23-year-old Leon Kennedy, Umbrella's finest agent, is sent to Raccoon City in September 1998, during the night of the horrifying outbreak. He's told to secure a sample of the G-virus and to get rid of William Birkin, as well as to kill any of the re...
content warnings: reader's life motto is gaslight gatekeep girlboss, drug use (again), author supports women's rights but also women's wrongs, massive angst
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You awake early in the morning, eyes fluttering once you realize it's way before you set your alarm. Usually you're able to go back to sleep within several minutes, but that doesn't seem to be on your schedule today.
A deep frown settles on your forehead as you stare up at the ceiling mindlessly.
"Is there a reason you're staring at my lamp instead of sleeping at this hour?"
His raspy morning voice snaps you out of whatever you were just thinking about — you're not sure what it was anyways — and you turn to look at him.
"Probably. I just don't really know what it is."
Leon narrows his eyes at your words.
Despite being on very good terms again, he senses something is off with you. He doesn't know what, much less why, but there's something. It makes him question himself. Did things go too fast? Do you not trust him?
But none of that would make sense. Especially since he knows about your deepest, darkest secrets — or at least he believes he does, because how much worse could it possibly get?
"Is everything okay?" He asks, pulling you closer to him, cupping your cheek.
Your sleepy but forced smile gets on his nerves. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"You look tired. How much sleep have you had?"
"Six hours..."
"Oh, that's not bad-"
"... in the past two days, I think."
Leon frowns. "You need sleep."
"I really don't. I function perfectly fine."
"I have sleeping pills if you want them."
"No, Leon, I just—" you sit up, rubbing your tired eyes with a sigh, "—this is normal for me at this point. After everything that happened, I just haven't been able to get some rest, like my body is rejecting it. It's fine. I drink some coffee and I'm good to go. Really."
Four years of torture. Being forced to kill for a living. Working with Umbrella. Your suicide attempt. The Siberia trip. Simmons being God knows where planning God knows what.
After everything you've been through recently, he certainly wouldn't blame you for losing it.
But you've allowed him back into your life. He should try to pull you out of that awful pit of darkness you're in, right?
"Do you trust me?" He asks, tucking your hair behind your ear.
