Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Chris gazed up at the crumbling building, his face twisted in a frown. He couldn’t believe Claire had roped him into this.

“Chris, please! Just this once!” she’d pleaded. “Help me, and I swear I’ll never ask for anything again!”

He’d glared at her, but deep down, he knew he’d give in. She was his little sister, always asking him for something, and he was usually fine with it. But this? This was… a lot. He had his own responsibilities, and besides, this wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse.

“Claire, I’ve told you already—there’s nothing I can do here. There's no law against what they're doing. You know that.”

Claire’s green eyes had sparkled with determination. “I don’t need Captain Redfield on this—I need my *brother* to go inside and take a look around. Just for me, Chris. This is… important. Life-changing important.”

He’d sighed, knowing she had him. She had that way of guilt-tripping him, and he hated her for it—just a little. And she wasn’t wrong. She might be the activist, but he’d always believed in hybrid rights too, even if he wasn’t out there fighting for it.

The sad truth was that most people saw hybrids as less than humans: criminals, animals, even servants. Those who worked or lived with humans were generally better off, but the unlucky ones ended up in filthy shelters, warehoused like animals.

Rumours about these places were bad. Claire’s recent investigation was about one of the worst shelters, and she needed proof for her article.

And so, there he was, standing in front of a rundown shelter, just like Claire had asked. With a silent sigh, he stepped inside, greeted by the stench and a bitter-looking man behind a desk.

“Uh, I’m Chris Redfield. I called yesterday about the adoption,” he said, not quite able to hide his discomfort.

The man grunted, his fingers drumming impatiently on the desk. “Yeah, yeah. Follow me. I’ll show you around. Make it quick,” he muttered.

Chris bit back his irritation, forcing himself to keep calm. “How many hybrids do you have here?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation civil.

The man shrugged. “Too damn many of those animals, I’ll tell you that much.”

Chris clenched his fists but kept walking, letting the man lead him down a series of dingy, dimly lit hallways. The place felt like a decaying hospital, each step echoing against the grime-encrusted walls.

They reached a locked door, and the man turned to him, keys jangling. “This is the main area. Look around, but don’t get too close to the bars—some of ’em bite,” he sneered, unlocking the door.

*Bars?* Chris thought, his stomach tightening.

As the door creaked open, a wave of stench hit him like a punch. The sight beyond made his blood run cold. On either side of the hallway were cells—*not rooms,* cells—packed with hybrids, their faces hollow, and their eyes blank. The air was thick with despair.

“This way,” the man said, his voice as flat as ever, as if this was just another day.

Chris felt his insides twist, fighting back the urge to retch. He forced himself to walk, his eyes sweeping over the scene before him. He saw hybrids of all kinds—foxes, cats, rabbits—sitting huddled in filthy rags, some shivering, most staring vacantly into nothingness. Some didn’t even have blankets.

“How… how could anyone do this?” he whispered, fists clenched.

But his guide seemed unfazed, even bored, ranting about the “waste of resources” hybrids were.

Chris quickened his pace, trying to escape both the stench and the man’s contempt. He’d come with a tiny camera hidden in his watch to record evidence, but now he could barely hold it steady, his hand trembling with anger and sorrow.

Toward the end of the hallway, something strange caught his eye. The last cell was covered with a sheet of plastic, like a quarantine. Curious, he moved closer and peered inside. His heart sank.

There was a cat hybrid in the corner of the cell, sprawled on the cold stones, unconscious. His face was covered with dirt, his chest barely moving—he looked almost dead. His wrists were chained to the bars, Chris noticed, and he felt a punch to his stomach.

His thoughts were interrupted when the guide approached him.

“Oh, that one's not up for adoption; he’s too sick. The vet will come by and take him down this afternoon.”

Chris gasped, turning slowly toward the man. He must have heard wrong.

“Take... take him down?”

“Yeah. Like I said, he’s too sick. He’ll be dead in a week or two anyway, and we don’t want the others to get infected! Plus, it would be less painful for him, too. It’s really the best option for everyone.”

The man said it so casually, like he was talking about the weather and not killing a person.

“I’ll take him. I’ll… I want to adopt this one.”

The words jumped out of Chris’s mouth before he knew it.

The man's brow shot up, and he looked at Chris like he was out of his mind. “You want to adopt a sick hybrid? This one?”

“Yeah, and why not?!” Chris said, this time with more certainty.

The guide cleared his throat. “I just told you—he’s so sick, he probably won’t even make it through the week! He won’t be of any use or profit to you.”

Chris’s fury ignited. *Use? Profit?* What kind of people usually came here for adoption?

“It’s none of your goddamn business! I want this hybrid! Now, tell me what I have to do to adopt him!” Chris crossed his muscular arms and glared at the guide, his eyes blazing with anger.

The man sighed, scratching his head, but finally led Chris to a small, dingy office upstairs. There, a woman sat behind a cluttered desk, offering him a sickly sweet smile that made him bristle.

“I understand you’re interested in adopting a hybrid?” she asked, her voice dripping with false warmth. “A very sick one, I’m told.”

“Yes. Just that one,” he replied, his voice cold.

She pursed her lips and handed him a stack of forms. “Fine. But I should warn you—it’s a lot of paperwork.”

An hour later, after signing countless forms, Chris finally had the adoption permit in hand.

“You’re now the legal owner of hybrid number 2-20-M22,” she said, her tone devoid of empathy. "it will take a few days for official forms to go through the system. Once done they will be posted to your address. For the time being..."
She handed him a bunch of papers.
"For now, here's your permit to take it with you .Enjoy it.”

*It,* she’d said. Not *him.*

Clenching his teeth, Chris snatched the papers and practically ran back downstairs.

His guide unlocked the cell, and Chris knelt beside the unconscious boy, his heart clenching at the sight. The boy was far worse off than Chris had realized—small, bruised, with dirt caking his skin and clothes. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Chris’s anger surged when he saw the marks on the boy’s wrists and ankles beneath the chains.

“He’s unconscious, so what’s with the fucking chains?” he practically growled.

“The last time the vet came in to check, the fucker tried to attack him. Hence the chains,” the guide explained with a shrug.

Chris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “Can I have the keys so I can take him with me?” he bit out through clenched teeth.

The man shrugged again, handing him the keys and leaving. “He’s yours. Have fun with it!”

Chris unlocked the chains and lifted the hybrid as gently as he could, shocked by how light he was, how little resistance he offered. The boy was feverish, barely breathing. Chris hurried outside and carefully laid him in the backseat of his car.

The boy was in dire condition, Chris could tell. He needed proper care—probably a hospital—but Chris couldn’t admit a hybrid to a hospital without proper ID. And as much as he hated it, proper ownership forms were required too.

Suddenly, it hit him. *Of course!*

With a flash of clarity, he pulled out his phone. “Becca, it’s me. I’m bringing a hybrid to your lab. He’s in bad shape—I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

As he hung up, he glanced back at the hybrid lying unconscious, his expression softening.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered, determination hardening his voice.

For the first time, the boy stirred, a weak sound escaping his lips. 

Chapter Text

Chris had been to Rebecca’s lab a few times before, but the drive there had never felt this excruciatingly long. Beside him, the hybrid lay bundled in a thin blanket, his breathing shallow and fast, each ragged inhale seeming to cost him. Despite the fever burning beneath his skin, he was visibly shivering, his small body wracked with chills. Chris glanced over repeatedly, his heart pounding, frustration mounting as the hybrid started coughing. The spasms tore from his chest, each one jolting his frail frame in agony. It drove Chris nearly to desperation, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

When they finally reached the lab, Chris rushed out, scooping the feverish boy into his arms. Heat radiated from the hybrid’s body, each wave scorching Chris's skin. His breathing was labored.

“Shit,” Chris cursed, gritting his teeth as he hurried through the building. Rebecca had told him to meet her in the second-floor exam room, and the stairs blurred beneath him as he sprinted up. When he flung open the door, Rebecca’s eyes widened, her usual calm disrupted by the sight of the limp, dirt-smeared figure in Chris’s arms.

“Hi, Chr—holy shit! You weren’t kidding about the sick hybrid!” she exclaimed.

“What? Why would I—” Chris’s words fell away as the boy stirred, letting out a quiet, pained moan but not waking.

“Bring him here,” Rebecca said quickly, guiding him to one of the exam beds and assessing the situation with grim urgency. Chris laid him down carefully, and Rebecca, already in doctor mode, tried to size up the situation.

“He’s burning up, and he’s been shivering, coughing. His breathing’s shallow, and he's covered in bruises and cuts...”

Rebecca nodded briskly, shooing Chris aside. She took in the boy’s pallor, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his thin chest. His face was pale and beaded with sweat, but the fever had left his cheeks with a flush so bright it bordered on alarming.

She reached for a thermometer, and Chris watched as the numbers appeared on the screen. His heart sank.

“103.4. That’s dangerously high,” she muttered. “We need to bring this down fast. We have cold packs in the lab. Strip him while I go get them.”

Rebecca hurried off, leaving Chris standing alone. He hesitated before moving to pull away the hybrid's tattered, dirt-streaked clothing. The fabric was filthy and beyond saving, so he grabbed scissors from the supply table and cut through it. As the shirt fell away, Chris froze.

His stomach twisted as he took in the skin beneath—so many scars. Old burns, knife wounds, faded bruises. The hybrid was painfully thin, his ribcage visible beneath his skin. Chris could only imagine what kind of hell he’d been through.

Suppressing a wave of anger, Chris continued to undress him carefully. He avoided looking too closely at the delicate, scarred skin of his thighs or the blonde tail that lay still against his side. As soon as the last scraps of cloth were gone, Chris quickly draped a blanket over him, covering the frail, exhausted form.

Rebecca reappeared, carrying a cooler. She set it down and pulled out a set of cold packs, laying them strategically over the boy’s body with practiced efficiency. She didn’t flinch or pause at the sight of the scars, but Chris saw a flicker of something dark in her eyes. She applied an oxygen mask, hooked up a saline drip, and attached monitors, her hands moving swiftly and smoothly.

Chris stood behind her, his heart in his throat, watching the hybrid’s chest rise and fall. “Is he going to be okay?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Rebecca paused, glancing at him. “It’s too early to say, Chris. He’s in rough shape. I’ll need time to stabilize him. You might as well get comfortable and start telling me what the hell is going on.”

Chris sat heavily on the edge of a nearby bed and started talking, his eyes never leaving the hybrid’s small, still form. Rebecca listened silently, focused on her work, calm as ever, but Chris could see her shoulders tense as he went on.

“I...I just couldn’t let them kill him, you know,” Chris said, his gaze fixed on the hybrid, who seemed much more relaxed now than hours ago.

“You did the right thing, Chris,” Rebecca said, patting his shoulder. “You also did the right thing bringing him here. They wouldn’t admit him to a hospital.”

“Yeah, that was my guess too. So... is he going to be okay?”

Rebecca was silent for a moment, finally looking up from her chart.

“Pneumonia, dehydration, malnutrition,” she said, summing it up. “He’ll need time and proper care, but he should pull through with some luck.”

Chris exhaled in relief. “Thank God… Can he stay here?”

“For tonight,” Rebecca agreed. “I’ll run some more tests and keep an eye on the fever. But tomorrow...it might be best if you take him home.”

Chris stared at her, confused. “Home? You just said he needs proper care.”

Rebecca looked at him thoughtfully. “He does. But if he wakes up here, in a lab? After all he’s been through, he might think we’re about to experiment on him.”

Chris sighed, realizing she was right. The poor hybrid was likely traumatized. “Alright. Can you set me up with the meds he’ll need? And maybe a few supplies?”

She smiled, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got you covered. I’ll make sure you have everything, and I’ll stop by to check in. You’re doing fine, Chris.”

He stayed a few more hours, watching the hybrid, his heart aching at the exhaustion etched into the boy’s features. Finally, Rebecca insisted he go home, urging him to rest. Reluctantly, Chris left, glancing back once more before Rebecca closed the door behind him.

The moment Chris stepped into his apartment, the gravity of the situation hit him like a freight train. Without a second thought, he grabbed his phone and called Claire, telling her everything.

“Claire, what have I done?” His voice was heavy with uncertainty. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing the living room. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

He exhaled, trying to articulate the whirlwind in his head. “I… I adopted a hybrid, Claire. He’s coming to live with me tomorrow. What if I can’t take care of him? What if I screw this up?” His words came in a rush. “This isn’t like taking care of you back in the day—this is someone else’s life. Someone who’s been through hell.”

“Chris.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have a choice. If you hadn’t stepped in, he’d be dead by now. You saved him.”

“I know,” Chris muttered, collapsing onto the couch. “But knowing doesn’t make it any less overwhelming. My job, my schedule—how am I supposed to balance all of this?”

Claire sighed. “Look, you’re going to be fine. Take a few days off for now. We’ll figure something out later.” There was a brief pause before she added, almost apologetically, “I wish I could help more, I mean the whole thing is kind of on me but I’m flying out to Spain for this stupid report my boss dumped on me. I hate leaving you to deal with this alone.”

Chris leaned back and let out a dry laugh. “It’s fine. I’ve got Rebecca helping, and if things get bad, I can always call Jill or Piers. Don’t worry about me—just focus on your work.”

“Yeah… but I’ll be there as soon as I can wrap this up,” Claire promised, her voice firm. “I mean it, Chris. You’re not alone in this.”

“Thanks, Claire,” he said quietly, feeling a small wave of relief. The call ended shortly after, Claire needing to board her flight.

Chris took a deep breath and sat in silence for a moment, staring at the ceiling. There wasn’t time to let his doubts paralyze him. The hybrid would be here tomorrow, and there was so much to do before then.

First, he called his work, arranging to take a few days off. For once, he was grateful for the mountain of unused vacation days he’d been hoarding.

Next, he headed out for supplies. Grocery shopping was first—a mix of fresh ingredients, snacks, fruits, and other things he thought the boy might like. Then came a trip to the home goods store: new blankets, towels, toiletries, a toothbrush, and even some simple clothes. Chris didn’t know the hybrid’s exact size, but he grabbed a few items that seemed like they’d fit.

By the time he returned, the sun had dipped low in the sky. He spent the rest of the evening cleaning, scrubbing the apartment until it was spotless, with extra attention to the guest room. That space that usually belonged to Claire when she came to visit but would be the hybrid’s now, and Chris wanted it to feel welcoming.

Finally, he crashed on the couch, exhaustion tugging at his limbs. Rebecca had told him to rest, and for once, he listened. He needed all the energy he could muster for what lay ahead.

The next morning, Chris drove to Rebecca’s lab, his heart heavy with both anticipation and dread. As the lab came into view, he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He just hoped he was ready for whatever came next.

Rebecca was waiting for him at the entrance, sipping coffee. “Good morning, big guy” She greeted him with an exhausted smile.

“Good morning, Doctor Chambers! Everything's okay? How is he?”They started walking together.

“he's better; still sleeping. I kept him on medicine so he wouldn't wake up accidentally, plus he really needed the sleep”

When they walked into the room, Chris felt a jolt as he saw the boy in the daylight. Cleaned up, the hybrid looked so different—vulnerable, but peaceful. His blonde hair was brushed back, revealing delicate, expressive features. His ears, barely visible beneath his hair, twitched slightly even in sleep.

“We’ve managed the fever” Rebecca said. “It’s a fungal pneumonia—not contagious, but dangerous. I’ve prepared everything you’ll need.”

Rebecca explained the routine in detail, and Chris jotted down notes as she spoke. She handed him a bag of medications, an IV pole, and a spare oxygen mask, along with some small, essential devices. Together, they dressed the hybrid in soft clothes Chris had brought, then carried him carefully to Chris’s car.

Back home, Chris carried the hybrid into the guest room, his heart heavy at how light he was, barely a weight in his arms. After settling him into the bed and setting up the IV, Chris took a deep breath, pausing a moment just to watch him sleep. There was something in the way the hybrid’s features softened, his breathing steady. Chris gently tucked the blanket around him, brushing stray blonde hairs from his face before leaving to prepare some food.

In the middle of cooking, he heard a sudden, choked sob from the bedroom. Chris rushed to the door and froze as he saw the hybrid awake, blue eyes wide, darting around in terror. His breaths were shallow, rapid, and Chris could tell he was seconds away from spiraling into full-blown panic.

Moving slowly, Chris raised his hands in a show of calm. “Hey…hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

But the hybrid’s eyes, wide and fearful, didn’t calm. His entire body tensed, his breaths coming faster, his hands trembling as he clutched the blanket.

Chris’s heart wrenched, but he kept his voice soft. He knew how to deal with this situation. He sank down onto his knees. “Look, I’m not coming any closer, alright? You’re having a hard time breathing, but there’s an oxygen mask on your right. If you can, try to grab it and put it on.”

The hybrid’s brow furrowed, struggling to understand through the haze of panic. Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached for the mask and managed to slip it on.

“Good. That’s good,” Chris encouraged him gently. “Now, just focus on your breathing. In…and out. In…and out.” He kept his voice steady and low, guiding him through each breath.

Gradually, the hybrid’s body relaxed, his breaths slowing, the panic fading. But as his tension melted away, so did his energy, his eyelids drooping. Within moments, he was sinking back onto the mattress, exhaustion pulling him under once more.

Chris let out a long, relieved breath, inching closer to the bed. He reached out, brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair with a tenderness he hadn’t felt in years. Feeling the fever’s warmth still lingering, he sighed softly. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, even though the boy couldn’t hear him.

As he watched the hybrid’s ears twitch slightly under his touch, he realized he still didn’t even know his name. Smiling sadly, he whispered, “Maybe next time you wake up, we’ll get to know each other a little better, okay?”

The hybrid let out a soft, almost purring sound, his face relaxing into a faint, peaceful expression, and Chris felt a spark of hope ignite within him.

Chapter Text

Leon was trapped in a strange, hazy dream. His body felt impossibly heavy, as if even the act of opening his eyes required strength he didn’t have.

In this dream, he could hear voices—two men talking. One of them was the shelter worker, his gruff tone unmistakable. The other voice, however, was unfamiliar. They were talking about him—his death - to be precise.

That should have been terrifying, but Leon found himself detached, distantly convinced this was all just a figment of his imagination. After all, he couldn’t move, couldn’t wake up, and, more absurdly, the stranger in his dream was saying something bizarre—something impossible. He was claiming he wanted to adopt Leon and wouldn’t leave without him.

The dream shifted again, the voices fading into a low hum. And just before his world turned pitch black, he heard the stranger speak once more, his words low but firm:

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

When Leon began to stir, the dream faded from his memory like smoke in the wind.

The first thing he noticed was warmth—a strange, alien sensation. He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t freezing like always.

