/7, and better than any fancy restaurant had ever been — was standing at the same spot.
Leon stopped the car and exhaled.
What an irony. His peace had been provided by a simple possibility of getting a cheap burger.
Nevertheless, he ordered one, along with black coffee and milk, and took it to go. He knew exactly where he was headed.
Same streets, same views Leon hadn’t realized he loved before, not until now. The car moved steadily, the wind from the open window playing with his bangs.
There was no guilt now — this very second at least. Leon knew it would come back later. It always did since he left Raccoon.
Leon remembered he had taken this route before. Different years, different companions on his way. Then there was the same stop.
The same hill. The same bench with peeling paint.
The same sky.
The stars seemed much brighter here on the outskirts of the city. He put a bag with the burger on the bench top beside himself, took a sip of his coffee, then — a deep breath.
Still here.
Still alive.
A thought settled in. Not a heavy one, but grounding:
Nothing had changed, and yet he kept coming back same places while seeking comfort.
And finally — at last — he heard silence. Different from before.
Not a single thought or worry.
Nobody asked anything from him for his existence. The stars didn’t say anything, the wind blowing his hair with the cool night air didn’t care if Leon had saved the world today.
He felt a right to be.
Leon finished his burger and coffee, warmth spreading through his stomach — and something deeper. He used to say that in the end, it didn’t matter how hard he tried.
But now it wasn’t about emptiness or depression about not being able to change anything.
Leon just wanted to keep coming back no matter what.
Once adjusting his hair and crumpling the empty food packaging, he headed back to the Porsche.
While driving home, Leon gave himself a promise.
Not about finding peace in the morning or any other day. Not about answers.
Just to return. Again and again. No matter the cost.
He came back home. There was no need to go wake up the man. Leon just curled himself beside him — it was a muscle memory already.
Despite the previous anxiety episode and caffeine in his blood, sleep came easily.
A grounding thought he had had before suddenly helped better than any melatonin.
The warmth of the other man’s body, the soft sheets, the peaceful clock ticking.
Leon closed his eyes.
Maybe, he would come back to his worries tomorrow.
Maybe, it wasn’t all over yet.
But in the end, it didn’t have to.