Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leon would say he has a routine for the most part. He gets up, has breakfast and coffee, brushes his teeth, gets dressed, and hopes for the best.

Then Ethan shows up and, well, now that's a part of things.

He knows Chris fine, has known him for years, actually, but Ethan feels like a different can of worms to him. He's inherently odd, Leon would die to say. All of Leon's friends, foes, acquaintances are battle-hardened, scarred and battered and on their last leg in one way or another; Ethan acts like he can barely handle the prospect of holding a gun anymore, the smell of burning gunpowder makes him physically sick, and, every once in a while, Leon catches his eyes darting frantically around the room. He's not battle-hardened, he's terrified. Leon knows with time that things will get better, in a cruel sense of the word. But right now, Ethan's entire world is flipped ass-up, and he's still processing the emotions.

When Leon first met him after he was extracted from Romania, he was nothing but a frail figure, bits and pieces of his body missing, curled up and unmoving. He smelled, a foul rotting stench that you couldn't fucking ask him to name. He kept muttering a name: Rose. Ethan had a little girl, Leon knew, and he knew she was safe, alive— Chris had taken her. It was a bit of a silly sight, a large man such as Chris holding a small, fragile thing such as a little baby girl.

Leon had heard whispers of the Mold, saw it in Duvley— but a conscious survivor of it was new. Most survivors of the Mold, at least, the ones they knew, lost their fucking marbles, couldn't die. It reminded it of himself, battling the Plagas in Spain and barely making it out with his own mind intact.

Chris goes to med to talk to Ethan frequently. Mostly asking him what he remembers, how he's feeling, how he wants to be feeling. Leon doesn't eavesdrop on these conversations on purpose, he just happens to walk in at the inopportune times. Ethan is quiet, mute, almost; his stare is blank and borderline lifeless. He only answers questions he feels like he has to. He always asks about Rose and asks when he can see her.

The BSAA's medical staff ask a lot of questions and do an equal lot of tests. Most of it is only blood samples. He walks in at one point to an exasperated look on Ethan's face, incredulous as the nurse takes what must be her fifth sample of Ethan's blood. Ethan looks at Leon, a look on his face that's worn and hurting and desperate. Leon opens his mouth to speak—

"Nurse Pointer, that's enough," Chris cuts in from behind, placing a hand on Leon's shoulder and gently shuffling past him. "Take the samples you have."

"Ah, Captain, but this is—"

"Enough," Chris interjects, sharp and defensive? Leon and Ethan exchange a look, an odd and mutual sentiment of confusion as the nurse scurries away. Chris doesn't get that defensive with just anybody. Both of them sit up when Chris's attention lands back on them.

"Tryin' to wring me dry," Ethan rasps, his voice grating from underuse. It's the first time Leon has heard him say a full sentence, and his eyebrows raise on the line of his forehead. His voice is something delicate, a quiet thing. Chris's laugh in turn is a soft chuff, one large hand reaching into a pack on his back to paw out a water bottle clumsily. It's clearly not cold, but Ethan still takes it and gratefully sips from it, whatever color he's able to have returning to his cheeks.

"Yeah, they'll do that to you," Chris sighs, zips his pack back up and points his thumb towards the door. "Just tell one of the nurses if you need me. I'll be in my office."

Chris smiles easy, though Ethan's returning smile is tight, still an air distrustful of the man he thought may have killed his wife. The awkward tension between them stretches on for an inordinate amount of time; time Leon isn't particularly fond of.

"He wants you to get him out of his paperwork," Leon butts in impulsively, earning a betrayed look in turn. Thankfully, the tension lifts a little, and Ethan's guarded expression turns into something easier, a light smirk. Leon continues, "Paperwork he's been putting off for two weeks—"

"Okay! Paperwork!"

Leon doesn't know how it happens— or when, really— and it takes a lot of building up, but Ethan kisses Chris one day, Leon kisses Chris the next, and suddenly they're both kissing Chris. The conversation isn't hard— though it's awkward, and Ethan avoids eye contact with Leon the whole time. It's not an everyday arrangement, but it's comfortable. Chris is comfortable. He accommodates the both of them and makes it relatively normal-feeling.

They aren't necessarily dating each other ("yet," Claire finds herself teasing easily. Leon wishes he had more morals, because throwing a wooden spoon at your best friend is surely a hazard,) but Chris is dating the both of them. A majority of the time, they all spend around each other. Leon has some company to get used to, something he hasn't had to do in quite a while, having hung around the same band of people for a majority of his thirties. 

When Ethan gets out of med, the color having returned to him and the Mold not making people in the next bed sneeze, he stays with Chris. When Leon isn't trying not to die to the next BOW they fight, he stays with Chris. All together they spend a majority of their time at Chris's. It's the most convenient, and Leon likes being there. It smells of spice and floral laundry detergent, and Chris is a presence that ties it together: Leon's own place is cramped and cold, stale-smelling and unwelcoming, and though Leon means to buy some decor, his life has been in the way; so he hasn't, leaving his space depressingly blank and colorless.

Leon and Ethan butt heads insistently. There's something about their similarities and differences that hasn't exactly clicked since Ethan's opened up a little more. It's two puzzle pieces forced together, odding out the other pieces. It's not even that they don't get along, Leon is just prickly and biting, and Ethan is odd softened out edges, jagged at his worst.

The first time they spend time alone, it's because they arrive to Chris's at the same time and find him not there. So, instead, Leon drags Ethan down to mess wordlessly, fills his tray with six different types of breakfast food, and gets a mug of coffee with so much cream and sugar that it'd kill a diabetic.

He notices Ethan's quiet from where he stabs his eggs, eyes downcast and face gloomy. He knows that look, and it's the look of someone who's slept like shit— a look he's gotten from Chris somewhat frequently. Even so, he tries his luck and pokes the sleeping bear.

"What crawled up your ass and died, Winters?" Good start, Kennedy.

Ethan's eyes shoot up, sharp and icy, a sudden flare of spores scattering from his body: A warning. Leon throws his hands up defensively, eyebrows furrowed in a startled expression. 

"Fuck me for asking," he chuckles dryly, cringes internally, and cleans his plate in the process. Ethan nods slowly, following Leon's motions, and chews oddly on a strip of bacon until Leon is 100% sure he's sucked all the flavor out of it.

The second time they spend alone together is after a mission. Leon's being sent to med, since he happens to be infamous for hiding his injuries (and his back lives to tell the tale.) He's sitting on an examination table, nearly bent in half while a nurse probes at him, pressing her fingers into the divots of his back to make sure there's no fracturework. Who he doesn't expect to see is Ethan fucking Winters, opposite him, with an IV jammed into the crook of his elbow. He looks just as exhausted as the first day of testing. Luckily this time, it just looks like a bag of saline. Probably protocol, to make sure he's eating and drinking— though, around Chris, he sure as hell is.

"Someone get a little rough at playtime?" Ethan asks, stretching out the length of his elbow slowly until it pops.

"I had special friends today," Leon retorts, wincing sharply when the nurse digs her fingers into a particularly sensitive spot in his hip. She makes a noise of discontentment. She feels along the line of the bone for a long moment, then sighs.

"Intertrochanteric fracture. These are common in car crashes and high falls. You shouldn't be able to be walking, let alone should you be walking here alone."

Leon doesn't have an excuse for that, so he doesn't say a word at all. Leon feels her pull away and hears her scribbling something down. In the mean time, he catches the way that Ethan whistles. When he turns his head to look at the other man, Ethan has a smug look on his face.

"Some friends, huh?" Ethan drawls, barely flinching when Nurse Pointer pulls the catheter out of his arm, thanks him for his time, and pulls the empty bag of saline off of the hook. Ethan gets a puny bag of pretzels and a Caprisun for his time.

Leon doesn't respond to Ethan, just let's his mind slowly process the information the nurse is giving him with as little interest as possible. Surgery, physical therapy, crutches, and bedrest just happen to be among that information. He groans, tilts his head so it bangs against the wall.

"—..Until then, Mister Winters, would you mind to take Leon back to his room?"

Both Leon and Ethan pause, cocking their heads so they can look at the nurse. At this point she isn't looking at them, a phone pressed to her ear as she talks to someone on the other side. Leon hears Ethan snort, the watery stutter of the straw as Ethan sucks the last bit of juice from it, and the loud crinkle of the pretzel bag as Ethan presumably shoves the thing into his pocket.

Leon leaves on a fresh pair of crutches with dreams flattened hard and dead. Ethan's on the other side of him, a hand hovering precariously behind his form in case he decides he wants to eat shit, though Leon is sure he doesn't care too much.

The walk back to Leon's room is long and more than awkward. They get a few incredulous looks from acquaintances, most notably Piers, who rubbernecks so hard staring at Leon that he knocks his hip hard on the knob of an open door. Leon hears him swearing as they round the corner and snickers to himself.

"I'm sure you won't meet up with those friends again," Ethan remarks when they get to Leon's door, backing up a step or two so Leon can twist the knob and kick it open with his foot. The resulting bang of the door against the back wall makes Ethan startle a little.

