Archive of Our Own

Leon searched the shelves of the alcohol aisle, contemplating his choices. Vodka for the pain his memories and dreams brought. Whiskey for the melancholy, the bittersweet thoughts. Wine for when he had female company, beer for male company, and liqueur for anyone in-between. Brandy for his boredom.

Ugh, who was he kidding? Leon took them all, plus a few he hadn't tried yet. He already knew this was gonna be a long, lonely month, might as well be either drunk off his ass or unconscious for most of it.

Despite everything, he kept on finding himself missing Ada—her lipstick leaving dark red trails on his cheek and neck, her soft hands ghosting over his skin, pulling at his hair, nails scratching over his back, her long legs wrapped around him, her voice whispering into his ear, her warm body pressed against his…

But she never stayed. She came whenever she felt like it, or more like when she needed something. Either she required his help, or she “missed him.” But she never stayed longer than one night. She got what she wanted, and then she left. Sometimes she'd leave a note, other times all she left was the smell of her perfume, which would linger for a few days and then disappear, leaving Leon aching.

He was miserable, she was the only person who knew just how to keep him distracted, focused on her and her alone. Make him dizzy without the influence of any alcohol. Make him feel good… and then let him drop back down into that deep, dark pit, which seemed to become deeper and darker every time she came back.

She was all he had left, so until she decided to come back for another night, he'd wait and down drink after drink to pass the time.

But Ada hadn't shown up at all this month, and not the next, and not the next. Maybe she found someone better? It wasn't hard to, Ada could have anyone. Leon was a miserable, alcoholic piece of shit. She could do better than him. He never understood why she kept coming back anyway.

“Leon?” He turned around—because what were the chances of another person named Leon being in close vicinity?—unable to pin that voice to a face he knew. He was met with big eyes that stared at him in wonder. “Oh my gosh, Leon Kennedy? It's really you?”

“Uh,” Leon said intelligently, wincing when he still couldn't recognize your face. “Yeah, that's me.”

He didn't have the heart to ask for your name, especially not when your eyes lit up like a candle at his confirmation. You let out a joyous laugh, stepping closer, completely abandoning your shopping cart. You reached out to gently touch his arm, as if to make sure he was real. Your touch sent electricity through his entire body, making his breath hitch and reminding him just how fucking sad and touch-starved he truly was.

He grabbed the biggest bottle of booze his hand could find on the shelf—it was a Martini—adding it to his alcoholic coping-list for sudden awkward boner problem situations.

“You changed so much since the academy, oh my god!” Academy… Wait.

He hesitantly guessed your name, the only one that came to mind. If he was right, then you both had gone to the same police academy all those years ago, getting along pretty quickly after being teamed up for training. Though you quickly lost touch after going separate ways, life becoming too busy for the both of you to keep a long distance friendship going. It had taken a while for his younger self to get over his crush. God, he used to be such a romantic, so innocent, still a virgin and always so nervous around girls.

“Yes! You remember me!” you cheered, pulling him out of his reminiscing. “For a moment there I thought you'd completely forgotten about me.”

He scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. “How could I forget you? You left quite an impression on me.”

“Ah, yes, all that coffee and hot chocolate must have been really enchanting,” you grinned. “It's alright, I've changed a lot since then too, and it's been a while. I almost didn't recognize you either without your baby face.”

“Baby face?” Leon frowned, trying to be offended for his younger, better self's honor, but he could only feel affection blooming in his chest at the sound of your laughter.

“I liked it, you were cute,” you smiled, an endearing blush forming on your cheeks.

Before he could stop himself, he heard himself asking, “And now? Not cute anymore?”

You chuckled, tongue peeking out between your teeth adorably as you looked down at your feet for a moment. “Well, you got hot. I've never seen you unshaved before. It suits you.”

“Oh.” He blinked—immediately grabbing another Martini and putting it into his cart—subconsciously lifting a hand to touch his own jaw, feeling the stubble. He had kind of forgotten about it, then again he always did for a few days until he dared glance into the mirror again. “Thanks.”

He looked you up and down, suddenly feeling a lot younger, as if he were back in his early twenties again. “You— You look good, too. You always did, but, uh— Yeah.”

You giggled, blush darkening slightly. “Thank you.”

You both stood there awkwardly for a long moment, unsure how to proceed. Then your eyes wandered to his shopping cart, frowning with what he assumed was concern at the quickly growing mountain of Martini bottles. Whenever had they become so many? “Are you going to a party or something?”

He quickly turned, remembering that his whole cart was basically just full of (bad coping mechanisms) alcohol and nothing else, realizing how bad this must look. He hadn't had any friends to worry over his bad habits in a long time, he was used to not giving a shit and no one giving a shit about him in return.

“Oh, that…” He paused, trying to come up with some lie, anything but the truth, but his brain was having a complete blackout. He gave you a sad half-smile, finding it shockingly easy to open up to you. “I'm… not doing so well, to be honest.”

Your frown deepened, eyes meeting his once again, giving a small nod. You looked thoughtful for a moment, then seemed to remember your own shopping cart, shortly walking away to bring it back with you and out of everyone's way. “Would you mind catching up? We could go to your place, perhaps? If you want, of course. No pressure.”

He looked back down at his cart, then at your eyes. He decided to put the vodka back on the shelves. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good. My apartment is just kind of a mess…”

“That's fine, I can help clean if you want. Unless you’d rather talk over a cup of coffee and some cake maybe? I know a place you might like.” How could he say no to that? He did have a weakness for desserts and coffee, and it would be nice to share it with someone again for once.

Leon’s favorite bar was going to get “freshened up” and he did not like it. It was a beautiful, charming bar, full of wooden furniture, creaking wooden floors, warm lighting, the scent of antiques, smoke and whiskey in the air. He knew the bar owner; a young guy with a cute lisp, which he was immensely insecure about. After his father had passed away, he had taken over the bar. It used to be called something else, but the name had too many lisp-risks for the poor guy to say out loud, so he had changed it to the very simple name of Blue Bar.

And they were going to rebuild it, make it modern.

“More like killing it,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring the worried gaze of the bartender in front of him. Leon was currently sulking in said bar, deciding he would enjoy the atmosphere and beautiful, nostalgic surroundings while he still could. Several other people seemed to have had the same idea—a lot of familiar faces he had seen in this bar before, some of them even raised their glass of foamy beer to him when they caught him looking, apparently also recognizing him. Leon felt ridiculously warm at the small interaction, at the realization that strangers remembered him.

But that also told him just how much time he had spent in this bar; too much. If strangers would recognize your face, that meant you’d been in that place a whole damn lot, and Leon wasn’t exactly proud of spending so much time in a bar, no matter how much he liked it.

Well, considering it was going to get fucking renovated in a week or so, it was unlikely Leon would come back to it ever again.

While he continued to sip on his whiskey, he caught the gaze of a young woman who was openly staring at him with a small smile on her lips. With a dress like that, it was obvious why she had come here, and Leon could see the suggestion for a good time in her eyes. He considered it for about four seconds, but ended up giving her an apologetic smile and a small shake of his head, before diverting his attention back to his glass.

It was tempting—Leon could certainly use some company, the amount of Martini piling up in his apartment was proof enough of that. But then Ada had come to mind, unbidden like always, and his whiskey started to taste sour, making him grimace. It wasn’t like he was trying to stay faithful to her—Lord knows what she’s been getting up to behind his back—but it just didn’t feel right.

Some people might not believe him, but Leon wasn’t really someone to sleep around a lot. He had tried it for a little while, when he was younger. The sex had been good, of course, but he had quickly noticed that he was pretty bad at the whole “not getting attached”-thing. Fucking just for the sake of, well, fucking, just didn’t feel as good as Making Love™, as cheesy as it sounded.

More unbidden thoughts came to mind, so Leon forced the rest of his whiskey down his throat, just as someone sat down on the barstool beside him. He wouldn’t have paid the newcomer any mind if it weren’t for the sound of a very familiar and slightly out of breath voice.

“Bad day?” you asked, “Or are you here because the bar is gonna turn into shit next week, too?”