The second thing was softness beneath him. He was lying on something … comfortable? His mind reeled at the impossibility.

And then it hit him.

His hands and feet weren’t bound.

Panic surged through him. This had to be a dream—it couldn’t be real. And yet, as the fog cleared, the absence of pain was almost too good to be true. The aches that had been his constant companions for as long as he could remember were muted, dulled to a faint throb.

It was wrong. So very wrong.

He forced his eyes open, blinking against the soft light.

The room around him was clean—spotless, even. The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air. He glanced down at himself, his breath hitching. He was tucked into a bed, a fucking real bed, with soft sheets and a blanket and all.

This wasn’t his cell.

This wasn’t the shelter.

Where the hell was he?

The thought clawed at him, and his heart began to race. They’d sold him, hadn’t they? They’d finally decided he wasn’t worth keeping and had handed him over to someone who—

He shivered violently, curling into himself as the thought took root.

In his frantic movements, he noticed the IV drip attached to his hand. His heart practically stopped.

They were drugging him.

No, no, no. He couldn’t let that happen. He clawed weakly at the IV, but his bandaged hands wouldn’t cooperate. He let out a choked sob, chest heaving as his breaths came faster and faster, each one more labored than the last.

His lungs burned, his vision blurred, and then he heard it: footsteps.

They were coming for him.

His head snapped toward the door just as it opened, revealing a large, broad-shouldered man filling the frame.

Leon froze, his blue eyes wide with terror.

He tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. His back pressed against the headboard, his trembling hands clutching the blanket like a shield. Tears blurred his vision as he struggled to breathe, every inhale a desperate wheeze.

The man stepped forward, and Leon let out a broken cry, shrinking further into the bed.

“Hey, hey,” the man said, stopping in his tracks and raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “It’s okay. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Safe? Safe?! Nothing in Leon’s life had ever been safe. He shook his head frantically, unable to stop the tears spilling down his cheeks.

But there was something strange about the man’s voice. It wasn’t harsh or demanding. It was … soothing, almost soft, in direct contrast to his intimidating frame.

Slowly, the man lowered himself to his knees, keeping his palms visible.

“Look, I’m not coming any closer, alright? you’re having a hard time breathing, but there’s an oxygen mask on your right. If you can, try to grab it and put it on.”

Leon blinked at him, confused by the calm, patient tone. His gaze darted to the right, where, sure enough, an oxygen mask rested on a stand. His chest felt tight, each breath more painful than the last. Desperate, he reached out with trembling hands, fumbling to grab the mask and fit it over his nose and mouth.

“Good. That’s good,” the man encouraged, his voice full of praise. “Now, just focus on your breathing. In … and out. In...and out.”

The man stayed where he was, not moving an inch. His words came steadily, guiding Leon through each shaky breath.

Slowly, the panic began to fade. Leon’s chest stopped heaving, his breaths evening out as the oxygen worked its magic.

His body felt heavy again, exhaustion pulling at him like a tide. He tried to fight it, tried to stay alert—he wasn’t safe, he couldn’t trust this man—but his body betrayed him. His eyes fluttered shut, and before he could even finish the thought, darkness swallowed him whole.

---

Leon slowly drifted back to consciousness, the world around him swimming in and out of focus. His head pounded, and his stomach twisted in nauseous waves. Blinking away the haze, he took in his surroundings. It hadn’t been a dream, after all. He was in a real room, not the cold, metallic cage he’d been used to. The oxygen mask was still strapped to his face. Disoriented, he reached up and pulled it off, trying to sit upright. The effort cost him—his breath hitched, a shiver of cold skimming down his spine. How was he even alive? And what had happened to him?

Vague memories drifted through his mind like mist: the shelter, the sickness that had racked his body, leaving him so weak and feverish that even breathing hurt. He remembered the shelter staff saying the vet would come soon—to "finish him off." But then…a memory flickered, a man demanding to adopt him. Was that real? It felt like a dream, yet here he was. Somehow, someone had come to claim him.

He looked down, noticing he was dressed in a soft, clean shirt. Beneath the fabric, his wounds had been carefully tended, bruises and cuts cleaned and bandaged. He gently pulled the shirt up, confirming that even the worst of his bruises had been treated. Could it have been that man—the one from his dream? No… it wasn’t a dream. Someone had truly taken him from the shelter, despite his condition. But why? Who would go to such lengths for someone like him, a dying hybrid the shelter had all but discarded?

His confusion was interrupted by a faint but unmistakable scent—a warm, savoury smell that stirred something deep inside him. The scent made his stomach cramp painfully. When was the last time he’d had real food? Water, even? He forced himself to look away, burying his face in his sleeve to stop the ache that came with the smell. It was torture.

Slowly, he dared to glance around, and his eyes fell upon a glass of water on the nightstand beside the bed. Thirsty and desperate, he shifted slowly, scooting toward it. His hands trembled as he held the glass, careful not to spill, and he drank deeply, feeling the cool water soothe the raw burn in his throat. When it was empty, he let out a quiet sigh. He wanted more but was thankful for this small mercy.

A soft knock broke the silence, and he flinched, pulling back into himself instinctively. The door creaked open, and there he was—the man from the shelter, the one who had… saved him? Leon froze, his wide eyes brimming with fear and distrust. “Hey, you’re awake,” the man said gently, some emotion flickering in his eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

Leon’s silence stretched, his grip tightening on the blanket in his lap, unable to make sense of the man’s expression, his tone—so warm and kind, unlike anything he’d ever encountered. The man tried again, softer this time, “You must be starving. I made some dinner. Do you want to come out and eat?” But Leon couldn’t respond, even though his stomach screamed in agreement. He couldn’t trust this kindness, this sudden offer. Nothing ever was free he knew that well enough.

The man sighed. “I thought so… okay, just wait a sec.” He left, and Leon felt an immediate pang of regret. He’d had a chance for food and had just let it slip away. Would he survive long enough to be offered another?

Then, the footsteps returned, and this time, the man held a tray. Leon gasped, pressing back against the bed as if to melt into the wall. The man stopped, raising his hands gently. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice calming. “I won’t come any closer. I just wanted to bring you something to eat.”

Leon’s eyes were fixed on the tray. There it was—food. Real, warm food. The smell was overwhelming, and his stomach growled, loud and embarrassing. He grabbed his stomach instinctively, bracing for anger or punishment. But the man only chuckled. “It’s okay. I know you’re hungry.” He took a step forward. “Look, I just need to set this tray down, but I don’t want to scare you. Is it okay if I come closer?”

Leon’s throat felt too tight to answer, so he nodded quickly, barely processing his own response. The man inched closer, slow and deliberate, setting the tray on the nightstand before stepping back. “Thank you for letting me do that,” he said with a warm smile. “I’ll leave now so you can eat. I’ll be back later for the dishes.” And with that, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Once alone, Leon attacked the food, his hunger an overpowering force. Each bite was warm, delicious, unlike anything he’d tasted in recent memory. The flavors were so rich they almost hurt. He devoured it all, washing down each mouthful with water, savouring the cool relief it offered. When he finally finished, he sat back, feeling full—a strange, unfamiliar sensation that made his stomach ache unused to so much all at once.

His exhaustion pulled him down, and he drifted into a shallow sleep. He was jolted awake by a knock at the door. The man entered, his eyes going to the empty tray, a smile lighting his face. “Oh, you ate it all! Did you like it?”

Leon stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. The man sighed. “I’m just going to take the tray and bring you more water, alright?” He seemed to be asking for permission, which made Leon’s chest tighten with unease. But he allowed it, watching as the man swapped the tray for a jug of water and another glass.

But this time, the man lingered, sitting down by the door, careful to keep his distance. “Okay, now we need to talk.” He spoke softly, as though sensing Leon’s fear. “I… I don’t even know your name yet. I’m Christopher Redfield, but everyone calls me Chris. And you?”

Leon hesitated, panic swelling. It's been a long time since someone asked his name. It was always “animal” or “pet,” “bastard” or worse. The very idea of using his real name felt like a vulnerability, a step too close to something he didn’t want to risk. But the man’s disappointed look gnawed at him.

“L-Leon…S...Scout Kennedy, sir,” he mumbled, desperate to avoid angering him. He sneaked a glance at the man, uncertain if he’d be punished. But the man’s face remained calm, even kind.

“Nice to meet you, Leon,” he replied gently. “And please, you don’t need to call me ‘sir.’ Just Chris is fine.”

Leon swallowed, not knowing how to respond. But h3 went on, explaining how he’d found Leon at the shelter and adopted him. He told him about bringing him to someone named Rebecca, who’d helped take care of him. He spoke calmly, trying to offer reassurance that Leon was safe.

Leon gripped the blanket, listening in disbelief. It sounded like a fairytale, this man claiming to have saved him for no reason other than compassion. It didn’t make any sense, and Leon couldn’t help not believing a word of it. The man must want something, after all the trouble he’d gone through to keep him alive.

He seemed to understand Leon’s silence. “Leon, I know you don’t trust me. I get it. You have every reason not to. But I want you to know that you’ll never have to fear me. I won’t hurt you, ever. I can promise you that much.”

Leon’s heart clenched, hearing those words. No one had ever made a promise like that to him. Even if it wasn't real.

With a final sigh, the man rose. “It’s been a long day. I’ll let you rest. If you need anything, just call me, okay?” He lingered a moment before turning to leave, his steps soft and careful as he closed the door.

As silence fell, Leon exhaled. He was still here, alone, but he was warm, full, and finally at peace, if only for a moment. Curling up beneath the blankets, he let himself relax, too weary to think about what tomorrow would bring. He would face whatever came, but right now, he needed sleep.

Chapter Text

It's been two days since Leon woke up in this room.

Leon was no stranger to strang, eerie places, but this... this was by far the strangest.

When he woke up the first morning, he had expected the man’s demands to begin immediately. But the only thing the man did was bring him a tray of breakfast and ask how he was.

It threw Leon off balance. He wasn't sure what was worse—the kind of treatment he was used to or this disorienting kindness. The man hadn't yelled, barked orders, or demanded anything. Instead, he hovered in the background, making sure Leon ate, refilling his water, even checking his bandages. It was unnerving, to say the least.

Leon wasn’t naïve enough to trust it. He’d been through too much to believe that kindness came without strings. For all he knew, this man could be softening him up for something worse. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop—for the demands, the threats, the punishments—but they never came.

The silence of the room was almost as unsettling. Aside from the occasional creak of floorboards or the distant hum of some appliance, the house was eerily quiet. Leon found himself hyper-aware of every sound, every shift of air. His instincts screamed at him to stay alert, to be ready for an ambush, but there was no one lurking in the shadows, no imminent danger.

He spent most of the time lying in bed, his body too weak to do much else. The fever came and went in waves, leaving him drenched in sweat one moment and shivering the next. Every time he tried to sit up, his head spun, and his legs felt like lead. The man never left him alone for long.

Leon hated feeling so helpless. He hated the way he looked at him, with that quiet concern, like he was something fragile. He wasn’t fragile. He’d survived things most people couldn’t even imagine. But the truth was, his body was betraying him, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

The second day went by just the same. The man bringing him food and his medicine and...

Then came the third night and the nightmares.

That night, Leon couldn’t sleep. The fever was back, and his dreams were a chaotic mess of memories and nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in the dark, cold places of his past, running, fighting, drowning.

He woke up yet again, gasping his heart pounding.

He sank into bed, letting the soft blankets cradle his aching body. He was so tired and just wanted to be able to sleep. Maybe he should ask for a pill from the man and...No! Asking things was not an option. he knew too damn well how that would end.

He shut his eyes, trying to just go back to sleep when a sudden wave of nausea crashed over him, and he jerked upright. His stomach churned, forcing bile up his throat as a sharp, hot ache spread through his muscles. Shivering violently, he gripped the edge of the blanket, his forehead clammy but burning hot.

Before he could do anything, another wave rolled over him, wrenching him forward. He barely managed to lean over the side of the bed before retching. His stomach heaved until there was nothing left, leaving him trembling and spent.

When he managed to breathe again and opened his eyes, a fresh jolt of horror shot through him. The sheets—clean and white minutes ago—were stained, and the rug by the bed hadn’t been spared. His hands shook, his heart pounding as panic surged. What had he done? How could he let this happen?

“Oh God…oh God…” The words slipped out in a whisper as his chest tightened.

If he found out—if the man saw this mess—there’d be no escaping the punishment.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the terror that clawed at him. He could barely breathe, his heart racing as the thought gripped him. He couldn’t take it he couldn’t take it anymore: he had to get out.

With a surge of desperate strength, Leon yanked the IV needle from his arm, ignoring the sting and the trickle of blood that followed. He staggered out of bed, legs barely holding him, but managed to pull himself up. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out.

The window.

He stumbled toward it, his heart pounding, only to stop short. He was three floors up. There was no way he could make that jump.

Desperation building, he turned to the door, clinging to the frame as he tried to steady his breath. Pressing his ear to the wood, he heard the faint, even sound of snoring. Relief washed over him—at least the man was asleep. Leon slipped into the hallway, keeping his movements slow, but the dizziness was worse here, under the brighter lights. The walls tilted, and a fresh wave of nausea hit him. He stumbled, falling to his knees, his hands trembling so badly he couldn’t lift himself.

Still, he tried to crawl, dragging himself forward with sheer will. But his body betrayed him, his arms giving out as he collapsed to the floor, his face pressed against the cool tiles. Darkness crept into his vision and claimed him.

---

Chris wasn’t usually a heavy sleeper, but the past few days had been a kind of hard on him, too. When the alarm finally rang in the morning, he groaned, reaching to shut it off. Still half-asleep, he shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. But as soon as he opened the door, he froze.

Leon lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

“What the hell?”

In a heartbeat, Chris was kneeling by his side, panic flooding his system. He lifted Leon’s limp body, wincing as he felt the burning heat radiating off him. How had he ended up here? He’d been better last night. Chris’s mind raced with questions, but he pushed them aside.

He ran back to the bedroom, grabbed the thermometer, and pressed it against Leon’s temple. The monitor beeped 102.5.

“Damn it…” He grabbed his phone, dialling Rebecca and hoping she’d pick up quickly. His eyes never left Leon, sprawled on the floor, his breathing shallow and uneven. After the third ring, she answered.

“Becca, it’s Leon,” Chris said, not bothering with pleasantries. “He’s gotten worse. I found him unconscious, and his fever’s 102.5. Do I need to bring him to your lab?”

“No, no, that’s too high. You need to cool him down now before the fever spikes any further,” Rebecca said, her tone urgent. “Fill the tub with lukewarm water—not cold, just lukewarm. Take off his clothes and put him in there to stabilize his temperature. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

“Right…okay,” he replied, hurrying to the bathroom to start the water. He let it run until it was the right temperature, then went back to Leon.

Lifting him carefully, Chris cradled him as he started to undress him. Leon stirred slightly, frowning at Chris’s touch, but he didn’t wake up. Once Leon was stripped of his sweat-soaked clothes, Chris gently eased him into the tub.

---

Leon was in total darkness when slowly his senses started to come back . He was still in daze when he suddenly felt the familiar weight of water on his chest, and his eyes flattered open with absolute horror.

No. Not again!

All of a sudden, he was back into his hellish memories, flashbacks, brutal, and unwelcome slammed into his mind.

He was in a pool. The smell of chlorine ghosted through his mind. The endless blue , the terrifying rush of water filling His mouth and nose and lungs, the desperate flailing for the surface that never came.

He gasped, his breath hitched. a strangled sob escaping his lips. His vision blurred with tears. Panic clawed at his throat, choking him. the taste of water heavy on his tongue.

Leon violently thrashed the water, sloshing over the sides of the tub as he tried to get out.

Then, all of a sudden, he felt a pair of big strong hands on his shoulder, and then he started screaming bloody murder.

“No! please, please, I'm begging you! I'm sorry! I won't do it again master, please!”

The words tore from him, raw and desperate. But the hands didn’t hurt him. They didn’t push him under. Instead, they pulled him out, wrapping him in warmth.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The voice broke through the chaos. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t commanding. It was steady, reassuring.

Leon blinked, his vision clearing. Brown eyes met his, filled not with anger but with concern. Those eyes were so different than the ones in his memory that it pulled him out of the pool and into the bathroom floor.

The man held him gently, whispering words he couldn’t quite process.

The fear ebbed, replaced by exhaustion. Leon sagged against the man, too weak to fight. So he just let the man hold him, murmuring soothing words to his ear, and he cried and cried till his eyes fell shut with utter exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Chris sat on the couch, his hands clasped tightly together, his knuckles white from the pressure. The images from earlier still haunted him—Leon screaming, begging for mercy, collapsing in his arms, trembling and exhausted. The memory churned his stomach. What kind of hell had the boy endured to leave him so broken, so terrified? 

Chris squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images away, but they refused to fade. Leon had been convinced he was going to be tortured. He...he thought that Chris was gonna drown him or something. Just thinking about it made Chris’s chest ache. He had to fix this. Somehow, he had to show Leon that he was safe now. But how? 

With a heavy sigh, Chris pushed himself off the couch and headed to Leon’s room. The mess inside hit him like a gut punch. sheets tangled and stained, the faint smell of bile lingering in the air. Chris’s chest tightened. Leon must have woken up sick and panicked when he saw the mess. Maybe that’s when he tried to escape. 

He thought I’d punish him for something he couldn’t control. The thought twisted a knife deep in Chris’s heart. 

Grabbing a broom, washcloths, and a garbage bag, Chris got to work. The repetitive motions helped quiet the storm in his head, but not entirely. His mind kept circling back to Leon’s scars, his fear, his brokenness. 

“What did they do to you, kid?” he muttered under his breath. 

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Rebecca stepped inside, her expression weary but kind. 

“How’s he doing?” Chris paused, leaning on the broom handle.

“Still out cold. Fever’s down, though. He’s resting.”  she said gently.

Rebecca glanced around the room, her brow furrowing. “Chris, I think this is more than just physical recovery. From everything you’ve told me, I think there’s some serious trauma here.” 

Chris looked away, his jaw tightening. “You think this is...” 

Rebecca nodded. “What you’re describing—the fear, the panic attacks—it sounds like PTSD or something close to it. Whatever he’s been through, it’s left deep scars. And not just the ones on his skin.” 

Chris’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know how to help him, Becca. He’s so scared of everything. Last night, he thought I was going to hurt him. He begged me not to punish him... called me master!” The word felt like poison on his tongue. 

Rebecca winced. “Whoever did this to him... they’re monsters. And you’re right—it’s not something you can fix on your own. You might need to bring in someone who specializes in this kind of trauma.” 

