Chapter Text
Moving to a new city brought a new culture and untested coffee shops.
With the hotel serving shit food and shittier drinks, you found yourself standing in line in one of those untested cafés.
A simple corner café with outdoor seating, lacking a seemingly too large crowd, should work just fine.
The regularly scheduled train of thought is interrupted by a woman with a small kid bumping into you. She frantically apologizes and you smile to reassure her that you’re not mad at something that simple and accidental. As she moves on, your attention returns to the line and what you will order.
It is 7am and you have to get to the police station by 8am to organize your documents. If this breakfast doesn’t take too long and traffic isn’t hell, you should be able to make it there in time.
Maybe you would’ve been able to rent an apartment, or even a house, if they hadn’t insisted on you moving your whole life in the span of a few days. Important work, they said. Nothing like having to chase trains, buses, eventually change your permanent address to something new, pack everything you own; to make you feel like the work is ‘important’.
A fucking hassle if anything.
The person in front of you is ordering, so you pause your internal complaining to mentally rehearse your order. The small ritual is interrupted by a deep voice right beside you, “I’ll have whatever you say. You look like you have better judgement than me.”
Your brows furrow and you glance behind your shoulder to look at the man, presumably, talking to you.
Piercing blue eyes meet yours and, there is no doubt, that man is talking to you. A small smile dances on your lips, but there’s little to no time to appreciate how handsome he is because the line moves and you’re up. Why is he even talking to you?
“Yeah, hi,” your voice falters, so you clear your throat and speak up, “I’ll have mint tea and a chocolate croissant. And for my…” you glance at the tall man. There’s not a hint of worry on his face, and if anything, he looks relaxed. Your mind runs in circles; a friend would order for themselves, a coworker would wait outside or keep up the exhausting small talk, the man looks too old to be called a boyfriend… “husband, black coffee with a splash of milk and a grilled cheese, please.” Husband? Husband. You did not just say husband, nope, no way that’s what the stranger’s title roulette landed on.
Your card presses against the touch screen. If you’re paying and he just leaves without a word, it is a snack for later. The coffee… the coffee you'll throw out or leave with the young man working here.
The screen beeps and the worker hands you a brown paper bag with your order. Something you’re used to; simple orders mean fast execution.
Rushing to get outside, a heavy step behind you lets you know he is still here. The chair scrapes against the floor as you sit down and dig for your tea and croissant. Perhaps he is friendly; just making friends the old-fashioned way.
You also hand him his items, “Here you go.”
The man takes a sip of the coffee; he is too pretty to look at. “Your judgement is good, but I’d say mine is better.”
Pretty and cocky. “Let me guess, you don’t like milk in your coffee?” You narrow your eyes at him.
He shakes his head, “Just not used to it. It’s not bad.”
A sigh leaves your lips, “Milk is good for you. It softens the blow to your stomach, especially in comparison with just plain coffee.” He looked like a black coffee type guy, a man his age that early in the cafe? Yeah, he drinks black coffee. Too easy to read.
The man smirks before taking another sip, “Husband… is an interesting choice. Did the option of ‘boyfriend’ pass you that quickly?”
Your lips part to offer a quick response, only to shakingly inhale. Why is he playing this game with you? It is definitely not something you’re apt at, “You look too old to just be someone’s boyfriend. Husband fits you better. Or would you prefer I used father or uncle?” A smirk creeps onto your face, while your insides storm between usual confidence and constant overthinking. Regardless, you’re still capable of hitting back.
His eyebrows rise, showing the soft forehead wrinkles, “Well, how old do you think I am?” He laughs softly. The sound isn't too rough on your ears.
“Forty…ish? I don’t know,” Along with the wrinkles on his forehead, there are soft signs of age around his eyes, smile lines, and his stubble is grey and dark blond. His velvety hair is a mix of the same shade which may have some grey in it, you’re unsure. Damn, he looks good.
“Forty-nine. And you look…” he drags his eyes over your torso and face, “twenty-five.” He cocks his head to the side, far too confident in his surprisingly correct guess.
You nod, “That’s right, I’m twenty-five,” At this point, it is too strange that you two are talking, so you speak up, point blank, “Who are you?” Maybe the commonfolk are used to such casual noncommittal conversation. You're not. This isn't your cup of tea.
Gently shifting in his seat, his Adam’s apple bobs, something that would be barely noticeable to an average person, “Leon Kennedy. And you?”
Your name falls easily from your lips, a learnt habit, it has been years since you’ve had to introduce yourself with your deadname. This name fits you; it is right, proper, it is home. He echoes it, feeling how it rolls over his tongue and you find yourself smiling.