God, Leon thought, as he stared and watched you take off your jacket, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position and righting your clothes. He couldn’t decide if your presence was a good thing or a bad thing, with his current state of mind and—

Wait.

“You know this bar too?” Leon gasped, more dramatically than he intended. Then again, he’d had several glasses of whiskey—a lot, even for him.

“Y— Yeah!” You leaned in closer so you wouldn’t have to yell over all the noise, close enough for your legs to touch his and he could smell your shampoo and laundry detergent. “But I, uh, haven’t been here in a while. Just happened to hear about the planned renovation from a coworker and decided to stop by while I still could.”

Quietly muttering to yourself, you added, “obviously.”

Completely missing your tone, Leon sighed dreamily, “I missed you.”

He really had. Even back at the police academy, the two of you had just clicked immediately. It was so easy to talk to you, and neither of you ever seemed to run out of topics. Knowing that that hadn’t changed, even after all these years, meant the world to him.

Before he could feel embarrassed for his admission, your gaze softened. “Me too, Leon. I wish we could’ve stayed in touch, but I’m just glad we got to meet again at all.”

“How come we haven’t run into each other sooner?” Leon frowned. Sure, he was away for work a lot and often for longer periods of time, but surely there should have been several opportunities for the both of you to meet? Especially with you knowing his favorite bar.

You cleared your throat, “It’s a big city, and when I’m not working I spend a lot of time at home.”

Sounds depressingly familiar. Leon suppressed the urge to order another glass of whiskey.

“Yeah,” he sighed instead, with feeling. “You wanna order anything? My treat.”

You hesitated at first, but ended up accepting his offer. You stopped after just the one drink though, so Leon didn't order anything else for himself either, really starting to feel the effects and praying that he wouldn’t throw up later—especially not in front of you.

“So!” you exclaimed suddenly, putting your palms on the table as if you had wanted to slam them down but then changed your mind last second.

“So,” Leon agreed, albeit a little more quietly and unsure because he didn’t have a conversation topic planned.

“I don’t think we’ve talked about work yet,” you continued, “It’s been a while, I was wondering if you’ve gone full cop or if you’ve maybe changed your mind at some point.”

Leon could feel his palms getting sweaty. He didn’t like talking about his work, and he wasn’t exactly allowed to either. There was a lot of classified information he had to carry around on his shoulders, but it wasn’t like there was no person he could talk to—there were several “coworkers” of sorts he could confide in or drink beers with, and it was generally advised for agents like him to see a therapist from time to time, but Leon didn’t want to. He just didn’t like talking about these things, so he buried them deep and numbed the pain in however way he could.

Leon liked to think he was pretty good at hiding his reactions from the public eye, but apparently you saw something on his face that made you pause and reconsider your words. “We don’t have to talk about work if you don’t want to.”

He eased up a little, remembering who he was talking to and knowing you would never force him into anything. He sighed. “It’s… complicated. I was a cop for… a while,” one day, he thought miserably, “but things didn’t exactly… work out the way I thought,” try a citywide viral outbreak turning people into mindless cannibals, “I got hired by the government to work as an agent, and that’s… really all I can say about it.”

He hesitantly met your eyes, internally cringing when he noticed your raised eyebrows and obvious curiosity. He could also see your concern, something he saw a lot on your face ever since he met you at the supermarket. It made him feel bad, knowing he was the culprit for it.

“I’m on leave right now, actually,” he added, unsure whether that would make things better. Probably not. It wasn’t even his own choice to go on leave—if it were up to him, he would probably become a full-time workaholic. Even though all of Leon’s nightmares pretty much revolved around what happened during his missions, working helped shutting off his brain and focusing on one task after another, never dwelling on his emotions for very long. There was no place for that. But after spending just a few minutes in his home, he would feel awful. He didn’t like the silence, he didn’t like how loud his head would get.

You let out a soft “oh,” which wasn’t even really a word, but somehow it conveyed a million things at once, and then you fell silent for a while, seemingly unsure what else to add.

Leon didn’t really know how to steer the conversation somewhere less dark and awkward, so he tried the first thing he could think of, “Anyway, how’s work on your side?”

Your face lit up a little. “Well, after canceling my police training, I tried a few different things.”

“Yeah?” he smiled, genuinely interested, but also desperate to talk about literally anything else that wasn’t himself. “What did you try?”

You averted your gaze in a way Leon could only describe as shy. “Oh, nothing, uh, nothing big, compared to you. I tried photography for a year, for example. But it’s hard finding a workplace and a steady income as a photographer nowadays, since practically anyone can just take good pictures with their phones now. No need for a professional, expensive photographer. I also tried some botany stuff, but ultimately ended up working with animals instead. I help out at a falconry and at an animal shelter now.”

“Wow,” Leon said, feeling impressed, “If you ask me, that’s far better than what I do.”

You laughed, “Really?”

“Of course,” he nodded earnestly. Leon could hardly imagine doing anything else that wasn’t related to his agent career, but the idea of working with dogs at an animal shelter warmed his heart. Maybe he should look into that sometime, being on leave and all. Besides, he wouldn’t mind watching you work, though you’d probably be embarrassed about it the whole time.

“Did you ever regret not becoming a cop?” Leon asked after a short while of comfortable silence. You pursed your lips in deep thought, eyes lazily drifting around the bar, but not really looking at anything or anyone.

“Not really,” you eventually started, “I mean, sometimes I would regret spending so much time on all that training and studying, only to just basically throw it all away, though the experience was definitely worth it. But I’m kind of glad I didn’t become a cop, it just wasn't for me, and I’m glad I realized it early on.”

You turned your head to meet Leon’s gaze once more, a smile forming on your lips. “I could never regret giving it a try, though. Not to be cheesy but, after all, I got to meet you because of it.”

Leon’s brain kind of short-circuited at that point, and he could barely hear himself saying “be cheesy all you like,” before the conversation went on in a more casual manner.

While you were telling him about a parrot you’d spotted on a tree near your favorite ice cream parlor, Leon caught someone staring at your back with the intensity and horniness of a thousand suns (Leon wasn’t quite sure how suns had anything to do with being horny, but he decided to give his brain a break and just leave it at that). It was a guy, maybe in his thirties, obviously checking you out. It was clear he had come here with the same goal as that woman earlier, and he found himself wishing that she was still here to distract this man. Sadly, she’d left the bar with another woman earlier. Maybe it was for the better, because Leon didn’t have a good feeling about this one.

It didn’t take long for you to notice Leon’s tense jaw and constantly shifting gaze, gently nudging his knee with your own to get his attention. “I feel like we’re on a stakeout. What’s up?”

Leon casually turned his attention away and towards the old-school television that was currently showing a Formula 1 race. You did the same, catching onto his act quickly. “There’s a man on the other side of the bar, behind you. He’s been staring at you for a while. He’s probably going to talk to you when you’re alone. A few more drinks, and he might feel bold enough to come here with me still around, too.”

He felt you shudder and couldn’t stop himself from looking at your face. You were frowning, visibly uncomfortable. “Do you think he’d follow me home?”

Leon’s stomach dropped at the thought, looking away from you to instead scowl at the TV, just in time to see one car from the Ferrari team bumping into a McLaren, causing the two announcers to lose their shit and repeat the clip in slow-motion. “I don’t wanna worry you, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Fuck.” You rubbed a hand over your face. “This is why I never go to bars anymore.”

Leon placed a hand on your back, hoping to both soothe you and discourage the guy from making a move. “I’m not gonna let him do anything to you.” A beat. “...I could escort you home, if you want.”

Your eyes searched his, expression hopeful. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He wasn’t, but when he felt your shoulders sag underneath his hand, he knew it was the right thing to do, squeezing gently before letting go. It wasn’t that Leon didn’t want to escort you home, it’s just that he wasn’t sure how capable he was to escort anyone in this state, let alone not embarrass himself later on.

And because you still looked worried, he said, “I can roundhouse kick this guy outta existence, you only need to say the word.”