Chris nodded slowly, already thinking of his sister. “Claire’s probably dealt with cases like this. Maybe she’ll know what to do.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Rebecca said. “But, Chris, this is going to take time. Be patient with him. He’s been through hell.” 

“I know.” Chris sighed. “Thanks, Becca. I’ll call Claire now.” 

Rebecca gave him a faint smile before leaving, and Chris pulled out his phone. His hands trembled slightly as he dialled.

“Hey Claire, how's Spain? How's work? ”

“Hey you. Spain's good work fucking boring ” Claire’s familiar voice came through. “so what’s going on with you? You sound...kinda off.”  she said knowing him too damn well.

“It’s Leon,” Chris said, diving right in. “I told you he was in bad shape, but it’s worse than I thought. He’s terrified of me—thought I was going to hurt him. He called me master, Claire. He begged me not to punish him. I don’t know what happened to him, but it’s bad.” 

There was a pause before Claire responded, her voice low. “Chris, based on what you’re describing... I think he might’ve been in the hands of the hybrid mafia.” 

Chris froze, her words hitting like a blow. “The hybrid mafia? Why would they—?” 

“Because that’s what they do,” Claire interrupted. “They target hybrids, break them, and use them for profit. They’re ruthless, Chris. I’ve seen cases like this before. The scars, the fear—it all fits.” 

Chris felt a surge of anger. “Bastards,” he muttered. “No wonder he’s so scared.” 

“Exactly,” Claire said. “This kind of trauma doesn’t just disappear. He needs professional help—someone who knows how to deal with this.” 

“Do you know anyone?” Chris asked, desperation creeping into his voice. 

“I’ll reach out to some contacts,” Claire assured him. “In the meantime, just keep showing him he’s safe. It’ll take time, Chris, but he can heal.” 

Chris nodded, gripping the phone tightly. “Thanks, Claire. I owe you.” 

“Just take care of him,” she said softly. 

Chris hung up, his mind racing. He had to get Leon the help he needed—no matter what it took. 

---

Leon was tired of waking up in strange beds, trying to piece together what had happened. This time, though, he remembered everything vividly. 

The panic. The vomiting. Passing out. 

Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, his body still heavy with exhaustion. His throat felt dry, and hunger gnawed at his stomach—a reminder of the meal he’d lost. 

His eyes wandered around the room. It was different from the one before—larger, with more furniture. On the table beside the bed, a photo caught his eye: the man with a red-haired woman, both smiling brightly. 

Leon frowned, studying the picture. Their smiles were... so genuine, so warm. He couldn’t understand it. 

The man was the strangest person Leon had ever met. He hadn’t punished him—not once. He’d saved him from the water, held him while he sobbed, and yet... it didn’t make sense. Maybe he was keeping Leon healthy to sell him for a higher price. 

The thought made his hands tremble. 

The door creaked open, and the man’s head poked inside. “Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” he asked, his smile as warm as the one in the photo. 

Leon looked away, nodding stiffly. 

“Good,” the man said with a sigh of relief. “Please don’t scare me like that again, okay? If you’re feeling sick, just tell me. We’ll figure it out together. I’m not going to punish you for it.” 

Leon’s voice trembled as he finally spoke. “What... what do you want from me?” 

The man blinked, his smile fading. 

Leon’s frustration spilled over. “Are you planning on selling me? Is that why you’re keeping me healthy? Just... tell me already!” 

The man’s face fell, and for a moment, he looked hurt. “I’m sorry you can’t believe me,” he said softly. “But it’s the truth. I don’t want anything from you. You’re not in danger here. I just want to help you.” 

Leon didn’t respond, his chest tightening with doubt and confusion. The man sighed and stood. 

“Rest up,” he said gently. “That’s what matters right now. I’ll get you something to eat.” 

As the door closed, Leon slumped back against the bed. The man’s words echoed in his mind, but he couldn’t trust them. He couldn’t trust him. Although he hadn’t been punished for the mess he made. The man didn't try to hurt him in any way, but still...

Why does he have to make this so hard?*

Leon sighed, staring at the ceiling. Screw him. Screw this whole damned life.

--- 

Chris was up early again , a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He barely noticed it, his thoughts far from the mundane comfort of caffeine.

As much as he wanted to brood, he knew sitting idle wouldn’t help. Leon wasn’t just physically recovering; he was emotionally shattered. Days had passed, yet Leon still flinched at the sight of him, gasped every time he closed a door, and refused to speak. 

Chris sighed heavily and picked up his phone. It was time to call Dr. Ingrid Hunnigan, as Claire had suggested. According to Claire, she was a psychiatrist, and she was an expert in hybrid abuse cases.

The phone rang, each chime raising his tension until a calm, professional voice answered. “Dr. Hunnigan speaking.” 

“Dr. Hunnigan, it’s Chris—Claire’s older brother. I don’t know if she mentioned me.” His tone was hesitant. 

“She did, actually. She said you might call about a hybrid you’re caring for.” 

Relief flickered through him. “Yeah, that’s right. His name’s Leon. He’s a cat hybrid I found in a shelter... and he’s in bad shape. He’s physically recovering but emotionally? I’m worried. He’s terrified of me, won’t look me in the eye, barely speaks. I don’t know how to reach him.” 

There was a pause on the other end before Hunnigan’s steady voice came through. “Take a deep breath, Chris. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me everything.” 

Chris exhaled shakily, leaning forward with his head in his hands as he recounted everything—from the first time, he saw Leon at the shelter to the boy’s reaction to kindness and his scars “He’s so scared, Ingrid,” Chris concluded, his voice strained. “It’s like he’s waiting for me to hurt him. And the scars... they tell a story I can’t even imagine. I just don’t know what to do.” 

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Then Hunnigan spoke, her tone measured but heavy. “Chris, this isn’t a case of simple neglect. From what you’re describing, Leon’s likely been a victim of the hybrid mafia.” 

Chris’s stomach dropped. He had feared something like this, but hearing it aloud made it all too real. “The mafia? But how does that even happen?” 

“It’s a long, ugly history,” she replied, her voice tinged with anger. “They prey on vulnerable hybrids, buying or abducting them for illegal activities—trafficking, forced labour, even underground fighting. It’s horrific, and it’s not like anyone’s rushing to stop them. Leon’s scars, his fear, his avoidance—they’re all patterns I’ve seen in survivors of that system.” 

Chris pressed his fingers into his temples, the weight of her words sinking in. “God... No wonder he’s so scared.” 

“Exactly. This kind of trauma doesn’t just go away,” Hunnigan said. “But there are ways to help. First, you need to shift your perspective. You can’t treat him like a patient or someone you need to save.” 

Chris frowned. “What do you mean? If I don’t help him—” 

“Help him, yes, but not by coddling him,” she interrupted gently. “Leon doesn’t need a caretaker; he needs someone who treats him as an equal. Right now, he probably feels powerless and dependent. That’s a dangerous mindset for someone who’s already been stripped of control. Start small. Give him responsibilities—chores, decisions, anything to help him regain a sense of agency.” 

Chris blinked, the idea catching him off guard. “Chores? Responsibility? But he’s still so—” 

“Fragile? I know,” Hunnigan said. “But he’s also resilient—more than you think. He doesn’t need pity; he needs respect. Treat him like a roommate, someone who contributes to the household. It’ll help him rebuild his confidence and stop imagining the worst about your intentions. Trust me, Chris, it works.” 

He chewed on her words, realization dawning. “So... I stop treating him like a broken kid and start treating him like—” 

“—an equal,” she finished. “It won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick. But every small step you take to show him that you trust and respect him will help. And remember, patience is key. Don’t push him to open up. Let him come to you when he’s ready.” 

Chris sat back, running a hand over his face. Her advice was a perspective he hadn’t considered. His instincts had always been to protect, to shield, but maybe letting Leon take small steps toward independence was the better path. 

“Thanks, Ingrid,” he said, his voice quieter. “This... this helps a lot.” 

“I’m glad. And Chris? Don’t underestimate the impact you’re already making. Just by caring enough to ask for help, you’re giving Leon something he hasn’t had in a long time—safety.” 

When the call ended, Chris sat in the quiet kitchen, his thoughts racing. Hunnigan had given him something he hadn’t had before: a plan. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it made sense. 

Leon didn’t need saving; he needed trust. He needed someone who saw him as a person, not a project. 

Chris didn’t know how it would go, but he was ready to try. Leon deserved that much—and maybe, over time, he’d begin to see that, too.  

Chapter Text

It's been two days since Chris talked with Dr. Hunnigan. He hadn't acted on her advice yet, but her words were still echoing in his mind. Start treating him as an equal. Give him small tasks, a sense of control.

Chris glanced at the calendar. Tomorrow marked the end of his vacation, and he’d have to return to work. As much as he hated the idea of leaving Leon alone, this might be the perfect opportunity to test Hunnigan’s advice.  Leon was doing much better physically-the fever was gone, and so was the nausea. He still had coughing fits from time to time, but Rebecca said it was nothing and would be over in a week or two.

Rising from the table, Chris made his way to Leon’s room. He paused outside the door, steeling himself. This wasn’t going to be easy—for either of them. He knocked softly.
“Hey, Leon? Can I come in?” 

There was a long silence before he heard a faint, “Yes.” 

He slowly opened the door. Leon was sitting on his bed, avoiding Chris’s gaze, his large ears twitching nervously. 

Chris stood by the door and kept his posture relaxed, his tone gentle. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Leon didn’t respond, but Chris took the silence as permission to continue. 

“I have to go back to work tomorrow,” Chris began, keeping his voice calm. “I’ve been on vacation to stay home and help you, but now that you’re doing better physically, I can’t put it off any longer. I’ll be gone during the day, but I’ll come home in the evening, okay?” 

Leon’s eyes darted to the floor, and his fingers twitched.

Chris pressed on. “I know it might feel scary to be here alone, but I’ll leave my number on the counter. If anything happens or you need anything, you can call me. I’ll answer right away.” 

Leon gave a small, hesitant nod. 

“There’s something else,” Chris added after a pause. “While I’m gone, maybe you could help out with one small thing. I’ll make your lunch and leave it in the fridge. All you have to do is heat it up and eat. When you’re done, just wash the plate and fork you use. Do you think you could handle that?” 

Leon blinked up at him, his brow furrowing slightly. His hands gripped the blanket a little tighter. “M-me?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” Chris said softly. “But only if you feel up to it. If you don’t want to, that’s okay too. I can take care of it when I get home.” 

Leon hesitated, his ears flattening slightly. After a long pause, he mumbled, “I… I’ll do it.” 

Chris offered a small, encouraging smile. “That’s all I’m asking. And feel free to explore the rest of the place. You’ve been cooped up here since you came, but now that you’re feeling better don’t be shy, okay? This is your home, too.” 

Leon’s gaze darted away, and he nodded again. 

Chris let out a slow breath, relieved. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

---

Chris parked his car outside the precinct, his heart sinking slightly as he stepped out. It felt strange being back, the hum of activity around him reminding him of how much he had missed. But it also felt like stepping into another life, one where his personal concerns had to take a backseat to the city’s needs.

As he walked through the front doors of the precinct, the familiar sound of ringing phones and low conversations greeted him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to balance it all, but one thing was for sure: he had to get back into his routine, for both his sake and Leon’s.

"Back from your vacation, Captain?" came a voice, smooth but laced with humour. Chris looked up to see Lieutenant Jill Valentine leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her lips. Her sharp, fluffy fox ears twitched slightly as her perceptive eyes took him in.

Chris couldn't help but smile at her. "You knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. It’s not easy being stuck at home. ”

Jill raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That must be something. How's Leon doing, by the way?" Her tone softened, the playful edge giving way to concern.

Chris let out a long breath as he pushed through the doors into the precinct's main area. "Better. Physically, at least. He's still... scared, though. It's going to take time, but I’m doing what I can."

Jill nodded sympathetically, pushing off the wall to walk alongside him. "You know, it’s not easy, especially after everything he’s been through. I was so furious when Claire told me about his situation! But you've got the right instincts. I’m sure he'll come around." She paused, her expression serious now. "You’re still worried about him, though. I can tell."

Chris gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's a lot more complicated than I thought. But I can’t stay at home forever. I need to be here, too. I just hope... I don’t screw this up."

Jill smiled warmly at him, patting his shoulder. "You won’t. Just take it one step at a time. Leon’s lucky to have you."

As they passed through the precinct's main floor, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted their conversation. Chris turned to see Sergeant Piers Nivans striding over, his usual confident stroll tempered with a hint of concern.

“Hey, Cap,” Piers said, his gaze shifting to Jill before returning to Chris. “You doing alright? It’s been a while.”

Chris gave a tight smile. "Yeah, just adjusting. First day back. How's everything here?"

Piers shrugged, motioning toward the bulletin board covered with open cases. "Same as always. We've got a few new assignments, but nothing too pressing. You’ll have your hands full anyway, catching up with everything." He glanced over at Jill. "How’s Leon holding up?"

Chris ran a hand through his hair, the familiar weight of concern settling back in. "Better physically. But... he's still pretty withdrawn. I'm trying to follow some advice from Dr. Hunnigan. But I don’t know if that’ll be enough. He still won’t even look at me."

Piers raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Sounds like you're doing everything you can. It’s just going to take time, Cap."

Jill nodded. "Don’t be too hard on yourself, Chris. This kind of thing isn’t something you can fix overnight."

Chris exhaled sharply, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. I know. It’s just hard not to want to make it better right away."

"Of course," Jill said, her expression softening. "But you’re doing the right thing by being there for him. We’ve got your back if you need anything."

“Thanks, both of you,” Chris said, offering a grateful smile. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle everything—the cases waiting for him, the mounting pressure, and the emotional weight of what was happening at home—but having his friends’ support made it feel a little more manageable.

Piers slapped him on the back. "Alright, Cap. Let’s get you caught up. We’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups soon. And I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stuff to sift through."

Jill winked. "Just remember, if you need a break, we’re here."

With a final nod of thanks, Chris followed Piers down the hallway. A stack of paperwork already awaited him at his desk, and glancing at it sent a pang of guilt through him. He wasn’t just behind—he was drowning. Oh, this was going to be harder than he thought.

---

Leon was staring at the door, his chest tight. The man had left hours ago, and the house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.

He was thinking about going outside, but the idea of leaving the safety of his room filled him with fear.

feel free to explore. This is your home, too.
The words replayed in his mind. What a load of crap! In what world was this his house, too? He was just a prisoner here. Sure, this particular prison was nice with the cosy room and a bed, and he received three meals a day, but still, much like this house, he was just one of the man’s properties.

The thought ran a shiver down his spine. He sighed and tried not to think about it.

Finally after what felt like an eternity, Leon took a shaky breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed His bare feet touched the cool floor, grounding him as h e stood up slowly, his muscles still stiff from lying down too long, He padded to the door. His hand brushed the doorknob, and he froze. Slowly, he turned it until the latch clicked—but he didn’t open it. His chest felt tight as a thousand doubts again raced through his mind. Was it really safe? What if there were traps? Or cameras? 

He glanced over his shoulder at the small pile of blankets on the bed, part of him tempted to retreat back to their familiar, protective cocoon. But his stomach growled loudly, pulling him out of his thoughts. Hunger was relentless, and it left him with little choice.  Plus, this might be a test to see if he can follow orders.

The house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs. Step by a cautious step, Leon ventured out, h is ears twitching at every creak, his tail flicking nervously behind him.

He passed by unfamiliar rooms, each one filled with glimpses of the man's life—a tidy office with neatly stacked files, the bedroom he was in a few days ago and a cosy living room with a worn couch and a TV, and a shelf filled with photos and knickknacks. 

He paused by the shelf, his eyes drawn to a bunch of framed pictures. One of them was the man with the same young woman from the bedroom. They stood side by side, grinning, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. And again, something about their joy felt weird. Then, another picture caught his attention. There was a hybrid in this one! He picked it up. She was a fox hybrid. Was she the man’s former pet?

Leon swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly as he set the frame back in place. The questions swirled in his mind, In the picture, they were sitting at a bar looking all happy but... He shook his head and made his way to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, he opened the fridge and found the lunch the man had mentioned—an organized container with a note taped to the lid: Heat for 2 minutes. Eat well. -Chris.

The handwriting was neat, precise. He followed the instructions cautiously, keeping an eye on the microwave as though it might explode. When it beeped, he flinched slightly before retrieving the food. Sitting at the kitchen table, he ate in silence.

When he finished eating, Leon stared at the plate for a long moment, his chest tightening as a memory surfaced. 

In the past, there had been no plates, no forks, no kitchen tables. Food wasn’t something given to him—it was tossed, thrown at him like he was some filthy animal. He could still feel the cold, hard edges of the cat bowl they used, hear the scrape of metal against concrete as it slid across the floor. He’d been expected to crouch, to eat without his hands, like some kind of beast. The humiliation burned even now, twisting his stomach in knots. 

He blinked down at the empty plate in front of him, its clean, smooth surface so alien compared to those memories. The man had given it to him just like that as though it was no big deal, as though Leon deserved to eat like a person. As though he *was* a person.   

The thought left him frozen for a moment, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the plate. Was this what normal was supposed to feel like? He wasn’t sure if he liked it—or if he could trust it. 

With hesitant steps, he carried the plate to the sink. He washed it slowly, methodically, making sure every speck of food was gone. The fork followed, and he placed both on the drying rack with care. 

The house was still and quiet as he returned to his room, his thoughts heavy. That was enough adventure for one day.

---

Chris glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. The hands seemed to move slower with each passing minute. 

“Everything okay, Cap?” Jill’s voice broke through his haze. She stood by his desk, one eyebrow raised. 

Chris forced a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, just... distracted.” 

Jill’s sharp eyes softened. “You’re worried about him.” 

“Yeah,” Chris admitted with a sigh. “It’s his first time alone in the house. I keep wondering if he’s okay, if he’s scared, if he…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I know he’ll probably be fine, but I can’t help it.” 

Jill smirked, leaning against the desk. “Sounds like parenthood to me.” 

Chris chuckled faintly, though his heart wasn’t in it. “Guess so.” 

Jill straightened, patting his shoulder. “You’ll be home soon enough. Hang in there. ”

“ On a different note We’ve got a possible lead on that break-in case from last week, but we’ll need your call on it. Are you good to handle it, or should I take the lead? ”   She then asked.

Chris hesitated for a moment before nodding. “I’ll handle it. Send me what you’ve got.” 

Jill nodded, and Chris' eyes drifted back to the clock as soon as she walked away. 

---

When Chris returned home, h e immediately walked over to the kitchen. the first thing he noticed was the plate in the drying rack and the chair at the kitchen table, slightly out of place. 

A soft smile tugged at his lips. A wave of relief washed over him. Leon had actually come out of his room and ate his lunch.