"Actually, we already had another play date set up. Are you looking to join? They like new friends." Leon bites sarcastically, shuffling into his room just enough to reach the couch, tossing the crutches away so he can lay his head back, blowing hair out of his face.

"No, I think I'm good," Ethan fumbles quickly, and Leon hears his fingernails oddly tapping against the wall, irregular. For a long time, things between them stretch on silent, before Ethan exhales. "Does, uh, this happen often?"

"Chris not spilled any beans yet?" Leon inquires, picking his head up to look at Ethan with a quirk in his brow.

Ethan scratches his head, "He says you get into a lot of danger and put others before you. He hasn't really said more than that."

Leon softens. Chris probably has neglected telling Ethan about Raccoon City— if Ethan doesn't already know; he wouldn't have been but a kid at the time, probably. Leon knows the grimace on his face isn't well-hidden, so he just let's out a sudden rush of air, sits himself up with a painful quirk in his brows, and opens his mouth to speak.

"Yeah, that part's true. About as much as you live and breathe," Leon begins, gingerly shuffling again until he's in the optimal position. "Always been like that: Call it second nature, but—"

Leon looks down at the floor, swallowing the lump in his throat, and sighs. He looks back up at Ethan. Ethan's looking back at him with an unreadable expression written into his eyes.

"You can't save everybody. Took Chris awhile to get that in my head." Leon responds solemnly. He thinks briefly of all the casualties of Raccoon City.

Raccoon City is years past— Leon's pushing forty now: But it was only a few years ago that Leon allowed himself to let go of the guilt. It took a particularly bad day, bottle by his side with the rim of a glass pressed to his chapped lips, sitting on the floor of his kitchen, to finally muster up the courage to talk about things. His sessions were slow, his emotions were tattered, but he talked about it. He's better— at least, he likes to think he is with a confidence he refuses to let go.

Ethan is quiet for a long time, tapping his foot silently against the floor and worrying his lip between his teeth. He looks deep in some form of thought, but Leon can also tell he's hesitating about something. Another deafening beat passes before Leon finally cracks under the pressure.

"If you think anymore, your head's gonna fall off your shoulders. What's making your gears turn so fucking hard?" Leon pries, leaning on his left shoulder to take some weight off of his fractured hip. Ethan's eyes snap up from the floor, temporarily sightless before he zones back in.

"Nothing— I mean, nothing bad, I think? You just.. I don't know. That makes me think of me. I guess I could be a little like you, or...you a little like me? That's just— that's how I got into—" He sweeps his hand all around, chuckling a little incredulously, "—into this mess. I got a letter from my so-called wife, drove from California to fucking Louisiana, and got my hand cut off. Twice!" His next laugh teeters more into a sense of hysteria. Leon's brows pinch.

"It's, I mean— I got myself fucked up just so I could see her again. That's why I'm like this now. I slaughtered my way through a fucked village in Romania so I could see my daughter again."

For a fleeting, horrific moment, Leon sees himself in Raccoon City, freshly graduated from the academy, fighting his way through the carnage and terror of a collapsing city he called home. It makes nausea rise alarmingly fast in his tightening throat. He struggles on his next breath, but he keeps speaking.

"Yeah, I guess we are a little alike." Leon shrugs, playing nonchalant to save himself a little dignity. He lets his arms fall loosely over his knees. Ethan breathes shakily near the door, but the slight pause in his hysterics indicate to Leon that he's listening.

"Even worse, we're both equally fucked up for life," Leon adds because, of course, joking is the only way he gets himself out of situations like this around other people. He never claimed to have the best coping mechanisms. It'd be a lie.

The half-joke startles Ethan out of his hysteria and into something a little more controlled, a shaky, sad-sounding laugh as he scrubs at his face. He takes a breath, muffled by his hand, and then drags it until it slips over his chin, "Fuck, we are, aren't we?"

Later that night, when Ethan finally decides to turn in and head back to Chris's room (where boss man has designated he stay,) Leon lays back his head, thinks about the shaking in Ethan's hands, and sees himself shaking in Raccoon City.

After the small surgery he gets to fix his hip, he's got the great burden of physical therapy for three weeks to make sure his body doesn't reject the plate. He wouldn't call it fun, and he sure as hell wouldn't call it comfortable, either. Plus, the walker he has to use is humiliating.

He's standing between the parallel bars, hands pressed firmly into the metal, slowly limping across the narrow path of the bars, when he hears the doors of the PT room open. His physical therapist perks up from beside him, and Leon hears the small smile in his voice as he greets "Captain Redfield." Ethan's here, too, the therapist just doesn't know his name (he stutters over the mister... for a few seconds before Ethan just says his surname.)

"Come to humiliate me?" Leon pants, stretching his shoulders as he takes another step forward.

"If only," Ethan mumbles, but he yelps when Chris jabs him in the sternum. He glares hard at Chris, then corrects himself.

"We brought you lunch." Ethan says and enticingly wiggles a container of Chinese food in Leon's direction, clicking his tongue a few times like he's calling a dog; this time, Chris laughs. Both Chris and Ethan sit on the wooden benches a few feet away.

"Boy, am I spoiled rotten, huh?" Leon grumbles, wincing hard on his next step. Chris sits up so he can watch Leon walk, furrowing his brows. Chris, ever the concerned party.

"How's the replacement?" Chris asks, his eyes ticking up to meet Leon's eyes. Leon rolls his eyes respectively, exasperated though his smile is fond and holds no actual irritation.

"I've only had it for one week. Ask me that again in two," Leon answers, picking himself up for another step forward and heaving. His physical therapist pats his shoulder gently.

"We can take a break, Mister Kennedy. Sit down and have your lunch, they brought it for you. We can pick up in thirty minutes."

Leon lets Chris help him out of the parallel bar prison and walk to the benches to sit down. Ethan pulls out a pair of wooden chopsticks, snaps them apart, and slides them into the fresh and hot container of lo mein staring Leon directly in the face. Ethan hands it to Leon and Leon scarves down his first bite so fast he almost chokes and he nearly sobs with joy.

"Oh my god, I think I'm gonna marry you," he muffles to Chris, and Chris laughs so loud that his ears hurt.

"Actually, it was Ethan's idea," Chris corrects, a large hand cupping Ethan's knee. When Leon's eyes flit over to Ethan's face, Ethan's cheeks are lit a soft pink, and Leon finds it startlingly cute for a split second before he steels himself.

"I had to get on your good side somehow," Ethan chuckles awkwardly, scratching at the soft shadow of a stubble on his jawbone. Leon follows the movement of his fingers, "but, uh, I also wanted some lo mein."

"Leon isn't a sharer, Ethan," Chris says in Leon's direction a little lovingly, swiping a thumb over the corner of Leon's mouth to catch a stray smudge of sauce that he wipes on the thigh of his pants.

Leon looks at Chris, looks at Ethan, looks at Chris again, watches him wipe the sauce on his thigh, looks at Ethan again, who's practically making cow eyes at his food. Finally, he sighs and lifts his chopsticks out of the container, a fresh bite of noodles grasped between them. Ethan's entire face lights up, and he eagerly takes the bite. Leon immediately shoves the chopsticks back in to fish for another bite for himself so he doesn't have to focus on the way Ethan's eyelashes fluttered when the noodles hit his tongue.

Chris feigns a pout, looking at Leon and then staring at Ethan as he chews his bite. When Ethan swallows, he sighs, clearly pleased and savoring the taste of cheap Chinese cuisine.

"I could kiss you," he whines at Leon, still wiping sauce from his lips. Leon scoffs and shoves a bite into his mouth so Ethan won't see his cheeks heat up bright red, though Chris cocks a brow his way knowingly, as does the physical therapist watching them from further off.

"Jealous," Chris mumbles, looking back at Leon with wide, pleading doe eyes. Leon throws the rest of his noodles in his face. Ethan bursts out into a cackle while Chris sputters through the sauce and tries to wipe it from his face.

Physical therapy is better that day.

The next weeks pass by easily. The plate in his hip is accepted smoothly, and his physical therapy passes by faster than he was thinking it would. Unfortunate for him is the mandated leave, which leaves him cooped up, feeling an innate sense of uselessness, and going stir crazy. He's so desperate that he asks to do some of Chris's paperwork.

He's sitting with Chris in his office, dragging a highlighter over stacks upon stacks of paper and lazing in Chris's chair (which Chris insisted he take) when he hears something slam. In the shelter of Chris's office it sounds like a dull thump, but it's there. Both men's heads cock up, pointed in the direction of the door.

"What was that?" Chris speaks first, sitting up from his spot on the floor to get a better view of the door. Then, another slam echos out, followed by some form of commotion. Leon and Chris exchange odd looks, and Leon sits up, puts down his paperwork.

He jerks himself up out of his seat around the same time a voice echos out, crying: "No!"

Leon and Chris spring into action, slamming through the office door. Leon's first, scrambling for the stairwell and skipping three steps at a time on his way down; neither of them take the elevator. It's faster skipping steps, sprained ankle be damned.

They make it to floor two as quickly as they started skipping, Leon stumbling when he hits the floor and allowing Chris the time to get ahead. Both of them crash into medbay at the same time.

"Mister Winters, if you could just—"

"No. No. Get away from me‐ get away—"

"Please, calm down—"

"What is going on here?"

