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Leon can't stand it.
He can't stand watching this.
He swirls his glass of whiskey around, watching them across the room. The shorter blond laughs at something the taller brunette says. Chris Redfield gazes at Ethan Winters like he's the center of the universe, a soft look that'd been previously reserved for family, Piers Nivans, and now Ethan Winters. Never for Leon.
The jealousy clings to his chest, syrupy, thick and heavy. It's nearly suffocating. He wants to storm over there and slap that stupid lovesick puppy look off Chris's face, just for the satisfaction of it.
This stupid fucking BSAA banquet makes Leon want to rip his hair out. It's so loud and too crowded, people drifting around in nice suits and gowns carrying plates of tea sandwiches and h'orderves. Leon can't remember what it's for. Any number of things, honestly. Claire had dragged him along as her plus one, somehow invited despite not working with the BSAA, and he took the invitation figuring it'd be a decent break from work.
It is not. At this point the only plus side is the free drinks at the open bar, and even then he's still miserable.
Ethan says something to Chris and now it's Chris's turn to laugh, placing a hand on Ethan's shoulder. Ethan beams up at him, and Leon has the very, very strong urge to splash this drink on Ethan's new BSAA dress blues. Hopefully it was expensive and the whiskey ruins it and he gets in trouble.
That's cruel and he knows it. Ethan hasn't done anything wrong really, it's Chris he's mad at. Chris is who he wants to antagonize, to rile up until he either storms off or presses him against a wall.
Chris's hands are as strong as they look, but despite his bulky appearance, he's quite gentle as he cups Leon's cheek with one hand and presses his hips against the wall with the other .
Leon's watched him snap necks with these hands, watched him punch holes in walls and crack skulls in with them. But yet, he touches Leon like he's glass about to break, and something about that makes Leon's knees weak. Or maybe it's Chris' lips on his neck that's causing that.
Not now. Now is not the time to be thinking about that night, not when he's surrounded by BSAA and DSO agents.
He can't fucking believe Chris let Ethan join the BSAA. It's almost mocking- Look who I get to spend all my time with, Leon! A man who just so happens to be a bioweapon with a stubborn streak! Asshole. And since when did the BSAA start hiring B.O.W.s?
Maybe since Chris fell in love with one.
Leon exhales hard through his nose, hands tightening around his glass.
At the same time, a delicate hand places itself on his shoulder, and he turns to see Claire Redfield raising an eyebrow at him.
Claire looks good tonight, in a lacy red dress (because she wouldn't be caught dead in any other color) with her auburn hair braided into a neat bun. She's wearing her glasses for once, green eyes concerned behind the lenses. "Leon? Are you enjoying the party?"
Leon scoffs, glancing at Ethan and Chris (now talking to Piers, who'd drifted over with a beer in hand, Ethan and Chris still joined at the hip) before responding. "That's a loaded question if I've ever heard one."
Claire rolls her eyes. "You could at least try to enjoy yourself, you know."
Leon raises his glass of whiskey in response and Claire audibly groans. "Not what I mean."
"Not like I have much else to do. All the people here want to do is make small talk, and you know how I hate small talk."
Leon S. Kennedy? You're the man who saved the president's daughter back in the 2000s! You wrote the Kennedy Report!
Yeah no. He's not going to listen to that all night sober.
Claire sighs, taking a sip from her wine glass before giving Leon an annoyed look. "You've been staring at my brother and Ethan all night and moping. It's painfully obvious, anyone could see it."
"Well if they weren't so painfully obvious I wouldn't be. Maybe you should tell your brother to stop pining after a married man."
Claire rolls her eyes. "He's divorced. Chris has some morals, unlike you."
Ah. They're back to arguing, are they? Claire and Leon's relationship has been slowly deteriorating since Shanghai and that whole Penamstan mess. Actually, you could more accurately say since Leon started working for the DSO all those years ago.
Leon hates it. He wants his friend back, but keeps digging the hole deeper and deeper.
"At least my morals don't let me thirst after a married- excuse me, newly divorced man."
