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CLAIRE POV <3
I’ve lost count of how many times people asked me if Leon and I were dating back in high school.
“Come on, Claire, just admit it,” they’d say, grinning as we walked down the hall together. “You guys are basically glued at the hip.”
We weren’t. Not technically. We never kissed in the hallway between classes, never held hands in public, never put a label on it. But maybe I understood why people assumed. We sat together at lunch every single day, shared the same desk cluster in almost every class, and had a habit of walking each other home even when our houses weren’t on the same route.
It was easy with Leon. Too easy, maybe.
There were nights when we’d sit on the swings at the park until the streetlights flicked on, talking about nothing and everything. He’d tell me about his dream of becoming a cop, of protecting people, of doing something that mattered. I’d talk about motorcycles, about Chris, about wanting to prove myself as more than just “Redfield’s little sister.”
And in those moments, with his blue eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlamps and his smile soft and tired from the day, I’d feel something heavy in my chest. Something I didn’t want to name.
Because if I named it, I risked losing him.
So I kept quiet. We both did.
College came faster than I thought it would.
I still remember the day our acceptance letters arrived. We tore open the envelopes side by side on my porch—him practically shaking with nerves, me pretending not to be just as scared.
“I got in,” I whispered, staring at the bold lettering of my dream school.
He looked at his own letter, then at me. His grin spread so wide it almost hurt to look at. “Me too.”
We screamed. Literally screamed, like a couple of kids. Chris stuck his head out the window and told us to shut up, but I didn’t care. In that moment, the whole world felt possible.
We were really going to do this. Together.
College life was everything and nothing like I expected.
I ended up majoring in Communications—half because it sounded practical, half because I couldn’t decide on anything else. Leon went into Criminal Justice, no surprise there. He said it was a step toward becoming a cop, though I teased him that he just wanted an excuse to look good in uniform someday. He rolled his eyes, but the tips of his ears went red.
Our campus was sprawling and alive, filled with too many people and not enough time. But Leon and I fell into a rhythm almost immediately.
Morning coffee runs before class—him black coffee, me caramel lattes with extra whipped cream. Afternoons in the library, sitting across from each other with textbooks spread out, kicking his shin under the table when he dozed off. Late-night ramen runs when we were too tired to cook.
People stared sometimes. I could feel their eyes when we sat too close on the library couches, when I leaned my head against his shoulder out of exhaustion, when he carried my bag after late classes. I heard the whispers: are they dating?
Just like high school, we never corrected anyone. We never admitted anything either. It was safer that way.
“Okay, spill,” Jill said one afternoon.
I blinked at her over my cup of coffee. “Spill what?”
“Don’t play dumb, Redfield. You and Kennedy.” She leaned back in her chair, raising an eyebrow. “You’re basically joined at the hip. Everyone knows it.”
I groaned, dropping my face into my hands. “Not you too.”
Jill smirked. “What? I’m just saying. The way he looks at you—it’s not just friendship.”
My cheeks burned. “It’s complicated,” I muttered.
“Mm.” She stirred her drink lazily. “Funny. Carlos and I were the same way. Best friends, too scared to mess it up. Took us forever to figure it out.”
That made me look up. “Really?”
She shrugged, but her smile was soft. “Sometimes the best relationships start that way. Doesn’t make it less scary, though.”
Her words stuck with me long after.
Because no matter how many times I told myself Leon and I were just friends, deep down, I knew she was right.
The first time Leon and I tried the little brunch place off campus, it was completely by accident. We were both starving after a brutal week of exams, and the smell of bacon and coffee lured us in.
We sat at a corner booth, sunlight streaming across the table, him fiddling with the menu while I teased him about his bedhead.
“You look like you fought a bear,” I said, grinning.
“Funny,” he muttered, trying to smooth his hair down. “You should see yourself in the mornings.”
I kicked him under the table, and he laughed, that warm, boyish laugh that still made my chest tighten after all these years.
The food came, and we talked about everything but school—movies, music, dumb memories from high school. And maybe I imagined it, but every time our eyes met, something lingered there.
Something unspoken.
________
Brunch became a habit after that.
It started as an accident, then turned into a Sunday ritual. Every week we’d stumble into that little café, sometimes exhausted, sometimes still laughing about the night before. We always got the same booth in the corner, always ordered too much food, always lingered longer than we meant to.
I pretended it was just convenience. He lived closer to the café than I did, and Sundays were the only day we both had a break. But if I was honest with myself, I liked the way he looked in the morning light. Hair still a mess, shirt wrinkled from staying up late studying, but smiling at me like I was the only thing worth looking at.