With a big smile on his face, he went over to Leon’s room and knocked gently. “Leon? I’m home!” 

He waited for a response, but none came.

“Hey, how’d it go today?” 

After a few moments of silence from inside, Leon’s voice came, soft but clear. “It...It was fine.” 

Chris smiled faintly. “Good. I’m glad. And hey, thank you so much for doing the dishes. You did great today. ” 

There was no reply.

Chris lingered for a moment, then turned away, feeling a mix of relief and determination. Little by little, they were finding their way forward.

Chapter Text

“Kitten, do you know what you did wrong today?” The master’s cold, emotionless voice rang in Leon’s ears.

Leon knelt on the floor, his hands trembling, his throat too tight with fear to form words. His chest heaved as he fought to control his breathing, but terror held him in its grip. 

“Why don’t you answer me?”

A hand yanked the chain around his collar, forcing his head up. His eyes—wide, tear-filled—met the master’s cold, empty black gaze. 

“I... I don’t know,” Leon stammered, his voice breaking as a sob escaped his lips. 

The master tilted his head, his smirk devoid of warmth. “Is that so? Then you’ll be punished twice. Once for what you did. And once for your ignorance.”

Leon’s heart slammed against his ribs as the master moved closer, his favourite whipp glinting in his hand. He tried to crawl back, but the chain tightened. He froze as the whipp was raised. It sliced through the air and— 

Leon bolted upright in bed with a scream, his breath hitching as the nightmare dissolved into the dim shadows of his room. His heart thundered, his body trembling as the master’s cruel voice echoed in his mind. He rubbed his throat, phantom pain lingering as if the collar was still there. 

His ears twitched at a sound in the hallway—soft, hurried footsteps. A moment later, a knock sounded, and the door creaked open, a sliver of warm light spilled into the room. Chris stood there, hair dishevelled, T-shirt rumpled, and his eyes heavy with sleep. 

“Leon?” His voice was low and careful. “You okay? You were screaming.” 

Leon didn’t answer. His hands fisted the blanket, his gaze fixed on his knees. 

Chris sighed softly and stepped inside. “Nightmare again?” he asked gently. Leon gave the faintest nod. Chris didn’t press him for details. 

“Come on.” Chris extended a hand. “Let’s get you something warm to drink.” 

Leon hesitated but swung his legs over the bed and stood. He followed Chris to the kitchen, trailing a few steps behind like a wary shadow. 

Chris moved with practiced ease, pulling out a mug and the carton of milk from the fridge. He didn’t say much, his actions quiet and deliberate, as though he knew words wouldn’t help right now. 

Leon sat at the table, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He watched as Chris heated the milk, the microwave’s soft hum filling the silence. Chris leaned against the counter, shoulders slumped, exhaustion etched into every movement. 

The first time Leon had woken screaming from a nightmare, he was certain he’d be punished. So when the man hurriedly entered the room that first night, Leon had curled into himself, bracing for pain that never came. Instead, the man had stood by the door, his voice soft as he asked if Leon was okay. 

When Leon didn’t answer, he asked if he’d had a nightmare. Leon only nodded, tears streaming down his face. What came next left him utterly confused. The man had asked, “Would a glass of warm milk help calm you down?” 

At the time, Leon hadn’t believed it. He had stared at him, tearful and confused, and whispered, “You’re not... not going to p...punish me for waking y... you up?” 

The man’s face had softened, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Leon, I’m never going to hurt you. It’s okay. Nightmares are scary, but I’ll help you through them. Every time.”

And that's exactly what the man...no not the man... Chris...that's exactly what Chris did. Night after night, Chris had been there—tired but unwavering. 

When the mug was ready, Chris placed it in front of Leon. “Careful—it’s hot,” he said, sitting across from him. He rested his chin in his hand, his eyes half-closed but still alert enough to make sure Leon was okay.

Leon wrapped his hands around the mug, the warmth grounding him. They sat in silence, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound between them. Leon still wouldn't come out of his room when Chris was home in the daytime, but he needed this after nightmares he needed to get out of the darkness of that room.

Chris yawned, covering his mouth with one hand, but he didn’t leave. He waited until Leon had finished the milk and seemed calmer.

Leon glanced at him through his bangs. “Sorry,” he murmured, barely audible.

Chris blinked at him, then shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Nightmares aren’t your fault.” His voice was thick with fatigue but steady, and his gaze was kind. “You need anything else?”

Leon shook his head. Chris gave a small nod, standing to take the empty mug to the sink. “Alright, let’s get you back to bed.”

Leon hesitated at the doorway of his room, glancing over his shoulder at Chris, who was already heading back to his own room. The faintest flicker of something—gratitude, maybe—crossed his face before he slipped back under the covers.

---

Chris stifled a yawn as he leaned against the desk in Jill’s office. The precinct buzzed with morning activity, but Chris looked like he hadn’t slept a minute. His eyes were bloodshot, and his usually sharp demeanour was dulled by exhaustion.

Jill handed him a cup of coffee, her fox-like ears twitching in mild amusement. “Rough night?” she asked, though the answer was written all over his face.

“Yeah,” Chris admitted, taking a grateful sip. “Leon’s still having nightmares. Wakes up screaming almost every night. I get up, calm him down, and sit with him until he falls asleep again.” He let out a tired sigh. “Then I get maybe three hours of sleep before coming here.”

Jill leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes softening. “You’re really going all in with this, aren’t you?”

“What else can I do?” Chris asked, his tone frustrated but not at her. “The kid’s been through hell. The least I can do is be there for him when he needs me.”

“You’re doing more than that, Chris,” Jill said, her voice firm. “Most people wouldn’t have the patience for what you’re dealing with. But you’re sticking it out.”

Chris shrugged, rubbing a hand over his face. “Doesn’t feel like enough. He’s still so scared. I just… I want him to feel safe.”

“Give it time,” Jill said, her tone reassuring. “Trust isn’t built overnight. You’re doing the right thing.”

At that moment, Piers walked in, holding a file. He took one look at Chris and smirked. “Someone’s burning the candle at both ends.”

“Not by choice,” Chris muttered, grabbing the file from him. “What’s this?”

Piers pointed to the top of the folder. “Briefing on the ops you missed.”

Chris nodded his thanks, flipping through it. But even as he worked, his thoughts kept drifting home to Leon. 

---

The next day went by just as the same. A sleepless night because of Leon’s nightmares and a jam-packed workday.

When Chris finally returned home he set his bag down with a heavy sigh, his day at work draining him more than usual. But his focus shifted immediately as he walked through the house, stopping in front of Leon’s door. His arms were full, holding a few small items he had carried carefully from the precinct. With a soft knock, he called, “Leon? Can I come in?” 

There was a brief pause before Leon’s voice, quiet as ever, replied, “...Okay.” 

Chris nudged the door open and stepped inside. Leon was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his gaze immediately locking onto the bundle of things in Chris’s hands. His ears twitched with curiosity, though his expression remained wary. 

“I’ve got something for you,” Chris said gently, crossing the room and placing the items on the small bedside table. He stepped back a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, technically, these aren’t from me. They’re from some of my friends. They, uh… heard you’ve been having a rough time at night and wanted to help.” 

Leon’s eyes widened slightly, flickering between the objects and Chris. “F-for me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chris nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah. Let me show you.” 

He picked up the first item—a sleek journal with a simple design. “This one’s from Piers. He thought maybe writing down your dreams might help you sort through them. You know, like keeping a record.” 

Leon reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing the smooth cover of the journal. 

Chris then held up a fluffy stuffed cat, its soft fur a light orange colour with white paws. “This is from Claire. She thought you might like something to hold onto at night. She calls it ‘the ultimate anti-nightmare charm.’” His tone carried a hint of humour, but it was gentle. 

Leon’s fingers tightened slightly on the journal as he stared at the cat, his lips parting as if to say something but stopping himself. 

Finally, Chris picked up a small, stylish bedside lamp with a warm glow when turned on. “And this is from Jill. She thought maybe having a light on might make things feel a little less scary.” 

Leon stared at the lamp, his brows furrowed. His voice trembled as he asked, “Why?” 

Chris tilted his head slightly. “Why what?” 

“Why would they…? They don’t even know me,” Leon said, his voice shaking with confusion. 

Chris crouched down to be closer to his eye level. “Because they care, Leon. They know you’re important to me, and that’s all they need to know. They wanted to do something to help.” 

Leon blinked, his eyes darting away, his grip tightening on the journal. “I don’t understand…” 

Chris sighed softly, his voice quiet but steady. “I know it might feel strange. You’re not used to people doing things like this for you. But trust me when I say they mean it. They just want to help you feel a little safer.” 

Leon didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the stuffed cat. Chris smiled faintly, reaching out to nudge the toy a little closer to him. 

“Oh, and by the way,” Chris added, his tone lightening, “Claire has been pestering me nonstop since she got back. She really wants to meet you. Honestly, it’s like having a second mom with how much she nags.” 

Chris straightened, giving Leon some space as he stepped back toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone to look at these. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

Leon didn’t answer right away, but as Chris turned to leave, he heard a quiet, hesitant voice behind him. 

“...Thank you.” 

Chris paused, his chest tightening slightly at the words. He glanced over his shoulder, offering Leon a warm smile. “Anytime.” 

---

The door clicked shut, and silence fell over the room. Leon sat perfectly still, staring down at the small collection of items on the table. His fingers brushed over the smooth surface of the journal again, the texture oddly grounding. 

A stuffed animal. A journal. A lamp. They were such simple things, yet they carried an unexpected weight, like they were proof of something he didn’t know how to name. 

Leon hugged his knees to his chest, the journal still clutched in one hand. He wasn’t used to this—any of this. Gifts, kind words, people caring about him without wanting something in return. It felt foreign, almost wrong, like it wasn’t meant for someone like him. 

His gaze landed on the stuffed cat, its soft orange fur catching the dim light from the window. He reached out and touched it hesitantly, half-expecting it to disappear. It didn’t. 

“Why?” he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. 

He thought of what Chris had said. They care. They just want to help.

But why would they care about him? He was no one—just a scared, broken hybrid who didn’t even know how to belong here. People didn’t care about creatures like him. 

And yet, the gifts were here, tangible and real. He didn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through his chest, confusing and bittersweet. It was overwhelming, yet… something else too. 

Leon curled up on the bed, the stuffed cat held loosely against his chest. For the first time, he felt something that wasn’t just fear or confusion. It was small, barely there, but it was enough to make him hold the cat a little tighter.  

Chapter Text

Chris walked through the door, his keys jangling as he tossed them onto the counter. He sighed, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension of the day. His first stop was always the same—checking on Leon.

The door was shut, as usual. Chris didn’t knock this time, knowing Leon preferred the quiet. Instead, he called out, “Hey i’m home.”

No reply. He hadn’t expected one.

“I'm going to take a quick shower, then I’ll start dinner. Let me know if you need anything.”

Chris headed for the bathroom, his mind still on Leon. It was hard to believe it had been a month since he brought the boy home. Those first two weeks had been brutal—Leon was sick, weak, and terrified of everything around him. Chris couldn’t count how many nights were spent coaxing Leon to eat, calming him after nightmares, or just trying to convince him that he was safe.

Even after that, there were struggles. Leon wouldn’t touch the clothes or supplies Chris had set up in his room. It had taken days of quiet reassurances before Leon dared to use them.

But there had been progress, too. Leon still wouldn’t come out of his room during the day, but he sat with Chris at nights after a nightmare. He didn’t flinch as much when Chris brought his food tray. Small victories, but victories nonetheless.

There was still a long road ahead.

Chris sighed and headed for the shower. Afterwards, he started preparing dinner. Cooking was second nature to him—he’d had no choice but to learn after their parents’ deaths when raising Claire fell to him. Now, as he worked on a hearty meatloaf, he was glad for the skill. Leon’s face had gained some colour, and he’d put on a few pounds since that first day. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Chris plated the meal—meatloaf, a side of vegetables, and a tall glass of juice—and carried the tray to Leon’s door. He knocked gently, as always, asking for permission before entering.

---

In his room, Leon sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the wall. His days had all started to blur together—quiet, lonely, and spent within these four walls.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt… bored.

It was a peculiar sensation. He wasn’t consumed by fear or hunger, nor was his body wracked with pain. He’d spent so long surviving that the idea of having nothing to do felt foreign.

His eyes drifted to the small journal sitting on the bedside table. It was his—Chris had said so, more than once—but Leon still hesitated. The stuffed cat had been easier to accept, something he could clutch tightly at night when the shadows grew too dark. He even started turning the bedside lamp at night. Surprisingly, they kind of helped with the nightmares. But the journal…

Leon actually wanted to use that, too, but he had no pen. He’d thought about asking Chris, but the words stuck in his throat every time. Chris had already given him so much. He didn’t deserve more.

A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts.

“Can I come in?” Chris’s voice was calm, patient.

Leon swallowed hard before murmuring, “Y-yeah.”

He still hadn't gotten used to Chris asking for permission before coming in. This was his house, and still he asked for Leon’s permission every time! It was so weird. He was so weird!

Chris entered carefully, carrying the tray. Leon’s body stiffened out of habit, but Chris, as always, kept his distance.

“Hey,” Chris said, setting the food down. “Meatloaf tonight. Hope you’re hungry.”

Leon nodded, his gaze dropping to the tray as Chris stepped back.

“So… how was your day?” Chris asked, like it was a real question and not just something to say. “What did you do?”

Leon’s hands curled in his lap. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Was Chris asking because he thought Leon had done something wrong? But Chris was waiting, so Leon mumbled, “N-Nothing. Ate lunch… cleaned up… slept.”

“That’s all?” Chris asked, his tone light. “I mean, that’s fine and all, but you know there’s a TV here. Books, too. You don’t have to just sit around all day.”

Leon said nothing, and Chris didn’t press. Instead, he left quietly so Leon could eat in peace.

---

Later that evening, when Chris returned to collect the empty tray, his eyes landed on the journal still untouched on the bedside table.

“Piers asked me today if you’ve been using that,” Chris said casually.

Leon flinched, his hands tightening around his shirt. “I… I can’t.”

Chris frowned. “Why not? It’s yours, Leon. Of course you can use it.”

There was a long silence before Leon finally whispered, “...There’s no pen.”

Chris blinked, surprised. Leon wasn’t refusing. He didn’t have a pen and hadn’t dared to ask for something as simple as a pen. Chris felt his guts twisting, but he managed to keep his voice even. “Is that so?”

The next morning, Chris didn’t bring it up. He didn’t want Leon to feel like he was watching him or waiting for progress.

Instead, when he brought Leon’s breakfast tray, there was a plain ballpoint pen next to the plate. “Here you go,” he said casually, as if it were nothing.

And he didn’t say another word about it.

But still, the picture of Leon sitting around all day long alone with nothing to do bothered him, so Chris started leaving small things around the house. A book on the kitchen table. Colored pencils and a sketchpad tucked near the couch. He never mentioned them, never pointed them out. They were just there—easy to ignore if Leon chose, but waiting in case curiosity got the better of him.

He didn’t think Leon would touch any of it.

Still, he hoped.

---

Leon’s mind felt numb. Hours blurred together in the haze of empty silence and restless sleep. He hated it. Hated the suffocating quiet that stretched on forever. He wouldn't come out of his room when Chris was home, but he liked listening to him work. At least it was better than this.

His stomach growled, dragging him out of bed. He wandered to the kitchen for the lunch Chris had left behind. That’s when he saw it. Again.

The book.

It had been sitting there for days, but Leon had ignored it. Don’t touch what isn’t yours—that rule had been beaten into him long ago.

He started eating his lunch, but his eyes kept wandering back to the book. When he was finished he wanted to just go back to the room but he couldn’t.

Today, something felt heavier. The walls, the silence, the boredom—it was too much. Slowly, hesitantly, Leon reached out and picked it up.

It wasn’t heavy.

The cover was plain. His thumb brushed the edges of the pages as he turned the cover open. Words greeted him, and before he realized it, he was reading.

Minutes turned into hours.

Leon didn’t notice the sun shifting across the floor or how long he’d been sitting hunched over the book. For the first time in… years, maybe, he wasn’t aware of the walls around him.

And then he heard it.

Keys in the lock.

The door clicked open.

Leon froze. His heart dropped into his stomach as cold panic washed over him. No, no, no. He scrambled to react, but it was too late—the door was open, Chris’s boots thudding softly as he stepped inside.

Leon sat paralyzed at the kitchen table, the book open in front of him. His mind screamed at him to run—to get back to his room before Chris got mad.

Chris rounded the corner and stopped.

Leon stared at him, wide-eyed and frozen. His pulse thundered in his ears as his thoughts spiralled. You shouldn’t have touched it. You shouldn’t be here.

Chris blinked.

Leon braced for it—for anger - for yelling, for anything.

But Chris didn’t yell. He didn’t look mad. His face softened. “Hey I'm home,” he said gently.

Leon stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure how to respond.

Chris’s gaze flicked to the book. “That’s a good one,” he said lightly, like this was normal. “You like it?”

Leon’s mouth opened, but no sound came. He didn’t know what to say—how to explain himself. His hands trembled slightly, where they gripped the edges of the book.

Chris stepped to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, his movements deliberate and calm. “I read that one years ago. Couldn’t put it down either.”

Leon’s heart pounded, his hands gripping the book tighter. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Chris to tell him to go back to his room or to stop touching things that weren’t his. But Chris didn’t.

“You hungry?” Chris asked casually, like it was any other day.

When Chris didn’t press him or look back, Leon hesitated, then slowly slid off the chair. Clutching the book, he shuffled back toward his room.

Chris let him go, watching quietly.

---

That night, as Chris sat down for dinner, he noticed the book was gone from the table.

He didn’t say anything, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic chop of the knife filled the quiet kitchen steady as a metronome. Chris focused on dicing vegetables for dinner, but his thoughts wandered.

It had been two days since the book incident. Two days of Leon’s door staying firmly shut while Chris was home. The memory of Leon’s wide, panicked eyes when he’d caught him reading still haunted Chris. He’d played it cool at the time, but deep down, he’d felt like he’d scared Leon back into hiding..

Chris exhaled softly, forcing his mind back to the task at hand. One step forward, two steps back. That was how it went sometimes, and he knew better than to push too hard. Leon needed time, patience, and—

“Ah, damn it!” Chris hissed, jerking his hand back as pain bloomed in his thumb. Blood beaded instantly from the cut.

He stepped back from the counter to the sink so blood wouldn't spill everywhere. It wasn’t bad—he’d had far worse—but it still stung like hell, and there was a lot of blood. He was about to wrap his hand in a towel and go to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, but after a step, he stopped.