You let out a surprised snort before breaking into laughter, covering your mouth in an attempt to quieten it. “You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m serious,” he grinned, “He’ll never see it coming. I’ll go full on Karate Kid on his ass.”

You spluttered, covering your face with both hands now. “Oh my god, stop it.”

Leon laughed too then, grabbing your wrists to gently pry them away from your face.

“Never,” he said, voice low, “Not when it means I get to see you smile.”

It was a cheesy thing to say, and he really didn’t expect to see you swallow and smile at him shily. You didn’t try to take your hands back, and instead opted to hide your blushing face by ducking your head. “Silly goose,” you mumbled.

“Honk honk,” Leon said drunkenly. He let go of your wrists, nodding towards the door. “Wanna leave? It’s getting pretty late.”

Your face lit up at the prospect of heading home. “Yes, let’s do that. Better go before my social anxiety comes back with a vengeance.”

Leon paid for both of your drinks, glancing back towards the guy once more. He had clearly watched the whole exchange, barely hiding his disappointment. Apparently, he thought Leon had successfully made a move on you and was now taking you home. Well, Leon guessed he wasn’t entirely wrong.

While his thoughts were perfectly comprehensible and in more or less good working order, Leon’s body was not. As soon as he got out of his seat, feeling victorious, the whole room tilted and took Leon down with it. He would’ve fallen face-first to the wooden floor if you hadn’t caught him. Instead, he found himself face-first buried in your shirt. He held onto you for dear life, while also thinking he should get a grip and waltz out of here with his head held high. Not that he didn’t enjoy being this close to you, but he wanted to look at least a little less like an idiot in front of that fucking creep, who was no doubt still watching everything.

“Woah there,” you breathed, very close to his ear, “Had a little too much?”

“So it seems,” he mumbled into your shirt, loving the smell and texture of it. God, he was being weird. “I love your shirt. Great texture. Nice color.”

He was being weird and he should STOP. Preferably NOW.

“Thanks, I like it too,” you chuckled, apparently unbothered by his drunk behavior. You pushed him back upright, holding onto his shoulders for his own safety. “I’d suggest lending it to you, but I’m afraid it wouldn't really fit.”

You let go of him after he changed his footing, standing more securely, so Leon started marching towards the door. Admittedly, it was a bit of a challenge—as in, Mission Kind of Impossible levels of a challenge—and no doubt really funny to look at, but when you started to wrap your arm around his waist to lead him the rest of the way, it made the whole thing worth it.

After successfully exiting the bar, you started leading Leon to the nearest bus stop. It was raining a little, the water cooling Leon’s warm skin and the fresh air doing wonders to his clouded mind.

“You’ve just got too much muscle,” you mumbled earnestly, and for a second Leon could feel your hand appreciatively pat his pecs. He pretended not to notice, and determinedly ignored the heat forming in his gut at the touch.

“I bet you’d love to see them,” he said, and even he could hear the smirk in his voice, “wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

He didn’t have to look at you to know you were blushing. “Didn’t know you were such a flirt when you’re drunk.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve got years and years of dumb pick-up lines and cheesy one-liners I could throw at you right now, and you’d love it.” Sadly, it was entirely true. Leon had a strange love for these things, and weirdly enough, some of them actually seemed to work, though he didn’t get to use them as much as he’d like. He could never use them with Ada.

You gave a sigh, which sounded like a mixture between affectionate and defeated, “I bet you’re right. You better not remember any of this tomorrow.”

“I hope I will,” Leon laughed. Luckily, there were no other people waiting at the bus stop. Not that Leon would really mind that much in his current drunken state, but he knew you tended to grow quiet and jumpy around strangers. You checked the time for the next bus to arrive and where it would take you, Leon still glued to your side and enjoying your warmth and the way your fingers squeezed and tapped his side while you were in deep thought.

“Gotta wait seven minutes,” you mumbled, then sighed, “probably more.”

Leon gave a hum, absentmindedly leaning his head on yours, feeling your whole arm squeezing him tighter at the gesture. If it weren’t for the jaw-creaking yawn wrestling its way out of his mouth, Leon would’ve pressed a kiss to your temple. The sober part of his brain was thankful for the save, unsure if that would have taken it too far.

You cleared your throat before moving to sit on the small bench, Leon following suit and slumping against your side, suddenly feeling his age in the form of sudden fatigue. He hoped it was just the alcohol.

“I meant to ask earlier,” you suddenly spoke up again, “can you actually do a roundhouse kick?”

Leon let out a surprised laugh, making you jump at the sudden loud sound. “Yeah, I can. D’you want me to dem— demonsh…” embarrassingly, he seemed to have forgotten all about the English vocabulary, so instead he said, “—show you?”

You didn’t immediately reply, so he turned to look at your face, catching your eyes staring at him in what could only be described as wonder.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

You blinked and quickly looked away. “I do, I do,” you chuckled, “I’d love to see it, but we should wait until we’re both sober.”

Right, Leon thought. Probably not a good idea to do a roundhouse kick while drunk. As awkward as it would be, he’d probably still do it just to make you laugh.

“Alright, I’ll put it in my calendar—should be able to squeeze it into my schedule somewhere.” He felt accomplished at your little chuckle. “But why were you looking at me like that?”

You coughed. “Like what?”

“Like I’m… I don’t know, a wizard?”

You shifted, fiddling with your sleeves and avoiding his searching gaze. Eventually, you rushed out a sigh. “I just— I haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while. Back at the academy we joked around a lot, but now you just look…”

When you didn’t continue, Leon suggested, “...like depression walking on two legs?”

You deflated slightly and huffed out a soft laugh, “Yeah, kinda. I don’t know what happened in your life to cause that, and I don’t wanna push you into talking about it. But… yeah, it’s just… nice. To see you smile, hear you laugh. I missed it.”

Leon wasn’t the type to blush, really. He liked to think he was always perfectly composed, able to take compliments when he deemed himself worthy of them, or shrugging them off when he thought he didn’t deserve it. However, it seemed that everything Leon thought to know about himself, all these walls he had built over the years, none of it seemed to matter anymore as soon as you came into the picture. Even back at the police academy, you had always somehow managed to fluster him with the smallest actions or words, no matter how much he tried to be cool.

Because he was actually blushing and ducking his head to hide it like a fucking lovestruck schoolgirl. He cleared his throat. “Thanks. You’re the first person to say something nice about my laugh, everyone else who got to hear it thought it made me sound like a dork.”

You let out a scandalized gasp. “No!”

He could only nod, still recovering from the compliment. You crossed your arms with a huff, “That’s absolute bullshit, Leon. You have a beautiful smile, and a beautiful laugh, and whoever tells you differently is legally required to personally pay me a visit so I can have a talk.”

“Okay, okay,” Leon said, laughing breathlessly as he felt butterflies fluttering violently around in his stomach, “That’s the maximum amount of compliments I can take in one day.”

The bus arrived not much later, and Leon continued to escort you home safe and sound. You had offered to let him sleep on your couch for the night, but even though it was incredibly tempting and there was nothing he would rather do, he forced himself to decline and go back to his own apartment. He needed some time to think, and he also had to calm down a little before he would act rashly. He was usually pretty good at staying calm and level-headed, but it seemed that all his agent training just seemed to fly out the window around you.

The hug you had given him didn’t help, but it gave him the energy he needed to get home.

Leon woke up with a start, body and mattress drenched in sweat. It was still dark outside, aside from the light of the full moon shining through his bedroom window.

His body went on autopilot, getting up and walking to the bathroom, washing his face, then walking to the kitchen to pour himself a glass. He didn't have any vodka, so whiskey would have to do. Literally anything was better than this awful feeling.

His eyes fell to his phone lying on the kitchen counter, remembering he had your number saved to his contact list now. He hesitated, one hand holding the glass, the other reaching for the whiskey bottle. It had been about a week, maybe a little longer since he last saw you. He really shouldn’t call you out of the blue so suddenly.

He put the glass down, a bit more forcefully than intended, and reached for his phone instead.

This was stupid, you were probably fast asleep, he shouldn't disturb you.

But his fingers were already selecting your name, staring at his screen before finally remembering to put the device to his ear.

