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Moments of peace aren’t exactly rare these days, but are still something to be taken advantage of. Which makes the sound of his ringtone even more annoying than it usually is. He shifts slightly from where he sits on the couch, lounging back with his head propped up on the armrest. Luis is half draped across his chest in a way that surely can’t be comfortable in such a small space. He can’t remember the last time they had free time to simply fall asleep watching daytime television together.
Leon ignores the phone the first time it rings. The second time, he pulls the phone from his pocket and checks who’s calling, but ultimately decides he can’t be bothered by an unknown number. Probably spam anyways. He places it on the coffee table to ignore it. The third time the phone rings, in a row mind you, Luis makes an annoyed sound under his breath and sits up, reaching out to grab the phone, flipping it open with maybe a little more force than necessary.
“This number is not accepting calls at this- oh.“
Leon can hear the garbled sound of someone talking on the other side of the phone, and he watches Luis’ expression shift from annoyed to confused.
“Okay, hold on,” he answers in English this time.
“Who is it?” A sick feeling settles into the blonds stomach as he sits up, watching the other man’s brow furrow.
Luis holds the phone out to him, “Chris.”
“Redfield?” Leon takes the phone and holds it to his ear, standing from the couch.
“How many Chris’ do you know?”
Leon clicks his tongue at the comment, but steps away from the couch as he answers.
At this point in their relationship, in life, in general, Luis doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s watching the blond, trying to take in any physical cue he can or catch any part of the conversation. He watches Leon straighten and square his shoulders slowly, almost subconsciously. It’s about work, then.
The blond looks over his shoulder for a moment to lock eyes with him, expression guarded. At this point, Luis would honestly rather hear that they’re having an affair instead of what he’s suspecting it going on.
Leon’s jaw shifts, “No, I haven’t heard about it.”
And that’s the last of the conversation Luis is able to hear. Leon walks over to the balcony door, stepping out and shutting it behind him. He can see him though the glass, posture stiff as he takes in whatever Chris is telling him. All that army training is coming back to him, it seems.
A lot of questions go through the Spaniards mind all at once; what could be going on that’s so important and secretive that he couldn’t be a part of? Did this mean Leon is going away on another ‘business trip’? Why isn’t Chris Redfield’s number saved in the damn phone? What kind of dog would he be sneaking into the apartment while his partner was gone?
“Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s muffled through the glass, but Luis is confident even the neighbors heard that.
The blond’s carefully composed face has slipped into something that looks like a mix between anger and exhaustion. Through the glass, he locks eyes with Luis again, and his mask is back up in an instant. For a brief moment, Luis worries that this might actually be about him.
Leon is on the phone for twenty minutes (Luis is absolutely not timing it) before he snaps the phone shut and comes back inside. He sits heavily on the couch, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. His brow still has a furrow to it, which Luis recognizes as the blond processing everything he just received.
Luis never gave up his original spot beside him on the couch, though he’s got his feet propped up on the coffee table, and he stares at the television that isn’t on. “How’s Chris?”
“Claire says hi,” the blond deflects quickly. It’s a hint Luis recognizes, but refuses to take.
“When do you leave?”
“Who said I’m leaving?”
“Your general tone and demeanor.”
“I’m not leaving,” Leon huffs, a hand coming up to rub his forehead and push his hair back. “I always sound and look like this.”
“Don’t try to gaslight me right now.”
“You love it when I gaslight you, don’t use therapy words against me.”
“Leon.”
Leon grimaces at the use of his name, but he does pick his head up and look at Luis for the first time since coming in. The mask is still up, expression neutral and controlled. Professional.
“Luis.”
The Spaniard narrows his eyes, fixing the blond with a hard look. For a moment he’s quiet, and the sick feeling in Leon’s stomach solidifies into something hard and heavy. Abruptly he stands, turning quickly to walk away. Leon reaches out quickly, just barely catching his forearm to stop him.
“Wait,” he pleads, and blissfully Luis stops, “I need time to process. There’s nothing solid yet. I’m not trying to keep you in the dark.”
Luis doesn’t turn to look at him when he speaks, but he pauses for a moment after Leon is done speaking.
“Fine,” he relents, but he shakes his arm free of the blond’s grip.