Sometimes I wondered if he thought the same about me.
“Alright, Redfield,” Jill said one afternoon, dropping onto my bed with a dramatic sigh. “You need to make a decision.”
I glanced up from my laptop. “About what?”
She gave me the most exaggerated look. “Don’t play dumb. About Leon.”
I groaned, setting the laptop aside. “Why is everyone obsessed with this?”
“Because it’s obvious,” she said, flopping onto her back. “The way you two orbit each other—it’s like gravity. You can’t hide it.”
I crossed my arms. “We’re just friends.”
“Uh-huh. Friends who sit in a café every Sunday like an old married couple. Friends who walk each other home at midnight. Friends who look at each other like—” She stopped, smirking. “—well, you know.”
My face heated. “It’s not that simple, Jill. What if I say something and it ruins everything?”
She rolled onto her side, expression softening. “I get it. Believe me. Carlos and I danced around each other forever because I was scared, too. But you know what’s worse than risking the friendship?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Spending years wondering ‘what if.’”
Her words sank into me like a stone in water, ripples spreading through my chest.
Because she was right. I’d been wondering “what if” since sophomore year of high school.
That night, Leon and I ended up studying together in his dorm. He sat cross-legged on the floor with books spread out, scribbling notes furiously while I lay on his bed pretending to read. I wasn’t absorbing a word.
I watched the way his brow furrowed when he focused, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way he chewed on the end of his pen.
And I thought: God, I’m screwed.
“Hey,” he said suddenly, glancing up. “You okay?”
I blinked, caught staring. “What? Yeah. Totally. Fine.”
He tilted his head, suspicious, but didn’t press. He never pressed when I got weird like that. Maybe that’s why I loved him.
Loved him.
The word hit me like a punch to the gut, and I buried my face in the textbook, pretending to read.
The next Sunday brunch was worse.
Not because anything bad happened—because everything was too good.
We joked and laughed, shared bites of pancakes, argued about whether dogs or cats were better (dogs, obviously). And every time he smiled at me, my heart did this ridiculous flip.
“Hey, you’ve got syrup on your lip,” he said casually, reaching across with his thumb.
I froze. Completely froze. His skin brushed mine, soft and warm, and for half a second it felt like the whole world narrowed down to just that touch.
He didn’t even notice, just licked his thumb clean and kept talking about some lecture. Meanwhile I was sitting there trying not to combust.
I excused myself to the bathroom just to breathe.
Staring at my reflection in the café mirror, I whispered, “Get a grip, Claire.”
But it was too late. I’d already fallen years ago.
That week, I couldn’t focus on anything. Not lectures, not assignments, not even late-night ramen runs. Every time I looked at him, I remembered the brush of his thumb against my lip.
I wanted more.
And that terrified me.
The park had always been our place. High school evenings, college afternoons, every time we needed to escape. Just a quiet patch of green with benches and an old oak tree, but it was ours.
So when he texted, meet me at the park?, I didn’t hesitate.
The sun was setting when I got there, painting the sky pink and gold. Leon was already on the bench, staring at the horizon like he was lost in thought.
“Hey,” I said, sitting beside him.
He smiled, but it was faint. “Hey.”
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the rustle of leaves, the distant sound of kids playing. My heart pounded in my chest.
This was it. I could feel it.
And when he finally turned to me, eyes soft and searching, I knew.
--------
The silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. Leon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. I watched his profile in the fading light, the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. My stomach twisted.
Say something, Claire. Anything.
But before I could, he spoke.
“Do you ever think about… back in high school?” His voice was low, almost hesitant.
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
He glanced at me, then back at the ground. “How everyone always thought we were together. How people wouldn’t stop asking.”
A laugh slipped out of me, soft and nervous. “Yeah. How could I forget? It was constant.”
He nodded, lips twitching in something like a smile. “I always wondered why no one believed us when we said we weren’t.”
“Probably because we acted like it anyway,” I said, half-joking, half-aching.
His eyes flicked to mine, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“You ever wish…” he started, then stopped. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Wish we actually were?”
My heart stopped. Then stuttered back to life, too fast, too loud.
This was it. This was the moment Jill told me about. The moment I’d spent years imagining and dreading.
“Yes,” I whispered, before I could talk myself out of it.
The word hung in the air between us. His eyes widened, like he hadn’t expected me to actually say it.