Leon's being an asshole and he doesn't care. He's been like this more often than not recently, blunt and bitter and callous. He's always been like that, at least since Raccoon City, but now he almost does it on purpose. When you're always numb, how else are you supposed to feel something? You piss people off, you get purposely reckless on ops for adrenaline, you drink yourself senseless. That's all his life revolves around now. Anger, adrenaline, and alcohol.
If you told 21-year-old Leon that in 23 years he'd be a pathetic, alcoholic asshole, he'd laugh in your face.
And yet here he is, being a douchebag to one of his few friends for kicks.
"Leon, for fuck's sake," The corner of Claire's lip rises into an irritated scowl. "This stupid torch you have for Chris is tearing everyone apart. Go talk to him, or don't. I don't care. But leave me out of it."
"Claire-"
Claire turns on her heel and storms off. Leon watches her pathetically, lips pressed in a thin line. Fuck. Well. He feels worse now. He hates upsetting Claire, even if he'd been bitter on purpose, and the jealousy in his chest mixes with the guilt in his stomach.
Keep fucking up, Kennedy. Maybe by the end of the night you'll be sloshed enough not to remember it!
Leon runs a hand through his hair, meeting Chris's curious gaze from across the banquet hall. Chris raises an eyebrow at him, gesturing at Claire, who'd stormed off to their table to talk to Sherry. Leon just scowls and looks away.
That apparently was a bad move. Chris leaves Ethan talking to Piers and weaves his way through the formally dressed crowd to him. Piers yells something at Chris, waving his prosthetic hand, and Chris just waves him off with a smile.
Leon wants to punch something. Maybe Chris.
"Hey, is everything okay? What was that about?" Chris asks, shouldering his way past a dress-uniformed BSAA soldier. (Leon's a little surprised Chris isn't in his dress blues. And disappointed.)
"Everything is peachy-keen," Leon responds, a little too quickly and too harsh. "Just a little spat."
Chris clearly doesn't believe him. Both him and Claire have this look, raised eyebrows and skeptical eyes. Leon's got it memorized, being on the receiving end of it more times than he'd like to admit. It looks different on Chris than it does on Claire, somehow harsher and softer at the same time.
Chris is quiet for a moment. Leon notes the way his gaze drops to the drink in Leon's hand, the way he tenses at the sight. "You wanna come outside with me for a smoke?"
God, yeah. Maybe a quick make-out session too? Is what he wants to say.
"You know I don't smoke," Is what he says instead.
"You know what I mean, Leon," Chris rolls his eyes. "Come talk to me."
He's not going to be able to escape this is he? Goddamn it. "Alright, fine," He replies, chugging the last of his drink and slamming it down on the table. Chris startles a bit at the noise and Leon takes cruel satisfaction in that.
The satisfaction melts away when Chris mouths to someone and points to the exit, and Leon realizes he's telling his new boytoy where they're going. He has to fight the urge to furrow his brows, keeping his face a neutral mask.
Chris leads them to the parking lot, and then to Chris's nice black Hummer. It's cold out, that telltale about-to-snow feeling thrumming in the air. October snow, maybe, meaning Leon will have to leave soon so he's not riding a Ducati in snow.
Maybe Chris could give him a ride in that case, because Claire sure as hell won't.
Actually scratch that. He doesn't want to be a third wheel.
Chris leans on the passenger door of his Hummer, pulling a pack of Winston brand cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. Neither of them speak until after Chris finishes his first drag, smoke curling into the night air with every word. "Leon, what's going on with you?"
"Nothing's going on with me." Leon crosses his arms over his chest.
"That's bullshit. I know you don't like social gatherings but you've been miserable all night. What's going on?"
Leon feels oddly defensive, and it leeches into his words like lead in water. "It doesn't matter what's up with me. What's up with you and Winters?"
A bizarre look flashes over Chris's features at that, but it's replaced by careful neutrality before Leon can puzzle it out. "He's my date tonight. He wanted to see my speech."
"Uh huh, and that's why you've been ogling his ass all night. Hate to break it to you, Chris, but he's newly divorced. And 11 years younger than you."
Chris makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. "One, we're both grown adults. Two, he's been divorced since late March. You'd know that if you read my texts."