Leon and Chris stalk in, Chris taking the reins, his voice booming at the same time that Ethan lets out another shuddering sob, scrambling further back into the corner of the room.

"Everything was fine. But then he opened his eyes and he just—"

"What. Happened?" Chris growls, getting up in the nurses face. She shrinks back and peeks over Chris's shoulder at Leon. Her eyes are wide and pleading. Leon exhales through his nose, presses two fingers hard into the side of his temple and decides to spare her. It's not her fault, Chris is atypically protective when it comes to Ethan, always a mother hen. 

"You said he opened his eyes and something 'happened.' What happened, exactly?"

"He just...started panicking. He talked about being in a house, and—"

"Did you have him in that bed?" Leon interrupts, pointing at the bed Ethan's sitting in, crowding himself further against the wall and scratching at the paint. Leon can see finish and blood under his torn nails. "That one, in the corner."

"Yes. I didn't think—"

"Alright, take note," Chris starts, staring down the nurse with hard eyes. "Clearly, he has an issue with being cornered, so don't put him at any of the wall beds, and don't tell him to calm down, Jesus. Just—" Chris breathes shakily, pausing and pressing a hand to his chest before letting out another, smoother breath, "—just call me if he's reacting. He's still recovering and I was told to take care of him until he can rehabilitate. I'll be down here when I can manage."

Leon looks behind Chris to see Ethan. He's not as frantically clawing around as he was, but his eyes are still darting around the room wildly like he's waiting for any sudden movements, his breathing erratic and uneasy. He's watching and expecting something to attack him, and with no way out, he's like a cornered prey animal, frantic and sentenced.

Carefully, Leon begins to approach him. When Ethan flinches, Leon pauses until he's calmed down. He repeats that until he can stand in front of Ethan, watch the way his chest heaves with the effort of breathing.

"Hey, Ethan," Leon tests gently, sits on the edge of the bed. "Can you tell me where you are?"

"No. Not there, not there—"

"Hey, breathe," Leon interrupts. He puts his hand up between him and Ethan, counts three seconds on his fingers, holds them for five, then let's go; an exercise Chris taught him on a particularly bad night. It embarrasses him a little to use since it feels so childish, but it helps, and that much Leon knows. "Come on, you can do it."

Ethan hesitates, watching Leon with a wide-eyed apprehension. After a breath, he lifts his hand too and settles it near Leon on the bed, counting on his fingers in time with his shaky gulping for air. Leon takes a shot and settles his hand over Ethan's. When Ethan doesn't flinch, he keeps it there.

"That's it. Breathe," Leon encourages. He hears Chris and the nurse whispering aggressively behind him but he drowns it out. Right now it's Ethan. Calm down Ethan, relax Ethan.

When the shake in Ethan's shoulders relaxes and he's no longer hyperventilating, Leon lets go of his hand. He stands up and whisper-shouts for Chris, ushering him over and waiting no more than two seconds before the bigger man is kneeling beside Leon, cupping Ethan's face.

"Hey, Ethan, you with me?" He coos quietly, carefully tucking a chunk of blonde hair out of his face. Leon sees lines of exhaustion written into his eyebrows, in-between his nose and in his jaw. He looks troubled.

"What— I'm—"

"You're not there, baby. You're at the base. We got you out of there, remember?"

"I— the Bakers—?"

"Not here, Ethan. You're safe." Chris reminds him, petting a hand down the nape of his neck and over his shoulder blades. "You felt cornered in your bed and started panicking. It took you back to Duvley. Leon snapped you out."

"Too many dreams of Raccoon City do a man in," Leon mumbles, rubbing self-soothing circles in his biceps. When Leon looks up, Ethan's staring at him with something unreadable. It makes Leon a little uncomfortable. He squints, trying too hard to read into it.

Ethan doesn't say anything, but the tiniest of smiles grows on his tired face. It's relief, gratefulness, and peace in one minute expression; then, he turns his face to the side and buries it into the skin of Chris's neck. Chris shoots a small look at Ethan, then looks back at Leon. There's something gentle on his face, a private look that he only gets when he knows no one else is looking. Leon's ears burn, and not just because of Chris.

"Thank you, Lee," Chris says in a hushed tone. He hooks his chin over Ethan's head, stroking soft fingertips down Ethan's back. He's humming something soft, keeping Ethan pressed close.

Leon drags his eyes down to his feet, lacking a response to give Chris. Instead, he sits down on the bed. It's cramped and barely fits all three of them, but they make it work for the sake of proximity. 

"He gonna be okay?" Leon tries, scooting closer on his knees so he can get a better look. Ethan still looks tired, but the stressed wrinkles in his face have eased out. He's curled into Chris like Chris is a cage, sheltering him from what he fears most—what keeps him awake at night. Leon makes a worried noise against his better judgement, his hand reaching, hovering, then settling back down in a defeated limp. He wanted to touch him. His fingers tingle. Chris looks at him uncertainly, but doesn't say anything about it.

"He should be. He's woken up like this a couple of nights. It just takes him some time to settle again."

Leon nods slowly. He doesn't realize how close he is until their shoulders are pressed together and he can smell Chris's cologne. It's slightly overshadowed by the smell of sweat, the sprinting down the stairs and Chris's frustration contributing to the musk, but its so Chris that Leon takes another deep breath in, relishing in him. Chris chuckles, soft and affectionate.

"You did good," Chris murmurs, turning his head just enough to nuzzle his nose into Leon's hair and take a deep breath. He exhales and places a kiss to his scalp. Leon doesn't say anything, just scoffs, embarrassed.

Then Chris brings it up, a terrifying revelation: "You guys have been getting closer. I thought a couple weeks ago you were gonna bite each other's heads off." It's a casual statement, and it's not meant to mean anything, but Leon's face is still hot.

Instead of bringing any attention to the closeness, he focuses on himself: "Careful, Chris. I've heard I'm pretty unpredictable."

And just like that, he diverts the topic, rubbing his cheek against Chris's shoulder. He hears Ethan let out a small laugh through his nose and Leon glares at him. Ethan doesn't see it because his eyes are closed, but the shudder that shakes his shoulders is victory enough for Leon. Sometimes, you can feel a stare. Especially a Leon stare.

"Yeah, yeah," Chris drawls, drawing circles on Ethan's back. "Tell that to the accursed."

"Accursed? Who the hell says accursed, that's such a stupid fucking word—"

Chris just laughs, mellow and sweet and high on serotonin as Leon presses hard kisses to his face. And if either of them realize Ethan's faking sleep, they don't say anything to make him move.

Things have changed a little. It makes Leon antsy in a way he isn't exactly sure how to name, but it's making him antsy, a mess of overthinking and second guessing.

Ethan isn't as combative towards Leon. In fact, Leon would describe him as soft in a way that makes Leon's cheeks burn and his heart seize in a way that shouldn't be healthy. So, Leon does what he does best, and begins avoiding Ethan. By extension, that involves avoiding Chris, and Leon hates to think that Chris might be used to that. In times when Leon can't handle his emotions and gets overwhelmed, he avoids people, locks up in his room, and nurses several miniature scotch bottles to his heaving chest. Old habits die hard, and Leon will need a couple more years of talking about his problems to curb the last remnants of his attachment to alcohol. 

He's sitting just that way in his room one night when a knock sounds on the creaking door of his quarters. He doesn't respond to it vocally, but he shrinks further against the wall of his room to make himself smaller. He hears the door click open, and the sound of keys hitting the coffee table of his lounge. Fuck. He gave Chris a pair of keys. So much for hiding.

But he doesn't hear Chris's footsteps. He hears a lighter pair of boots approaching his door; then, the doorknob jiggles once, twice, and pauses. Then it wiggles again. It stops again.

"I can smell your wallowing," a voice mutters. Ethan. Leon's entire body freezes up, a lucid rush of sobriety hitting him hard and harsh. He scrabbles up from his spot and stumbles his way to the door. His shaking fingers hesitate on the knob of his door, but he, against his better judgement, unlocks the door. It opens instantly.

Ethan, real and sweet and worried Ethan. He takes up the entire doorframe, even with his lithe stature. He looks sleepless with dark purple bags under his eyes, and his fingers are twitchy at his sides. Leon knows Ethan wants to reach out, to touch and feel, and Leon shrinks against it with a dry swallow.

"You've been avoiding Chris," Ethan starts, backing up just a foot to give Leon a bit of leeway. He's giving Leon an out. If Leon wants to leave, Ethan is telling him he'll let him go. Leon stays right where he is. His fingers shake around a small bottle, still full. Ethan reaches forward, and though Leon flinches, he allows Ethan to take the bottle from his palm and slide it into his own pocket.

"'M sorry," Leon mumbles, tongue heavy and head spinning. The lucidity previous washes away quickly, leaving Leon unsteady on his feet. Ethan reaches out then, catching Leon by the waist before he falls backwards and hits his head on the frame of his bed.

"You should be, he's worried sick," Ethan scowls, a bit of dad bleeding into his voice as he picks up Leon's arm, throwing it over his shoulder to support him easier. The touch feels hot against Leon's skin, even through his clothes. "Bathroom?"

"'S the right."