He wanted to hang up after the fourth ring, but before he could so much as make his arm twitch, there was a click and a sleepy sigh. “H'llo?”

He breathed your name, swallowing harshly. “Hey, I— I'm sorry for calling so late—” Shit, he hadn't even looked at the time. It was probably like five in the morning. He should just apologize and hang up.

“Leon?” you said, voice more awake all of a sudden, “Hey, are you okay?”

I'm fine, is what he should say, is what he always said whenever someone asked him. But things were different with you. “I— No, no I'm not. But it's okay, I'm— I'm used to it. I should let you go back to sleep, I'm sorry, I wasn't really thinking.”

“Hey, hey, no, none of that,” you said quickly, “I don't mind. I meant it when I said you can call me whenever you need anything or just wanna talk.”

He noticed he was trembling, his grip on the phone tightening, trying to breathe deeply before it could escalate into hyperventilation. He felt awful, and he'd definitely have to make it up to you, but he was too scared to be alone with himself right now. “Could you… maybe keep talking to me for a while?”

“Yeah, of course.” He heard you shift around, probably sitting up more comfortably in your bed. “I could come over if you want.”

Yes, he wanted to say, but stopped himself just in time, letting out a small, strangled noise instead. “It— It's fine, you really don't have to.”

“I want to, Leon. I care about you.” You were quiet for a moment, and he listened to your breathing, bed and floor creaking as you got up and walked around. “Honestly, I'd do pretty much anything to help you. I care so much, I always did, even after all these years, I just never stopped.”

His breathing hitched, but not out of fear this time. He couldn't detect anything but genuine care and worry in your voice, something he could never find in Ada, no matter how drunk he was. It was all an act for her. He knew she wasn't good with feelings, never let anyone close, but it still hurt every time he looked into her eyes and didn't find what he was looking for so desperately.

“Okay,” he gasped out, “If it's not too much trouble.”

“I promise it's not. I'll be there in maybe twenty minutes. Do you want me to keep talking until I'm there?”

He suddenly felt the strange urge to sob, barely suppressing it when he choked out a weak Yes.

So you stayed on the line, told him about that one book you were currently reading, keeping it light and happy, voice soothing, asking how he was feeling every few minutes. Leon found himself relaxing, wiping away the tears as soon as they left his eyes. You didn't comment on his sniffles, which he was grateful for.

Roughly twenty minutes later, which could've also easily been either five minutes or five hours, there was a knock on his door. With his phone still pressed to his ear, he jumped up from his couch to open it.

Your smile and the fact you were also still holding your phone to your ear warmed his entire being, shortly taking in your appearance—slightly disheveled, looking as if you just threw on a coat over your pajamas and some shoes—before ushering you in.

As soon as you both put your phones aside, you took his face into your soft hands, wiping over his wet cheeks with your thumbs. Leon let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes to prevent himself from crying even more. It wasn't even from the pain anymore, but from realizing how much he'd missed this feeling of being cared for and being cared about.

“Do you want to go to bed? Maybe take a bath? Or do you want to stay here?” Here being the living room.

“I— I don't know, I just want—” He couldn't bring himself to say it, so he gingerly wrapped his arms around your body, slightly smaller and softer than Leon's, holding you close and breathing in your scent. “This. If that's alright.”

“Of course it is,” you whispered, quick to return the embrace, putting one hand to his neck to stroke his hair and the other between his shoulder blades. He hardly managed to swallow the moan at your gentle ministrations—he glanced at his fridge, currently filled with Martini bottles. Maybe later.

Leon's hands were trembling, his heart beating loudly against his chest, but he felt so good, better than he had in years. Despite the slight tremors and wobbly knees, he felt incredibly relaxed.

He'd never felt like this with Ada, he couldn't help but think. Her touch had been a comfort to him, yes, but it's never felt like this. It had always felt so fleeting, always turned into sex so quickly, it never lingered on the comfort for very long. Sex was a distraction, but it was short-lived.

Despite these thoughts, he could feel his shorts starting to become a bit uncomfortable. He was still very much touch-starved, and having someone this close again after so long had a strong effect on his body and hormones. He belatedly realized that he wasn't even wearing a shirt, he must be making you uncomfortable. You probably suggested for him to take a bath because he reeked of sweat from his earlier nightmare.

Before he could pull away, he heard and felt you inhale deeply, your nose buried in his neck, before letting out a long, relaxed sigh.

Oh. Maybe he was wrong.

When you shifted your weight, your hips brushed against his, the hitch in your breathing indicating that you had definitely felt his erection. He felt himself flush in shame, pulling away slowly.

(Later had arrived; the time for a Martini was now.)

You came here to comfort him because he was having a panic attack, only for him to get hard as soon as you so much as hugged him. God, he was horrible.

“I— I'm sorry,” he stammered, “Just ignore it. I, uh, should probably go take a shower and maybe uh, put on a shirt.”

He dared to peek up at your face, finding it red and your lips pulled into an adorable shy smile. “It's fine, not like you can control it. Guys have it harder when it comes to hiding that stuff.”

“Heh, yeah.” Leon couldn't help but chuckle, relieved you weren't weirded out or uncomfortable—you almost looked flattered.

He turned towards the bathroom, but stopped when you cleared your throat. Looking at you again, he suddenly felt breathless for a very different reason than his earlier panic. The way you shifted your weight from leg to leg, looking shy and nervous and hopeful, eyes wandering from the floor up to his face and back down again.

“You don't have to put on a shirt,” you said, voice timid. “We can just...” you trailed off, hands waving around as if to demonstrate what you meant without having to say it.

“Yeah,” he breathed, throat suddenly dry, shorts getting even tighter, “yeah, we can do that.”

Fuck the Martini.

But no, hold on. Leon gave himself a mental slap—he was too old to let his dick take the reins like this. Surely you didn’t actually mean that, right? He was just so used to receiving sexual pleasure from Ada whenever he was having a bad time, and with humans being creatures of habit, his brain and body immediately expected you to do the same.

So he cleared his throat instead and made a vague gesture towards the bathroom. “I think I’ll still take a shower, I’m all sweaty and gross.” He tried not to read too much into the way you looked him up and down with a gaze that clearly stated you didn’t really share the sentiment, an amused smile pulling at your lips attractively when you gave a nod. “You can just make yourself at home—I showed you how to use the TV remote, yeah?”

His shower took just a tad bit longer than necessary, though he couldn’t relax enough to actually take care of the problem, and whether you noticed or not, you didn’t mention it. He did put on a shirt after a bit of internal debate, it felt a little counterproductive not to. When he came back to the living room, you were cackling at an ad for a phone sex hotline shown on TV. Leon made a point in not looking at the screen, knowing fully well that no matter how ridiculous these ads were, it would still add to his problem—your presence and his touch-starvation were making it all too easy.

Once he sat his ass down to join you on the couch, you changed channels to a documentary about spiders. Great, he thought, that should do the trick; definitely nothing arousing about spiders.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked softly, pulling your feet up to sit cross-legged as you turned your body towards him.

Leon did a quick self-check, wanting to give you an honest answer. “Better,” he said eventually, relishing in the fact that his earlier anxiety was completely gone. Normally it would linger in the back of his mind, in the pit of his stomach, waiting until he was lacking a distraction to come back and rob him of his sleep once again. He did feel a little confused, or disoriented, however. His usual routine had been broken as soon as he had picked up his phone instead of a glass of whiskey, and the warm feeling of arousal that was still very much present in his lower abdomen would have to wait too.

“That’s great,” you smiled, visibly relieved. After a short moment, you spoke again with a slightly playful tone, “Though I don’t have any excuse to cuddle you now.”

He stared at you out of the corner of his eyes, trying to decipher whether you were just joking or not. The thought of being even closer to you definitely didn’t help with his boner problem, no matter how much he tried to focus on the wasp spider currently shown on screen.

God, he had to seriously chill. It wasn’t like you were being particularly suggestive.