A thought struck him.

He could patch himself up easily enough, but... maybe this was an opportunity. Hunnigan’s word from their most recent session echoed in his head: “ Like i said treat him like a roommate. Let him participate, no matter how small the task. Give him a reason to come out  of his room instead of forcing him.”

Chris glanced toward Leon’s door, indecision flickering through him. Was this stupid? Maybe. But something told him to try.

He turned and called out, his voice calm and even: “Leon? Hey, can you come out for a second? I need a hand.”

Silence stretched through the apartment. Chris stood there, listening, wondering if Leon would ignore him completely. He didn’t call again—just waited, trying to act as though asking Leon for help was the most natural thing in the world.

---

Leon froze, his breath catching in his throat.

Chris’s voice—calling him—cut through the stillness of the room like a blade. He stared at the door, heart pounding. For a terrifying moment, his mind raced through all the reasons Chris might be calling for him. Had he done something wrong? Had he forgotten to clean up after lunch?

No, Leon reasoned, trying to steady his breathing. Chris doesn’t sound mad.

But he’d never called for him before, and that alone was enough to send Leon into a spiral of panic. His instinct screamed at him to stay put. Stay hidden. Stay safe.

And yet... Chris hadn’t called again. That fact sat heavy on his chest, making it harder to breathe.

Slowly, Leon swung his legs off the bed. His movements were stiff and deliberate, as though any sound might trigger something bad. He cracked the door open just enough to peek out. It was as calm as  always he took a deep breath and made his way forward.

Chris was in the kitchen next to the sink.  He turned, spotting him immediately. His expression stayed calm and neutral, but his face softened with something close to relief.

“Hey. Thanks for coming out.” Chris lifted his injured hand, showing the bloody finger. “I was being careless and sliced my hand. Think you could grab the first aid kit for me? It’s in the bathroom cabinet.”

Leon blinked, confusion cutting through his fear. That’s... it?

He didn’t know what he expected, but the simplicity of the request startled him.

“O-okay,” Leon mumbled, barely audible.

He padded quickly to the bathroom, his movements automatic as he grabbed the first aid kit. When he returned, Chris was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting patiently. Leon handed him the kit, careful not to get too close.

“Thanks, Leon,” Chris said with a small smile. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Leon shifted on his feet, unsure what to do next. He started picking on his nails, a nervous habit he couldn’t quite break.

Chris opened the kit and began cleaning the cut, wrapping his hand with practiced ease. The silence stretched uncomfortably until Chris glanced up, keeping his tone light.

“I was in the middle of dinner prep when this happened,” Chris said casually. “Think you could give me a hand finishing up? Just serving it up.”

Leon stiffened immediately.

Chris seemed to notice because he added quickly, “It’s no big deal. But it’d really help me out.”

Leon’s chest felt tight. He didn’t want to. The kitchen felt too open, too exposed. But Chris’s hand was hurt...

Leon swallowed hard. After a long, tense pause, he gave a small, stiff nod. “...Okay.”

Chris’s smile widened, but he didn’t make a big deal of it. “Appreciate it.”

---

Chris stood back as Leon moved around the kitchen, watching him carefully. Leon’s movements were quick and nervous, like he expected Chris to snap at any second.

When Leon plated the food, Chris’s brow furrowed briefly. The kid had given him a mountain of food but barely served himself anything. Chris considered saying something but decided against it.

“You sure you’ve got enough?” he asked instead, keeping his voice casual.

Leon tensed. “It’s fine.”

Chris let it go, not wanting to push. Once everything was ready, he offered Leon an easy out. “You can eat out here if you want. Or take it back to your room. Your call.”

Leon ducked his head, almost flinching at the suggestion. “I’ll— I’ll go back.”

He grabbed his plate and disappeared. Chris watched him go, his heart sinking just a little.

It’s fine. Don’t rush him.


The next day, when Chris called for him again, Leon felt the same knot of nerves in his stomach.

He needs help, Leon reminded himself. His hand’s hurt.

That made it harder to refuse. Slowly, he stepped out of his room, moving to the kitchen as Chris had asked.

This time, Chris showed him how to chop softer vegetables while staying close enough to guide him—but not close enough to crowd him. Leon’s hands shook at first, and every time Chris shifted even slightly, Leon flinched. But Chris didn’t snap. Didn’t scold.

When dinner was ready, Chris asked softly, “You can eat here tonight if you want. I promise I don’t bite.”

Leon hesitated. He didn’t want to. Everything in him screamed to run back to his room, but...

You can’t say no twice! a voice whispered in his head.

Reluctantly, Leon sat at the small kitchen table, his shoulders hunched and tense. He picked at his food at first, his movements tentative. But as the meal went on, Leon began eating more steadily. Chris didn’t comment on it, instead focusing on his own plate and letting the moment unfold naturally. 

When Leon finally looked up, Chris caught his gaze and smiled. “Good?” 

Leon nodded once, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. 

“Glad to hear it,” Chris said, his tone light. 

When he finished, Leon muttered, “Thanks,” before escaping back to his room.

The third day, Chris was in the kitchen when he heard the door creak open. He turned, surprised. Leon stood in the hallway, looking uncertain but determined.

“Do you... still need help?” Leon asked, voice quiet.

Chris blinked, caught off guard for half a second before a slow smile spread across his face.

“That’d be great. Thanks, Leon.”

As Leon moved toward the kitchen, Chris felt something warm and hopeful bloom in his chest.


And just like that The house had settled into a quiet rhythm, Chris and Leon sitting at the dining table, sharing a simple meal—something Chris had thrown together after work with Leon helping with the small tasks—washing vegetables, setting plates, bringing napkins— it all had been quiet victories that Chris never took for granted.

Leon still sat stiffly at the table, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. But at least he stayed. He ate without flinching, even when Chris spoke to him. That was progress.

Tonight was no different. Chris, careful not to overwhelm him, had been talking about his day, keeping his tone light, as if they were just two people sharing dinner.

“—so then Piers accidentally dropped an entire tray of coffees on Claire’s purse. I swear, Claire’s going to haunt him forever for ruining her favourite purse.” Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “I told him to let me carry them next time. I’ve got the hands of a surgeon, you know.”

There it was—a flicker. Leon’s lips twitched, barely noticeable, but Chris caught it. Progress.

Before Chris could let the moment linger, his phone buzzed. At first, he ignored it, unwilling to break the fragile calm of their dinner. Then it buzzed again.

Chris frowned, pulling it out of his pocket. A glance at the screen told him it was work.

“Sorry,” Chris muttered, giving Leon a quick, reassuring look. “Gotta take this.”

He stood and answered, stepping a little ways out of the kitchen to keep his voice down. “Yeah, Redfield here.”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of an agitated voice on the other end. Chris’s expression shifted. His shoulders stiffened.

Leon quietly picked at his plate, already shrinking into himself at the disruption.

“What do you mean you didn’t handle it? I gave you instructions yesterday!” Chris suddenly snapped. His tone, sharp and loud, cut through the quiet room.

Leon froze in his chair, the fork slipping from his fingers.

Chris was pacing now, phone clutched to his ear—a familiar pattern of frustration. His footsteps thudded against the floor. “No, that’s not what I told you to do. You can’t drop the ball on this—not again! If I have to come down there and fix it myself, I—”

Leon’s chest tightened. The room seemed smaller, darker. His breathing grew shallow, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape. Chris’s frustration was rising and his voice grew sharper and louder with each word.

“Unbelievable,” Chris growled. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Do you want me to come down there and fix it myself? Because clearly—”

The sharp bite of Chris’s voice was ringing in his ears like a shout from his nightmares.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I’ll be good…”

Chris, still lost in the phone call, turned just in time to see Leon trembling violently as he moved closer. The chair scraped against the floor as Leon bolted to his feet, eyes wide, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

The sound broke through Chris’s frustration like a crash of thunder. He froze, phone halfway to his ear, watching helplessly as Leon stumbled back, eyes darting wildly, as though Chris’s every movement was a threat.

“Leon?” Chris’s voice softened immediately, guilt washing over him. He dropped the phone, letting the call disconnect. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. Leon, it’s me. You’re safe.”

But Leon wasn’t hearing him. He had already dropped to the floor, pressing his back against the nearest wall. His arms flew up to shield his head as he shook violently.

“I’m sorry, Master—please! I’ll be good! I’ll be good…”

The words hit Chris like a punch to the gut.

“No, Leon, no.” Chris was kneeling now, keeping his distance, his voice a broken whisper. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not— I didn’t mean to…”

But Leon wasn’t hearing him. His sobs filled the room. His body trembled as he whispered the same words over and over again, each one breaking Chris a little more.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good…”

By the time Chris could think of something to say—anything to fix what he’d just shattered—Leon was already moving. He scrambled to his feet, slipping slightly before bolting toward his room. The door slammed shut with a finality that left Chris kneeling alone on the kitchen floor, staring at his empty hands.

Chapter Text

Chris sat slumped against Leon’s door, his back pressed to the cold wood. His legs were numb, his head heavy with exhaustion, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He had been there for hours, speaking in soft, halting sentences.

“Leon,” he whispered, his voice rough from lack of sleep. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I wasn’t mad at you. I would never… never hurt you. Please believe me.”

No response.

“Leon, I know you’re scared, and I hate that I made you feel that way. But I need you to know… I’m not like them. I’m not going to hurt you. Never.”

The silence from the other side of the door was deafening, and it tore at Chris in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He rested his head in his hands, letting the quiet settle over him.

He didn’t know if Leon could hear him or if Leon even wanted to, but he stayed, unable to walk away.

When the first rays of sunlight slipped through the hallway window, Chris was still there. He hadn’t slept, and his body ached from the awkward position. His watch told him he needed to get ready for work, but leaving felt like giving up. He hesitated, glancing at the firmly closed door.

Finally, he sighed and stood, his movements slow and heavy. “I’ll...I'll be back tonight, Leon.”

As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder one last time, hoping—praying—that Leon had at least heard him.

---

The precinct buzzed with its usual energy, but Chris barely noticed. He sat at his desk, staring blankly at a half-written report. His pen rested limply in his hand, unmoving, as his thoughts drifted back to the night before.

Dark circles ring his red eyes, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of guilt and exhaustion.

“Chris?” Claire’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

He blinked, startled, as she leaned against his desk, holding two cups of coffee. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Chris grunted, taking one of the cups. “Thanks. What...what are you doing here?”

She frowned, studying him. “ What do mean what I'm doing here? I'm here for the Princeton street case. You said you'd help me with my report, remember? Seriously What’s going on with you?”

Before Chris could respond, Jill walked into his office. “Hey Redfield you’re here good! Please play with your sister today she's been driving me...” Jill stopped mid sentence, her sharp eyes scanning Chris.“ What the hell happened to you? Babe, what's wrong with this one? ”Jill asked, setting her jacket on a nearby chair and closing the door.

“I don’t know, but he looks like hell,” Claire said bluntly, making Jill raise an eyebrow.

Chris groaned, rubbing his temples. “Thanks for the observation, both of you!”

Jill crossed his arms. “She’s not wrong. What’s eating at you, Captain?”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I screwed up,” he admitted quietly.

“Okay, that’s not new. Care to elaborate?” Jill said, smirking faintly.

Chris glared half-heartedly at him before shaking his head. He sighed, his voice low and filled with regret. “It’s Leon.”

At the mention of Leon, the room fell silent.

“What happened?” Claire asked, her voice sharper now.

Chris hesitated, gripping the coffee cup tightly. “I got a call during dinner. Work stuff. I got frustrated and… I lost my temper. I didn’t even realize how loud I was being until I looked up and saw him. He was terrified. He… he called me ‘Master’ and begged me not to hurt him.” His voice cracked, and he dropped his head into his hands. “I didn’t mean to scare him. I wasn’t even mad at him. But I messed up.”

“Oh, Chris,” Claire said softly, her voice tinged with both sympathy and frustration. “How could you be so careless?”

“I know,” Chris snapped, more at himself than her. “I know, okay? I wasn’t thinking.”

Claire crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. “Leon’s not just some skittish stray, Chris. He’s been through hell. You can’t just forget he’s there.”

“I didn’t forget—” Chris started, then stopped, exhaling heavily. “I didn’t mean to. I was just… caught up in the moment.”

“You’re human, Chris. You’re going to make mistakes. What matters is how you handle it moving forward.” Jill said, trying to calm him down.

“Yeah, well, how do I handle it when he won’t even come out of his room?” Chris asked, his voice laced with frustration and guilt.

Claire looked at him confused,“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t left his room since,” Chris admitted. “I’ve tried talking to him, apologizing, sitting by the door… nothing. He won’t even open the door.”

Claire frowned. “You need to do more than just apologize. Leon’s not going to trust words. You need to show him you’re sorry.”

Jill’s ears started twitching, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe leave him something—something small, like a peace offering. Something that shows you care.”

Chris frowned. “Like what?”

Jill smirked. “Cookies and milk?”

Chris shot her a look, and Claire rolled her eyes. “Be serious. Think about what Leon would actually appreciate.”

Chris sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

Claire softened, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Chris, you’re trying. Just… be careful next time, okay? Leon’s lucky to have you. Don’t forget that.”

Chris nodded, but the guilt in his chest remained heavy.

---

That evening, Chris came home to an unsettling sight. The lunch he had prepared for Leon sat untouched in the refrigerator, exactly as he had left it.

His chest tightened as he realized what this meant. Leon hadn’t come out of his room at all, not even while Chris had been gone.

The weight of guilt pressed down on him even harder as he set his bag down and sighed deeply. “Damn it, Chris,” he muttered to himself. “You’re just making it worse.”

---

For the next two days, Chris’s routine didn’t change.

He spent each evening sitting outside Leon’s door, speaking softly, apologizing, and leaving small items—a book one night, a box of crayons, and a sketchpad the next. Every morning, the items were untouched, and Chris’s exhaustion deepened.

He was barely functioning by the third morning, his hands trembling as he tried to write a report. Piers noticed first, taking the pen from Chris’s hand and replacing it with another cup of coffee.

“You’re gonna burn yourself out,” he said.

Chris didn’t respond.

The third day dawned with the same sense of heaviness.

Chris sat at the dining table, his laptop in front of him. The house was still—too still. He hadn’t heard a sound from Leon’s room since, and the silence was eating away at him.

His screen light. Seeing Claire’s name on the screen, Chris let out a breath and clicked. Claire’s worried face appeared on the screen.

“Hey, Chris. How's everything? Leon hasn't come out yet? ”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. “No.” His voice cracked just slightly.

“Oh my god... you haven't managed to reach Hunnigan yet? ” Claire’s tone immediately shifted to concern.

“No I tried, but she's not answering ” Chris said with a sigh.

“So how are you, Chris? I know it's hard on you too”

Chris hesitated. He glanced toward the hall where Leon’s door remained firmly shut, then dropped his voice as though the walls might betray him.

“It’s...it's hard, you know,” Chris said, his words heavy.

“I keep thinking about that moment me shouting like and idiot and Leon...,” Chris continued softly, his voice shaking. “He—he just…” Chris squeezed his eyes shut, guilt crashing over him. “He was so scared, and it was me who did that to him.”

Claire’s voice crackled softly over the phone. “Chris… it was an accident. You didn’t mean to—”

“I know I didn’t mean to!” Chris snapped before catching himself, his tone dropping into something broken. “But it doesn’t matter. You didn’t see his face, Claire. I was supposed to make him feel safe. I promised myself I wouldn’t—”

His voice faltered, and for a long moment, Chris said nothing.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Chris finally whispered, so softly Leon almost missed it. “I’ve been trying so hard. And just when I think we’re making progress, I mess it all up. What if he never comes out again? What if he never trusts me?”

Claire’s voice was steady but gentle. “Chris, you are gonna be fine. You’ve done so much already.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m failing him?” Chris’s voice cracked on the last word.

Claire spoke with a soft conviction. “Because you care, Chris. You care about him so much that it hurts. But you’re not perfect, and you’re allowed to make mistakes. You just have to keep showing him that you’re not going anywhere.”

Chris let out a shaky sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

“You know I’m right,” Claire teased gently, then softened. “Give him time, Chris. He’ll come around. You’re the first person he’s had who cares about him—he’ll see that eventually.”

Chris wiped at his eyes quickly, clearing his throat. “Thanks, sis.”

“Always,” Claire replied warmly. “Now go get some rest. Leon needs you to keep showing up for him.”

---

That night, Chris paced outside Leon’s door, clutching a small plate of cookies and a glass of milk. He had no idea if this would work, but he was desperate.

“Leon,” he began softly, his voice steadier than it had been the night before. “I brought you something. It’s just… cookies and milk. You don’t have to open the door. I’ll just leave it here, okay?”

He set the plate down carefully and sat back against the wall, closing his eyes. “I don’t know if you believe me when I say this, but I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been through so much—more than anyone should ever have to. You didn’t deserve any of it. And you don’t deserve to be scared now. Not here. Not with me.”

The silence stretched, as it had every night before. Chris’s heart sank, and he let his head fall back against the doorframe.

Then, the faintest sound came through — a soft shuffling from behind the door.

Chapter Text

Leon sat on the floor with his back pressed against the bed, knees drawn tightly to his chest. The room was dark, save for the thin streak of light spilling in from under the door. Shadows stretched long across the walls, mirroring the tangle of thoughts in his mind.

Chris’s voice from that night echoed relentlessly: sharp, frustrated—too close to what Leon had grown up hearing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the familiar ache of dread that clawed its way through his chest.

He had lived this before.

People didn’t need a reason to be cruel. If they were angry or frustrated about something else, Leon had always been the easiest target. He could still feel the sting of slaps that followed the yelling, the harsh grip that made him flinch even when no hands were near. Those memories pressed against him now, suffocating.

Every time Chris’s voice broke through his spiralling thoughts Leon shook his head, clutching the edge of his sleeve tightly.

Words. That’s all they were, Leon told himself. And yet something felt… different.

Chris hadn’t yelled again. He hadn’t broken down the door or forced his way in. He hadn’t demanded obedience or punishment.

Instead, he just sat there, night after night, talking softly and apologizing.

And he kept bringing Leon food, practically begging him to eat something. But Leon couldn’t risk opening that door. He just couldn’t.


---



The first night, hunger gnawed at Leon’s stomach. The ache was familiar, a dull pain he had learned to endure. You’ve gone without food longer than this before, he reminded himself. But then he remembered—he had a personal stash of snacks in his room.

Chris had been the one to bring them—weeks ago.

Leon could still picture it: Chris knocked lightly on his door, holding a handful of snacks with a casual smile.

"In case you get hungry in the middle of the night or something," Chris had said, setting them down on the small table in the corner before retreating without waiting for a response.