Things move syrupy for a bit, tenuous and blurry. But when he comes back, he's supported against the seat of a toilet with two pills of ibuprofen pressed to his dry lips. He lets his tongue catch them and swallow them dry. Ethan sits up in front of him and presses the cold back of his hand to Leon's forehead. Leon hums happily and tips his head into the feeling.

"Why were you avoiding Chris?" Ethan probes, reaching behind Leon to open the toilet seat in case Leon starts to retch. Leon lolls his heavy head over to watch Ethan move, his back catching on the lid as Ethan lifts it.

"Don't wanna talk 'bout it," Leon pouts, flicking out his tongue to lick his lips. They ache, and Leon can feel the scabby cracks on them where the dry air has treated them so rudely. He really needs to invest into a humidifier. 

Ethan just huffs, indignant, and sits back on his knees in front of Leon. He's so close that Leon can count the flecks of brown in his hazel eyes, can smell the soft mint of his breath, and can feel the warmth of his soft exhales. Leon shifts uncomfortably, because Ethan is so pretty and it's so insanely unfair. He wants to kiss him, to taste and to own, but he's terrified of that thought, and the nausea he's starting to feel could either be related to it or the alcohol.

They don't talk anymore, because Leon refuses to like a toddler. When Leon starts retching, burning acrid vomit expelled from him, Ethan holds back the length of his hair and sushes him comfortingly. Leon feels sick in more ways than one. The thought comes back with a vengeance.

They're back in Leon's room around an hour later, Ethan sitting on the edge of Leon's bed, Leon, sitting quiet and tucked in and sleepy. The silence isn't enough for a drunk Leon— he has to ruin it.

"'S 'cause of you," Leon mumbles, eyes barely open. He doesn't quite register what he's beginning to say, exhaustion and scotch burning through his system. "'Cause I started realizin' you were cute, and stupid, and stubborn, an' I'm fucking dumb with my feelings. Can't do nothin' about it."

Later, when he remembers what he said, Leon will regret it. Leon will regret ever letting Ethan in, because he has little to no filter when he's inebriated, and Ethan knows nothing about that. He will regret letting Ethan hold his hair back while he vomited, and he will regret the stupidly cute look on Ethan's cute blushing face. But right now. He doesn't regret a thing, because Ethan is blushing and his world can rest seeing such a sight.

He tips into sleep with the sight of a smile on Ethan's lips and the feeling of something pressing against his head. He can only hope it's a kiss.

Chapter Text

Leon wakes up warm, which is odd, because the heater in his room has been broken and perpetually freezing air has permeated the space. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, because what will meet him is a popcorn ceiling, yellow and monotonous.  A headache pounds in his temples, and his back and hip are aching. Did he position his pillows last night? He doesn’t remember. 

He tries to turn over and hide his face, but he meets a wall of heat. Then he realizes Chris must’ve found him and gotten him together, because nobody but Chris radiates heat like this. He wraps his arms around Chris with a pleased hum, pressing his face to the back of his neck, but Chris feels smaller, and when he touches his skin it’s cold, and-- 

Ethan.

Last night burns inside his mind like a feverish match, and he can't snuff it out no matter how hard he tries. He’d called Ethan cute. And worse about it is-

He’d meant it. Hadn't meant to open himself like a gaping wound, but he'd meant the words. And something about that burns, turning the match in his mind to a blaze. 

Leon doesn’t dare move after that. Ethan is still asleep, breathing soft and rhythmic, and his body is pulsing with heat. Leon doesn’t know how the fuck he’s doing it, but he can only assume it's something, something mold. Either way, Leon finds himself very comfortable, even if his drunk self got him caught in some less-than-straight fuckshit.  

He stays frozen where he is, arms rigid and his nose still pressed to the spot where Ethan’s pulse should certainly be. Despite the lack of such, Ethan is a comfortable presence, still where he lays, sleeping soundless and deep. A horrifyingly endeared warmth takes home inside of Leon’s chest, and Leon can't tell if he's nauseous or lovestruck (though he's certain they probably feel around the same.) It takes Leon a lot of talking up to reach his arms and wrap them around Ethan's middle, fingers barely dancing across the dip of his lower back. He squeezes —feeling Ethan in his entirety. Ethan’s breathing shutters a little bit, and then he groans, mumbling something incoherent as he shuffles. 

“You’re gonna crush my ribs,” Ethan wheezes, one of his hands settling over Leon’s forearm. Leon knows now that he should move if he wants to save some face, but that ship has already sailed and is halfway to the Bahamas by this point, so he instead focuses on the sensation of Ethan’s hand stroking at the fine hairs of his skin until it settles over his hand. 

“My head is pounding and everything hurts, don't chastise me about your ribs,” Leon retorts, squeezing just a little harder to hear Ethan’s punched-out laugh. He struggles a little bit, but Leon just holds him tighter, keeping him imprisoned. A few minutes later, and with a valiant effort, Ethan finally weasels his way out of Leon’s grip, and Leon hears his socked feet plant on the floor. Leon turns his head to follow him. “What time ‘s it?”  

“Clock says 7:23 ante meridiem,” Ethan answers, padding his way to the other side of the bed. Leon registers Ethan flicking on the light of his room as he goes. He hears the sound of Ethan digging through his messy closet and registers the fwomp of two articles of clothing hitting the edge of his bed. “Do you have any breakfast food, or need I drag you to the cafeteria?” 

“God. Anything but. My head will crack like an egg,” Leon mumbles, sitting up just enough to paw at the clothes on his bed. He finally allows his eyes to slit open, which are still rejecting any remote source of light. He takes a moment to let his eyes register before gratefully drinking in the sight of Ethan, dressed in one of Chris's shoddy Van Halen shirts. He doesn’t look well-rested by any means (Leon isn’t sure if he even can,) But there’s a softness and an easy smile etched into his face as he watches Leon finger at the clothes. Leon sighs, breaks the eye contact. “I’ve got eggs and bread. Knock yourself out.” 

Ethan’s out of the room in record time, Leon listening to the light steps of his feet as he makes his way to Leon’s teeny kitchen. 

Leon gets dressed slowly, his vision still blurry at the edges from his wicked hangover. He tames his hair in a cruel fashion of the word, readjusts his sweatpants so they don't hang halfway off of his hips, and opens his bedroom door to navigate to the kitchen. 

The smell of eggs has already settled in his lungs by the time he rounds the corner, and Ethan is working diligently over a pan as Leon moves past him. He drags the nearly empty bag of coffee out of his cupboard and pours a healthy amount into the coffee filter, leaving the pot to do its work. 

Just as he’s about to toddle back to the bathroom for medication, he notices a glass of orange juice, half full, already on the counter. Two small tablets of Advil are right next to it. Once more the endearment ensnares his heart, and Leon’s teeth burn to bite it to silence like a caged animal. Love is so fucking stupid. 

Instead of throwing a crush-induced conniption fit, he takes the glass and the pills and swallows them down. He doesn’t thank Ethan, but the look on his face must say enough, because when he comes back up next to Ethan to watch him cook, Ethan smiles at him with half-lidded eyes. Leon wants to lean against him, but his body remains stock-still.

They sit in silence as Ethan cooks, scrambling the eggs with a clumsy spatula. Leon wonders if the lack of fingers makes it difficult for him to cook sometimes—if he misses the gracefulness of it. He also wonders if Ethan does this for just anyone, but that thought can lie dormant for a while longer. 

Ethan makes them both eggs and buttered toast and Leon pours them out two mugs of steaming coffee. Like any functioning coffee drinker, Leon drinks his coffee disgustingly sweet, and he is only mildly horrified to find that Ethan drinks his coffee black like a psychopath. They don’t talk about anything specific, just mindless chatter about their weeks and how Leon has spent a majority of his time utterly miserable because he still isn’t allowed on the field, and being bedridden has made him feel like a soggy sloppy pile of mildew. He neglects to mention that part of that time was actually spent listening to shoddy Italian songs (gifted from his mama) while he drank himself half to death in a panicked avoidant stupor.  

“Maybe it’s better that way,” Ethan states, poking at his toast thoughtfully. “You needed the break, right? That's what I heard.” 

"If you say so," Leon responds flatly, drinking the last of his coffee with an iron grip on the handle of his mug so hard it could choke a donkey. Leon sits up and takes their plates to avoid a longer conversation, dragging himself to the kitchen to wash them. He scrubs at the plates so hard some of the color probably comes off, but all he can think of is the concern that was written in Ethan’s eyes. 

Leon takes some time to shower afterwards, letting the water run down the planes of his back. He thinks of Ethan’s hands as he scrubs down his arms, and his stomach licks with fire as he thinks of Ethan’s breathy laugh while they were laying down. He barely pulls himself together enough to hop out of the shower. His fingers itch to touch. He thinks about wringing his own neck.

He walks out dressed for work and grabs his boots from the doorway, sitting down to lace them as Ethan walks out of his bedroom carrying his own shoes.  

“Heading out?” Ethan asks, joining him on the couch so he can undo his own laces. Leon just nods, too focused on tightening his to spare him a glance. 