“Luis-“
“I’m just getting more smokes, Sancho,” he assures him, grabbing his coat and ducking out the door.
Leon doesn’t protest further, and he doesn’t bring attention to the half full carton of cigarettes on the coffee table.
—
So this is what it feels like.
Leon sits on the couch, leaning forwards enough to rest his elbows on his knees. His knee is bouncing against his will, and he can’t stop looking over at the sliding glass door to the balcony. Outside, Luis is leaning back casually against the railing with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other.
Chris had called after some time in bumblefuck Romania to inform him of a new breed of bioterrorism to worry about. As if the shit in Africa wasn’t bad enough, now they had to worry about mold behaving too closely to las plagas to be comforting. Initially, Chris had called as a professional courtesy, to let him know there was likely more investigation to follow that could drag him back into extended leaves and world travels. Seriously, someone take Redfield’s passport.
After their (fight?) discussion the other night, Leon thought it would be best if information passed through the expert on the matter. Watching Luis through the glass, gesturing with his hands as though it would help him get his point across over the phone, brow furrowed in frustration when he had to dumb down what he was saying, Leon gets it. Not being part of a conversation you could help with is infuriating. No wonder he was still in the dog house.
Speaking of.
A cold, wet nose nudges its way between Leon’s hands where they hang between his knees, and he only startles slightly at the sensation. The meaty little pitbull it belongs to wiggles excitedly at the contact.
Luis brought home a dog, just to foster. Leon is confident this apartment complex had weight restrictions, and he’s confident the excuse of “he’s meant to be thirty pounds, he’s just overweight” isn’t going to get them very far with the front office.
The dog stares up at him expectantly, eyes shining, tongue licking his muzzle with barely restrained excitement. He can hear the way the dog's tail beats against the floor and the leg of the coffee table, undoubtedly leaving a sprinkle of black fur. How a short coated dog can shed so much is beyond him.
The blond obliges, begrudgingly, scratching the dog behind the ear. He can’t help but smile when his leg starts to kick.
“Good spot? Yeah, you’re a good boy.”
“Glad to see you two bonding.”
The dog abandons Leon to rush the Spaniard, jumping around him. To his credit, Luis makes a valiant effort to ignore the dog before eventually encouraging the bad behavior in favor of staying upright.
“You’re teaching him bad manners.”
“That’s a problem for whoever adopts him.”
“How was the call?”
Luis smirks, but attempts to hide it, keeping his focus on the dog, “Classified”
“Wow,” Leon draws the vowel out to drive his point home. “Bite him, Shadow.”
Luis kneels onto the floor, holding his arms up as the dog rolls onto its back and kicks its legs, wiggling against the carpeted floor. He grabs his paws gently and gives a playful growl, which the dog reciprocates, wiggling more intensely now.
“Do not rile that fucking dog up.” Leon’s tone is demanding, but they both know it’s closer to a beg.
Luis doesn’t hide his smirk this time, leaning over to blow in the dog's face. The dog pauses, mouth ajar, looking offended for a moment before springing to his feet and darting to the other side of the room. He bows, barks, then runs to the other side.
This game will likely last for a full ten minutes, and if it’s anything like last time, Leon is going to get an earful from his neighbors.
—
A month, a surprisingly sad goodbye, and an eviction threat later, they return their foster dog. The concept of “I told you so” isn’t lost on Leon when they return from the shelter alone, Luis’ mood noticeably deflated.
“Alright, I’ll admit it,” Leon kicks a rogue toy with the side of his foot towards the empty dog bed in the corner. “Kinda depressing in here when you’re not being assaulted by that fat asshole.”
Luis snorts, picking up the letter from the complex and rereading it.
“I think you should let them know we returned him.”
“They’ll figure it out. Besides, it’ll just get us in more trouble for the next one.”
Luis does a commendable job at hiding his smile, crumpling the eviction threat in his hand with a nod.
—
“You should get a puppy. Or something young, under two for sure.”
Ashley is in her regular spot on the couch, which she made an honest attempt at brushing dog hair off of before sitting. Luis is in the shower, giving them time to talk alone.
“I don’t want to potty train a dog.” Leon sits beside her, arm slung over the back of the couch.
“Okay, so make Luis do it. Or get something old enough to already be potty trained. You live on the top floor, it’s going to be hard.”