I forced myself to keep going, even as my pulse roared in my ears. “I’ve wished that since… forever, Leon. Since the first time you walked me home. Since the night at the park when you almost—” I broke off, shaking my head. “But I was scared. I didn’t want to lose what we had.”
He stared at me, silent, and panic rose in my chest. Maybe I’d ruined it. Maybe I’d—
“I was scared too,” he said suddenly.
I froze.
He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “God, Claire… I’ve been in love with you since sophomore year. I thought if I told you, I’d mess everything up. So I just… didn’t.”
The world tilted. My chest felt too full, too tight.
“You—you’re serious?” I stammered.
He met my eyes, and I’d never seen him look more certain about anything. “I’ve never been more serious.”
Something in me broke open then—years of holding it in, of pretending, of swallowing down what I felt. And before I could second-guess myself, I leaned forward and kissed him.
It was clumsy at first—our noses bumping, our lips crashing together too fast. But then his hand cupped my cheek, steady and warm, and I melted into him.
It felt like coming home.
When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless and laughing. “Took us long enough.”
He grinned, wide and boyish and so full of joy it made my chest ache. “Yeah. But I think it was worth the wait.”
I leaned my forehead against his, eyes closing. “God, I love you.”
His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, gentle. “I love you too.”
The park lights flickered on, casting us in a soft glow. Kids’ voices faded, crickets started to hum, and there we were—two idiots who’d spent years dancing around the obvious, finally brave enough to step into it.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel scared anymore.
_____
<3
Bonus:
The next morning, I woke up smiling.
Which was ridiculous, because my neck hurt from falling asleep at my desk, and my phone alarm had gone off three times already. But none of that mattered. All I could think about was last night—the way his lips felt on mine, the way his hand lingered against my cheek, the words we’d both been too afraid to say finally out in the open.
I was in love with Leon Kennedy, and he was in love with me.
And somehow, the world hadn’t collapsed because of it.
We went back to the café that Sunday, like always. Same booth, same sunlight streaming through the windows. Only this time, our hands were tangled together on the table, our fingers laced like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It felt strange at first, sitting there like that where people could see us. But Leon looked so content, so at ease, that the nerves melted away.
The waitress raised an eyebrow when she saw us. “Finally decided to admit it, huh?”
Leon flushed scarlet. I just laughed. “Guess so.”
We shared pancakes, like always. He teased me for drowning mine in syrup. I stole bites of his bacon. It was the same as every other Sunday, except… different. Better.
Because now, I didn’t have to pretend anymore.
“Okay, wow,” Jill said later that afternoon when I told her. She sprawled across my bed like a cat, grinning from ear to ear. “About damn time. I was starting to think I’d have to lock you two in a closet or something.”
“Very funny,” I muttered, throwing a pillow at her.
She caught it easily, smirking. “So? Details.”
Heat rushed to my face. “There are no details. We kissed, we confessed, that’s it.”
“Uh-huh.” She narrowed her eyes, then grinned wider. “Bet he was nervous as hell.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “He was.”
She sighed dramatically, clutching the pillow to her chest. “God, I love love.”
I rolled my eyes, but the truth was… so did I.
Chris came to visit the following weekend, and of course, he noticed immediately.
“What’s this?” he asked, crossing his arms as Leon and I walked into the apartment hand-in-hand.
Leon froze like he’d been caught committing a felony. I squeezed his hand, trying not to laugh.
“We’re dating,” I said simply.
Chris’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Leon, then back at me. “Since when?”
“Since now.”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I knew this would happen eventually.”
“Don’t make it weird,” I said, rolling my eyes.
He gave Leon the classic Redfield Big Brother Death Glare™, but Leon stood his ground. To his credit, he even said, “I’ll take care of her.”
Chris muttered something about cleaning his gun and stalked off.
I just grinned, leaning against Leon’s shoulder. “Welcome to the family.”
He groaned. “What did I sign up for?”
“Me,” I said, smiling up at him. “You signed up for me.”
His expression softened. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”
And just like that, the last piece of fear I’d been carrying slipped away.
Later that night, Leon and I walked back to the park. Our park. The air was cool, the grass damp underfoot, the city lights glowing in the distance.
We sat under the old oak tree, shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined.
“Feels different now,” I murmured.
“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head to look at me. “But in a good way.”
I smiled, leaning against him. “In the best way.”
And as the night settled around us, I knew this was only the beginning.
After all these years, after all the fear and hesitation, we’d finally found our way to each other.
The long way—but the right way.
______________________