Noticing his expression, you stifled a laugh. “Relax, Leon. We don’t have to cuddle if you’re not comfortable with that. I just thought it might help you fall asleep.” More softly, you added, “I want to take care of you, make sure you’re okay, because it looks like it’s been a while since anyone has done that for you.”

Leon had comfortably placed his head on your lap shortly after, enjoying the feel of your fingers gently carding through his hair. Ada had sometimes done this to him, mostly before or after sex, but this time felt very different. It felt less teasing or sexual; sensual, yes, but more comforting than anything.

You were pampering him, and it scared Leon how easily he gave into it, no doubt growing more and more dependent by the second.

Leon tried staying away from you. He didn’t want to rely so heavily on you to keep him sane and happy, it wasn’t fair nor healthy for either of you. You offered your time so willingly, opened up your arms to him without question or any hesitation—it scared him how easily he could hurt you. Not that he wanted to, he would never want to hurt you, but it was bound to happen eventually. Leon just had a talent to fuck things up one way or another.

You deserved better.

Sometimes he was too weak to stop himself from dialing your number, or spontaneously show up at your home, or going for a cup of coffee and mind-blowingly good chocolate cake after coincidentally running into you in public.

He tried his best to stay away from you, even though it hurt his very core to do so, and judging by the way your smile became more strained in order to hide the disappointment you felt whenever he declined your offer to spend time together, you weren’t a fan either.

But what if things went wrong? What if he relied too heavily on you and hurt you in the process? What if something happened and he got even more miserable than he already was with Ada? Leon would never be able to forgive himself if he ended up hurting you, and he didn’t know how to pick himself back up in case things got even worse for him somehow. It felt like he was draining you of your warmth, that happy glow you had inside your heart—he was sucking it up like the greedy bastard he was, always wanting more until you had nothing left to give. What then?

Leon managed to avoid all contact with you for about two weeks–all it took to bring him down to his knees was one particularly bad nightmare, the extra cherry on top being that you had definitely been in that dream too and things had not ended well for you.

So in his sleepy haze, he somehow managed to make himself look halfway decent, threw on his trademark jacket over clothes that should probably be in the washing machine instead of on his body—he wasn’t sure, he hadn’t really checked what kind of shirt and pants he’d grabbed in his hasty panic—and left his apartment before he could get any other stupid and impulsive ideas.

Going out to visit you was also an impulsive idea, but that was something he could allow himself to indulge.

Not long after, he found himself at your front door, suddenly getting cold feet. He anxiously checked the time—11 PM. It wasn’t five in the morning, but it wasn’t exactly any better either. What if you were away with friends? What if you were asleep? What if you already had company?

God, he wasn’t normally this much of a coward.

He was very close to just turning around and leaving, but then the buzzing of his phone made him stop in his tracks. It was you. Oh god, it was you.

He couldn’t decide if he should be relieved or terrified.

“Hey,” he greeted you, surprisingly smooth for someone feeling about as awkward as someone stepping out of their grave after a tearful funeral. He wondered if that had ever happened before.

“Hey,” he could hear the gentle smile in your voice and was a little scared of how strongly it affected him already. “Just wanted to check up on how you’re doing. Haven’t heard from you in a while, and… I hate sounding like a clingy parent, but I got worried, so I decided to call. Is that… okay? I can leave you alone if you need space—”

“No!” he rushed out, a tad more panicked than intended, “No, I… You’re—... ugh.”

Leon gave a defeated sigh, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. “At the risk of sounding like a total creep, I am… actually… kind of at your front door?”

Immediately, he heard footsteps approaching—practically running towards him—before the front door swung open and you stood in front of him, phone still pressed against your ear. It seemed to be a recurring thing between you two. Maybe one day it would go as far as talking over the phone while you were both still in the same house, maybe one in the bathtub and the other in the kitchen. Leon begrudgingly realized that it wasn’t totally out of the question—in case of a panic attack, he might do the most embarrassing and stupid things just to feel better again.

“How long have you been out here?” you asked, taking in his appearance with a worried frown, “It’s cold! Why didn’t you knock?”

Now that you mentioned it, Leon had definitely lost all feeling in his fingers and would most likely have a sore throat in the morning. Before he could even so much as open his mouth to reply, you were already grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. He barely remembered to end the phone call, letting himself be dragged to your living room. “Your hands are freezing, Leon!”

“Sorry,” was all he could come up with. Your hands were warm and soft, just like everything else about you. He selfishly hoped you wouldn’t let go of him any time soon.

To his disappointment, you did—but only to get a blanket to wrap around his shoulders while he sat down on your couch. It was the sort that made getting up particularly difficult with how comfortable it was. Leon could feel himself already sinking into the cushions, ready to be absorbed into them. If this was one of Grimms’ dark fairy tales, this would be the part where he would die and become one with your home forever. You would be an enchanting, dangerous witch, luring unsuspecting and weak victims like himself to their untimely demise with kindness and soft cushions.

Wait, what the hell was he even thinking about?

While he had been spacing out in your living room, you had gone into the kitchen to make two cups of cot cocoa, one of which you gently coaxed him into holding onto with his cold fingers. The warmth that spread through his hands made him relax even more. He’d never been much into hot chocolate before, but if you were the one making them, he might just become an addict.

The alcoholic bastard inside him couldn’t help but think that mixing it with some liquor would probably taste nice, too. Two birds with one stone, he thought. Leon ignored him for now—you didn’t like seeing him drink, if the concern in your eyes whenever he so much as mentioned alcohol was anything to go by, and he despised seeing you sad, so there was that.

So here he was, wrapped up in a blanket burrito, about to become one with your couch, holding a warm mug of cocoa in his hands, and feeling ridiculously at home despite his (half assed) best efforts of not becoming too attached to you. Good job, Leon. Well done.

After a long, comfortable silence in which you and him just looked outside the window and sipped on the still-a-tad-too-hot-for-your-tongues cocoa, you spoke up with a soft voice; “Did something happen?”

It was true that Leon only ever visited your home when he just couldn’t bring himself to stay away anymore, which always happened whenever his mind began to feel like a hostile stranger and his home became cold and lonely and just didn’t feel like home anymore. He briefly wondered if that’s how Ada felt too, if that was why she visited him so rarely. Maybe she was also trying not to become too attached to him, or maybe she was trying to keep Leon at an arm's-length for his own good, just like he was trying to do for you. If that was the case, Leon was starting to understand. Not that he liked it any better—he didn’t like it at all—but he could understand the thought process behind it.

He wondered how you would react if he told you about it. Or about Ada. Maybe another time.

He’d been spacing out again, but you hadn’t made any move to get his attention and make him talk. You never pushed him, at least not unless you felt it was necessary. You were astonishingly good at that—being able to read him, being able to tell when to be patient, when to let something drop, and when to keep pushing.

“Nothing big, really,” he finally answered, voice a bit hoarse, “Just another nightmare, that’s all.”

You hummed, mulling over his words as you took another careful sip from your mug. “You get those a lot. They must be pretty bad.”

“They’re just nightmares,” he tried to casually shrug it off like he usually did, “It’s stupid, really.”

“It’s not stupid.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw you turn your head to look at him, but he couldn’t make himself meet your gaze yet, so he just stared down at his hands. “You should see yourself sometimes—I’ve never seen anyone look so scared, as if you’d just been through hell and back. It’s not stupid, Leon. It’s horrible, and I wish I could do something to help.”

Leon frowned, “You already are helping.” He finally met your gaze, gulping harshly at the instantaneous sensation of butterflies fluttering wildly about in his heart and stomach. “Why do you think I call you whenever things get bad, or why I came here today in the first place? I wouldn’t do that if— if you weren’t helping in some way.”

He almost said too much but stopped himself just in time. The ways you made him feel with the simplest things would sound ridiculously cheesy when said out loud, so he didn’t dare to even try and put them into words.

“You are helping, trust me.” Everything you do is helping. He bit his tongue. Saying anything more than that would put too much pressure onto your shoulders. He knew you, after all. He knew that once you became aware of the effects you had on him, you would go out of your way to help him, put his needs before your own.