Just as he's finished tying his shoes and is pressing his palms to his knees to get up, fingers skate across his bicep. He has to bite his tongue to avoid jumping six feet, his eyes shooting up to meet Ethan’s stare. Ethan looks worried again, his brows pinched tight as he gives Leon an odd look. 

“Don’t burn yourself out,” Ethan addresses Leon gently, his hand cupping the ball of Leon's shoulder for a painfully long moment. Then he’s standing up and making for the door. “I’ll see you later.” 

Leon stays, dumbfounded.

"You should tell him."

Leon looks up from the cup of club soda he's nursing, staring at Jill from across the table. She's leaned on one elbow, looking at him with a raised eyebrow as she twirls her glass of gin and tonic. Her hair is in a short ponytail, swept to the side and revealing the short crop of her buzz. She's dressed somewhat for a night out, in a black cashmere sweater under a coffee-brown leather jacket that hangs just a few inches past her jeans. Leon wishes he would've known the dress code, because the jacket he's had since Arias does not live up to it and he probably looks homeless: Back to what Jill said before he forgets. Leon's lip curls, the cogs in his head turning with a creaking groan as he tries to formulate some form of response.

"Tell him what?" Leon says dumbly, taking another sip of his drink with a disgusted grimace (why did he even buy this? He hates club soda.)

"That you like him, obviously," Jill shoots back, standing up and rounding the table so she can pluck his cup from his fingers, throwing it in the trash. She doesn't sit when she returns, instead standing by him at an angle that has him craning his neck way too far back. "Clearly, he's on your mind. If not because of the club soda you just ordered, and you hate club soda; then because of the way you stare at him. Anyone sees it, Leon. Don't play chicken."

"Nobody is on my mind, and I'm not chicken," Leon mumbles in response, picking at his nails in absence of a cup. Jill deadpans but doesn't grace him with another word. She sits back down just as Piers enters the bar, stumbling a little as he sits down. He looks like he hurried to get there, and Leon would reason that he did, considering he's almost thirty minutes late. Fashionably, unlucky for Leon. Leon feels a little less mean for the rolled-up straw-ball that he flicks at his head.

"Sorry I'm late. What'd I miss?" Piers huffs out, running a hand through his hair, slicking the wind-mussed mess of it back into place. Leon watches him move sluggishly, returning to picking at his nails after the paper makes contact. He feels a sharp pain in his index finger, looking down to spot the tiniest well of blood on the cuticle of it. He sticks his finger in his mouth momentarily. Jill looks at him with a sided glance.

"Nothing important," Leon sighs after a beat, defeated, dropping his hand and hitting his forehead against the edge of their table. 

"Leon's being a wuss. He won't confess to Ethan." Jill picks up after him. Leon's shoulders must jolt a little when she makes the remark, because he hears a tiny little snicker from Piers' side of the table. He doesn't have the mental energy to punch him right now, so he'll just make another straw-ball later.

When Leon finally has the power to lift his head and retort, Piers and Jill are exchanging knowing looks. He chews his lip and curls his tongue to bite off an exasperated huff, crossing his arms (like a baby,) and leaning back in his chair.

"Why do you guys even care? It's none of your business." Leon groans, throwing up his hands in a gesture. 

"Everyone sees your bug eyes, man. You look like a giant dork," Piers grins, stealing Jill's tonic and taking a sip. Jill nods in agreement jaggedly, attention split on the conversation and snatching her tonic back with a glare. Order your own drink, it says. Leon eases up a little, smirking at their silent bicker. It lightens his mood a little.

Jill starts talking again, leaning her elbows on the table as she eyes Leon down, "The point is, you're an open book, and that is peculiar. You haven't been this open since--"

"Chris," Leon finishes. He looks away, tapping his foot erratically on the floor. A waitress walks by and looks oddly at him as she passes, her mouth tipping up in a forced smile. He follows her with an awkward smile back and sits up, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Leon knows he would look very stupid if he denied his attraction to Ethan right now in front of them, but he's also attempting to puff out his chest and pretend it doesn't exist, which makes the denial part of it all the more enticing. He spends almost five minutes internally warring with himself before Piers snaps two fingers in front of his eyes, smirking.

Leon surrenders. "Look. Maybe-- maybe... I'll talk to him. Will that make you stop hounding me? God, you're like vultures."

"Yes," Piers and Jill say together, indiscreetly giving each other a fist bump under the table. Leon groans again and flags down a waitress. He needs another drink. He doesn't realize he's ordered another club soda until it's placed on the face of the table. He groans. Piers and Jill laugh, clinking glasses.

Leon returns somewhat late-- 10PM and dark out. It's freezing, and Leon is wishing he brought something better than his jacket as he walks down the sidewalk, holding himself in a self-hug in an attempt to ward off some of the chill that reddens his nose.

As he approaches the base, a silhouette standing in front of the building catches his eye. He can't tell who it is, so it makes him a little cautious. He makes his steps lighter, pulling his jacket close so he looks less conspicuous in the dark- It's a bit of a reflex at this point, having dealt with strangers so much of his life. He approaches at an angle so he can see who's in front of the building better; whoever is there notices him before he notices them, though, eye's catching the fluorescent lamp above the base door.

It's Ethan. He's sitting outside with his hands shoved into his pockets, scanning his surroundings. He catches sight of Leon earlier than he should, which makes Leon wonder if he has some form of heightened senses due to the mold's influence. Leon watches Ethan's shoulders relax (which subconsciously makes his own fall too) and his breath cloud out in front of him in a short breath.

"Leon. It's late," Ethan scolds gently, approaching Leon until he can stand in front of him. Leon notices that he's holding a coat under his arm: Chris's coat, large with a fur hood and probably unbelievably warm. Leon expects Ethan to hand it to him, but instead, he walks around so he can put the coat over Leon's shoulders. Leon angles his head down so Ethan won't see the way his cheeks heat up.

"I was with Jill and Piers. Jill wanted to get together," Leon explains, securing the coat with one hand and shuffling his shoulders. Ethan stares at him for a beat. "I didn't drink. I promise," Leon reassures, lightly kicking at Ethan with his foot. Ethan scoffs lightheartedly, crossing his arms. Leon scans him, up and down.

"Are you not cold? It's fucking freezing out here."

"I'm always cold," Ethan replies, laughing softly, something hurt in it as he leans against the building wall. Leon squints, scrutinizing; Ethan doesn't even really look cold to him. It's then that Leon remembers Ethan is technically dead and is probably politely asking him to divert the topic. Leon winces, a soft okay on his tongue as he positions himself to lean beside Ethan, closer than he finds himself typically standing to someone, but comfortable. He shoves his hands into the pockets of Chris's coat, warming his cold fingertips.

Leon and Ethan sit in silence for a while, close in proximity, similar to the early morning. Leon cautiously spares a glance up. Ethan's staring out into the inky black of the night with a small smile turning up his lips. It's such an oddly contagious thing, small and private, and it makes Leon smile too, something warm. All of a sudden, he feels impulsive, and Leon thinks he can stay awake a little longer.

"Do you wanna go see the stars?" Leon blurts out, sitting up from the wall and approaching the grass. Ethan seems startled, stuttering for a good thirty seconds before he sighs indignantly, following Leon to the grass. Leon watches Ethan as he sits down and Leon follows him, flopping back into the chilly grass with a heavy and content sigh. He feels a lot like a child again, when twelve-year-old Leon would sneak out of his tiny window to watch the stars, tracing constellations until his dad woke up for work.

"Hey, Leon?" Ethan pipes up, his eyes still cast up to the night sky. Leon hums in acknowledgement, too busy tracing out Andromeda.

"I want you to meet Rosemary sometime. She'd like you."

Leon doesn't know why he chokes up. He couldn't explain it to anyone who asked. He scrubs at his eyes until they burn, breathing in deep.

"Yeah? I'd like to meet her too."

He finishes tracing out Andromeda. In his other hand, he feels the snaking chill of Ethan's fingers wrapping around his palm. He makes no move to take his hand away. Things are nice. He conveniently forgets to talk to Ethan.

"I think I like Ethan."

Chris looks up from where he's sipping his coffee, eyes trained on the way Leon stabs at a pile of blueberry pancakes. Leon knows he's nervous and looks the part, chewing aggressively and scraping his fork against his plate. The lack of response feels deafening to Leon and nausea is beginning to fight the food he's eating, dying for some form of sign that Chris actually heard him.

Then Chris hums, raising an eyebrow in Leon's direction as he returns to his mug. "Okay."

Chris's nonchalant response gives him pause. He looks up from his plate in the middle of another bite, staring at Chris, confused. Chris doesn't look bothered, his face relaxed while he sips at his drink-- an expensive vanilla-infused coffee he bought after Leon and Ethan started staying around more often than not. It was mostly for them, but Chris started drinking it too after a while. There's already another bag on his shopping list.

"'Okay'? What does that mean?"

"Did you want me to be mad?" Chris asks, sitting up and fetching both of their plates, rounding back around to the kitchen. Leon watches him go with an apprehensive stare, trying to figure out how to reply, considering his options.

"No, I guess not, but--"

"I already knew," Chris chuckles, scrubbing at plates with a smirk. "Ethan told me what you said to him that night. When you were drunk and avoiding us."