“Shadow was normal, he could make it downstairs.”
“He was like, five years old. He learned to be normal.”
Leon sighs, over exaggerated, letting his head fall back against the couch.
Ashley is smiling, he can’t see it but he can feel it. “Or you could move, make letting the dog out easier.”
The blond is surprised to find that he’s actually turning the idea over in his head. Moving wasn’t really an option before, but he’s reluctant to say that things seem to be slowing down. Maybe he could retire, be normal.
Yeah, right.
—
“What if we moved?”
The question comes out of nowhere. Luis isn’t a stranger to Leon’s thoughts escaping his brain, but this topic was new.
“Moved.”
“I know you’ve done a lot of work to this place, I didn’t know how you’d feel about leaving.”
It’s a warm day, abnormally warm for the time of year it is, but it’s welcomed by the two men sitting on a small loveseat on the balcony.
“To where?”
“Dunno. A house, something with a yard. I could get really into grass.”
“Grass.”
“Yeah, isn’t that the suburban dream? Mowing your lawn to look better than your neighbors?”
The Spaniard gives him a look like he’s waiting for the punchline. “And what brought this on?”
“Ashley.”
“Naturally.”
The blond offers a small shrug. His face remains neutral, still caught up in his own head as he works out the logistics of what he’s offering.
“Can we even afford to move?”
Leon snorts, thinking it was a joke. When he realizes the other man is genuine he clears his throat. “Yes. We could afford to move and keep the apartment if you wanted to be more dramatic when we fight.”
“We don’t fight.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
He gets a sharp elbow to the ribs for the joke, but it’s worth it.
“I could flip a house.” Luis' hand comes up to scratch the stubble at his jaw, a habit Leon has come to recognize as relatively deep thought.
“We could buy a finished house, just relax for a change.”
“That’s not our style. Rather worry about the house than anything else.”
“So you’re open to looking?”
Luis is quiet for a moment, brow knit in thought. “I think I am open to looking.”
“Ashley will want to paint.”
Luis hums, then nods, “Ashley will want to paint.”
—
Thank god for his government size paychecks, because Luis seemed determined to do everything the hard way.
“Are you sure-“
“I know what I’m doing, Sancho. I’m a doctor.”
“You have a doctorate,” Leon treads carefully, but he can’t shake the worry that they’re going to have to tear up the floor and start over. “Watching HGTV doesn’t make you Dr. House.”
“Please tell me that was a joke.”
Luis pauses his work, setting down his tools so he can cross his arms and look up at the blond with a scolding glare. It’s not giving the effect it’s supposed to; with the way his hair is tied back and the safety glasses he has on, he looks too hot to be mad. Actually, being mad makes him look kinda hotter.
“I’ve watched videos. I’ve seen tutorials. It’s basic math and chemistry.”
The blond holds up his hands in a placating gesture, leaning against the door frame to watch his partner work.
“Do you want any help, then?”
A light shade of pink colors Luis’ cheeks. The last time Leon offered to help, it was with knocking out the kitchen island. He made quick work of it with a sledgehammer, and he went the extra mile to take out the debris left behind. Watching him work was enough to distract Luis from ripping wallpaper down. And then he had the audacity to take his shirt off? It was enough to have them breaking in the house before they even officially moved in.
“No, I do not want any help.” He answers stubbornly, going back to his work of setting tiles.
“I wish you would’ve said that before I finished moving all the cabinets inside. Now you owe me one.”
“And what exactly do I owe you?”
Leon reaches down to tilt his head up by the chin before leaning in and stealing a kiss. He feels the other man sigh and melt for a moment, but it’s short lived.
Luis jerks back with a warning look that doesn’t exactly reach his eyes. “I’m on a time limit with setting the tiles straight, Sancho.”
“Don’t let me distract you, Quixote.”
—
“How much money does he have?”
Luis pauses his painting as he actually considers the question.
“He doesn’t talk about it.”
“You never asked?”
“Everything after Spain has been a gift, and I haven’t questioned it.”
Ashley shrugs, reaching up to apply another strip of painters tape to the ceiling.
Luis resumes his paint rolling, making sure the wall was an even shade of “petal tip” purple that Ashley had picked out. It’s gray, but Luis won’t tell her.