You had the tendency to get worried, anxious, even. Leon knew you already were worried about him, even calling him to check if he was doing okay after total radio-silence for two whole weeks. If you knew how much he was already relying on you… you would get overwhelmed, for sure. He had to get a grip on himself before that could happen.

Your eyes lingered on his face for a little while longer, studying him, before giving a small nod, which meant you believed him. Leon knew you trusted him, but you both also knew that he wasn’t always saying the truth, or at the very least, not the whole truth.

“Okay,” you whispered, “I’m glad, then.”

He felt you shuffle closer and open up the blanket burrito enough so that you could join in, leaning against his side and laying your head on his shoulder, your warm breath tickling over his skin as you relaxed against him. Leon’s heart couldn’t decide whether it should do somersaults or melt into a puddle of mush, and ended up doing a weird mixture of both.

“How about you stay here tonight?” you asked suddenly, making Leon’s breath hitch. (No no no, not now, dick! He didn’t have any Martini!) “It’s pretty late, and I wouldn’t want you to go home in the cold and dark. Unless you want to leave, of course.”

“No, I can stay,” he heard himself say over the loud pounding in his ears. The whole ‘not becoming too attached’-thing was going very well, indeed.

One night quickly escalated into days. Every morning, Leon would tell himself it would be the last, already putting together some sort of excuse, but you would no doubt see right through his lies. You went to the same police academy, after all. You might not be a cop anymore, but you still went through the same kind of training. He didn’t want you to think he wasn’t enjoying his time here, because he truly felt better than he ever would at his own apartment. He only went back once to get some of his stuff so he wouldn’t have to borrow everything from you—your clothes didn’t fit him as well as his own, and he wanted to avoid stretching them out.

But other than his concerns of pulling you down to the pits with him and overstaying his welcome, Leon couldn’t find a valid reason to leave.

So he stayed, and you let him—Hell, you looked happy about having him around so much. It was shockingly easy to fall into a new daily routine with you.

The only problem was that you didn’t have any alcohol at your place. Maybe you had, but hid it away for Leon’s health’s sake. If it weren’t for his addiction, he wouldn’t have cared about it.

Every now and then, a wave of sudden anxiety and nausea would wash over him, sometimes for hours on end. His hands were shaking for two whole days, the craving to feel the taste and burn of his favorite whiskey was so unbearable he felt like he was going insane. More often than not, he found himself searching through your kitchen cabinets as if his body was going on autopilot, but every bottle he found was something else—olive oil, sunflower oil, vinegar…

One time, Leon actually found a half-empty bottle of Licor 43, staring at it as if he had just found the treasure of El Dorado. He was about to drink straight out of the bottle when you suddenly barged out of the bathroom with nothing on but a bathrobe, steam coming from your skin and droplets of water falling from your hair.

“I just remembered—” you had rushed to say, looking uncharacteristically frantic, when your eyes finally spotted the bottle in his hands. Had Leon not been so startled by your unexpected appearance, he would have probably clutched it against his chest, but distracted as he was, you snatched it away without problem. “I forgot I still had that. I’m sorry.”

Leon wanted to cry, or scream, and he probably would have, if not for the apologetic and slightly scared look in your eyes. He bit his tongue and took a deep breath instead. The withdrawal symptoms were turning his days into a feverish haze, but he never wanted to upset you. It was so easy to make you the culprit of taking away what he so urgently needed—couldn’t you see how much he was suffering?—to snap at you and blame you for everything, but through the fog, Leon still knew that it was for his own good. He knew you just wanted to help. He could see it in your eyes that it hurt you to see him like this, and being unable to do anything to make him feel better.

In search of a distraction, Leon’s eyes fell on the wet rag lying by the sink, which you always used to clean particularly stubborn spots around the house with. Leon took the rag and started to clean the dust off your shelves. It felt ridiculous at first, but then he noticed more and more places in need of cleaning, lots of dust that had settled over a long time, and soon he had completely forgotten about the maddening itch in his mind.

Once he was done with cleaning the dust, he moved on to your books, putting them in alphabetical order and sorting them by size. At some point you had left to get rid of the bottle and finish up in the bathroom, only to turn on some calm classical music once you were done. Leon wasn’t really a fan of classical music, never had been, but he found his mind being lulled into a more gentle, safe place the more he listened. It helped to calm his nerves, keep him focused on the task at hand, and keep him grounded. His thoughts felt less intrusive, as if he could just watch them pass him by without really having to care about them.

You did your best to stay out of his way while he kept himself busy, quietly reading books and solving crossword and sudoku puzzles.

The next day, as soon as his hands were itching to take apart your whole place to search for more hidden liquor bottles, he went out for a jog. He didn’t take anything with him, no phone or wallet, it would be too easy to just stop by the next best liquor store and drink behind your back. He didn’t know how long he was out—twenty minutes? Maybe thirty? Or had it been an hour?—but he felt better once he came back.

He could tell by the way your eyes were quickly scanning over him that you had been worried, a wave of guilt for not telling you about his plans washed over him, and he was about to apologize until he saw your gentle, understanding smile.

Every day, in the back of his mind, Leon berated himself for putting you through this whole mess, but he knew leaving now would only make things worse.

Once his irritation was gone, you stayed by his side as much as you could, distracting him with stories, books, movies, games, music—the best distraction, though, was the feel of your fingers carding through his hair and drawing soothing circles over his back, letting him fall asleep in your arms on the couch.

One morning—it was actually almost afternoon, but hush—Leon blinked open his drowsy eyes, grimacing at the stickiness of his clothes and skin, a gross reminder of a whole week filled with anxiety, cold sweats and mood swings. He definitely had to take a long shower, immediately. He could hear the faint sound of music coming from another room, which meant you were already awake, unless someone had broken in and was having a dance-party in the kitchen.

Once he had gotten up to see what you were doing, he didn’t have it in himself to disrupt the scene before him; you were doing the dishes, tapping your foot and nodding your head to the beat of the music, humming along occasionally. He knew you liked to have some background noise while working in the kitchen, but the past few days were a bit of a haze—only now could he truly appreciate the warm feeling of waking up to the sound of life, of not being alone.

“Oh!” Your startled voice pulled Leon away from his musings, quickly meeting your searching gaze and giving you a small, but genuine smile. Your whole face lit up at that, and Leon was torn between savoring it or feeling guilty for having added so much weight on your shoulders with his mere presence alone. “Good morning, Leon. How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” he said once you’d turned down the volume of the music, his voice still a bit scratchy. “Could really use a shower.”

You hummed, putting down the plate you’d been cleaning and drying your hands on a towel, before walking up to him. He was about to say something along the lines of ‘you really don’t wanna come any closer than this, trust me’, before all the words just flew right out of his head as soon as you reached up to hold it with both hands, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. He made a small, strangled sound that came from somewhere in the back of his throat, feeling as if his heart was swelling and melting at the same time.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” you whispered, thumbs gently rubbing over his cheekbones. “Are you hungry? I was going to make some pancakes, but it’s probably gonna take a while. Maybe you could take a bath instead?”

“Uh-huh,” was all he could come up with, feeling as if his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. The realization that he really, really wanted to kiss you made him freeze up completely. If you hadn’t let go of him and gone back to the sink, he probably would’ve done it. Maybe.

Tuesday, the second week of Leon’s stay at your place, he was wondering what he should do with all the untouched alcohol bottles at his apartment. He wasn’t going back to the way things used to be, it would be too easy, but he didn’t want to. He was done with drinking, it didn’t do him any good, and while he still found himself craving it occasionally, the withdrawal symptoms were gone, leaving him feeling better than he had in a while.

“We could pour them out and use them for decorations or something,” you mused, hands busy making sandwiches. He tried not to let the ‘we’ get too much to his softened up heart. “I saw some pictures where people used them as lamps or candle-holders, or put some fairy lights in there. The smaller bottles we could use as flower vases, or use them for ingredients like salt or something. You know what I mean?”

You ended up showing him some pictures on your phone of what you meant, and Leon wrote down a list to repurpose each bottle he remembered buying. He wouldn’t be able to do all of them, there wasn’t enough space for that, not at his place nor at yours. He would just take one or two of each for now, and decide on what to do with the rest once it was time.