Leon's heart seizes with panic, prepared to defend himself for avoiding Chris, even if he's already apologized for it. Then Chris's words register. He gapes.

"You knew?"

"God. Who didn't?" Chris's smirk turns into a grin, turning towards Leon and walking back towards the table. He leans down so he can wrap his arms around Leon and hoist him up, making Leon yelp as he scrabbles for purchase, punching Chris in the shoulder just to hear the sweet smoke of his laugh.

"I'm not mad. I'm glad my two boys are getting along. Should that make me mad?" Chris whispers, cupping Leon's face in one hand. Leon can see the honesty in his eyes.

Leon doesn't respond, curling his tongue behind his teeth. In lieu of vocals, Leon leans forward so he can kiss Chris slowly. He tugs on Chris's lower lip as he leans back, making the other man huff.

"No. I guess It shouldn't." Leon whispers back, linking his fingers around Chris's neck. 

Chris kisses him again, laughing, laying him down across the table and sliding hands down his sides, under the crop of his shirt. Leon finds he doesn't feel anxious about it anymore.

Leon's having a pretty good week after that up until he's not. All good things come to an end, he supposes.

When he wakes up its early, 3AM or so, and something inside of him itches uncomfortably. He feels odd and foreign-bodied; his limbs feel far away from him and his head is pounding.

He climbs out of the bed, avoiding Chris and Ethan's bodies, and shuffles his way to the bathroom. When he gets inside, he closes the door and locks it, sliding his body back against the wall of it. He pulls his knees up to his chest, and even that feels weird, so he ends up sitting stiff and uncomfortable, staring off into a corner of the tub mindlessly.

This hasn't happened to him in a while, feeling like he doesn't belong in his body. Usually, when it does, he has Chris to support him, but Chris is asleep, and he doesn't want to wake him up-- Chris only gets woken up when he has nightmares.

He knows not to look at himself in the mirror, that makes it worse, but to cover the mirror he has to stand to look at it, and he can't handle that. So, he simply cradles in close on himself, supported against the door, and cries. He cries for God knows how long. He cries until he can't breathe through his nose; he cries until his mouth is dry; he cries until he can barely see his fingers, gripping onto the skin of his thighs, blurry.

Leon hates feeling like this. He feels like he's done what he can, he feels like he's heard everything in the book about dysphoria-- everything there is to hear-- but no form of hormones or surgery or gender affirmation can help the burning rock-solid pit in his stomach. He wishes he could claw off his skin and shed a new him-- one that's free and carefree and alive: Alive in a way that matters to more than just his friends, alive in a way that matters to him, too.

He hears a knock, knock, knock and the jiggle of the knob. "Leon? It's Chris. Are you okay?" 

He can't stop the sob that climbs its way out of his throat, raw and desperate. Chris jiggles the knob again, more insistent this time. Leon reaches around and fumbles for the lock, but his fingers struggle to work. He catches the lock after a few tries and turns it, allowing Chris in. He drops to Leon's level immediately, cupping his face and stroking his thumbs over Leon's cheekbones.

"Hey, Lee, look at me. What happened, baby?" Chris whispers, supporting Leon on his broad chest as he settles back, letting Leon curl into his warmth, sinking into the gap between his crossed legs. Chris is the only one who can touch him like this when he's dysphoric. Leon just shakes his head, burying it into Chris's neck. Stubble itches at his scalp, but Chris pressing kisses there and whispering reassurance helps him to relax. He doesn't push anymore for how Leon is feeling when he's like this, just lets him cry it out and sleep it off. Dysphoria is a touchy subject for Leon, and Chris understands that.

He rubs his hand in circles on Leon's back and supports the other on the slim cut of his waist, circling his thumb into the soft dip of his hip. Leon hums, scratchy ill-used throat burning. He hiccups weakly, his eyes burning as he finds he's cried all that he has, so all he can do is squeak out short, hitched sobs until his thoughts blur over enough to stop him.

It takes fifteen minutes of contact or so for Leon to finally settle back, looking at Chris's concerned face with blurry eyes. He kisses his jaw, a gentle thank you for when words fail him. Chris smiles something soft, kissing at Leon's head and stroking hands over his shoulders and back. He helps Leon up, faced away from the mirror, and leads him out of the bathroom.

Leon doesn't expect Ethan to be awake when they walk back into Chris's room. He's sitting up, worry etched into his eyes as Leon and Chris come back in. Chris sits Leon on the bed and walks towards his closet. Leon doesn't watch him go, staring at his hands settled numbly on his knees as Chris rummages for something.

"Are you okay?" Ethan whispers, shuffling forward until he can sit beside Leon. Leon lifts his head to stare at him wordlessly, his brain too foggy and exhausted to form any words. Instead, he leans weakly on Ethan's side. Ethan doesn't hesitate to secure an arm around his shoulders, bringing Leon closer until he can bury his nose into Ethan's neck, the same pulse-point he'd nuzzled that one morning. There's no pulse, but Leon's sleep-addled brain encourages him to breath in, the warm and faint scent of a spiced cologne on the column of his neck.

Chris returns and gently places a hand on Leon's head, encouraging him to look up and scan the shirt Chris has in his hands. It's an over-sized shirt with a logo of The Beatles on it, Chris having always been into rock. He mourns the loss of Ethan's contact as Chris slides the shirt over his head, but as soon as his arms are in the sleeves Ethan's back on him, squeezing him close. Leon hums, lazy and comfortable.

"This happens sometimes," Chris says, sitting on the bed to the right of Leon. "He gets dysphoric. He just needs some time to let it out, you know? He'll be okay."

Leon nods in agreement, having barely processed what Chris said but agreeing anyways. Ethan still looks worried, but the tension in his shoulders eases. Leon doesn't like that he's worried.

Crying turns into exhaustion, and exhaustion is slowly turning into sleep. He rolls his neck just enough to look at Chris, reaching for the man and gently grasping at the front of his shirt. Chris falls into him easy, sliding closer so he can wrap one arm around his waist.

He falls back with them on each side of him, caging him into the bed and tucking him into the covers. He's barely awake by that point, his mind hazy and his consciousness rapidly fading. 

He looks over at Ethan, just awake enough to crack a soft smile in his direction. Ethan smiles back, small but so, so kind, and Leon decides he's content and ready to go to sleep.

He feels two pairs of lips press against his forehead just before he tips down.

They're kissing, he and Chris, settled on his couch and breathing each other in. Leon's got a firm hand tangled into his hair and a tongue halfway down his throat, straddling one of Chris's huge thighs and life is good right now, Because Chris is good, and everything is better with Chris around. Chris is humming into his mouth, his other hand trailing down, down to settle on the pouch of Leon's stomach, calloused and warm and so good.

Then the door opens, and Leon's fun is spoiled as he rips himself away, gasping for air and wincing when Chris's hand remains frozen, yanking on the sensitive strands of his hair. He's opening his mouth to give Chris an earful when it dawns on him who's standing in the doorway, keys in hand and wide-eyed. 

It's Ethan, at the door with a deer-in-headlights expression on his face. His hand is still on the knob, hesitating and contemplating on whether he should come in or go out. His eyes are flicking between Leon and Chris, with no sense of which one his eyes want to settle on. They settle on Leon eventually, who is still open-mouthed and a little shell-shocked. Leon's ears burn red and he tears his eyes away. He squirms like a caught animal until Chris lets him go, letting him clamber off of his thigh and sit ramrod-straight on the couch.

"Ethan. You're...back early," Chris says dumbly, looking Ethan up and down. Ethan just nods slowly, and Leon watches the movement of his throat as he swallows. He's still staring at Leon. Why is he staring?

"Uh, yeah, I...forgot something. Do you need me to go? Or I can just wait—Or, uh...I can...not go?" 

Ethan's stumbling over his words, his hands moving in an animated motion as he tries to form a coherent sentence. Leon can't tell if he's asking Chris that question or himself. Chris hesitates to respond, and Leon wonders why until he remembers that, insanely, Ethan is also Chris's boyfriend, and Chris probably wouldn't care if he watched. He's probably waiting for Leon to say something.

Leon finds, crazy enough, that he wouldn't either. No better time to act than now. Impulse is the future.

He takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves (and his rapidly beating heart, which is practically up to his tonsils) as he turns towards Chris. Chris looks a little perplexed when Leon hooks the collar of his shirt, until he brings Chris forward and presses their lips together. Chris hums in recognition, and Leon knows then he's happy to play into it. He hears the door close, but no one leaves. It's just respect of their privacy, the little bubble they've built. Something loving sparks in Leon's gut.

They start slow; nothing too crazy, just small pecks that they separate from with quiet smacking noises. Leon's got a hand on the side of Chris's neck, and he feels a hand slide down his shoulder to settle on his wrist; he huffs a laugh through his nose when Chris's calloused fingertips tickle the round bone of it. He catches his fingers around the nape of Chris's neck to bring him closer, their next kiss bearing down a little harder than the last. Chris hums into it, pleased.