Okay. Admittedly Leon does not read Chris's text messages. He uses the excuse that he's always busy and tired, but in reality, it hurts too much. The fact that Chris cares about him enough to text at least weekly but not enough to notice his feelings or acknowledge what happened after New York stings. (Or maybe he's reading too much into it. Hell if he knows.)
"Why would I care about what Ethan's doing? The guy hates me." And he's all you ever talk about.
"Because I like keeping you updated, Leon, and I want to talk to you. Fucking Christ, you're being an ass tonight."
"Well maybe talk about anything other than him then." Leon says dryly.
The delivery lands and Chris takes a very deep inhale. Now Leon takes cruel satisfaction in how agitated Chris looks, face reddening from the ears inwards. Maybe then Chris will realize why Leon's acting like a petulant toddler who doesn't want to share his toys.
"You know, I never took you for the jealous type, but it looks really bad on you." Chris says. Those pretty brown eyes are narrowed, staring daggers at Leon. "I like Ethan. I'm happy with him. Maybe it'd do you some good to get a boyfriend yourself."
"That's what I hoped New York would do," Leon says before he can stop himself.
Chris freezes. "What?"
Too far. Back up, run, change subjects. Anything but this.
Words tumble out of Leon's mouth before he can stop them, a waterfall of alcohol-soaked nights spent pining away slipping out into callous words. "Don't act like you've forgotten what happened. Hell, you paid for the hotel room. But clearly it meant nothing to you, even if it meant a whole hell of a lot to me."
Chris closes his eyes for a moment and Leon watches the hurt flash across his features. It's silent again for a long time, until Chris says, "I'm sorry, Leon."
"For?"
"That night. It was a mistake." Chris says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "We were both drunk, and coming off adrenaline highs, and I...I should've stopped us. It shouldn't have happened and I'm sorry."
Chris pushes Leon's jacket off, making a pleading noise when Leon tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His lips are chapped but he tastes like the cheap beer he'd been drinking, and kisses like he's about to die. Leon sighs blissfully as Chris kisses his way down his neck, nipping at his ear and making Leon tense in a good way, fingers tracing patterns over his torso.
It shouldn't have happened.
His words hurt more than any of the injuries Leon's ever gotten. More than the bites and stabs and gunshots, more than even the Plagas. It feels like a whole new kind of wound, ripping his heart out and shredding it into little pieces. Chris Redfield had his heart in his hands and gleefully tossed it in the dirt. It shouldn't have happened.
"So it really did mean nothing to you." His voice sounds hollow when he finally does speak.
"Leon," Chris whispers into the dark, voice slurred from drunkenness and bliss. Despite that, his name on Chris' lips sounds almost reverent, a prayer. Leon melts into his touch. "You're beautiful."
Chris averts his gaze, something shimmering in those stupid brown eyes. "I wouldn't say that, but...I'm so sorry Leon. I never...I didn't realize you had feelings for me at the time. I thought it was a spur of the moment thing, and I was still recovering from Lanshiang and Piers..."
"That's all it was to you? Spur of the moment ? A fucking distraction?" Leon wants to curl up in a hole and die. This hurts, knife twisting in the wound and dumping salt on it. "Do you have any idea how many years I've spent dropping hints, hoping maybe you'd give me the time of day?"
"I don't know how many times you want me to repeat it. I'm sorry. I would've talked to you about it sooner but you never answer your fucking phone." There's anger in Chris's voice now too, a low warning tone saying ' watch yourself'. Eerily close to the way he speaks to his subordinates, the tone before Captain Chris makes an appearance.
Leon winces. Fuck. Isn't this what he wanted? To rile Chris up? There's no trace of what Leon had thought was romantic tension the past few times they'd argued- now it's just cold. Empty.
He goes silent, all words dying in his throat as Chris takes another drag and resumes his speech.
"You fucking wonder why everyone is always pissed at you or doesn't invite you to anything. You're always either busy, or tired, or drunk, and no matter what you're an asshole to anyone around you. You push people away, only to get upset when they leave!"
Chris is nearly yelling now and Leon hates the way his throat tightens. Coming to this banquet was a really bad idea. Is it too late to back out now?
