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Fists on the punching bag crack loud as gunshots in the late-night hush.
Chris can see the bloody prints on the fabric from across the room as Leon scrapes his bare hands raw trying to fight off whatever demons are making his eyes distant and hazy, and he makes his way across the mat. “Hey. Hey, man, look, you can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” Leon doesn’t stop moving, not till Chris makes his move and puts himself bodily between him and the bag. The next punch gets pulled, but it’s still enough to make him grunt when he catches it in the ribs.
Chris catches his wrist, holds it still as he tilts his head to look into his eyes. “This. Pushing yourself till you can’t go anymore, driving yourself crazy thinking if you’re just a little better, you can save everybody.”
“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about me.” He sounds like a wounded animal, lashing out to take anyone in the vicinity with it as it dies. A knife twists in Chris’ chest.
“No? You think I don’t know how it feels, watching everyone around you die because something bigger and stronger and better than you is taking them out one by one? You think I haven’t been there? You know I have.”
Leon looks up at him, grief and rage and under it all, so much pain that it breaks his heart too. “I know. I just-” He looks down at Chris’ hand wrapped around his wrist, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away, just stares at it like he doesn’t know how it got there.
“Just what?” Chris asks, and Leon sways and goes down hard with what might be a sob if it didn’t sound like it was breaking his chest open, “Shit, Leon-” He goes down with him, his knees hitting the floor hard enough that he’s going to feel it later even with the mat. Leon doesn’t say anything, just keeps making those haunting sounds as Chris pulls him in close, letting him bury his face in his chest and wrap his hands tight in his hoodie. He cradles him as carefully as he can, fingers buried in his hair and his other hand pressed to his back. “I know, shh, it’s okay,” he whispers over and over, even though it isn’t. It never will be, because there are cracks in both of them, deep gouges that will never heal, and maybe they’ll get patched back together with bandaids and cigarettes and too much booze, and they’ll keep bleeding out till the day they die. Maybe it just takes a second set of hands to hold them shut for a little while longer.
Leon doesn't look up, just keeps his eyes closed while he shakes apart. He thinks, hysterically, that he wants to die. In general, really, but right now specifically because then he won't have to look at Chris after having a breakdown practically in his lap in a gym in the middle of the night.
"C'mon, let's get you up, I'll take you home," Chris offers, and it catches him off-guard enough that he looks up at him.
"Hotel's on the other side of the city, I’ll call a cab or something," he says, because he's been enough of a pain in the ass tonight.
Chris blinks at him. "I'm not- I'm taking you to my place. Jesus Leon, how much of an asshole do you take me for? I'm not kicking you out by yourself tonight." When he says it like that, it makes something ugly twist up in Leon's chest, that he needs to be watched like he's going to do something stupid like- okay . Yeah that's kind of a fair assessment honestly. Still… he doesn't get that luxury, he thinks, but Chris' hands are on him again, broad and warm through his thin shirt. He tilts into them despite himself. Chris keeps his voice low while he guides Leon out of HQ, out to the parking garage, and into his car. It's not as flashy as he expected, just a sensible little sedan that kind of makes his bulk look just this side of ridiculous, and he wants to laugh when Chris waits for him to buckle up before he starts the car.
"Thought you'd have something a little more..." Leon waves a hand, "Rugged than this."
Chris snorts. "In city traffic? No way. We both know saving the world doesn't pay enough for that kind of gas mileage."
Leon laughs and doesn't wince about how it sounds too loud as it echoes in his head. "Yeah, I guess it's not as glamorous as 007 makes it look."
"I can count how many times I've worn a suit on one hand."
Leon can't stop what comes out of his mouth next, no matter how much he wishes he could: "Yeah? You'd look good in one."
Chris doesn't react like it's weird at all, just gives him a funny little smile that does something strange to Leon's chest. "You think so?"
"Yeah," he says with a shrug, like it's normal to tell your friend they look good in a suit, "You know, you're..." He gestures, like that absolves him of all of this. "You're pretty hot, all things considered."
Chris gives him another of those crooked grins. "Yeah? You're not so bad yourself."
They drive in silence for a while, and Leon lets himself drift until Chris asks what kind of takeout he likes, and things dissolve into a back and forth over the merits of various pizza toppings, and everything feels normal again.
A pizza and a few beers later, and the rerun baseball game - LSU vs. Ohio State, not a match-up either of them gives a shit about but the silence otherwise had started Leon pacing so Chris wouldn't see how hard he'd started shaking again - droning in the background, and neither of them want to be the one to say something first.
“Look,” Leon says, finally, not looking at Chris but not looking at anything else either, “You don’t have to say anything. I’m fine. Just slipped up.”
He’s pathetically grateful that Chris doesn’t look at him either. “I know. I know you did. I’m just saying, maybe it doesn’t have to get to that point, okay? Maybe… I don’t know, let off a little steam before it gets that bad? I’m not a therapist or anything, but I’m pretty good at listening, and I’m worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, I do a lot of shit I shouldn’t. So do you, so pot, kettle, all of that.” Leon rolls his eyes, but Chris keeps talking. “I mean it. I want you to come to me when shit gets bad, because I want to help. Is it really that hard to believe I care about you? That I want to care about your stubborn ass? Because I do.”
Something burns hot in his chest. He doesn’t call it hope because he’s terrified to. “What do you mean?” he asked, quiet and cautious, tense like he’s waiting to move even if he’s frozen in place, “What the fuck does that mean, Redfield?”
“It means - I care about you. I mean, I’ve had a crush on you for literal years at this point, but even without that, you’re… you’re a really great person, even if you don’t see it. You’ve been through so much shit, and you still care about everybody except yourself. So… I care about you, as a friend, as something else, whatever. You can do what you want with that, but it’s not gonna change, so you might as well get used to it.”
Chris still isn’t looking at him, but he’s turning the beer can in his hands around and around. Leon doesn’t know what the fuck to say to that, but that fucking burning ember in his chest is hot enough to set him on fire now. He wants to run, more than anything, but he can’t move. “I don’t really know how to get used to it, but uh- I’ll try, okay?” That- that sounds like an okay response, he’s pretty sure. “And about the other part… Same, actually. I didn’t want things to be different between us if you didn’t feel the same way, so I just didn’t say anything.” He’s used to picking up scraps of comfort where he can, this was never any different. Sitting in Chris’ apartment, or at a bar, drinking beer and watching TV and feeling every touch between them like a lightning bolt, that was fine. He never dared to want more, because he’s used to every bit of peace being yanked away from him if he acknowledges it, so he made do with the scraps of what he could have, and filled in the rest with anonymous bodies and hands and kisses and pretended it was fine.
“Will you look at me?” Chris asks, and his hand is so fucking gentle on his cheek, and it still feels like an electric shock. “This doesn’t have to change anything between us right now. I don’t think it should, not till you’ve slept on it anyway. But uh, look, this is really weird, but you want to sit a little closer?” There’s that damn smile again, the one that got him into this mess in the first place, years ago, and Leon melts for it just the same now. He gives in to the urge he’s had all night and slumps into Chris’ side, his head dropping to rest on his shoulder.
They’re going to have to deal with so much shit figuring things out, but this part? This part is easy, and he closes his eyes as the game buzzer sounds in the background for the final basket. Chris tells him who won, but he’s already too close to sleep to care.