Leon cracks open his eyes slightly to fall on Ethan, who must've sat down at some point. Ethan, who's sitting so still, watching them so closely, takes a shuddering breath when their eyes meet. He has the prettiest flush high on his cheeks, and his lips are shiny, as if he just licked them. Leon contemplates getting up and kissing him instead just because they look so soft. his eyes crinkle in a smile as he closes them again, putting more force into his next kiss.

He swipes his tongue across Chris's bottom lip and Chris eagerly lets him in, happy to let Leon take what he wants if it means making him satisfied. It's a loud kiss, shameless and filthy and echoing in Chris's place. Leon's got both hands on Chris now, one fisted in his collar and the other splayed across his hip, fingers caught on the curve of his sinfully tiny waist. Chris is touching him too, both hands pulling Leon closer to settle his weight on Chris's front. The heaviness of Chris's palms forces him to arch his back just a bit, considering his back creaks every time he moves, and the position must look anything but innocent.

They pause when Ethan whines.

both pairs of eyes, Leon and Chris's, snap to stare at Ethan from where he's sitting. He's flushed all the way to the collar of his shirt, shoulders bunched up to his ears and his head slightly down-turned, humiliated . Leon meets his eyes and they're almost completely swallowed black around the iris, enthralled. 

Leon smacks his lips, spit-sticky and a little dazed as he zeros in, climbing off of Chris's chest. "That was, um..."

"Wow," Ethan supplies, finally blinking after what feels like an hour, pushing his hair back with one palm and chuckling awkwardly, "Yeah."

"We should probably do something about this," Chris adds, shuffling until he's sitting up rather than sinking against the back of the couch, "All of us, I mean." 

Leon and Ethan exchange glances at each other first, and Chris smirks, a small chuckle punching out of him. "Yeah, mostly you two. Just..."

Chris stands up and makes his way over to Ethan, crouching down so he can kiss him, firm but close-mouthed. Ethan hums as he pulls away, head tilting to the side, ridiculously cute. Chris tugs on Ethan's sleeve until the other man stands to his feet, following Chris as he brings them both over to Leon. 

Leon and Ethan stare at each other, then at Chris. Chris doesn't say anything, just sits down next to Leon. He's waiting for something, and Leon is gradually putting those puzzle pieces together.

Chris is wanting him to finally do something about his feelings. And, as terrifying as it was to think about weeks ago, it feels possible to do now. 

"I feel like we're doing this a little backwards," Leon mumbles, sitting up a little more so he can reach Ethan and pull him closer. Ethan practically flops onto the couch, laughing at Leon's remark. He stares down at his lap, playing with the stumps of his missing fingers. Leon wants that to change. He doesn't want Ethan to be nervous.

He makes the first move. Leon puts a thumb and forefinger to Ethan's chin to lift and tilt it, and Ethan stares at him, his bottom lip caught between his top teeth. Leon smiles, small and lopsided, and leans in to kiss him.

It's like sparks flying, fireworks popping and colors dancing behind his eyelids. Ethan's lips are soft like he thought they'd be, but they're also cold, chilling the cracked surface of his lips and making him shiver. Leon places a hand to the side of his neck— the exact same silent pulse point, and curls his fingers to softly scratch at his nape. Ethan doesn't move at all, simply letting Leon control the pace. He's a little bit of a clumsy kisser, but Leon blames that on his multiple premature deaths. 

When they pull back it's only to readjust, Ethan shuffling the slightest bit closer so he can finally get a hand around Leon's waist. Leon appreciates the contact— he always has during kissing. It keeps him grounded. He wiggles a little if only to feel the way Ethan laughs into his mouth.

When they separate for the last time Leon feels full and fuzzy, turning to look at Chris on his right. Chris is smiling, a dopey and lovesick thing. 

"Not so hard when you bite the bullet," Chris praises, leaning in so he can kiss Leon's cheek. Leon nods.

"I've wanted to do that for weeks. Jill didn't lie about me being chicken," Leon admits, a cackle just barely contained behind his teeth as the words hang in the air. Leon swears Ethan's eyes bulge out when he says weeks. It makes him snicker.

"I'm glad that's been established," Chris hums, standing from the couch so he can pluck his phone from the kitchen counter. He unlocks it, dials some number, and disappears into another room talking, leaving Ethan and Leon alone.

"Weeks?" Ethan guffaws, and Leon finally lets that cackle go. He laughs until his ribs hurt and his hip protests. Ethan doesn't seem to realize what's funny, but he smiles anyways. 

"Yeah. After you bought me that stupid Lo Mein from that cheap Chinese place. And then you showed up when I was drunk, and cooked me breakfast. I noticed how happy you made Chris and it was fucking downhill from there," Leon shrugs, picking at his cuticles again. "I just have a hard time expressing it vocally. Rejection is sensitive, and I overthink it and get worried. I avoid people and drink until I'm gone."

Ethan doesn't say anything, but one of his hands gently settles over Leon's thigh. Leon looks up at him to see him smiling, something like recognition in his eyes. Leon notices then that Ethan has the tiniest dimple on the left of his cheek. It's adorable. He can't help but smile back.

"So, how do you feel about dinner tomorrow?"

He doesn't choose anywhere too fancy. Ethan is a simple man, and so is Leon, so he chooses a hole-in-the-wall bar and grill after scanning the online menu a few times. Ethan is nosy, and it's hard to keep a secret from someone you're around somewhat frequently, so he figures out what Leon's chosen before they've even left Chris's place.

Ethan's clearly nervous to be more out and about, but confidentiality ensures that Ethan's name isn't public knowledge, and Leon's got plenty of prowess in close combat to last him another ten years at best. He stays close to Ethan just in case, hooking their pinkies together in Ethan's pocket.

They sit down in a little corner booth and order drinks, making irrelevant small talk over the table as Come on Eileen plays quietly in their ears. Their drinks come, they order their food, it's nice.

"I have a question," Ethan pipes up, fidgeting with his cutlery absently. 

"Shoot," Leon replies, watching the movement of his fingers as Ethan, quite flawlessly, reorganizes his cutlery and wraps it back up.

"What was your life like? Before you became an agent."

The question gives Leon pause. He doesn't talk about his past often, considering it's a past he can't get back. Any memoirs from his family lay burned and decimated in what used to be Raccoon city. Since the government got their grimy clutches on him he's changed a lot-- some change he doesn't like to acknowledge.

But Ethan doesn't mean anything by it. He's just curious to learn more about Leon, and Leon notices that he's pulled the fork from his napkin again and is twirling it on one finger while waiting for a response. It's oddly endearing, and Leon sighs, giving in.

"I was training to be a police officer," he starts, taking a slow sip of his drink. It's too fizzy with not enough flavor but the nostalgic charm of it weighs out the disgusting taste. "I had just graduated the academy before shit went south."

When Leon looks up Ethan isn't twirling his fork anymore. He's staring at Leon, listening intently to what he says. Leon swallows; the next words aren't easy to say.

"I signed my life away to keep--"

Leon chokes up. He thinks of Sherry, young and terrified and desperate. Bile rises in his throat, acrid and sickening.

"--to keep my daughter safe," He finishes limply. Ethan sucks in a breath, heartbreaking and quiet. 

"I basically became a government pet," he continues, The last word coming out harsh and grating. The thought of having his life wrenched away is still bitter on his palate: The thought of having Sherry's life wrenched away.

"I worked for God knows how long--well up into my thirties. The BSAA bought my contract out just before Romania happened."

Leon's mind flashes briefly back to him in a dorm room, sobbing on the phone as Chris told him the news. He remembers how Claire hugged him with the biggest smile on her face in the Toronto Airport. He remembers Sherry crying too when he called her from the base, looking more composed than he was and standing in front of the door of his dorm.

He hears Ethan shuffle. "I didn't know you had a daughter," He whispers, secretive, leaning forward more intently. "What was her name?"

"Sherry. Sherry Birkin," Leon starts, looking down at his fingers, tapping erratically, anxious. "I found her with another survivor when everything was initially happening." He neglects to mention Claire's name, though he's sure Ethan has heard it. "Her dad was a researcher. I tried to keep us hidden for as long as I could, but... they found us anyways. I signed a contract to protect her. they used her."

A long and pregnant pause takes root between the two of them. Leon stares silently at Ethan, waiting for him to say something, anything to save Leon from the awkward diversion to a different topic. It's not like Leon would dislike that, talking about his time with the government is a difficult subject—

Ethan ruins his train of thought. He runs a hand through his hair, chuckles wetly, says: "It's like Rosemary," and Leon's thinly built glass house shatters into a million little pieces of revelation.

Leon and Ethan, putting themselves through hell, suffering, all to protect people they loved: Their daughters, naive and defenseless, used against their will for all things nefarious and horrific. It's then that Leon realizes Ethan knows this pain. Ethan knows what it's like to feel helpless, yet he remains so, so strong in a way Leon never saw in himself all those years back in Raccoon City.

Leon clenches his teeth, squinting his eyes shut, but it doesn't stop what washes over him. He gives in and sobs something broken, hanging his head as the tears fall, dripping onto his knuckles. He reaches his hand across the table searching for purchase, and Ethan takes it, rubbing his thumb across the back of his palm, squeezing his cold hand around Leon's curled-up fingers.