While he was scribbling down notes on a piece of paper you had given him (he couldn't help but smile when he saw it, as it was framed with cute, cartoonish doodles of small, round birds) you sat down across from him with a big plate full of sandwiches. Leon was wholly unprepared for the noise you let out once you had taken your first big bite, pressing his pen down a bit too harshly and piercing a hole through the paper, as he felt heat travel up to his face and down to his groin.

Staying with you was wonderful. But it was also torture.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, looking like you were having the most amazing orgasm in your entire life, “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now. This is so good.”

Leon cleared his throat, mind now utterly blank. He would have to finish the list some other time, he supposed.

One night, he was startled awake by the sound of your creaking floor, noticing how uncharacteristically dark it was in your home. Normally, you would keep on some smaller lights so it'd be easier to find your way around the place at night, but there was just pitch black darkness surrounding him now as Leon looked around.

He couldn't help but tense up at the sound of footsteps approaching his position, listening closely for any tell of who or what it was, silently cursing himself for leaving his knife in his bag several feet away instead of underneath his pillow.

But then he heard you sigh and immediately relaxed. That's right—he was safe, and so were you.

He sat up slowly, trying to avoid startling you, quickly noticing you were lighting small candles and putting them in safe places all around the house. He softly called your name, biting back a smile when you jumped despite his efforts.

“Leon,” you breathed, “Jesus!”

“Not quite,” he mumbled, laughing quietly at your responding groan. “What's going on? Power outage?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, walking up to him and settling down another candle on the coffee table beside the couch. “Happens sometimes. I just hope I won't set the whole place on fire with these.”

Leon looked around, taking in each candle, before giving you a reassuring smile. “Should be okay, don't worry. I'm here; I'll take care of it if anything happens.”

You gave a nervous hum but didn't add anything else, putting your hands on your hips and looking around. “I guess this should suffice. Or do you want more light?”

“Nah, I'm good.”

“Okay. Sorry for waking you up, by the way. I was trying to be sneaky but the floor is such a snitch.” Leon laughed at that, shaking his head.

“It's alright, I'm a pretty light sleeper, I probably would've woken up anyway.”

You sighed again, putting your arms on the backrest of the couch and leaning forward slightly. “I'm just glad whenever you get a full night's rest without any— without any incidents.”

You were talking about his nightmares. He hadn't had one in several days, but he knew they would come back to haunt him eventually. “I appreciate you caring for me, but believe me, I don't mind. It's comforting to be… reminded of your presence, every now and then.” He meant it.

You met his gaze, your worried frown turning into a warm smile. “Alright then, I'm glad.”

There was a long moment of silence in which Leon was trying and failing to come up with something else to say, and judging by the way you were biting your lips and fiddling with your hands, you were probably doing the same thing.

“I guess I'll… go back to bed,” you said eventually, standing up straight once more.

“Yeah,” Leon replied, dumbly. He wanted to ask if maybe you'd like to stay here with him, maybe just… cuddle for a while, or something. It wouldn't be the first time, but he still felt nervous about asking.

He watched you linger, still nervously chewing your lower lip, fingers tightening their grip slightly on the backrest. You looked like you wanted to ask or say something, and Leon waited, but then you let out a quick breath and reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“Well, goodnight, Leon. Call if you need anything.” He gave an affirmative hum, watching you walk back to your bedroom and hoping the disappointment he felt hadn't been visible on his face.

Dammit, he was such a coward.

It was three in the morning when he fell off the couch and effectively escaped yet another nightmare—he hadn’t had any for several blissful days, but of course they had to just come back eventually. The anxiety was making a cold sweat break out all over his body, the adrenaline of fear was starting to kick up in his guts, his chest felt tight and there was suddenly not enough air to breathe anymore.

Next thing he knew, he was standing by your bed, staring down at your sleeping form. If it weren’t for the looming dread of his oncoming panic attack, he probably wouldn’t have had the heart to wake you up. You just looked so at peace like this, he hated taking that away from you just so you could deal with his problems once again.

“Leon?” you mumbled, sleepily glancing up at him. He found himself unable to take away his hand that had been gently, yet urgently, shaking your shoulder in order to rouse you. Through a yawn that made him feel terrible, you continued, “Are you okay?”

“No.” He could barely recognize his own voice, it sounded strange to his ears. It was hard to talk, his lungs were screaming for more air and his heart was beating wildly and his mind was filled with static and white noise—

“Could I sleep here with you? I can’t— I—” He didn’t even know what he was planning to say anymore, his thoughts were rushing by so quickly he could hardly keep up with them. You sat up immediately, suddenly wide awake, pushing away your blanket and gently guiding Leon onto your bed until he was sitting down beside you. He was shaking so much his teeth were chattering.

“Leon, focus on me. Focus on my voice.” It was hard to focus on anything, but your voice washed over him like a gentle warm breeze. He tried. “This is going to pass. Everything is alright. There’s no danger—you’re safe, I’m safe. You’re not suffocating. Count to four as you inhale, then hold your breath for seven seconds, then exhale for eight. Then repeat. Can you do that? Here, we’ll do it together.”

He watched your chest rise and fall as you breathed, and he did his best to match his own breathing with yours. He counted just like you told him to, and after he stopped feeling like he was dying, he could finally relax. The adrenaline was wearing off, the shaking finally stopped, leaving him exhausted. His skin had felt numb, only now did he notice you were slowly and soothingly rubbing his arms.

He couldn’t stop himself from sagging against you, burying his face in your neck and hugging your waist. You didn’t hesitate to put your own arms around his back, pulling him in closely. Eventually, sitting up got too uncomfortable, so you lied down onto your back, pulling Leon down with you until his head was resting on your chest and your fingers were carding through his hair.

“It’s okay, Leon. I’m here. It’s over now. You can stay here with me as long as you want, I don’t mind,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he breathed. He barely had the energy to say anything else. “Thank you.”

“You’re always welcome, Leon. Always.”

Leon was drifting in and out of sleep, noticing that you were still awake, but too tired to say anything. Your fingers were still massaging his scalp and stroking his hair, while the other was holding onto your phone. At some point you must have pulled out your headphones and started listening to music, he could faintly hear it through the earbuds. More than that though, he could hear you humming along.

He had rarely felt this safe and relaxed before.

“Leon,” you said quietly after letting out a long sigh, voice grave and brows furrowed in worry. You and him were both standing in the kitchen like two awkward teens at a house party, munching on freshly made, warm waffles. “I have something to confess.”

Leon watched you shuffling your feet and looking about as guilty as someone who had accidentally killed someone, so he braced himself for some really bad news. Maybe you had accidentally killed someone? If so, Leon had some ways of making evidence disappear—it’d be no problem, actually, and he would do pretty much anything for you at this point.

Just as he was about to tell you as much, you huffed out another sigh, quicker this time, before rushing out; “I didn’t actually know the Blue Bar at all.”

Leon’s mind had been so deeply caught up in accidental—or maybe non-accidental—murder, that he needed a few seconds to understand what you just said. He blinked, as if it would help him to get rid of the fog of confusion. “Wh… What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you said, shuffling your feet some more, looking nervous and still not meeting his eyes, “that when I told you about coming to the Blue Bar because I heard a coworker saying it was getting renovated, I was actually lying.”

“Lying?” he repeated, still not entirely sure what this was all about. You nodded guiltily. “Why?”

“Because… Because it would sound really creepy if I told you that… I… kind of, uhm… After we met again the first time, and seeing how much alcohol you bought, I may have looked up some nearby bars and, uh… and hoped you might be… in one of them.” You had kind of started folding into yourself, voice nothing but a mumble. If you were a snail or a tortoise, you would be hiding inside your shell by now, no doubt. “And then I read some online article about this bar being renovated, and I thought, ‘hey, maybe Leon would go there,’ so I went to that one too and acted like it was all a coincidence. I was just kind of really worried about you, and I really wanted to talk to you again, but I didn’t wanna be too pushy by immediately giving you my number and all that. Honestly, I don’t even know what I was thinking anymore. Saying it all out loud just makes it worse.”

