Love From The Other Side ☆ Leon S Kennedy X Reader

5 ☆ Walking Contradictions

I groggily force my exhausted eyes open, pushing off the extra layer of clothing covering my legs. A jacket? I rub my face, glancing down at the small black smudge on my already-crimson palms. I groan frustratedly. I forgot I had eyeliner on.

I shake my head disapprovingly and stand up, giving my anemia a moment to marinate before walking down the stairs. I pause as I notice the raging fire in the middle of the room.

Right. He's gone and turned the bodies into a bonfire.

A small, leather accessory catches my eye. I pick it up and hold it out infront of me, admiring it for a moment. It's a gun holster, I think. I clip it ontop of my studded belt, and it fits perfectly. Sweet.

I hear soft footsteps behind me, causing my head to snap around immediately.

Lo and behold... a cop.

I squint my eyes stubbornly.

"Who are-" I pause. "Martin!?" I exclaim.

"Y/N! You're... certainly dressed differently from when I'd last seen you." He acknowledges, silently judging me as he crosses his arms.

I shrug. "Am I?"

"Certainly. Very much so."

I just nod non-chalantly, changing the subject. My attire still makes it relatively easy to make an educated guess at what I am, despite being covered head to toe in blood. A punk.
"Are you hurt? What's that?" I point at a soggy, red stain on his side.

He nods shamefully.

I hear a small rattle, and turn to the shutter. I notice the boy from earlier struggling to escape through the gap. Me and Martin collectively rush over to pull him out. I grab his left hand while Martin grabs his right, sliding him right out.

He almost flies into me, knocking me to the floor, but I swerve out of the way and he crashes face-first into the hard surface.

Phew, he almost fell ontop of me!

I crouch down to see what he was running from, noticing a lot of feet. Smelly feet; like, rotting flesh. Yeah, I didn't expect much different.

"Disgusting..." I mutter, my eyebrows furrowed. I let out a squeal as I involuntarily make eye contact with a pair of empty eye sockets. I scramble backwards with a whine, abruptly standing up.

I perk up at the sound of voices.

"So, you're Leon?" Martin interrogates. "The rookie cop? God, what an interesting first day..."

I turn around slowly.

'Leon' turns to me.

"You're a cop."
"And you're a punk."

We stare eachother down for a moment. I stand up slowly, looking up directly into his soul as I rise to my full height of a whopping five foot nothing.

I furrow my eyebrows.

"You're a cop." I say, cautiously.

"Is there a problem?" He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

"I hate cops." I grit my teeth. "The lot of them."

"Hey, I'm a cop! You seem to be just fine with Martin." He contradicts my words and I huff.

"That's different! Even Caesar told me that cops are pigs, and not to trust them. I then learnt it the hard way. But Martin... he taught me how to cook mashed potato. The Christmas way."

Leon rolls his eyes half-heartedly.
"I don't see punks often, but when I do, they look like they want my guts for breakfast. Every time."

"Probably because you're a cop. The amount of times I've gotten chased by you fuckers..." I mumble.