The morning sun hits against his skin, highlighting each line of age and piercing through his gorgeous hair. It is a crime to look that good at 7am. You're eternally cursed to look like a furball in the morning.
Riddled with plenty of normal questions, you decide to opt for the ones any typical person wouldn’t ask; however, this one is not obvious to you, “Why did you ask me to order for you? Was that an attempt to pick me up?”
Pleasant surprise colors his face and he looks away to chuckle before he meets your eyes again, “Yes, it was.”
Small talk be damned, you will have a clear understanding of this situation, “Why?”
Leon smiles brightly and laughs once more, taking his sweet time before answering, “Because you’re attractive, kind, and I like your smile.”
The moment you try to think when you’ve smiled and if he has been stalking you, you recall the woman and the kid bumping into you. Oh.
“Are all men of the age forty-nine this confident?” A quick-witted response easily exits your mouth. There’s no reason he should know of the turmoil threatening to swirl inside of you.
A handsome man is basically on a date with you. He picked you up. He complimented you. Is it cocky? Or confident? Or maybe both? Who’s to say.
Leon raises an eyebrow, “Doubtful. I know I am. I saw something I liked and there’s no time like the present,” he leans over the table, “especially when you’re my age.” He leans back with a smile, oh this guy can take a joke.
He should stop that – stop being so attractive. It is already making your stomach act up and your chest tighten with a mix of panic and excitement. You don’t dare trust it; liking someone is terrifying, “Stop that.” The moment the words leave your lips, it is already too late to take them back.
“Stop what?” Leon questions without a wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows.
You’re an adult in a new city. No one knows you, and you don’t know him: he is a complete stranger, and chances are, you may not even see him after today… Might as well go all in and be blunt, “Stop being so attractive.”
Unsurprisingly, he laughs hard, which only adds to his allure; the way his resting, collected, and calm face shifts into genuine laughter…it looks good. He looks good. “Well, it isn't something I can control. Why are you asking me to stop?”
You roll your eyes, “I don’t like how it makes me feel. It gives you power.”
Leon gently says your name, “I just met you. What do you mean?”
Here we go, time to explain. Have to stick to your guns and continue being honest, “Yes, we just met. Attraction grows into liking someone and that… isn’t fun. It gives them the power to hurt you,” your hands wrap around the paper cup, “So yes, it angers me that you’re attractive, and for some reason, interested in me, and you sound good, and express yourself nicely, and–“ you end your thoughts with a groan, leaning your forehead on your hand.
His gaze remains fixed on you, though his jaw shifts a bit, like you’re the most fascinating being he has laid eyes on, “You’re mad at me for being interested in you?”
This is where the brutally honest part becomes excruciating.
You bite your lower lip gently, finding the courage to share your thoughts. He is just a stranger, someone random. Unimportant. Both of you will move on right after this… “I’m mad that I… may be interested… in you.”
Leon slowly raises the coffee cup to his lips, swallowing down the warm liquid – goosebumps rise on your skin, impatience will be the death of you – he responds, “You’re overthinking this, kid.”
Kid. Kid. The man who picked you up, and is basically on a date with you, just called you kid. Moreover, for a second it even sounded hot. Rejecting any more fear, you narrow your eyes, “Don’t get cocky with me.”
Leon smirks, and unfortunately, it does things to you, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” When he smiles, his defined fangs catch your eye. What a niche thing to notice, “husband.”
You blink once. Twice. He did not just call you husband, “Leon!” Unfortunately, this Leon Kennedy is becoming more and more intriguing with every word. Which also sadly means… you’ll want to see more of him. Honesty might not be the best policy with the shallow grave it has dug up for you.
Peacefully, he’s gazing at you like he is enjoying the sight. Perhaps he is? Your anxiety would never let you think that.
“What– you started it!” Leon folds his arms, refusing to stop smiling.
Your fingers find the cool metal pen in your coat, quickly writing on the back of the receipt. Day one of living in a rom-com movie. Although, if this were a rom-com, he'd keep the bill as a token.
You never thought you’d see the day you’d be writing down your number on a random piece of paper to give it to a stranger. And yet, here you are.
“Text me. Or don’t,” you smile and leave without another word. No reason to explain to him that you have personal matters to tend to. If you didn’t have to go to the station, there’s no reason in this world that would’ve gotten you out of bed before 10am. Even that is too early on an off day.
Another sleepless night in the hotel with the far-too-soft mattress reducing the quality of your rem phase. Stirring under the sheets, a notification from your phone makes you groan. Who the fuck needs you at 6am?