"You push and you push and you push and it's never enough for you, is it Leon?" Chris snaps. "You don't care! This apathy shit hurts more people than just you! Claire misses you! She invited you to this so you could hang out with us and you've done nothing but mope and drink yourself to death!"
Leon watches Chris as he steps forwards, pointing an accusatory finger in Leon's direction. "Sherry misses you! I miss you, Leon! I want to be friends with you, and I'm sorry I don't feel the same, I really am. But you need to grow the fuck up and understand that you can't walk all over people and expect them to keep coming back."
Leon's gaping and he knows he is. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears, but feels cold at the same time.
Chris is right.
He knows he is.
It doesn't hurt any less.
Chris huffs, running a hand through his short hair. His voice is quieter now, smaller. "You can't...expect me to hold onto feelings I once had when you treat me and my sister like shit, Leon. I got tired. I moved on. You should too."
And just like that, it's over. Light floods into the parking lot from the banquet hall, and both men glance over.
Ethan Winters stands in the doorway, gaze flitting between the two of them like he's trying to understand a math problem. "Uh, hey," He says, in that demure tone Leon hates. "Is everything alright between you two?"
"Fine," Leon snaps.
Chris glares at him.
Ethan gives him a curious look. "Oooo-kay, well. Chris, babe, your speech is in five minutes, if you wanna come inside and get ready."
Leon cringes at the "babe". Chris straightens and nods, any trace of anger wiped away like condensation on a mirror. Gone except for slight traces in the tense of his shoulders, the heaviness of his gait. They make eye contact as Chris drops his cigarette butt and squishes it out with his shoe, and it's so heavy it's suffocating.
Chris turns and walks inside. Ethan says something to him and Chris nods, and then he disappears back into the crowd.
Leon hardly registers Ethan's presence. Instead, he makes a beeline for his Ducati. He needs to leave, go home, drink himself stupid until he lands in the hospital or passes out, or both. Just go somewhere other than here, where the memories and accusations hang in the air like ghosts. Goddamn, if these walls could talk.
He's gotten his leg swung over the bike seat when Ethan shouts his name, jogging over. "Leon! Wait!"
Leon's about to do the exact opposite and tear out of here like a bat out of hell, but Ethan stands in front of his bike so he can't. "What do you want?"
"I want to talk," Ethan says. "Please."
"Little late for that, I've exhausted my talk allowance for the day." Leon replies, turning the key in the ignition and getting in position to start the engine.
Ethan doesn't move, entirely unphased when the engine rumbles to life.
"Ethan Winters, fucking move or I'm going to run you over."
"I'll just heal from it," Ethan responds dryly, crossing his arms. "Not human anymore, remember? B.O.W?"
He's just Chris's type, Leon thinks. Blond, thin, and too snarky for his own good.
"Listen, Sergeant Winters, " He spits out Ethan's new title with enough venom it might as well need an antidote. His hand hovers over the clutch, foot over the gearshift. "I couldn't give a rat's ass about what you have to say to me. I'm tired. I'm going home."
Once again, no reaction. Either Ethan is very good at neutral expressions or he's just taking all this in stride, and both options piss Leon off. Actually, everything pisses him off right now.
"Calm down, Leon, Jesus. I just want to talk." Ethan's voice is calm and collected and Leon wishes he could be. "Also, I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be driving an expensive bike like that drunk."
"Won't be the first time, won't be the last."
"Have you considered going to rehab, Leon?"
Yes and no. Heavy emphasis on the no. "Why does it fucking matter?"
Ethan is apparently very good at handling agitated people who continually bitch at him. Leon half wonders if that's Chris's doing, or maybe a remnant from his marriage to Mia. Either way it's not his business, and a scowl stretches across his lips as Ethan rolls his eyes.
"It fucking matters because it's upsetting my boyfriend and his sister," Ethan retorts.
"Y'know, your boyfriend has an alcohol problem too," Leon snaps. It's a low blow and Ethan flinches.
" Had." For a moment, something like anger flits across Ethan's face, before it melts back into carefully schooled neutrality. Leon wonders if Mia taught him that trick too. "Piers convinced him to go to rehab years ago. I'm not here to discuss your alcohol problem though."