"You may not be her biological dad," Ethan starts, "but in her eyes, you're her real dad, and that's what matters. You gave your life to save hers. Just like I gave my life to save Rosemary's. No love compares to that."

And though Leon thinks it wasn't much of a life to save if it meant her living in isolation, used to engineer another ravaging virus, he thinks it's better than her dying. He nods, his chest hitching in a shaking breath and squeezing out a pitiful sound.

"Fuck." He laughs, watery, sniffling a snotty breath. He lifts his head to look at Ethan. Ethan's staring back at him with a worried smile. "When did you become so fucking philosophical?"

Ethan looks a little sad, casting his eyes downward. "Nowadays, I'm pretty much everything I used to not be." Leon frowns.

They both perk up a little when their food comes, Leon always being food-motivated. All somber conversation is forgone as they eat greasy burgers and salty fries and the shittiest ketchup Leon has ever had despite Ethan loving it. They kick at each other's feet under the table and hook ankles and it's nice, and Leon finds that the tension is easing in his shoulders and a grin has cemented itself onto his face because Ethan understands and Leon can relax.

Leon pays their tab with little preamble and they walk outside, full and warm and content. Their hands stay linked even as the approach the entrance to the base and Leon finds he'd be completely fine if Ethan never let go.

They stand in front of Chris's door while Leon fumbles with his keys, fidgeting with the lock until it turns open. They pile inside, laughing quietly when Leon stumbles over his medical cane from weeks ago because Chris is probably asleep and waking him up is like poking a sleeping bear. 9PM is the new 3AM for Chris now. 

Leon is heading for Chris's room when Ethan stops him with a hand around his arm. He turns around with a question on his tongue, then Ethan leans forward and kisses him. It's a soft, chaste peck, but Leon still feels dizzy when Ethan pulls away. 

"Goodnight, Leon." He whispers, his hand sliding gently off of Leon's arm as he slips into the bathroom.

Leon climbs into bed buzzing with endorphins. 

He's meeting Rosemary. He's meeting Rosemary and he's totally not terrified at all.

He's practically vibrating in Chris's Jeep, barely still in his seat while Ethan and Chris converse from the front. He'd even called Claire before they left, because he was bouncing off the walls like a headless chicken and Ethan looked almost ready to bludgeon him.

"Relax, you'll do fine," Claire had reassured him, her voice crisp and comforting through the speaker of his phone. "Just act normal. Less swearing though, you could do without that." Leon had laughed and eased up a little, but he's still nervous enough to show.

The car stops and Leon's heart leaps up into his throat when his car door opens, revealing Ethan with an excited smile on his face.

"She's gonna love you, and you're going to love her," Chris tells him as they walk up to the door. Leon nods slowly, drowning out the knock, knock knock of the door in favor of looking at Ethan. 

Ethan looks excited. He's been able to see Rosemary once or twice since his rehabilitation, but doing it with Chris and Leon must be different to him. It's a bonding experience-- introducing your daughter to the ones you love. Leon's heart seizes tight with love.

The door opens and Mia is standing there with a slightly withdrawn look on her face. She has bags under her eyes and her hair is sticking up in every direction. Ethan looks sympathetic. Chris looks worried. Leon has no idea how he looks.

Leon and Chris help her clean while Ethan brushes out her hair, asking her how she's doing and, like Chris, how she wants to be doing. She smiles through it and brushes off his concern, tying her hair up into a bun when he's finished. 

"How's Rose?" Chris asks while wiping down the kitchen counters. That makes Mia lighten up a bit, and her exhaustion turns into something a little more affectionate.

"She's doing well. She's not showing any signs of mutation, she's just...she's a little girl," Mia says softly, approaching Leon and leaning over him to grab a few wipes, wiping down the counters with Chris. "She's sleeping right now, but I'll wake her up to eat soon."

They lapse into silence after that, wiping and sweeping and dusting until everything is back in mint condition. Mia looks relieved after the fact, slumping into the counter with a yawn so loud that all eyes in the kitchen turn to look at her.

"How long has it been since you slept?" Ethan asks at the same time that Chris asks "Are you sleeping well?" They exchange a look with each other as Mia avoids eye contact, playing with her now bare ring finger.

"I've been having...nightmares," she admits feebly, pulling her hair down so she can play with it instead. "It's been hard to do everything alone."

"Has no one been coming to check on you?" Chris probes, his eyebrows pinched tightly together. That's when Leon remembers that oh, yeah. They were having people check up on Mia. Mia doesn't answer. Chris sighs deeply, staring exasperatedly at Leon for a beat.

"We'll make sure you're actually being taken care of. You have my number," Chris reassures, rubbing a gentle hand into her shoulder. Mia avoids his gaze and slightly shoulders from his touch, nodding. Later, when they're in bed, Chris will confess that he feels like it's his fault Mia isn't being taken care of; also later, Leon will remind Chris that it's not his fault that some of the BSAA's men are assholes.

Leon helps Mia cook dinner while Ethan noses around, both of them looking at each other bemusedly as he attempts to peek between them, closing their shoulders together to block his prying. They make some form vegetable soup that Mia says is an old recipe and she pulls out a loaf of bread that they can dip it in. She vanishes afterwards, though Leon's too hungry to care where at the moment. The food smells so good and he's sort of shocked that he didn't steal a carrot or two while they were chopping the vegetables.

Leon sets the table while Chris and Ethan casually clean behind him, a whisper of a chatter filling the space, and then Leon hears it. A tinny little cry. He looks up.

"Say hi, Rose," Mia coos at her daughter, carrying the small child in her arms. Leon is immediately caught by her, standing frozen in place by the table. She's swaddled up in a soft pink blanket, her fat little arms reaching for Mia's hair. Leon snaps himself out of his daze, mentally slapping himself as he approaches Mia. Mia is smiling, the widest she's smiled since they've arrived.

Rose is beautiful. Her cheeks are large apples that are tinted a pretty pink, her eyes are crinkled and a beautiful shade of green, similar to Ethan's. She's got the tiniest smile on her face, still gummy and toothless. She's reaching, reaching— grasping with her tiny little fingers. 

Leon feels like he stares for a beat too long at her without saying anything. He only notices how long he's been staring after Ethan nudges him delicately, the expression on his face so, so loving. 

"Give her your hand," Ethan urges, grasping Leon's fingers and bringing his hand forward. Mia is watching him quietly, saying nothing as his hand hovers in front of Rose. 

Rose stops babbling for a beat. She stares at Leon's hand with a wide-eyed curiosity; then she reaches forward and grasps onto two of his fingers. 

Her hands are soft and barely have any strength when they squeeze, but the grip feels so comforting. His entire being softens, and he uses a thumb to stroke her tiny little knuckles.

"Hi, Rose," he whispers, his voice breaking pathetically on the last syllable. He takes a deep breath. "I'm Leon." 

He notices Chris standing beside him now, squeezing a hand around Leon's waist. Ethan has a hand around his shoulders and is standing close, gauging the reaction of his daughter with a poorly-veiled affection and curiosity. Chris is chuckling under his breath in tiny huffs.

"She likes you," Ethan and Mia say together, addressing Leon with a silence that preserves his tender moment. Leon nods wordlessly, swallowing dry.

They eat dinner all together and it's good and comfortable, a warm atmosphere blanketing the home. Rose gets soup all over her face and Mia has to clean her with a wipe while Ethan, Chris and Leon exchange a look, unbelievably fond and humored. Leon gets to sit on the floor with her after and watch her crawl around playing, babbling mindlessly and grabbing at objects around the room. Leon and Chris sit close to her while Mia and Ethan talk in the background in hushed tones. Rose crawls around like she's on a mission, pointing at objects and giggling nonsense as she sputters out poor attempts at their names. Leon and Chris both nod, copying her babble mutually.

Leon is just rocking Rose's tiny form to sleep when Ethan approaches, looking lighter than he has in months. Leon wants to question why, but he doesn't want to be nosy. Ethan takes Rose from Leon and leans down to kiss her forehead, tender, wishing her goodnight before handing her to Mia. Leon aches because Ethan is so perfect that it hurts.

They exchange goodbyes with Mia. Leon and Chris both give her a hug. Ethan kisses her temple. They all wave to her as they walk down the porch. It feels like family gatherings Leon used to attend before his family all kicked the tragic bucket.

They're piled back into Chris's Jeep and driving down the old gravel driveway when Ethan speaks again: "Mia said she's happy for me." He sounds almost giddy when he says it, barely containing the joy in his voice.

"I think everyone's happy for you," Chris adds. Leon hums his agreement, half asleep in the back. It's warm, because outside is cold and the only way to combat that is warm clothes and equally as warm Jeep air.

"Right, but... it feels different coming from Mia. Similar to how it felt with you two. Fuck, it's cheesy, but it feels almost like...clarity. That's the word, I think."

Leon chuckles sleepily through his nose, dragging himself up and scooting up in his seat so he can hook his chin over the back of the passenger's seat and kiss Ethan's head. "Sounds like you won the spelling bee. Want a blue ribbon?"

"Fuck off, you dick," Ethan laughs, shoving Leon's face back with his palm roughly. Chris laughs too, warm and hearty and smoky and, yeah.

Things are nice. Leon can get used to this change in his routine.