Leon had been confused then, too—why Chris cared enough to think about something as small as snacks.

Now, as he nibbled on a granola bar, he felt an odd mixture of relief and something he couldn’t quite name. The memory left him feeling... off-balance.

The next two nights passed in much the same way.

Chris left small offerings by the door—small gestures that Leon couldn’t bring himself to open the door and see, but they were there nonetheless. Each time, he spoke softly, apologizing and reassuring Leon that he wasn’t mad and that he cared about him.

Those words hovered in the air like something fragile and unfamiliar. Too foreign to trust. Too persistent to ignore.

The concept of someone apologizing to him—without demanding anything in return—was bewildering. It twisted Leon’s stomach in confusion.

Why wasn’t Chris angry? Why wasn’t he forcing Leon to submit or dragging him out like every instinct told Leon he should expect?


---


On the third night, Leon’s ears twitched at the sound of Chris’s voice.

He was on the phone—with a woman.

Leon listened carefully, his sensitive hearing picking up the conversation through the thin walls. He felt weird listening to a private conversation like that, but they were talking about him, so he couldn’t help it.

"I keep thinking about that moment," Chris admitted quietly. "Me shouting like an idiot, and Leon—he just…" A heavy pause. "He was terrified, and it was my fault."

Leon’s stomach twisted. Chris sounded so tired.

The woman’s voice—Claire, he realized—broke through faintly. "Chris, you didn’t mean to. You’ve been doing everything you can for him—"

"That doesn’t matter," Chris cut her off. "You didn’t see his face, Claire. I was supposed to make him feel safe, and instead, I just—" His voice cracked slightly. "What if he never trusts me again?"

“You’re helping him more than you know,” Claire said gently.

“Then why does it feel like I’m failing?” Chris whispered hoarsely.

Leon clutched the plush Polish cat Claire had given him tightly to his chest.

The raw emotion in Chris’s voice made his ears twitch uncomfortably. It wasn’t the fake kind of regret he had heard before—the kind meant to manipulate . It was real. He sounded genuinely upset, and for some reason, Leon didn't like that.

It wasn’t right.

Chris shouldn’t sound like that. He shouldn’t be hurting over him.

Even after the call ended, Chris’s words echoed in Leon’s mind.

Later that night, Chris was at his door again, speaking softly.

"I don’t know if you believe me when I say this, but I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been through so much—more than anyone should ever have to. You didn’t deserve any of it. And you don’t deserve to be scared now. Not here. Not with me."

Leon’s breath hitched.

No one had ever said that to him before. Not once.

It was so foreign that it almost hurt to hear.

The walls between them suddenly felt thinner, less like barriers and more like boundaries waiting to be crossed.

Leon sat frozen on the bed, hugging the plush cat to his chest. Slowly, he slid off the bed and approached the door. His hand hovered over the handle, heart pounding in his chest.

But then his hands trembled he couldn’t open the door not yet but he wanted to say something.His gaze drifted to his journal.

Slowly, hesitantly, he picked it up, tore a page from the middle, and scribbled a message with slightly shaky hands.

"You’re not really mad at me?"

He slid the note under the door and stepped back.

A moment later, he heard Chris inhale sharply. Then, his voice, breathless with relief.

"My god, Leon… of course not. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one at fault. You have every right to be mad at me."

Leon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to process these strange, strange words.

" Leon, please, please come out. I'm so worried about you. You haven't eaten anything in two days. Please don't punish yourself because of my mistake. Punish me if you have!"

A second note.

"I’ve eaten some snacks."

A deep sigh of relief from the other side.

"Leon, that’s not nearly enough," Chris murmured. "I get that you don’t want to see my stupid face, but please at least come out and eat when I’m not home. I can leave if that helps. I’ll stay away until you’re ready to forgive me."

Leon’s eyes widened.

He stared at the door, heart pounding. This was Chris’s house, and yet he was willing to leave it—just to make Leon feel safe enough to eat?

"Why... why do you even care?" The words left Leon’s mouth before he could stop them. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t apologize. It’s... it’s not right."

Chris shifted on the other side.

"Leon… I care because you’re important to me. And I should care because you deserve it. And I should apologize because I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have scared you. I should have been more careful." Chris’s voice broke slightly. "I’m sorry I failed you."

Leon’s throat tightened.

It was too much. All of it. There was too much to wrap his head around.

A pause. Then, a quiet, almost sheepish chuckle.

"Claire always says I’m all muscles and no brain. Guess she was right after all."

Leon frowned.

He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like Chris talking about himself like that—sounding so broken and desperate.

Chris shouldn’t feel like that.

Not because of him.

His hand moved on its own, resting lightly on the doorknob.

Part of him screamed don’t do it—it's a trap— but another part whispered, Chris doesn’t need a trap. If he wanted to, he could’ve broken down this door days ago. But he didn’t. He waited. He apologized.

And maybe that counted for something.

Slowly, carefully, Leon turned the knob. The door creaked open just an inch, bridging the distance between them.

And for the first time in days, Leon looked at Chris.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since the incident.

The tense air that once lingered in the house had slowly disappeared, replaced by a cautious but genuine effort to move forward. Though things were still awkward at first, Leon had finally begun to emerge from his shell again.

Chris didn’t press him. He’d stuck to his usual routine, giving Leon space to adjust at his own pace. Small changes happened gradually: Leon started coming out for meals, though it was always after Chris had set the table and stepped away, giving Leon space to approach at his own pace.

The first time had been hesitant—Leon lingering in the hallway, ears flicking slightly before cautiously sitting down. Chris had acted like it was normal, keeping the conversation light, asking about little things rather than pushing for anything deeper.

The second time, Leon had eaten without the same rigid tension in his shoulders. By the third, it was as if they had fallen back into an unspoken rhythm.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

Mornings felt familiar again—Chris waking up early for work, leaving breakfast out with a note in case Leon wanted to eat later. Evenings were quieter, but Chris still knocked softly on Leon’s door before bed, offering a simple “Good night” without expectation.

Leon never responded, but Chris liked to think he was listening.

And then, just like before, there were the small things—the things Chris had started to recognize as progress.

The subtle way Leon lingered a little longer in the living room before retreating to his room. The way he’d glance at Chris while he cooked, as if making sure it was okay for him to be there. The way his ears twitched in mild irritation whenever Chris made a bad joke but never once left the room because of it.

And just like that, as the days passed, their routines began to feel familiar again.

But it wasn’t just the routines that were returning—it was the quiet trust woven between them.

And Chris didn’t take it for granted.

---

Chris glanced at Leon now, seated across the table, his focus fixed on the plate of spaghetti Chris had made for dinner.

“How is it?” Chris asked, keeping his voice light and casual.

Leon paused mid-bite, his ears twitching slightly. “It’s… fine,” he mumbled.

Chris smiled faintly. Fine was better than silence. “Good. It’s one of my better recipes, you know. Took me years to perfect.”

Leon gave a half-shrug, though the tiniest flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Uh-huh!”

Chris chuckled. “Hey, don’t knock my culinary skills. This is gourmet stuff right here.”

Leon didn’t respond, but Chris caught the faintest twitch of his lips before Leon returned his focus to his plate.

After the dinner, Chris was drying the dishes, and Leon was about to return to his room. Watching him going back, Chris couldn’t help but wish that he would stay a little longer. He really wished they could do something together the two of them.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, glancing up. “What do you think about a movie night?”

Leon paused, returning slowly. His ears twitched slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

Chris pushed forward before the silence could stretch too long. “I mean, we used to have them all the time when I was a kid. Claire and I would grab a bunch of snacks, pick the worst action movies we could find, and just spend the night watching them.” He shrugged, trying to keep his tone light. “Figured it might be fun.”

Leon didn’t say anything. He just lowered his gaze, pulling at his sleeve.

Chris didn’t expect an immediate answer. He knew better than to push. So, he simply went back to his work, letting Leon think about it.

It wasn’t until he was almost done that Leon finally spoke.

“…What movie?”

Chris almost didn’t catch it over the sound of running water. He turned slightly, keeping his movements easy, like he hadn’t been waiting for Leon to say something. “Dunno yet,” he admitted. “I was thinking something with explosions. Or maybe something dumb and funny.”

Leon hesitated, then gave a tiny nod. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but Chris felt something loosen in his chest.

“Cool,” he said, wiping his hands dry. “I’ll get everything set up after this.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but this would be the first time they actually spent time together outside of meals and small tasks. It felt…significant.

And from the way Leon lingered just a little longer before heading to the living room, Chris had a feeling Leon knew that too.

---

Chris set up the living room while Leon lingered by the edge of the couch, shifting his weight between his feet. The blanket Chris had tossed over the couch earlier was still there, along with a couple of pillows. The remote sat next to a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

“Alright,” Chris said, settling onto the couch and grabbing the remote. “I picked a couple of options. We’ve got an over-the-top action movie where everything explodes for no reason or a dumb buddy cop comedy where two guys somehow destroy an entire city in the name of justice.”

Leon hesitated. “The second one.”

Chris smirked. “Good choice.”

Leon finally sat down, though he left some space between them. Not that Chris minded. This was already more than he had expected.

As the movie started, Leon remained tense, his posture rigid. But as the ridiculous antics unfolded on screen—cars flipping unnecessarily, bad guys dramatically diving away from slow-motion explosions—he began to ease up. Chris caught the smallest huff of amusement when one of the main characters tripped over his own feet during a chase scene.

Halfway through the movie, Chris got up to grab more drinks. When he came back, Leon had shifted slightly, looking more relaxed. Chris handed him a can of soda without a word, and Leon took it without hesitation.

For a while, there was just quiet comfort. No pressure to talk, no expectations—just the low hum of the TV and the occasional crunch of popcorn.

Then, without really thinking, Chris stretched his arm over the back of the couch. It wasn’t meant to be anything—just him getting comfortable. But Leon froze.

Chris immediately caught the reaction and started to pull away. “Hey, I didn’t mean to—”

Leon hesitated. Then, to Chris’s surprise, he didn’t move away. He stayed tense, like he was waiting for something bad to happen, but he didn’t bolt.

Chris kept his movements slow, giving Leon time to change his mind. When he didn’t, Chris left his arm where it was—close enough to be there, but not touching.

The movie played on, and slowly, Leon began to relax again.

Chris pretended not to notice when, around ending, Leon had unknowingly leaned just a little bit closer.

By the time the credits rolled, Chris glanced over to find Leon blinking slowly, his posture loose in a way that Chris hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t asleep, but he was close—his body no longer stiff, his tail flicking lazily against the couch cushion. This was the first time Chris was actually seeing his tail properly. Until now, he always hid it somehow. Those baby blue eyes were half closed, and his fluffy ears twitched absently.

Chris didn’t say anything right away. He just let the moment sit, not wanting to startle Leon back into awareness. It wasn’t often that Leon let his guard down, even in small ways like this.

Then, Leon shifted slightly and rubbed his eyes, catching Chris watching him. He immediately tensed, his ears flattening in embarrassment. His cheeks are turning red.

Chris played it off casually. “Sleepy?”

Leon scowled at him. “No.”

Chris chuckled but didn’t push it. “Alright, alright.” He stretched and stood, collecting the empty soda cans and popcorn bowl. “I’ll clean this up. You should head to bed. It’s late.”

Leon hesitated as if debating whether or not to argue, but then he yawned—a quick, sharp motion he tried (and failed) to hide.

Chris smirked. “Uh-huh.”

Leon shot him a halfhearted glare before standing. He didn’t say goodnight, but he lingered for a moment at the hallway entrance before finally disappearing into his room.

Chris exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

A smile danced on his face, and all he could think was how cute Leon looked at that moment!

Chapter Text

It was a bright morning, and Chris was peacefully sipping his coffee. he glanced at the clock. He had the day off, and the house was quiet. It felt… normal.

Chris hadn’t realized how much he had missed this—the simplicity of knowing Leon felt safe enough to be here, to exist in the same space without fear keeping him locked away. He disappeared to his room after breakfast but still it was good enough.

He was thinking about asking Leon what he wanted for lunch when his phone buzzed. Claire.

Chris answered it with a smirk. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Claire shot back. “Jill said you took the day off.”

“Yeah, just wanted to spend a little more time with Leon.” Chris leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes. “So what’s up?”

“I need to stop by and grab some stuff I left at your place. Figured I should check with you first, you know, because of Leon.”

Chris hesitated, glancing toward the hallway where Leon’s door remained firmly closed. Claire hadn’t been over since Leon moved in. He wasn’t sure how Leon would react to someone else entering his space, even if it was just to grab a few things. Still, he couldn’t keep Claire away forever. And it wasn’t like she was going to stay or anything.

“Yeah, okay,” he said finally. “Just—uh, don’t expect Leon to come out.”

There was a pause on the other end. “I figured. Though, I really want to meet him soon,” Claire said softly. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Chris ended the call and set his phone down with a sigh. This was going to be interesting.

He set down his cup, glancing toward the hallway. He hesitated for a moment before finally standing up and walking over to Leon’s door. He knocked lightly, not expecting an answer but wanting to at least warn him.

“Hey, Leon,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Just wanted to let you know—Claire’s coming over in a bit to pick up some stuff.”

Silence.

Chris sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She won’t stay long, but I figured you’d want to know. You don’t have to come out or anything, just… don’t be startled, okay?”

He waited a beat. Still no response.

Chris exhaled but didn’t push. He had learned not to expect immediate reactions from Leon. Instead, he gave the door a small, reassuring pat before stepping away.

----

Inside the room, Leon sat on the bed, curled up near the pillows, his fingers absently clutching the fabric of the book he was reading. He had heard every word.

Claire

Chris talked about her sometimes—his little sister, the activist, the one who got him his fluffy cat. Leon had seen pictures of them together around the house, framed moments of easy smiles and laughter.

She wasn’t a total stranger. But she wasn’t Chris.

The idea of someone else stepping inside, even briefly, made his chest tighten. He knew she wouldn’t hurt him—Chris wouldn’t let someone dangerous in—but knowing and feeling were two different things.

Still, Chris had warned him. He didn’t have to be scared. He didn’t have to go out and confront her, he just had to stay quiet and wait it out.

---

Claire arrived twenty minutes later, knocking with her usual energy. Chris pulled the door open, stepping aside as she strode in.

“Finally,” she said, tossing her bag onto the couch. “I was starting to think you’d just claim all my stuff as your own.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Please. Half of it’s junk.”

Claire scoffed. “Excuse you, those are important case files.”

Chris didn’t argue, just motioned toward the small bookshelf where her things were stacked. As she started sorting through them, her gaze flickered around the living room.

“So,” she said, voice deliberately casual, “how’s it been? Since, you know… everything.”

Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Better. Not perfect, but better. We’re back to our routine, mostly. He’s eating with me again, and he doesn’t flinch every time I walk by, so that’s progress.”

Claire hummed in approval, shuffling through her files. “And talking?”

Chris hesitated. “Some.”

Claire gave him a look.

Chris sighed. “Okay, not much. But it’s something.”

She didn’t push, just nodded and continued sorting. After a moment, she asked, “Does he know I’m here?”

“Yeah. Told him before you came.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Chris shrugged. “Nothing. But at least he knows, so he won’t freak out.”

Claire nodded again, thoughtful. Then, as she walked past the hallway, she slowed slightly, eyes flickering toward the closed door. She didn’t stop, didn’t knock—just spoke, her voice light but deliberate.

“You know, Chris is an idiot sometimes.”

Chris groaned from the couch. “Claire—”

“But he’s a good idiot,” she continued, ignoring him. “And he means what he says. Always has. So don't be so hard on him he cares about you a great deal...we all do believe it or not.”

The house was silent.

Chris didn’t expect an answer. Neither did Claire.

Claire lingered a second longer before grabbing her bag. “Okay well that's it. See you later, big brother.”

And then her turned around “Bye Leon, hope to see you one day.” she said with a smile

Chris smiled and nodded. “Later Claire.”

And with that he went on and the door clicked shut behind her, leaving Chris alone in the quiet house.

He let out a breath, glancing toward Leon’s room.

No movement. No words.

But Chris wasn’t discouraged. Because he had heard it—the faintest shuffling sound that meant Leon was right behind his door.

Leon was listening.

And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to get ready to meet new people.

Chapter Text

Chris pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he stepped inside, shaking off the cold. The temperature had dropped noticeably over the past few days, and it wouldn’t be long before the first signs of winter settled in.

He set the grocery bags down on the kitchen counter, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The heater was already running, filling the house with a steady warmth, but it only reminded him of something else—Leon hadn’t stepped outside once since he’d came here.

Almost three months now.

Chris glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of pages turning reached his ears. At least things inside the house were different now.

Leon had started spending more time outside his room—not just for meals, but in quiet, everyday ways. Some mornings, Chris would find him curled up on the couch with a book instead of hiding away. Other times, he’d sit at the kitchen table while Chris cooked, helping with small tasks like chopping vegetables or handing over ingredients.

And Saturday nights? Those had officially turned into movie nights.

It had started as a one-time thing, but after that night, Chris kept bringing it up until Leon eventually stopped resisting. Now, every Saturday, they picked a movie (or rather, Chris picked one while Leon silently judged his choices), and by the end of the night, Leon was at least watching instead of pretending to ignore it. It was a routine now—one of the first real ones they’d built together.

But despite all of that, Leon still hadn’t stepped foot outside.

Chris exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the grocery bag handles. At first, it had made sense. Leon needed time, space, security. He wasn’t about to push him into something he wasn’t ready for.

But now, with the season starting to change, Chris couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him. Was it really okay for Leon to stay shut in like this?

Hunnigan didn’t think so.

Their last conversation still echoed in his mind:

"You’re making incredible progress with him, Chris. But sooner or later, he’s going to have to step outside. Even if it’s just for a short walk, a small errand—anything to remind him that the world outside isn’t just danger and pain."

Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew she was right. But knowing it and actually convincing Leon were two different things.

For Leon, the outside world wasn’t just a place—it was a threat. One he’d spent years surviving.

So how the hell was Chris supposed to get him to even consider stepping beyond that front door?

Chris exhaled and glanced back at the grocery bags. Maybe that was the way in.

A simple errand. No pressure. No expectations. Just… a trip to pick up something they needed.

At the very least, he had to try.


---


Leon sat cross-legged on the couch, his book open in his lap, though he wasn’t really reading. The heater hummed softly in the background, spreading warmth through the house, but Leon still found himself burrowing deeper into his oversized hoodie. It smelled like the laundry detergent Chris used, clean and familiar. And the fabric was so soft and fluffy it made him kind of sleepy 

He could hear Chris moving in the kitchen, putting away groceries. The routine was predictable now—Chris would come home, unload the bags, make dinner. And Leon, more often than not, would linger here, half-listening, half-existing in the quiet space between them.

It wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t terrifying.

And that alone still felt strange sometimes.

A chair scraped against the floor, and Leon glanced up as Chris sat down at the table. He hesitated, then carefully folded the corner of his page and set the book aside before joining him.

Chris offered a faint smile at that but didn’t comment. He just placed two plates on the table and nudged one toward Leon.

They ate in comfortable silence at first, the clinking of silverware the only sound between them. When they were done, Chris cleared his throat in that way that meant he had something to say.

Leon tensed automatically.

Chris didn’t push things often, but when he did, Leon had learned to recognize the signs.

“I was thinking,” Chris started, pausing like he was choosing his words carefully. “Maybe this weekend, we could—” He hesitated. “—go out for a bit?”

Leon’s stomach twisted. His hands trembled.

Chris must have noticed because he quickly held up his hands. “Not anything big. Just the market a few blocks away. A quick trip, in and out. That’s all.”

Leon swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the sleeves of his hoodie.

Outside.

Even hearing the word made his pulse pick up.

He hadn’t stepped beyond that door since the day Chris had brought him here. Inside, he could control his surroundings. Inside, there were no surprises, no eyes watching him, no unknown threats.

Outside, everything was unpredictable. Too open. Too dangerous.

Chris must have seen something in his expression because his voice softened.

“It doesn’t have to be this weekend,” he said gently. “Or even this month. But… Leon, you haven’t been outside in almost three months. That’s not good for you.”

Leon looked away, his ears flattening slightly. He knew that. He knew staying locked inside wasn’t normal. But it was safe.

Chris exhaled slowly. “I won’t force you,” he said, and Leon felt the sincerity in those words. Chris had never forced him into anything—not once.

There was no anger in his voice, no frustration. Just concern.

Outside.

The word stuck in his mind like a thorn, burrowing deep, pressing against something raw.

Outside.

The last time he’d been outside—truly outside—he had been running.

The air had been thick with the stench of rain and blood, his own blood, soaking through his clothes, dripping from his hands. His ribs ached with every breath, his legs burned, but he couldn’t stop. Stopping meant death. Stopping meant going back.

The city had stretched around him, impossibly large, but there was nowhere safe, nowhere to hide. His ears twitched at every sound—the slam of a car door, a distant shout, the low rumble of traffic. Any of it could be him. Any of it could mean the end.

He had nothing. No money. No food. No one to turn to.

Only the desperate need to run.

But it hadn’t been enough.

The moment the hybrid control guards had found him, it had been over. His body had been too weak, his mind too frantic. They hadn’t been cruel, but they hadn’t been gentle, either. Strong hands had grabbed him, pushed him into the back of a transport van, and locked the doors.

He had curled up against the cold metal floor, shaking, breathing too fast, too shallow. Every bump in the road had sent a fresh wave of panic through him. He had squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to disappear, knowing what came next.

The shelter.

The realization that he wasn’t free. He had never really been free.

Leon’s breath came sharp and uneven as the memory faded, dragging him back to the present.

The kitchen was warm, safe. Chris was still sitting across from him, watching, waiting.

His hands had curled into fists without him realizing, his nails digging into the sleeves of his hoodie. His chest felt too tight, his ears buzzing.

Chris wasn’t pushing. He had said it was Leon’s choice.

But choices were dangerous.

He swallowed hard, forcing his fingers to unclench. Forcing his breathing to slow.

“…I’ll think about it,” he mumbled finally, barely above a whisper.

Chris smiled, warm and patient. “That’s all I’m asking.”


----


The thought lingered.

Leon tried to push it aside as the days passed, tried to focus on his routine—the safety of it, the predictability. But the idea had settled in his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Chris hadn’t brought it up again. True to his word, he hadn’t pushed, hadn’t even hinted at it. But somehow, that made it worse.

Because it meant the choice was completely Leon’s.

No pressure. No expectations. Just his own thoughts turning against him, questioning if he was really okay with never stepping outside again.

And the thing was… he wasn’t sure.

Leon sat on the couch Saturday evening, knees drawn up to his chest. The TV played some old comedy movie, but he wasn’t really watching. Chris sat beside him, more invested in the film but still relaxed, absentmindedly drinking from a soda can.

Saturday night movie nights had become a thing now, though neither of them had actually called it that. It had just… happened. Chris would pick a movie, or sometimes let Leon pick, and they’d sit together, watching in mostly comfortable silence.

It was nice. Safe.

But as the cold pressed against the windows and Chris flipped absently through his phone during a slow part of the movie, Leon felt the words creeping up his throat before he could stop them.

“…The market.”

Chris glanced at him, blinking. “Huh?”

Leon swallowed. “Tomorrow.” He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to get the words out. “I’ll go.”

Chris didn’t react right away, didn’t light up or make a big deal out of it. Instead, he studied Leon for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Leon clenched his hands together, his heart hammering against his ribs like he’d just made a life-or-death decision.

Maybe, in a way, it felt like he had.

Chapter Text

Leon had agreed.

He had said it himself—that he would go out. That he would step outside for the first time in months.

Chris hadn’t made a big deal out of it. He had just nodded and said, “Okay.”


Now, as it loomed closer, Leon felt like his stomach was tying itself into knots.

At first, he’d barely let himself think about it. It’s fine. It’s just a trip to the market. No big deal.

But as the seconds passed by, his brain started listing everything that could go wrong. What if someone looked at him too long? What if he panicked, embarrassed himself, or worse—what if something happened?

By the time that morning came around, his hands had a slight tremor he couldn’t shake, and his stomach churned every time he glanced at the clock.

When breakfast came and went, Leon found himself hovering in the living room, pacing a little before forcing himself to sit. He picked up a book, but he wasn’t really reading it. He had just started turning pages without actually seeing the words.

Chris, sitting at the kitchen table with his coffee, finally spoke up. “You don’t have to keep looking at the clock, you know.”

Leon snapped the book shut. “I wasn’t.”

Chris lifted an eyebrow but didn’t call him out on the obvious lie. He just leaned back in his chair and took another sip of coffee.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Chris said, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t feel like the ground was unsteady beneath Leon’s feet.

Leon nodded stiffly. He felt tense all over, but he forced himself to move. He stood, went to grab his jacket—the one he’d barely worn because he never needed it inside—and pulled it on.

Chris finished his coffee and got up, stretching a little. He grabbed his keys from the counter, tucking them into his jacket pocket. “We’ll just grab a few things. In and out. No rush.”

Leon swallowed hard. Nodded again.

Then, they stepped toward the door.

Chris pulled it open, stepping out first. Leon hesitated only for a second before forcing himself forward.

The hallway was quiet. Dim lighting. Stale apartment air. That was fine.

But then they reached the stairwell.

Leon felt the first prickle of unease as they started down. Each step felt heavier than it should have. By the time they reached the lobby, his breathing had gone shallow.

Then Chris opened the front door.

And the world rushed in.

The cold air hit first. The wind cut through his jacket instantly, sharp and biting. But more than that—the sounds. The space.

Leon froze.

The streets stretched wide and open beyond them. A car drove by. Someone laughed nearby. The air smelled like pavement and gas and something Leon couldn’t place. Everything was too much.

His chest tightened. His fingers twitched.

Chris took a step forward, but Leon—Leon stepped back.

Chris noticed immediately. He turned his head.

Leon tried to breathe. His hands clenched into his sleeves. He took half a step forward—then stopped again.

His heart was pounding. His legs felt locked.

“I can’t.” The words barely came out. His throat felt tight.

Chris quickly stepped back inside and let the door swing shut. The overwhelming sounds shut immediately.
He was on Leon’s side in a second “Hey...hey it's okay Leon just breath it's okay.”

Leon felt the tension in his chest ease—just barely.

Back inside, the air was warm again. Safe.
He hated how relieved he felt.

“Let’s just get you back up, okay?” Chris said with a reassuring smile and concern in his eyes. “You good? Can you walk?”

Leon took a shaky breath and nodded.
Neither of them said anything as they got back up. Chris was behind him with a protecting hand ready to catch him if needed.

When they got back inside, Chris set his keys down and took off his jacket “well i should rule out making salmon today, i guess ” he said , like this was just another evening. Like Leon hadn’t just failed.

Leon didn’t say anything. He stood there, arms crossed tight, hands gripping his sleeves. His stomach churned.

Chris looked up at him, his voice easy and calm. “Hey chin up... we can try again another day it's okay.”

Leon didn’t respond. He just swallowed hard, trying to ignore the frustration curling inside him.

Because deep down, he knew—

This wasn’t over.


---


The first attempt had failed.

Leon didn’t talk about it. Chris didn’t bring it up.

But the weight of it lingered.

Leon hated that it lingered.

He didn’t leave his room much over the next two days, not because Chris had said anything—he hadn’t—but because he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He kept replaying that moment in his head—the rush of noise, the way the sky had felt too big, the sheer terror that had gripped him before he could even process what was happening.

It had been pathetic.

But Chris hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t tried to coax Leon out again, hadn’t made any passing comments about “getting past it."”

Chris had just gone about things like normal.

And maybe that was why, on the third day, when Chris was getting ready to go out again, Leon found himself hesitating in the hallway instead of hiding away in his room.

Chris had his jacket on, keys in hand, getting ready to leave for a quick grocery run. Nothing major.

Leon had been thinking about it—about the way he had frozen, the way his chest had locked up. About how stupid it was that he couldn’t even step outside.

And suddenly, before he could overthink it, the words just came out.

“C...can I go with you?”

Chris paused.

For a second, Leon almost regretted saying anything. His fingers twitched at his sleeves, already itching to take it back.

But Chris just smiled that big warm smile of his. “Alright. Go get dressed. I'll wait. ”

No hesitation. No big deal.

Leon put on his jacket, feeling way less confident than he had two seconds ago. But he still pulled it on, trying to ignore the way his hands felt too stiff, too cold.

Chris waited by the door, patient as ever. Leon took a slow breath.

Then they stepped out.

Again.

—

It was easier at first.

The hallway, the stairs, even the lobby—all fine.

But then came the door.

And beyond that—the street.

Leon’s pulse picked up the second Chris pushed the door open. Once again, the cold hit first. Then the sounds. Cars moving. Voices. The distant bark of a dog.

It was so much.

But this time, he forced himself forward.

His feet hit the pavement, and his chest locked up. His breath shook.

And before he even realized he was doing it—his fingers latched onto Chris’s jacket, grabbing it like a lifeline.

Chris didn’t say anything.

He just kept walking slowly so Leon could follow.

Leon could barely focus on anything but moving forward. But Chris’s steady steps, the weight of the fabric beneath Leon’s fingers—they grounded him.

Step by step, the panic didn’t go away. But it didn’t win, either.

And somehow, before he even realized it—

They had made it to the store.



---



The automatic doors slid open with a quiet hiss.

Leon froze.

A rush of air from inside hit him first, followed by the bright fluorescent lights beaming down on white tile floors. The store was bigger than he’d expected, aisles stretching further than he could take in at a glance. And even though there weren’t many people, the ones who were there felt like too many.

A woman near the entrance was adjusting a toddler’s coat. A man in a baseball cap pushed a cart full of groceries. Further inside, an older lady was picking through a display of apples.

No one was looking at him.

But that didn’t stop his body from screaming that they were.

Chris turned around, looking at him, voice low. “Leon? Shall we go inside? ”

Leon’s grip on Chris’s jacket tightened. He forced himself to move, stepping over the threshold, feeling the shift from outside to inside. The doors slid shut behind him.

The store smelled different. Like polished floors, faintly metallic refrigerator doors, and something warm from the bakery section. The air buzzed with low conversations, the occasional beep of a scanner, the faint hum of background music playing from the ceiling.

Chris didn’t push him to go further right away. He stood still for a moment, giving Leon a chance to adjust. “We don’t have to stay long,” he said. “Just a few things, then we’re out. Sound good?”

Leon nodded, though he wasn’t sure if it was a real answer or just the easiest way to get this over with.

Chris started walking. Leon followed close.

—

At first, all Leon could do was listen.

The squeak of cart wheels. The rustle of plastic bags. A woman murmuring to herself as she compared two different brands of pasta sauce. It felt like every noise stacked on top of each other, pressing into his skull, making his pulse quicken.

He kept his eyes down.

Chris moved through the aisles like he had done this a thousand times. Grabbed a box of cereal, checked the label, and tossed it into the cart. Paused at a shelf of canned goods, muttered something about being low on beans, then reached for a few. Normal things.

Leon focused on that. On Chris. On staying as close as possible to him.

After a while, the pressure in his chest eased—just a little.

He let himself look up more. At the shelves, the items lining them, the way Chris took his time checking things over like he was making calculated decisions instead of just grabbing whatever.

It was weirdly calming.

Chris moved to the next aisle, pausing when he saw something on his list. He glanced over at Leon, voice casual. “We’re almost done. Want to pick anything?”

Leon stiffened.

Pick anything?

His hands curled tighter around Chris’s jacket. He wasn’t used to making choices. For years, food had just been whatever was given to him or not. He hadn’t walked through a store like this, hadn’t had the freedom to stop, and think about what he wanted. His throat felt tight.

Chris wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t staring. Just waiting.

Leon swallowed.

His eyes flickered over the shelves, his brain scrambling for something—anything—to latch onto. And then, tucked near the end of the aisle, he saw a display of hot chocolate.

He hadn’t had hot chocolate since he was a kid. Back when the world had felt—if not safe - then at least less terrifying.

It was stupid. He didn’t even know why he wanted it.

But Chris followed his gaze and, without a word, grabbed a box from the shelf. He tossed it into the cart, giving Leon a small, knowing smile. “Good choice.”

Leon stared at it.

Chris kept walking.

And Leon followed.

—

By the time they reached checkout, Leon was exhausted.

The moment they stepped into line, he felt it. The weight of being out in the open, people shifting behind him, standing too close. His breathing turned shallow. His eyes flicked toward the exit.

Chris noticed.

He shifted his stance, subtly blocking Leon from the people behind them, putting himself between Leon and the rest of the store. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, solid and steady, his presence a quiet reassurance.

Leon instinctively moved closer to Chris, and now he couldn’t see anyone else over Chris’s huge body. He forced himself to focus on that.

One item at a time went onto the conveyor belt. The scanner beeped. The cashier gave a polite, indifferent smile as she bagged everything.

Before he knew it, they were done.

Chris grabbed the bags in one hand and nodded toward the exit. “Let’s go home.”

Leon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

And for the first time since stepping outside—he felt lighter. He had done it. He came out of the house!

Chapter Text

Chris was busy working at his desk, but his mind kept circling back to Leon despite how swamped he was.

He had expected Leon to hesitate after their first trip outside, maybe even back out the next time he suggested going out. But to his surprise, Leon didn’t outright refuse. He was still wary, still tense, but when Chris brought up another short grocery run a few days later, Leon only nodded stiffly.

Chris didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just took note of the way Leon fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve during breakfast, how he barely touched his food, his mind obviously elsewhere. The nerves were still there, but Leon was pushing himself anyway.

The first few outings followed a similar pattern. They kept the trips short and purposeful—get in, grab what they needed, and get out. Leon stayed close the entire time, always gripping the back of Chris’s jacket as they walked, which made Chris’s heart beat faster. The fact that grabbing his jacket made Leon feel safe was something of a dream.

Although Chris never commented on it. Never gave Leon a reason to feel self-conscious about it. He just made sure to keep his pace steady, shoulders squared like a silent shield between Leon and the outside world.

Over time, the fear didn’t disappear, but it changed.

Leon still flinched at loud noises and stiffened under the weight of passing glances, but he also started to move a little more on his own. One time, while Chris was checking his list in the grocery aisle, Leon drifted a few steps away to grab a can of coffee from the shelf. It was barely anything—just a small, impulsive action—but Chris saw the way Leon immediately caught himself, as if realizing he’d left his safe zone, and quickly returned to Chris’s side.

Chris just tossed the coffee into the cart without question, and the tiny furrow in Leon’s brow smoothed out.

Another time, when Chris mentioned they were out of eggs, Leon actually pointed out a nearby stand before Chris could notice it himself.

Little things. Small steps. But each one felt like progress.

But there was stuff to worry about, too.

It was on one of these small trips, about two weeks after their first attempt, that Chris noticed something.

They were walking back from the store, arms full of bags, when Chris caught a passing glance from a stranger. Not just a casual look—a second, lingering glance that dragged over Leon a little too long before the guy looked away.

Chris felt his jaw tighten.

He glanced at Leon, but Leon’s head was already down, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had and was pretending not to.

Chris didn’t bring up the look. He didn’t need to. But he made a mental note and  kept an eye out.

He sighed, rubbing his temple as he leaned against his desk. He checked his watch. He was already late. Damn it!

Across from him, Jill was finishing up some reports, her fox ears flicking absently as she worked.

“How’s Leon doing?”

Chris paused, then leaned back with a huff. “Better, I think. We went out a couple of times this week—just small trips. Grocery store, the bakery, stuff like that.”

Jill glanced up, interested. “Is he getting used to it?”

Chris hesitated. “Yeah he's still a little nervous, but I think he's handling it so well.” He frowned. “But recently, i noticed some looks. Not just normal looking—staring. Whispering.”

Jill’s expression darkened slightly. “Yeah. That happens.”

Chris sighed. “I knew there are some assholes, but I didn’t expect it to rub me that much. It wasn’t everyone, but there were a few who just…” He clenched his jaw. “They looked at him like he didn’t belong there.”

Jill nodded, her expression calm but knowing. “Some people are just jerks. They see a hybrid who isn’t working for someone or isn’t obviously ‘owned,’ and they don’t like it.” She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “You already know how it is, Chris. Your sister’s been fighting this crap for years.”

“I know,” Chris muttered. “I guess I just didn’t expect it to be so...” He ran a hand through his hair. “Leon didn’t say anything, but I could tell he noticed. He got quieter.”

Jill’s ears flicked again, her sharp gaze softening. “Next time, just be mindful of it. If he looks uncomfortable, maybe leave earlier or distract him with something.”

Chris nodded, but before he could respond, his radio crackled to life.

"Captain Redfield, we’ve got a hostage situation at Ridgeway Mall. Armed suspect inside. No shots are fired yet, but we need you here now."

Chris stiffened, his pulse kicking up. Shit.

Jill was already pushing back her chair, grabbing her gear. Chris clenched his fists, frustration twisting in his gut. He had been this close to heading home. Leon was waiting for him. And now this.

He reached for his phone, dialling home as he moved toward the door. It wasn’t ringing! Why in the hell wasn’t it ringing?

He frowned, redialed. Same thing.