After a moment of thought, Luis continues, “He’s made comments about not being able to afford things, but only to discourage things he didn’t like.”
“He’s not charging me rent,” she offers, stepping back to check if her tape was straight from a distance.
“That could mean anything.”
“What could?” Leon interrupts their conversation casually, holding a pizza box in one hand and a half eaten slice in the other. “Break time, I know neither of you have eaten today.”
“Is that Hawaiian?” Ashely approaches the box skeptical, like the toppings might jump out and attack her.
“Just plain, non offensive cheese.”
Luis finishes the last bit of painting for this coat, setting his roller in the paint tray carefully. He gives Leon a once over, admiring the paint splattered jeans and wife beater look he was sporting. He refused to be distracted while painting again, after the incident in the apartment, but he thinks Leon is making it hard on purpose.
The blond catches his eye and winks. Yeah, definitely on purpose.
“You’re not in here planning another field trip, are you?”
Ashley laughs and takes a slice from the box, holding a hand under it to prevent it from dripping.
“Just discussing how you continue to reprise your role as Prince Charming,” Luis teases, taking the box from the blond’s hands.
“Great. That sounds like a yes.”
—
He must be out of his damn mind.
Renovations have taken over the last two months of his life. Moving, painting, demolishing and remodeling. They couldn’t have just picked out a cookie cutter house, no. Luis needed a project. Leon can’t really blame him, he just needs to complain about it the whole time.
You would think after months of work that he would simply find it in himself to relax, not add more work into their lives.
So then why on god's green earth was he looking into a box labeled “free puppies”.
The dogs whine and jump excitedly, all eager for the blonds attention. They must be young with how small they are. He’s not a monster, he can admit that they’re cute. But what the hell was he doing?
“Why are they free?” He asks the man leaned up against the building they’ve set up in front of.
“Accidental litter. No deworming, no shots, take one at your own risk.”
“What are they?”
“Lab mix.” Leon knows from his time researching foster dogs that the term basically meant nothing. Could be anything by the time it’s grown.
He looks critically at the box, watching all the dogs fall over each other. Some have abandoned their pursuit of attention in favor of playing with each other. One in particular catches his eye. It’s propping himself up on another dog, wagging its tail so hard that the whole body wiggles. It’s mostly brown, but there’s a patch of black on its tail. Reminds him of his gun.
God dammit.
Leon reaches in and scoops up the pup. It weighs basically nothing, and it squirms to get comfortable as he holds it in the air. Eventually it settles, shoving its head in the bend of the blond’s elbow.
God. Dammit.
“Sure it’s free?” He questions again.
The man nods, waving his hand in a “go ahead” gesture. “The less I have to bring to the pound, the more likely they are to take them. You’re doing us all a favor.”
Leon nods in a quick thanks. This is the second strangest transaction he’s ever been a part of.
—
Leon is, well to be perfectly honest he’s kinda pissed at Luis’ reaction to the dog.
The Spaniard’s mouth sets in a hard line as he watches the dog run around the kitchen floor.
“What made you choose him?”
“It was a box of free puppies. I liked the color.”
“And why is that, amor.”
“Black tail. Blacktail. I’m thinking we name him Bullet or Ammo.”
Luis hums, kneeling down to see the dog closer. He lifts it to inspect his belly, lifts its lips to check his teeth. The dog wiggles excitedly, not the most tolerant for the examination. Once satisfied, the Spaniard sets the dog back on the ground, only for him to immediately crawl back up into his lap.
“I thought you would’ve liked a bigger dog.”
“He’s a puppy, he’ll grow.”
“It has adult teeth.” Luis sounds reluctant to share this information.
“Okay?”
“So it’s at least six months.”
“And?”
“Amor, I’m confident you brought home a chihuahua.”
Leon doesn’t have time to protest before the front door opens and shuts with a quiet click. The dog perks up from Luis’ lap, ears standing up in a suspiciously chihuahua like fashion. It darts off a second later with a small bark, little nails clicking against the newly laid floor.
“We got a puppy?!” Ashley squeals from the other room.
Luis snorts with amusement, and Leon pinches his brow. They were lucky he could never deny either of them anything. Something tells him that this dog was going to be spoiled rotten, but for now it seemed like it was worth it.