A Sickly Sweet Reverie (Leon Kennedy X OC) [BOOK 3]

Chapter 32: Unsaid Phrase [SMUT]

Shoutout to my sister who is a champion of words, a sculptor of arguments and a titan of the writing craft. She has been a phenomenal help in creating these stories, helping me edit, giving feedback, and always helping me grow. 

She is currently writing an original fantasy novel that is Sarah J. Maas level of amazing, and I hope she publishes it on wattpad soon so it can be enjoyed by more than just me. 

@Asavilla 

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It only took two hours of hiding beneath the comforter for my breaths to steady. My tears dried long before that. Now all that remained was confusion, embarrassment and a tightness in my throat I couldn't dispel.

I'd broken down in front of him. I crumbled in front of the last person I ever wanted to see me like that. The one person who'd seen me anywhere near that level of grief and despair was Chris, and only because we were plagued by the same hollow feeling within us. But Leon? He hadn't ever seen me close enough to the edge, and I tried so hard to keep him from seeing any semblance of a drop.

Maybe this was good. Perhaps now he finally was able to see how battered and fragmented I was. A job too big for him to take. If he were smart, and I knew deep down he was, he would be long gone.

I sucked in a breath and threw the covers off myself. It took me a second to summon the strength needed to move, but my leaden legs carried me to the door where I stood frozen.

Surely he left. It's been two hours.

I pulled open the bedroom door, and had to blink against the unexpected light in the room. The warm golden light poured in from the now drawn curtains, spilling over my living room and the now clean coffee table. The beer cans and bottles were gone. The ashtray was nowhere to be seen.

I glanced around, stepping farther into the living room and letting the bedroom door click shut behind me.

Footsteps sounded against my linoleum kitchen flooring at the sound. Seconds later Leon appeared in the small arched doorway, coffee mug in hand. He surveyed my form, like he was completing a mental checklist before he strode toward the couch, sipping from the mug he always used when he was here. A stupid black mug that said 'Don't you wish coffee was hot like me?'

The familiar ire crept up my spine as I read the words, and for a moment I forgot what had happened. As if it were a normal day, Leon sank down into the leather sofa and glanced at his phone. It was picturesque, the familiarity of it all.

But then reality came pouring down upon me, and I was no longer looking at a put together painting. I cleared my throat, swallowing to dispel the dryness as I asked, "What are you... still doing here?"

He looked up from his cup of coffee, dropping his phone onto the coffee table as he leaned back, "Helping you."

He said it simply, as if stating the weather to a blind man, not realizing that the man probably didn't know what rain looked like.

"Helping me?"

Leon set down the mug, "I cleaned the coffee table, sorted through the mail, did a bit of light dusting, and, oh, that sweet woman from next door did drop off a lasagna. I know you said you didn't want anymore, but I still put it in the fridge for later."

For later. He said it with such confidence I knew he meant dinner for me and him.

"But...why?" The words came out scratchy as my throat tightened once more.

"Because frankly, you need it," Leon rearranged himself on the couch, shoving himself into the corner and patting the cushion next to him. "Sit."

My brow furrowed but I carried myself to the edge of the black sofa, dipping into the imprint Leon had already left in the leather. The warmth was searing.