"Then what are you here to discuss? Because I would love to be in my hotel room by now."
"I'm here to talk about you and Chris. No- don't give me that look."
Leon's scowl grows. There's something (guilt) that sends a pang through his chest. Has he really been that much of a dick to Chris and Claire that Ethan feels the need to intervene? Ethan "hates confrontation unless it's with other bioweapons" Winters? Christ.
Ethan sighs. "Look, I'm going to be honest. I know what happened in New York. Chris told me."
"No offense, Winters, but I'd rather not discuss my sex life with you."
Ethan snorts. "Do you think I want to be having this conversation either? Anyways, I know what happened. And I also know that it's eating Chris up inside that you don't talk to him. He's tried to apologize, you know."
"I'm well aware, and I don't want his bullshit apologies."
"They're not bullshit. He genuinely feels bad, and it's not his problem if you can't see that." Ethan crosses his arms and it looks uncomfortable, eight prosthetic fingers stiffly curving around his arms. "You need therapy."
"I'm aware." Leon replies drily. "It's complicated."
"It's really not."
Ethan's always so fucking matter-of-fact. Leon would say Chris should pull that stick out of Ethan's ass, but he has enough self awareness to realize he's the one with the stick up his ass here. Shame floods his cheeks as the burn of anger slowly fades away.
Leon is 44 years old. 44 fucking years old and he's acting like a jealous teenager.
He deflates against his Ducati, leaning on the handlebars and cradling his head in his hands. "The fuck am I supposed to do?"
Ethan sighs. "Get therapy, for starters. I have a therapist who works with BSAA and DSO people, I can give you her number."
"I'll just ask around."
"Of course you will," Ethan replies, but there's no real malice to it. Just a dry annoyance. "I really think you should talk to Chris and Claire. They're both hurt. Maybe not now, but when you're sober and ideally not hungover."
"I'm usually some form of intoxicated, so that's asking for a lot."
Ethan glares at him, but it's more like a disappointed father than angry. Leon kind of wishes he was angry. Anger is easier than pity. Pity worms its way into your heart, makes you feel like less, like something's wrong with you, regardless if there actually is or not.
"Alright, fine. Whenever you're up to it. Just fucking talk to them," Ethan says.
Leon just nods. The post-argument adrenaline has faded, leaving him tired. The haze from the alcohol isn't helping much either.
"Good," Ethan replies, and it sounds genuine. "Do you want a ride? You really shouldn't be driving tipsy, and I doubt Claire wants to drive you right now."
"I doubt Chris does either."
"Yeah, well, who's fault is that?"
Leon huffs. Ethan snorts.
"Maybe Piers can give me a ride," Leon says. Him and Piers aren't the closest and never have been, but he can't say he has a real problem with him. Maybe just some long-dead jealousy.
Ethan nods. "Good. We should go in, Chris' speech starts soon and it'd look bad if we missed it."
...✵...
Chris' speech is long-winded and Leon zones out through the entire thing. He doesn't go back to his table, instead standing at the back of the banquet hall next to Piers Nivans, who's nursing a prissy looking cocktail. He pointedly ignores the glares he's getting from Claire, and the worried looks from Sherry.
Ethan stands just behind Chris, staring at him like he hung the goddamn stars. Leon wants to vomit.
Piers notices too, huffing into his Cosmopolitan. "They're always that bad, if you're wondering."
"I wasn't, but thanks."
Leon glances over at Piers. The ex-sniper looks just as jealous as Leon, but sadder, a resigned look in his amber eyes. It's no secret that Piers and Chris were something once. Piers has a prosthetic arm and a blind eye to prove it, Chris had the alcoholism. Leon doesn't know the details and he's not sure if he wants to, but it's strangely reassuring that Piers feels similarly. The joys of sympathy. He can't imagine what it's like for him though, given Piers and Chris work together.
"I swapped to training cadets instead of field work because of those two," Piers says suddenly. Leon raises an eyebrow as he speaks. "They cannot keep their hands off each other, and Ethan's all Chris fucking talks about. I got sick of it. Caught them in Chris' office and that was the last straw."
Leon snorts. "Tell me about it."
Piers sighs. "You too?"