Honestly, if it were anyone else to tell him this, Leon would have been a little creeped out. But he knew you; he knew your tendency to overthink and make things more complicated than they had to be. He knew you meant well and would never intentionally do something to make someone uncomfortable.

With this in mind, Leon couldn’t help but feel… touched. “You were really worried about me, huh?” he mumbled, after swallowing the rest of his (third) waffle. You let out an agreeing “mh-hmm,” clearly still embarrassed about your behavior. He reached out one hand to pat your shoulder. “Hey, I’m glad you came to the bar that evening. Just… in the future, maybe don’t go about it in such a complicated and kinda weird way, yeah?”

He felt you relax under his hand, letting out a small chuckle. “Yeah, okay.”

He found himself missing Ada less and less the more you hung out. Every smile, every touch, every word seemed to erase Ada's traces from Leon's life more and more. He could no longer feel the ghost of her lips and fingers on his skin, didn't miss it anymore either, and his home no longer felt like it was missing something without the smell of her perfume present in every room.

The gaping hole in his chest Ada left whenever she disappeared from his life was no longer empty. He slowly learned how to fill it himself again, without alcohol numbing the pain. Having someone so close support him through it all was definitely helping too, without it he probably wouldn't have ever gotten out of this shithole.

So when Ada stood in front of his door, he didn't know what to think or feel. His usual reaction upon seeing her again was to weakly joke about her still being alive, trying to hide how much it hurt that she had just left him once again to rot, then let her in and take her coat, offer some wine, try not to show how desperate he was for her closeness while they talked, and then have it escalate into sex.

But it was different now. He wasn't happy to see her. He wanted her to leave.

They've had a weird relationship, mostly sexual, and while Leon had wanted more, Ada would never let it get past a certain line. He'd accepted that, but now that his head wasn't as foggy as it used to be anymore, he couldn't help but feel a little bitter. She just kept on coming back for her own selfish needs and leaving him behind over and over again, despite seeing how much it was destroying him.

“What are you doing here?” It wasn't his usual greeting, the confused furrow of Ada's thin, dark brows only confirming it more.

“What, no welcome-back-kiss? No ‘I missed you’? I'm wounded.” Her tone was sarcastic, almost flat, but Leon could tell Ada was a bit puzzled by his behavior.

“You've been gone for five months, Ada. You expect me to just welcome you back with open arms, cake and a bouquet of roses and not be the least bit angry?” That's how it usually went, minus the cake and roses, since Ada always came back unannounced, but he felt he had the right to be petty.

She seemed to be thinking the same thing, rolling her eyes. “I have work outside the city and outside the country, and even if I didn't I would still be entitled to go wherever I please for however long I want, I'm not required to report back to you every day. I thought we've been over this before.”

They have, but not like this. Not with Leon's current mindset.

“I'm done with the way things were. It hurt every damn time and I'm just done. This type of relationship isn't for me, Ada. Find someone else to play with.” He knew he wasn't completely blameless for how things went, he could've ended things sooner, tolerated Ada's actions less, set some boundaries for himself, but he'd been too desperate, too scared of losing the only thing he had left in his life, despite its destructive impact on his mental health.

For a moment, Ada scoffed as if thinking Leon was joking, making a move to enter his apartment. But when Leon blocked the doorway instead of stepping aside, she hesitated, taking a long look at his face. The look in her eyes was almost reverent.

“You've finally found a backbone,” she stated, red lips twitching into a rare little smile. Part of him was offended, part of him pleased at her approval.

“I've still come a long way, so unless you really want me to leave, I could use something to drink.” At Leon's narrowed eyes, she sighed, “I'm not gonna try anything funny, I just need ten minutes and I'll be outta your hair.”

He considered it for a moment, stepping aside eventually. They could talk like normal people. They were both adults. He wouldn't let her get under his skin again, and she would leave after ten minutes. It would be fine.

When she shrugged off her trenchcoat, Leon took it and hung it on its usual spot, but this time he didn't linger or inhale her perfume. It was just a coat. Not even a very nice coat. No need for Martini.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked instead, already moving towards the kitchen. Ada sat down on the couch, looking around his place, no doubt surprised about how tidy it was compared to her past visits.

“Iced tea, if you have that.” The fact he hadn't immediately poured two glasses of wine without asking was apparently telling enough that Leon was working on his alcoholism, and he appreciated her not mentioning it—at least not yet.

He came back with a glass of peach flavored ice tea, and a soda can for himself. They sat an arm length away from each other, which was also new.

Ada sipped on her drink. “Could you at least look at me? It's not like it'll turn you into stone.”

“Eh, it's similar enough,” he muttered, but he did turn to look at her. He looked at her heels, her long legs covered by black tights, her short red dress, her flawless skin, her red lips, her perfect dark hair, and her beautiful brown eyes.

A few months ago he would've felt his heartbeat quicken, the desire to touch and feel her, to bury his nose in her hair and inhale her shampoo.

But he didn't feel anything. Yes, she was still obviously attractive, beautiful without a doubt, but it didn't make his insides twist anymore.

He couldn't help but smile, which she returned with a raised eyebrow, though the left corner of her mouth twitched upwards.

Leon noticed that she looked more relaxed than usual. Ada usually took on the dominant role; she made the rules, she initiated intimacy, her face a cool mask of controlled emotions. It was rare for her to lose composure. Around Leon, she usually acted cold enough to not give him any false hope, but still seduced him and made him lose his mind (and heart) in ways only she knew about.

But this time it seemed as if she wasn't actively trying to keep him at bay and under control, instead as if she was talking to him on a more comfortable, equal level, though he could also tell that she was testing that 'new backbone' of his.

“You've changed. What happened?”

“I met an old friend,” he said, though he felt as if that didn't even come nearly as close to what he felt for you. “Got my shit together, at least I'm working on it.”

She took another, long sip from her glass. “Must be more than a friend if they have such a big impact on your life.”

She wasn't wrong—you were definitely more than friends, at least it felt like more. Leon wanted more, because he was a greedy, needy bastard. But the way your eyes lingered on his lips or his body when you thought he wasn't looking… it had to mean something, right?

“Still figuring that out,” he eventually nodded, remembering the soda in his hand and finally taking his first sip. “It's a work in progress.”

“It looks good on you, whatever it is.” Ada's eyes looked him up and down, a new kind of spark in them, something he hadn't seen from her in a long while. Actual interest, respect, approval. “I'm a little jealous.”

His heart jumped at that, but he was quick to swat away any resurfacing hope or 'what-if's'. It was over, and he didn't want to go back. He'd come this far, he couldn't afford any major relapses. Ada and alcohol were both huge dangers to his fragile new lifestyle. Even if he and Ada agreed to start from anew and do something different, it was too easy to just fall back into old habits. He couldn't allow it, and he wouldn't.

“Thanks, I appreciate you saying that,” he replied calmly. He decided not to address the jealousy part. Ada took immediate notice of that and visibly straightened herself, extinguishing that spark in her eyes like the flame of a candle. Seemed like Leon wasn't the only one who had to let go of old habits. Ada had to accept and get used to the fact that Leon wasn't hers anymore.

After a longer moment of silence in which she emptied her glass of ice tea and set it down onto the coffee table, she turned to address him once more with an almost warm gaze. “They're good for you, and I'm glad you found each other—I mean it. I won't come by your place unannounced anymore, and unless I actually need your help with something, I won't come visit at all. I think it'll be good for both of us.”

Relief washed over Leon like a wave, he hadn't even realized how tense he was until his muscles all suddenly started to relax. “I agree. Thanks, Ada.”

She gave him a nod and a smile, before getting up and walking towards the door. “I guess I'll better take my leave, then.” Leon stood up as well, but when he moved to take her coat and help her put it on she waved him off, doing it herself. “You take care of yourself, Leon.”

“You too.” He watched her leave, watched her walk away for a few seconds, before closing the door with a sense of finality.

He felt somewhat lighter now. It felt good.