Chapter Text
You lay in his arms, sweating beading from his forehead. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist. Your legs intertwined, his chest rises and falls tightly against your cheek. Despite the gentleness and wholesome feeling this embrace was supposed to provide, you feel… empty. You feel angry, used and hopeless. You feel tears start to swell in your eyes as Leon sleeps peacefully. You want to hate him so desperately, but you know that you can't.
You had fallen in love with Leon S. Kennedy, the cold hearted DSO agent. But he wasn’t that at all. You knew that he was soft, and gentle. You knew the side of him that nobody else in the office got to. At first, it was just casual sex. A booty call every now and then, especially after the tougher missions. When one of you really needed to be reminded of what it meant to be human. But somewhere along the line your vision got cloudy. You became really good friends, and as you saw parts of him he wanted to keep hidden, you just watched yourself fall in to the worst trap man ever created. Love. Specifically, unrequited love.
It’s been around six-months since you both started this friends with benefits scam, and the longer it went on, the harder it was for you to pull yourself together. Shared glances in the office set your heart a flame. The way his brow was always in that permanent scowl, both in the sheets and in the office. You felt yourself fall deeper and deeper. And it hurt.
But it hurt the most when you cosplayed a loving couple after sex. The cuddling was the part you hated the most. You hated falling asleep happily in his arms and waking up to the coldness of his absence in the morning. You hated seeing him smile at you at work, with a cup of coffee. He fucking knew how you took your coffee, the fucking bastard. How dare he? How dare he love you so gently, like nobody else in this god forsaken world could. How dare he not fall as hard as you did.
You leave his embrace to put your clothes back on. He wakes up gently from your movement and rubs his eyes to wake up faster. He watches you dress, his hair a mess from your pillows.
“You ok?” He mumbles in that raspy morning voice, God shut up, You think. You sit at the edge of your bed, your gaze focused on the floor.
“I think… I think we should stop.” You mutter quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear you.
“Stop?” He asks, you can’t see it, but his body has tensed. A look of concern and confusion on his brow.
“Yes. I don’t want to do this anymore.” A tone of anger and resentment fills your cadence. He can tell you’re upset, and he knows why. “I hate the way I feel after.” He moves to the edge of the bed to sit with you. He lays a hand on your back, another feeling you so desperately want to hate. His comfort.
A tense silence fills the air between you both. Your gaze locked on the floor as you feel his eyes analyze you. He can read you like a book, there's no reason in telling him how you feel because it’s written all over your face. He doesn’t say anything, he just gets up and puts his clothes on. He knows he’s hurting you, and a part of him feels guilty. But if it was space you wanted, then it was space you got. No more ‘you up’ texts at 2am, no more coffee in the morning, no more passing glances, if you wanted to end things, then the things shall end, you thought.
You hate how easy it is for him to walk away. You hate him for making you feel this way. But you know that this is entirely your fault. You had fallen in love with somebody who made it clear from the start that's not what he wanted. You hated that you knew that no matter how hurt you were, you still came crawling back because you felt it was better to have just a piece of him than none of him. You didn’t want to lose him. You wanted him to change his mind, and confess that he was in love with you, and that he wanted you as bad as you wanted him.
He presses a kiss on your forehead before walking away, stopping himself in the doorway. Your gaze is still fixed to the floor, tears spilling as he seals your fate.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” He pauses for a moment, his mouth opens to say something else but he doesn’t. He leaves you, but you don’t feel any different than you do normally after your hookups. That empty feeling in your gut is just the same. You hear your front door creek open, and shut. The silence left in your apartment is deafening. You decide to sleep on the couch tonight so you don't have to smell him.
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The next morning, you walk into work, unsure of what to expect. Would things between you and Leon be over completely? You just wanted to end the sex, you don't think you could cope well if you lost all of him.
Instead, at your desk is a warm cup of coffee, a breakfast sandwich (of course, made exactly to your liking.) and a note.
Lunch?
He’s still here.