The statement is vague, ambiguous, but Leon knows exactly what he means. You fell for him too? Let him put his hands on you because it made you feel something, and then ached when you realized nothing would come of it?
It's really sad that this is a common thing with Chris. It's gotta be something about his looks, his magnetic personality, if every fucking person he talks to falls in love with him.
"Yeah," Leon breathes.
"Fuck." Piers leans his head back on the wall, closing his eyes. "There's just something about Chris Redfield, huh?" It's more of a statement than a question.
"You can say that again."
Piers laughs, and for some reason it makes Leon smile.
"Chris is just so fucking...hardheaded. And oblivious."
"I think oblivious is an understatement," Leon says drily. "I've been pining after this dickhead since 2013 and he had no idea." And he had sex with me, so there's that too.
"2010, for me." There's something akin to a smile on Piers' lips. It's kinda nice. Leon doesn't know why and he's going to blame it on the copious amounts of alcohol and not nearly enough food. "When he came to offer me the BSAA job I couldn't stop staring at his pecs and going, Jesus this man is hot."
That gets Leon to laugh for the first time this evening. This whole whiplash of emotions thing is not fun, but he'll take whatever this awkward thing is with Lt. Piers Nivans over the fighting in the parking lot.
"Did I ever tell you what happened when Chris and Rebecca came to get me in Colorado?"
"You didn't, but Chris did."
"He doesn't keep secrets from you, does he?" Leon asks before he even thinks about it.
"Nope," Piers replies, popping the P. He grins for a minute, glancing up at Chris finishing his speech, but it quickly falls into his usual scowl. "Well, not before Sergeant Winters, anyways."
His tone is bitter and cold and harsh. Leon's heard Piers get angry before, hell, had it directed at him, but not like this. He's never seen Piers Nivans jealous.
Is this what he looks like? Scowls and furrowed brows and hurt eyes?
Leon can't bring himself to look at Piers. Instead he stares resolutely at his drink.
Suddenly the people in the room are all applauding, and Ethan has his hand on Chris' shoulder again, and Leon realizes the speech is over and he's heard none of it. Not that it matters. It probably wasn't anything important anyways, some bullshit about duty and the BSAA and bioterrorism, the same bullshit Leon hears day in and day out.
Chris glances over at him and Piers from the stage, and his smile falters. It's quick, a blink and you miss it thing, but Leon and Piers are both trained not to miss.
Piers nudges his shoulder and Leon glances at him. "Hey. You uh, need a drive home? I've only had one drink, this is nonalcoholic," He says, raising the glass of virgin Cosmopolitan.
Piers' soft smile is earnest and it throws Leon off. He's cute. (Another instance of Chris having a type for thin guys, he thinks bitterly.) A little young, but then again, clearly Piers doesn't have qualms about that. Leon can't help but give him a once over glance, smiling a little at the way his ears pink when Leon meets his eyes.
"Yeah," Leon replies. "I'd love that."
"Cool," Piers says. They leave it at that.
They don't linger long. Admittedly, neither of them are really people people, and the rest of this party seems to consist of drunk soldiers awkwardly trying to dance. Had Ethan not stopped him, Leon would've been home in bed by now, and it looks like Piers feels the same way as he scowls out at the crowd.
"Hey," Leon sets a hand on Piers' shoulder. Piers startles a little, but settles back into his usual expression once he realizes who it is. "If you're ready to go, I am too."
Piers raises an eyebrow and his eyes flit back to the crowd. "Should we say bye to Chris and everyone?"
"Just fucking talk to them."
"Nah."
Piers chuckles. "Alright then."
They weave their way through the crowd, Leon following as Piers shoulders his way through. It's kinda funny, seeing this skinny (but muscular) guy push people out of the way. The people he pushes don't seem to mind, probably because of Piers' status as Captain Redfield's right hand man. While Leon gets the paparazzi-type notoriety, Piers commands respect, with the battle scars to prove it.
Chris and Ethan stare at them as they leave. Leon can't help himself. He flips Chris Redfield off, grinning at the surprised and indignant look on his face. "How's it feel, asshat?"
Chris scowls.