Blurry, sleep-ridden vision restricts what you can see – a simple message from an unknown number. At 6am? Someone better cut the jokes.
Rubbing one eye to focus on the small text you finally manage to read: “Coffee?” Followed up with an address.
And once more you groan, mumbling aloud how it is still 6am, who in hell would—
It’s Leon.
Who else would it be but him? It sends a jolt down your spine. Perhaps you can squeeze in half an hour with him. The idea of leaving the warmth of the uncomfortable bed brings you the sort of pain physical labor does, and yet… This fascinating man most certainly isn't the type to chase. Leon Kennedy will fuck off if you don’t follow up.
So, with a heavy heart, you slump out of the messy sheets to get ready for your day an hour earlier than planned.
It is too early, it is too early, it is too goddamn early. Your body is falling asleep while you brush your teeth. Excruciating pain travels through each muscle of your body, this man is torturing you. Finally, you decide to grace him with an answer, “when?”
Not wasting a single moment he answers, “Now.” Just as you predicted.
It is annoying the way that single word makes you smile. The warmth in your chest is creeping up on you like a quiet assassin: excitement. He shouldn’t have this much power over your mood.
Morning haze – that’s what you plan to blame the next message on, “don’t grow impatient on me, husband.”
A dark button-up shirt and dress pants, what you had planned on wearing for work, would be too strange to wear on a date… A long black coat catches your eyes, that should cover up what you’re wearing perfectly. Your phone's screen blinks with another notification; it’s him, “Then get over here, before I have to come find you myself.”
If this was sent by anyone normal, it would be a stranger-danger red flag. From a friend it is a joke. From Leon Kennedy who behaves… not completely within the parameters of an average citizen, this is a lighthearted text, nothing to unnecessarily overthink. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.
“you wish.” Even half-asleep, you can’t help but tease him back. The smile makes its way back to your face.
Making your way to the café, which is luckily within walking distance of the hotel, you see him in the same dark jacket with fur, sitting outside with a steaming cup of coffee on the table. He was considerate enough to take note of you preferring outdoor seating but not overbearing in the way that he bought you coffee. Albeit, he also still owes you from last time when you paid for his coffee and toast, which also might be a tactic for another date after today.
The smile refuses to leave your lips and you only glance at him before heading inside to get your tea.
You exit with a paper cup and sit across from him, the steam slowly flows above, “Morning, Leon,” you take out a pack of cigarettes.
Leon’s eyes fall to your fingers, the cigarette and the lighter, “Morning.”
Might as well passively show him one bad habit of yours. If it’s a deal breaker, it’s better that it’s over sooner rather than later. The last thing you need is actually catching feelings, getting a routine with him and then he dips. Man, fuck him. The sheer thought of it makes your stomach tighten.
“You’re up early,” Leon takes a sip of his coffee, savoring the flavor in his mouth.
You hold back a sigh, “Indeed. I would still be in bed,” you adjust your coat, “but my beloved husband insisted on us going out before the sun itself rose.”
Leon’s lips twitch, holding back a smile, “And you complain.”
There’s a dead glare in your eyes, so you tilt your head and stare him down, “I’m a complainer.” If he was a friend, he would’ve gotten an earful about making you get out of bed at this hour. And that’s exactly the point.
Leon isn’t a friend, “You unhappy with it?” you add.
“Tsk,” he shakes his head. Light blue eyes meet yours, “it’s charming.”
You snort. Charming. Charming, he said. What a load of bullshit. He has yet to hear the level of complaining you do on the daily to deal with everyday struggles.
Outside of the casual attraction and teasing chit-chat; you have yet to learn anything solid about him, so it is time for the thing you cannot stand.
Small talk.
“What do you do for work?” It took a lot of effort to not say that through gritted teeth.
Leon shrugs and his eyes move elsewhere, “Various things,” he takes another sip of his coffee like he is using it as an excuse to think, “consulting, security stuff.” The cup hovers near his lips, covering his mouth.
Inhaling a puff from your cigarette, you nod. A vague, noncommittal answer spoken with forced nonchalant body language. This man is keeping secrets. Seven years ago, you would’ve judged him based on that. As of late, with your current job, you also offer a similar answer when asked.
“And you?” Leon looks you up and down, as if he was waiting for an opportunity to do that without judgement, “Model, lawyer, writer with a tragic backstory?” While his tone is plain, there’s a hint of humor in it.
The simple joke does make you chuckle, “I moved here recently. Higher ups needed me in a different location. I’m something of an analyst.” As vague as you can keep it, and not a complete lie to the nature of your job. Before it became a practiced answer, the word analyst used to leave your mouth in the form of a question, provoking further questions.
