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Maybe far away in the past, Leon might have had wishes or regrets to write about, voice them out before pouring himself a drink over them. Maybe in those moments where the world feels like the most unfair place, Leon would have thought of ending it all too. But right now, in this moment, as rain taps softly against the windows and its steady pitter-patter deepens the sombre mood, a warm body embraces another. Sheets rustle, quiet moans blend with the storm outside. And Leon wouldn’t say that, at this age, he regrets anything at all.
Beneath tangled sheets, warmth finds warmth. Fingers trace familiar skin as soft breaths mingle, as if even the storm outside moves in time with them.
And in this quiet, rain soaked moment. held close, heartbeat against heartbeat. Two hands intertwine as the headboard of the bed rattles against the wall, the quiet thud lost amidst the throes of passion. Murmurs of sweet nothings drift between the two bodies, tender and breathless.
“Chris…”
Warm breath fans across the broad shoulders of the man above him, drawing soft, helpless sounds from the one beneath.
“Let it go, Leon… I’ve got you”
And Leon did let go, now knowing he is not alone, he has someone who will catch him, someone who will wait for him. For all the shit the world put him through, if this is the price then Leon would do it all over again.
This isn’t the first time they’ve explored one another. In their younger years, they would ravage each other like beasts, as though anything less would be a disservice to the fire that burned between them.
But now, at the old age of forty-nine and fifty-three, some nights are different. Instead of urgency, there is calm. Instead of hunger, there is reverence. They hold each other longer. Their fingers intertwine. They make love slowly, as if savoring something precious rather than chasing it.
They are no longer in a hurry. Perhaps age demands that. Or perhaps love has simply deepened into something quieter, steadier.
At the final, breathless moment, Chris kisses Leon as if it is both the first and the last time. Knowing his husband will soon leave on a mission of his own, he lingers there and rolling his thumb gently over the gold band on Leon’s finger before lifting his hand to press a reverent kiss against it.
He understands how much this mission means. It could very well be the end for him if they fail to find a cure for their predicament. No matter how Chris tries to reason with it, the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The idea of leaving Leon to search for a cure to the T-virus alone weighs heavily on him, especially now that he, himself is a fugitive, unable to move and help freely. After Romania, he made a name for himself on the BSAA’s hit list afterall.
Seeing the dark marks on Leon’s neck, trailing down his chest and curling around his shoulders, Chris’s expression twists with anguish. Even after everything, after giving their all. Is this really what they deserve?
“Don’t forget,” he murmurs softly, “you’re not alone in this, Leon.”
Chris’s lips brush over the dark scar on Leon’s neck as though it were something sacred, something worthy of reverence rather than shame. He lets his mouth linger there, warm and unhurried, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of Leon’s neck, thumb stroking slow, grounding circles against his skin.
Leon’s breath hitches, a quiet, fragile sound. His mouth trembles faintly, and for a moment he can only close his eyes and lean into the touch. On nights like these, words always seem to abandon him, leaving behind only the raw thrum of feeling in his chest.
It has been a long, difficult journey, learning to accept love without conditions, without invisible lines waiting to be crossed. Love in its purest form. The kind where he doesn’t have to earn it, doesn’t have to bleed for it. The kind where he knows, without doubt, that there is someone he can lean on.
His free hand rises to Chris’s jaw, fingertips grazing the familiar roughness of stubble before tracing the line of his cheek. They slip into his short hair, curling there, gently tugging him down for another kiss, slow and unhurried.
No matter their age, they still kiss as though it is the first time, a quiet rediscovery of something precious. Chris exhales against his mouth, and Leon answers by deepening the kiss, their breaths mingling, steady and warm.
Mission or not, this is their sanctuary. The space carved out between heartbeats and whispered promises. And no one, not the world, not the past, not the battles waiting beyond dawn. will take this away from them.
With the sound of rain and wind whispering against the windows, and the room wrapped in shadow, they sink back into each other’s embrace, holding on as though the darkness itself cannot reach them as long as they remain entwined.
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“When will you be back?” Chris asks softly, his hand drifting down Leon’s spine in a slow, absent motion. They are both exhausted from the long night behind them, bodies heavy, the quiet between them no longer heated but subdued and comforting in its stillness.
Leon keeps his eyes closed, his head resting against Chris’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath his ear. “I can’t say for sure,” he murmurs. “Another body was found recently. I have to check it out… see where it leads this time.”
There is no drama in his voice, only the weight of inevitability.
From the intel they’ve gathered and the growing number of cases labeled as Raccoon City Syndrome. There is all the more reason for Leon to see this through. Each report feels like an echo from a past that refuses to stay buried.
Raccoon City. Even after twenty eight years, the name still lingers like smoke in the lungs of its survivors. The sudden emergence of RCS among those who endured the T-virus feels almost cruel, as if the city has reached across decades to remind them that survival was never the same as escape. As though the disaster of that day is determined to claim something from them, even now.
“Keep in contact with me,” Chris says quietly. “And let’s not take these off this time. I want you back, Leon. Nothing other than that.”
His hand slides from Leon’s back to the ring on his finger, his thumb brushing over the familiar gold band as if committing its weight to memory.
It has always been their own personal ritual. Whenever one of them left for a mission, they would exchange rings. If the worst were to happen, at least a part of the other would be laid to rest alongside them. It was never spoken of lightly, never without that silent understanding of what their lives demanded.
But this time, because of how much this mission means. They abstained..
Leon cracks one eye open, a faint smirk touching his lips. “You’re being really sentimental,” he mutters. “Don’t cry on me now, Redfield.”
“Leon…” Chris admonishes gently, though his voice remains low and steady, still capable of sending a quiet shiver down Leon’s spine, even now.
The humor fades as quickly as it came.
“Promise me you’ll stay in contact,” Chris says again, more firmly this time. Not a command. But a plea of a lover.
His hand rises to Leon’s neck, fingers brushing over the dark scars once more. Leon eyes soften. He pushes himself up slowly, turning to face Chris fully, their knees brushing as he intertwines their fingers. The gesture is steady, grounding.
“I will. Don’t worry, Chris. I promise,” he replies, his voice still hoarse from earlier.
“Yeah?” Chris answers, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth as he squeezes Leon’s hand. “You better. Jill and her partner invited us over for another get together.”
Leon quirks a brow, a small smile pulling at his lips. The normalcy of it, the thought of something as ordinary as a gathering with friends feels almost foreign after everything they’ve been discussing.
“A get together?” he repeats lightly.
“Yeah,” Chris says. “Apparently settling down hasn’t made them any less persistent. Both of them are always planning something. Maybe that’s what happens when you say screw the world and start living for yourself,” Chris mutters.
Leon chuckles softly, lazily tracing small circles over his husband’s chest, fingers drifting through the faint dusting of hair there. The gesture is absentminded, intimate in its familiarity rather than heat.
“Maybe after this… we should finally take that long-awaited vacation?” he suggests, glancing up at Chris through his lashes. His expression is serene, hopeful.
Chris studies him for a moment, as if committing that look to memory. Then he pulls Leon closer, rolling him gently back onto the mattress. His lips press slow, lingering kisses along Leon’s neck.
“We’ll do more than that, love,” he murmurs against his skin, voice low but certain. “We’ll take the time we should’ve taken years ago.”
Tomorrow, he will uncover the truth.
Tomorrow, he will fight again, for himself and for Sherry.
Tomorrow, he will give everything he has.
All for this man.
He will come back home.