Maybe Leon's drunk, actually he is drunk and he can tell by the way his steps falter, but this makes him laugh almost hysterically. Piers gives him a confused look as they walk to his car. "What's so funny?"
"I flipped Chris off," Leon replies between giggles. "He looked so pissed!"
Piers shakes his head, smiling, unlocking his red Camaro with one hand and opening the door with the other. "You're something, Agent Kennedy."
"I try."
Leon crumples into the seat and leans his head on the window as they drive. The drive is quiet, neither of them speaking, and Leon can practically feel himself deflating. Tonight was fucking awful. He half considers asking Hunnigan to assign him a mission tomorrow as a distraction, but he'd promised himself a week's leave, so that's not happening. Maybe he can drink himself to death in his apartment and ignore phone calls all week.
Piers taps on the steering wheel along with the song on the radio. It's painfully awkward.
"Hey. So um, what's the whole thing between you and Chris?" Piers asks suddenly.
"I thought you said he didn't keep secrets from you," Leon mutters, watching the world streak by in lights, like paint strokes of an impressionist painting.
"He kept a couple. He gets this weird look every time you're mentioned."
Of course he fucking does. "It's simple, really. I made the mistake of sleeping with him, thinking it meant something, and it clearly didn't."
"Oh."
Piers gives Leon a sideways glance, like he thinks Leon won't see it. Instead, their eyes meet, and it's not awkward so much as weird. Piers looks like he's deep in thought, gnawing on his lip as he looks back at the road. Leon's about to ask what he's thinking about when he speaks. "We were a thing. Before Lanshiang, I mean. And a little after, once I came back."
'Once he came back' puts it lightly. In 2014, a year after he went missing, Piers was found on the Northernmost coast of the South China sea by a group of fishermen. How he'd lived is still a mystery, but all Leon knows is that the BSAA took him in, amputated his arm, and developed some kind of immunosuppressant to keep the C-Virus at bay. But the damage had been done, and Leon could see it in the way Piers carried himself, all tense shoulders and sideways glances with his one functional eye.
"What kind of thing?" He finds himself asking, before he can bite his tongue.
"Uh, it's complicated...well no, it's not. We were kind of dating, just in secret because god forbid Chris get busted in bed with his partner." Piers spits out the last part with a surprising amount of venom. "Apparently his reputation doesn't fucking matter now."
"Apparently. We're just the Hearts Broken By Chris Redfield club, huh?" Leon replies, smirking at his own dumbass joke.
Piers snorts. "Yeah. Put that on a t-shirt."
"Ha!"
The two exchange a smile. It feels like their own little secret, conspiratorial, and Leon...kind of likes it. He didn't think anyone else had to deal with this shit, nonetheless Piers. He decides then he likes having some secrets.
The rest of the drive is still in silence, but this time it's pleasant. Leon's still drunk off his ass, but he'll sleep it off, just like he does every other thing. It's not long until they're at the hotel and Leon stumbles his way out of the car, Piers rushing over and catching him with an arm like a gentleman. They're close enough Leon can smell his cologne, and he chuckles. "Trying to flirt with me already?"
"What- no? Leon, you're drunk. Come on." Piers rolls his eyes, which just makes Leon laugh more, and he ends up being led to his room like a sad puppy. Fine by him, honestly. The floor feels like it's shifting underneath him and suddenly he's nauseous and leaning on Piers' shoulder as they ride the elevator.
"You okay?" Piers asks.
"Dandy."
"I doubt that," Piers says drily, but his arm comes up to prop Leon up by the shoulder. "We'll get you some water once we get to your room."
"Yayyyy."
Piers chuckles. The door opens and Leon staggers his way to his hotel door, fumbling for his keycard in his pockets, all the while Piers hovers like a nervous mother hen. It's kinda funny. Everything is funny right now and Leon has the unsurprising revelation that he really needs to sober up. It's fine.
He's so uncoordinated that Piers ends up taking the card and unlocking the room. Leon collapses onto the queen bed face first, groaning as the world spins. He squeezes his eyes shut and stays like that, listening as a sink turns on and then off a few moments later, followed by footsteps and a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You think you can stomach some water?"
Leon just groans in response.
"C'mon, you'll feel better. Have you eaten anything recently?"