Leon’s eyes narrow, and wrinkles appear between his eyebrows, followed by a slow blink. He appreciates you not prying further and, while he can see you’re not being forward with him, he won’t push you to explain more. Sometimes you find him so easy to read.
“Analyst.” Leon pauses, “Data or… you’re looking at me and running calculations in that head of yours,” he smiles, aiming to keep this lighthearted and not seem as if he is pushing you to answer further, “Tell me what you see.”
You appreciate his humor; it eases the flood of various thoughts, “I see enough,” you smile at him.
Leon smiles in turn, “Enough?” His eyes follow your hand as you snuff out the cigarette butt, “Enough to know I’m trouble?” There is something delightful in that he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke.
You chuckle and fold your hands in your lap, “Enough to know you were worth getting out of bed at the crack ass of dawn for this… date.”
Leon’s eyes dash around, forming a carefully worded sentence, “You call this a date?” He looks at you again, adjusting the watch on his wrist, “Last time I checked dates involved more than just warm drinks and psychological warfare.”
“I don’t think either of us are the type to do what is stereotypically normal,” you state. Something deep inside you affirms this, he looks nothing like a stereotypical man – not in his looks, but in the way he carries himself. Everything he isn't saying tells you more than enough. Words unspoken are still written down, and it isn't an empty space if something unseen is occupying it. And that? That is worth your attention.
His eyes follow his finger as he rubs the paper cup's edge, “No… We’re not.”
A familiar tune cuts through the pleasant pause in the conversation.
“Will you take that?” Endearingly so, he mistakes your phone’s ringing for an incoming phone call.
You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laughter, “No, it is a reminder, not a call I need to pick up,” you put the phone in your pocket, “I have a meeting, somewhat important.”
Finishing the last of your tea, you pick up the paper cup, and stand up. “Text me again, preferably not at dawn. I might just show up again.” With that, you’re ready to leave.
What you don’t expect is him getting up and saying your name, “Hey, I don’t want to… go back and forth with texting.” He steps around the table but maintains a comfortable distance between you two, “And, I want dinner. Tonight…? 7pm.”
You look around the other empty tables and trees in the distance as you recall your schedule for today. It should work on your end, except for one thing you want to nip in the bud immediately, “If you’re expecting sex and that’s why you’re asking for dinner, I’ll let you know right now, you ain’t getting it.”
Leon’s eyebrows raise and he laughs, “No, no… I am just not free in the middle of the day for lunch,” his voice softens, “Want me to pick you up?”
Living in a temporary residence is not something he needs to know about you, “No need, I'll meet you there. Or I can pick you up?” A quick glance at your clock reveals 7:30am. If you catch the early bus or get a cab, although those are too fucking expensive, you’ll make it there 5 minutes before the meeting. But that’s only if you leave right now. You turn halfway to go, trying very hard to portray what hurry looks like in human body language. At least that's what people usually do, and what the books say.
Your attempt proves fruitful. He stops calculating possible solutions and agrees with the former, “I’ll text you the address.”
With a nod, you’re gone. Hoping, praying, that the bus you just saw go by isn’t the exact one you were counting on.
The gods must have been merciful, the one you actually need comes right after the one that got away. With a big exhale, you hop on.
The bus ride barely makes an impression on you when your mind is filled with Leon Kennedy. Would his hair feel soft under your fingers? Is that greying stubble sharp in a satisfying sensory way? Would his lips feel good on yours — his lips looked so pretty…
A tire falls into a pot hole on the road and you nearly fall on your ass. The universe must be punishing you for thinking about him. The navigation app informs you the next stop is yours.
Perhaps it is just making sure you get to work on time.
Upon arriving in the large building, the security pats you down and a woman greets you with a card in her hands, “Sir, welcome. We have been expecting you. This will unlock all the necessary parts of the building for you.” Her choice of words is rather interesting.
“I hope you are adjusting well to the city. I’ve been told you have moved here,” she’s smiling brightly at you, expecting only positive answers. Most certainly not wanting to hear the hotel you’re forced to live in until you find an available appropriate apartment; all your things are smushed in one room, the trip to the city was crowded, you’re barely navigating through the streets themselves and were nearly late due to an impromptu date.
“It's been great,” you nod.
Silence is an unexpected grace she offers you for less than a minute in the elevator. Enough to catch your breath from running all the way from the bus station to here, and organize your thoughts.
“You will be working with, or rather, partnered up with, one of our best veteran agents. He prefers and excels at solo work, so to speak, but this mission requires someone with your skill set,” her strawberry blonde curls shake as she excitedly looks at you. She must be new here too, “and you’re the best of the best. Which is why we insisted you move as soon as possible.”
More like insisted you move your whole life in less than one week, but sure. ‘You're the best of the best.’ Technically you are. No one matches your ability to strategize and your highly above average pattern recognition. Plus, you can handle a gun if necessary. Alas, they didn’t drag you here to work with an overpowered veteran because of your shooting capabilities.
She leans over to you, close enough that you can read the identification card around her neck: A. Orchid. Her name evaporated from your mind the moment she introduced herself, names rarely seem to stick around in your head. Except for Leon Kennedy… he seems to have stuck around long enough.
“And between you and me, he is the one who saved the president’s daughter in Spain, and survived the outbreak in Racoon City, supposedly, he was there when it happened— like— as a rookie policeman.” Orchid’s dark eyes sparkle with excitement. You doubt she will last long in this department. The joy in her hasn’t been snuffed out yet and she should run away while she can. Or perhaps you’re too pessimistic.
“Seems like I’m going to meet quite the legend of DSO,” you mumble, fidgeting with your rings.
“Oh for sure, he is respected and feared even beyond DSO, notoriously capable in various areas. He is like the veteran agent they will never let retire,” her kitten heels pause in front of a black door, “Here we are, good luck, agent!” Orchid smiles at you and turns to leave.
Deep breath in, soothing any leftover nerves. You know who you are, you know… somewhat why you’re here. Your hand hovers above the door, one more breath to summon the casual confidence which took years to build up…
The door silently opens under your touch; your eyes fall on an older woman sitting behind a neatly organized large desk.
“Good morning, hope I’m not too late,” your voice cuts clearly through the office.
She nods at you to come inside, “Agent, good morning, I hope you have been adjusting well to the city,” stepping further into the office, you turn back to close the door, “This is agent Kennedy, you two will be partners on this mission.”
There is no time to be stunned, no room to be surprised, no air to be breathed in. Steeling yourself with confidence, you smile, hoping that your eyes are not about to fall on that same Kennedy you went out with, “Yes, everything has been well,” your eyes fall on the familiar jacket, large build and dark blond hair. The universe has cursed you, “Hello, agent Kennedy.”
Leon murmurs roughly, “Adjusting fine,” there’s a mocking undertone to his voice, you can tell, like he is angry with himself, confused, intrigued— that’s as much as you can assume from the little information you have.
“Already making assumptions,” a chuckle escapes you, ready to forget the flirting that happened half an hour ago just to quip back professionally.
Leon tilts his head down, meeting your eyes, “Always.” Annoyingly attractive, he is manspreading on a chair in the furthest corner of the office.
Your new boss continues, “I have already debriefed agent Kennedy on your specifications,” he looks… good, his brows are furrowed and his gaze is glued to you. He's obviously not expecting you here, nonetheless, to be partnered up with him, “and you can take today to get familiar with the case.”
With a nod, you pick up the mustard yellow file on her table. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him following your every movement.
“Agent, Kennedy,” her uninterested gaze shifts from one to the other, “you are partners until further notice. No complaints, no adjustments. There are no better agents at what you do. Make it work,” she ends sternly and leaves the room.
“Yes, ma’am,” the short military training you received kicks back in, and you have to stop your hand from saluting.
Finally, you inhale that deep grounding breath. It’s time to face the music.
Adjusting the files in your arm to the other one, you check your watch, “So, dinner tonight at 7pm? I don’t know if this will take long… perhaps 8pm.”
Leon stands up, “Are you being serious right now?”
“I don’t see why our plans should change,” you tilt your chin up. Ain’t nobody keeping you away from a dinner date with the museum relic in front of you.
Leon narrows his eyes, glaring you down, “What if I say no?”
“You’re the one who invited me to dinner,” it is hard to hold back a smile, but you manage.
“Fine,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s getting exhausting how good that looks, “pick me up at 7pm.”
It is impossible to hold the smirk back at this point.
“You got a helmet?” Fiddling with the file in your arms, you still refuse to look at him. His status is higher than yours, the situation is tricky, and hopefully you refusing to look at him leaves an ounce of power in your hands.
Leon rests his hands on his hips; it would be a shame to miss the sight, you turn towards him, “You ride a bike?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind?”
This smile you can’t hold back, “You’ll see.”
He breathes in, pondering something, “Yeah, I got a helmet.”
“I’ll be there at 7:30pm,” the door handle is already falling under your touch, cutting the conversation short – making sure he watches you leave.