"Um," Leon mumbles into the blankets. "I had a sandwich at lunch."
He can practically feel Piers' displeased stare. It's too much like Chris and Claire, begging him to fucking take care of himself, and suddenly the urge to vomit returns in full force. He's expecting some kind of disapproval in Piers' voice, but gets something gentle instead. "I'll go down to reception and ask if they have crackers or something. Will you be okay by yourself?"
"Mm. I'll be fine." He says, like a liar.
Piers is quiet for a minute. Leon almost thinks he's left, but then he feels Piers squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. Jesus he's touch starved. "I'll be right back."
Leon wants to say something bitter, something he'll regret. A ' fuck off, I'm a grown man', or a 'what do you want in return for this?' But instead, he just mumbles, "Alright."
The door closes as Piers leaves the room, and Leon finds himself in uncomfortable silence. He forces himself to sit up for long enough to strip to his undershirt and boxers and take some shaky sips of water before laying back down under the covers and yearning for...something. He's not actually sure what. Chris, probably, if he could think straight.
It shouldn't have happened.
Leon sighs bitterly, rolling over onto his side and facing the wall. He yanks the covers up to his neck, like it can somehow replace the memory of Chris' hands on his body, of the way his lips had tasted like india pale ale. It can't and he knows it, but a man can dream.
He wonders what Chris is doing right now. Did he go home? Is he still at the party, drifting around with Ethan Winters clinging to his every word? Does he ever think about Leon?
Whatever. He doesn't fucking care anymore. He's drunk and tired. He wants to sleep and forget all of this like it's some bad dream.
Piers is only gone for maybe five minutes somehow. He comes back into the room brandishing a 10-pack of Ritz like a trophy, tossing it on the bed next to Leon. "Managed to hassle the desk lady into giving me some Ritz. If you're up to it, try to eat those, it'll help absorb some of the alcohol."
"Why are you doing this?"
Piers blinks at him. "What? Doing what?"
"This. Driving me here and fucking...helping. What's in it for you?" Leon spits. There's always something in it for the other person, he's learned. For Ada, it was protection, some innocent cop to manipulate, and then later an agent to use as a distraction. A buffer. For Chris, it was a distraction. Affection is a dangerous tool in the hands of the wrong people.
"Leon, you're kinda pathetic sometimes, you know that?" Piers says. "I'm helping because I want to. That's it. I'm leaving in a bit anyways, I gotta get home before it snows."
He merely huffs in response. "Bullshit."
"It's not." Piers leans on the wall Leon is facing, arms crossed over his chest. Leon's gaze drifts to the Purple Heart medal on his chest, next to countless others for shit like bravery and marksmanship. Had he wanted to die, to sacrifice himself for Chris? Would he have done it again if he'd known Chris would move on?
"Okay." Leon mutters. He doesn't have an appetite anymore and can't look at Piers, not when he sees the scars, not when he only thinks about Chris Redfield when he sees him. "Thanks. You can leave now, if you want."
Piers hesitates, before just nodding. There's an odd expression on his face that Leon doesn't have the energy to puzzle out. "Well, you have my number if you need anything in the morning. Get some sleep, Kennedy."
"Mhm."
He's on the receiving end of one last lingering look before Piers leaves him alone. The silence is deafening, and for once Leon's glad he's drunk. At least it'll be easier to sleep, and he won't have to remember his dreams in the morning, or hopefully this whole night (but that's wishful thinking).
He doesn't eat the crackers. He tosses them on the bedside table and flicks off the lamp, drowning himself in darkness, before rolling back over and curling up in the fetal position.
"I got tired. I moved on. You should too."
Yeah. Okay.
Easy for him to say.
Leon falls asleep like that, and when he wakes up from a fitful sleep in the morning to three texts from Chris and two from Claire, he ignores them. He calls Hunnigan, says he changed his mind on leave, and gets assigned to some babysitting mission in Munich. That's fine. At least he'll be far, far away from Chris, who's still sorting out that Connections mess on the homefront.
He'll try to move on. He knows he won't, but he'll try.
He knows it won't work though. You don't just move on from Chris Redfield.
Whatever.
It's fine.