Jill glanced over as they stepped into the parking lot. “What’s wrong?”

Chris let out a sharp breath. “I can’t reach Leon. There must be something wrong with the damn lines. He’s never been alone before, and I was supposed to be home by now. If he sees I’m late, he might—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t know how he’ll react.”

Jill slowed her steps. “You think he’ll panic?”

Chris clenched his jaw. “I don’t know. I just don’t want him thinking I left him there.”

Jill watched him for a second before speaking. “Call Claire.”

Chris hesitated. “What?!”

“She’s your sister, Chris. She’s literally spent years fighting for hybrids’ rights. If anyone’s going to be careful with him, it’s her. Just have her stop by, check in on him, and let him know you’re working late.”

Chris let out a sharp breath. “I know, I just…” He shook his head. “He doesn’t even know her. What if he freaks out?”

Jill raised an eyebrow. “Then he freaks out. And Claire handles it.”

Jill sighed, crossing her arms. “Look, I get it. But you can’t be in two places at once. This is your only option now.”

Chris exhaled slowly. He hated this. But she was right—he didn’t have a choice.

With a deep breath, he pulled out his phone again and called Claire this time.

She picked up almost immediately. “Hey, Chris! What’s up?”

“Listen,” he said, already striding toward his car. “I need a favour. There’s a hostage situation, and I have to be there. I was supposed to be home by now, but I can’t leave, and—” He exhaled sharply. “Leon’s alone. I’ve called, but couldn't reach him.”

Silence. Then Claire’s voice, more serious now. “…And you want me to go check on him?”

Chris hesitated. “Yeah. I know it’s sudden, but… just let him know I had to stay late. Maybe bring him some food. I don’t want him thinking I just didn’t come home and abandon him or anything.”

Another pause. Then Claire sighed. “Chris, are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t mind, but… he doesn’t even know me. This could freak him out.”

“I know,” Chris admitted, his grip tightening on the phone. “I hate doing this, but I don’t have a choice.”

She exhaled. “Alright. I’ll go. But if he panics and locks himself in his room, that’s on you, not me.”

Chris let out a breath. “Thanks, Claire. I owe you one.”

“You owe me, like, ten,” she muttered. “I’ll let you know how it goes. And tell Jill if she gets hurt and misses the delicious dinner i made her I'm going to kill her!”

Jill smirked as Chris hung up. “See? It's not so bad.”

Chris shot her a look. “we'll see, and by the way Claire said she will kill you if you get hurt. ”

Jill shrugged. “Same old, same old!”

Chris huffed a laugh, but his gut still twisted with unease.

He hated this. Hated that he might be pushing Leon too soon.

But he didn’t have a choice.

Right now, Leon needed someone—and for the first time, it wouldn’t be him.


---



Chris was late.

Leon sat curled up on the couch, knees tucked to his chest, staring at the door. The clock on the wall ticked softly, the only sound in the apartment besides the occasional hum of the refrigerator.

Chris was never this late.

At least, not without letting him know first. And yet, the phone on the table remained silent, no calls, no messages.

Leon swallowed, rubbing his fingers over the blanket draped around his shoulders. His mind churned with possibilities—maybe Chris got tired of him. Maybe he realized Leon wasn’t worth the trouble.

No… That wasn’t right. Chris wouldn’t just leave him. Would he?

Maybe something had happened. Maybe...maybe Chris was hurt. This thought scarred him even more

Leon squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the thought away. He had to stop thinking like that. Chris wasn’t like that. And he was strong. He was just probably stuck at work. Yeah...

He exhaled slowly, shifting his focus elsewhere. Their outings.

At first, they had been terrifying. Walking outside, being surrounded by strangers, feeling their eyes on him. His heart had pounded so hard it hurt, and every muscle in his body had screamed at him to run.

But… Chris had been there. Always next to him, never rushing him.

And it had been scary, but maybe—just maybe—not all bad.

The bakery had been quiet, full of warm lighting and the scent of delicious things.

It was still scary. But maybe, just maybe, it had also been… kind of nice?

Leon frowned. That was a weird thought.

His ears twitched at the sudden sound footsteps. He sat up slightly, hoping—but no, it wasn’t Chris’s.

And then—

Ding-dong.

Leon flinched, heart leaping into his throat.

What?

No one ever rang the doorbell. No one ever came here.

His stomach twisted as he stared at the door. His fingers curled around the blanket, grip tightening. His breathing quickened.

Then again —

Ding-dong.

A woman’s voice filtered through the door. “Leon? Hey, uh… It’s Claire. Chris’s sister?”

Leon froze.

what?

His chest tightened. Why... Why was she here? Why wasn’t it Chris? Chris wasn’t home, so what was she doing here?

Panic curled around his ribs, squeezing tight.

He needed Chris. he needed Chris right now!

Chapter Text

Claire adjusted the takeout bag in her hand, exhaling as she stood outside Chris’s apartment door.

She hadn’t expected this today. One moment, she was about to rest after a long shift and dinner prep, and the next, she was on her way to check on a traumatized kid who had never even actually met her.

She knew that her going to Chris’s when he wasn’t there would be a very big deal. Although Leon had progressed quite a lot, she still knew all too well how fragile those steps could be.

She took a breath and rang the bell for the second time. “Leon? Hey, uh... It’s Claire. Chris’s sister?”

Silence.

She wasn’t surprised.

“I know you weren’t expecting me,” she continued, keeping her voice calm. “Chris got held up at work. He tried calling, but he couldn’t get through. He asked me to check on you.”

Still nothing.

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Look, I’m not here to bother you. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I brought some food, so… is it okay if I come in?”

Another pause.

Alright. He wasn’t going to answer. That was fine. She wasn’t going to push him, but she also wasn’t going to just stand around waiting for nothing.

“Well...l’m coming in, alright?” she announced again, giving him a warning. “Not gonna sneak up on you or anything—You can go to your room and lock the door if it makes you feel safer.”

She gave it a few more seconds, just in case.

Then, she pulled out the spare key Chris had given her and unlocked the door.

Inside, the apartment was quiet.

She glanced around, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. The living room was empty. No sign of Leon.

Not that she really expected him to be waiting for her.

Her gaze flicked toward the hallway. His room.

Yeah. That was probably where he was.

Claire sighed, setting the food on the kitchen counter. “Alright, well… I’m here,” she said, loud enough that he’d hear her wherever he was. “I’ll stay until i hear from Chris. You don’t have to come out if you don't want to but I'll be happy if you decide to do so.”

She crossed her arms, waiting.

Would he come out? Probably not.

But she had time.



---



Leon’s mouth felt dry, and his chest tightened. His ears rang, and his breath caught in his throat.

Someone was about to come inside.

Someone who wasn’t Chris.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He bolted upright, heart hammering wildly as his vision tunnelled. His hands shook. His throat clenched.

Get away. Hide. Stay small. Stay still. Don’t move.

He barely managed to push himself off the sofa. He stumbled, nearly fell, but he forced himself to go on. His entire body screamed at him to hide.

He couldn't breathe. He stumbled to his room and shut the door and crumpled right behind it on the floor, knees to his chest, pressing himself against the wall like he could disappear into it. His fingers dug into his arms, nails biting into his skin as he forced himself to stay still, to quiet his gasping breaths. Then the door opened.

She was inside.

She could be anywhere now. He had no idea how far she had come.

Would she come looking for him? Would she open the door?

Would she—

A voice.

“I’ll stay until i hear from Chris. You don’t have to come out if you don't want to but I'll be happy if you decide to do so.”

Leon flinched. The voice wasn’t loud, wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t commanding. But it still sent a jolt through him, his entire body locking up.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Think.

He knew about Claire. Chris had talked about her before. So many times. The name wasn’t unfamiliar. It was always spoken with warmth. With fondness.

She wasn’t a stranger. She even came here once, but that was different cause Chris was home. But now...

Leon curled his fingers tighter against his arms, struggling to push past the instinctive panic. Chris wouldn’t let someone dangerous into their home. He knew that. Claire was Chris’s sister. Chris trusted her.

But Chris wasn’t here. And it was something seeing people outside with Chris but for someone to be inside with him alone...

No. It's okay. it's not that different.

And his body still wouldn’t listen.

His breath came too fast, too shallow. His chest ached, and his head felt light. His tail was bristled and curled tight against him. It didn’t matter what his mind told him—his body still thought he was in danger.

He clutched the only thing within reach—soft fur, warm, familiar. The plush cat Chris had given him. The one Claire had got for him.

His fingers dug into the fabric, gripping it like a lifeline.

Seconds passed. Then, minutes.

The door didn’t open. No footsteps approached.

Then, another sound—The TV clicked on, low volume, nothing overwhelming.

Leon’s breath was still uneven, but the sharp edge of panic had dulled. His mind could think again.

She wasn’t looking for him.

She wasn’t demanding anything.

She had brought food. She had said he didn’t have to come out. She said that Chris had sent her.

And now—she was just sitting there. She wasn’t trying to force him out.

His heart was still racing, but the suffocating grip of terror wasn’t as strong.

Leon clutched the plush cat to his chest, swallowing hard. He kept repeating himself that he kind of knew Claire. He had seen pictures of her. He had heard her voice before.

She wasn’t a stranger. She wasn’t someone dangerous. She wouldn't hurt him. Probably.

Time passed, and yet nothing bad happened.

She wasn’t leaving. But she also wasn’t waiting for him.

Leon’s grip loosened. His tail flicked, hesitant. His ears twitched toward the door. Little by little curiosity started to take over.

And after a while slowly, cautiously—

he shifted.

Just enough to reach for the door. Just enough to crack it open.

From his small vantage point, he saw her. Sitting at the table, scrolling through her phone, completely at ease.

Not searching. Not watching. Not waiting.

Just existing in the same space.

Leon’s breath was still uneven, his limbs still tense. But he didn’t back down.


---


Claire tapped her fingers against the table, glancing toward the hallway.

Still nothing.

She hadn’t expected him to come running out, but this much silence felt… off.

Leon was supposed to be here. He hadn’t left—Chris would’ve told her if he had. But he was too quiet.

Maybe she should’ve knocked on his door. Maybe she should’ve tried talking to him again.But what would she even say? Hey, I know you’re terrified and hiding, but do you want a burger?

Yeah. That’d go well!

She sighed, leaning back in her chair.
The TV filled the silence, but Claire wasn’t paying attention.

She was waiting. Not obviously. Not in a way that would pressure him.But she was listening.

For movement. For the smallest shift.
And then finally, after a very long time —a sound.

Soft. Barely there.

Her heart kicked up, but she didn’t move.
She just kept scrolling through her phone, like she hadn’t noticed.Even when she heard it again.

The quietest creak of a door. Just a crack.
Barely open.

Claire’s grip on her phone loosened.She didn’t look.Didn’t turn her head.Didn’t say anything.She just let it happen, and a little smile tugged at her lips. He was indeed a curious little cat.

Minutes passed, yet nothing more happened, and even that tiny little crack closed after a while.

It was getting pretty late, and the kid needed to eat, and since there was no sign of him coming out, Claire took the matters in her own hands.

She put a tray together and hesitated outside Leon’s door, balancing the food tray in her hands. She exhaled slowly before talking softly.

“Leon it's getting pretty late, and you must be hungry. I know you wouldn't feel comfortable eating with me, so i put your food in a tray.”

crouching down and placing it gently on the floor. “I’m leaving your food here, so please pick it up, okay? I don't want you to starv because of me.” she said, keeping her voice calm. “I’ll be here a little longer, just until I hear from Chris. But after that, I’ll be heading out.”

No response.

She waited for a moment before standing up and making her way back to the couch. The apartment was still and quiet, except for the TV. Claire checked her phone, scrolling idly, keeping an ear out in case Leon decided to respond—not that she expected him to.

That tight feeling in her chest didn’t ease.
Her eyes drifted toward the food she had left out. If Leon was hungry, would he even come get it? Would he wait until she was gone? Would he eat at all?

Eventually, her phone vibrated.

Chris: Just wrapped up. On my way home now. I'll be there soon so you can go.

Claire sighed, relieved. At least it wouldn’t be much longer now. She grabbed her jacket and sent a quick reply before heading for the door. “Chris is on his way. He'll be here soon ” she called out toward Leon’s room, just in case he was listening. “I’m heading out now.”

Silence.

“Again I'm sorry to barge in on you like this. hope to see you someday ”

With one last glance toward the hallway, she sighed and left, locking the door behind her.

Chapter Text

Chris exhaled as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The apartment was quiet. He set his keys down and barely took a step when he heard it—soft, almost hesitant footsteps coming from hallway.

And, to his utter surprise, Leon appeared.

Chris stopped, eyes softening at the sight of the boy in front of him, clutching that little stuffed cat of his. His hair was slightly ruffled, blue eyes wary but not as guarded as they used to be.

“Hey, kiddo,” Chris said gently. “You’re out here.”

Leon gave a tiny shrug. “I… heard you come in”

Chris was genuinely surprised. Honestly he half expected Leon to be locked up in his room definitely not out here welcoming him. He took a step forward “Listen… I’m really sorry I couldn’t come home earlier. Something came up at work, and I had to be there.” His voice was soft, steady. “I know it must’ve been scary, having someone else here when you weren’t expecting it. I should’ve told you first. I tried to call but the lines didn't work and...I just… I didn’t want you to be alone waiting all night, thinking I wasn’t coming back.”

Leon didn’t say anything right away, he just looked down at the stuffed cat in his hands, fidgeting with one of it's ears. Chris’s heart ached at how young and small he looked in that moment.

“I’m sorry Leon to put you through an unpleasant situation like this” Chris said again.

Leon shook his head quickly, as if to say it was okay—but his eyes said something else.

Chris came forward little, so they were closer. “So… how did it go? Having Claire here? I know it must’ve been scary for you.”

Leon hesitated. His lips pressed into a thin line, then parted slowly. “It was… scary,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “At first...but i...i managed to ...not freak out.”

Chris nodded, patient. He didn’t push. He just kept his voice gentle. “So... did you talked to her or anything?”

Leon flinched at that, avoiding his eyes “No...I...I didn’t come out of my room,” He added, shame creeping into his voice. “She probably thinks I’m such a weirdo.”

Chris blinked, then softened. “Hey, no. Not even close.” He gave a quiet chuckle. “Claire was worried she’d startled you. She’s got a big heart, and she understands. Really.”

Leon didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything either. His fingers still gripped the cat tightly.

“I’m proud of you, Leon,” Chris said, voice low and full of warmth. “You manged by your own and even though the situation must’ve been scary you didn’t shut down or anything. That’s brave.”

Leon glanced at him, uncertain. “Even if I didn’t talk to her?”

“Even then,” Chris said.

There was a pause, filled only by the soft hum of the distant city outside the window. Leon hesitated, but gave the tiniest nod.

Chris was about to say something when his eyes landed on the food tray still sitting untouched just next to Leon’s doorway.

Chris’s chest ached. He hadn’t eat.

“You weren’t hungry?” he asked gently.

Leon lowered his gaze. His fingers curled into the cat’s fur, and for a second, Chris thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, barely above a whisper—“I was waiting for you.”

Chris’s breath caught.

It was quiet. So quiet. But those four words hit harder than anything else Leon had ever said to him.

Chris swallowed hard, his throat suddenly too tight. “Oh, kid…”

Leon’s fingers tightened, but he didn’t move away.

Chris crouched slightly, trying to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. “I didn’t mean to make you wait that long.” He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s on me. But next time, if I’m late, I will let you know. I swear.”

Leon’s eyes flickered up to him—searching, like he wanted to believe that.

Chris forced a small, shaky smile. “You don’t have to wait next time, okay? If you’re hungry, eat. I don’t want you starving because of me.”

Leon hesitated… then gave the smallest of nods.

“Come on,” Chris said, with big smile “Let’s warm the food up and eat together.”

This time, Leon followed without hesitation.

And Chris? He had to fight the urge to hug Leon and ruffle his hair!


---



Chris was pulling on his jacket when Leon hesitated, glancing toward the door. He had been thinking about it for a while now, but the words always stuck in his throat before he could say them. Today, though, for some reason, he felt different. Ever since the day Claire came and Chris told him he was brave he started to feel something. So he found himself speaking before he could stop himself.

“Can...can we go to the bookstore on our way?”

Chris paused mid-movement. His expression flickered—just for a second—before shifting into something unreadable. Leon’s stomach twisted. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe—

Chris blinked, then his face softened into something that almost looked… pleased. “Oh, so you noticed the place?” He finished adjusting his jacket and gave Leon an easy smile. “That’s actually where I got your books from. The owner really knows his stuff.”

Leon looked up at him, surprised. He hadn’t expected Chris to already be familiar with the place, though it made sense now that he thought about it. Every book Chris had brought home was different—genres, authors, even the way they felt in his hands. Whoever had picked them out knew what they were doing.

Chris grabbed his keys and motioned toward the door. “Yeah, we can go. I think you’ll like it.”

Leon swallowed, suddenly unsure. Asking was one thing, but actually going? It made his palms sweat. But he had already said it. He should at least try.

So, he nodded, took a breath, and followed Chris outside.

The walk to the bookstore wasn’t much different from their usual outings—Leon kept close to Chris’s side, shoulders hunched, ears flicking at every passing noise. But there was something different too. This time, Leon had chosen the destination himself. And the closer they got, the harder his heart pounded in his chest.

Chris didn’t say much on the way, just the occasional remark about the weather or a casual "Almost there." Maybe he could tell Leon was nervous. Maybe he was just giving him space. Either way, Leon appreciated it.

When they finally arrived, Leon hesitated at the door, his fingers twitching at his sides. The bookstore was small but inviting, with large windows displaying carefully arranged books. A warm glow spilled out from inside, and the scent of paper and coffee drifted through the slightly open door.

Chris stepped forward first, holding the door open. "Come on," he said, his voice light. "Luis is gonna love you."

Leon swallowed hard and forced his feet to move. The moment he stepped inside, the smell hit him—old pages, ink, and something faintly spiced. It was… nice. Comforting.

Then a voice rang out from behind the counter.

"Well, well! If it isn’t my favorite Redfield!"

Leon startled, but Chris just let out a short laugh. "Hey, Luis."

The man behind the counter grinned, setting down the book he’d been flipping through. He smiled and his golden eyes gleamed with something playful.

"And this must be your little shadow, eh?" Luis tilted his head, appraising Leon with interest but not unkindness. "Chris has told me a lot about you."

Leon tensed. His tail flicked behind him, betraying his nerves. He glanced at Chris, who gave him a reassuring nod.

"...Hi," Leon murmured.

Luis’s smile softened. "Hey there, amigo. Welcome to my humble shop. Take your time, look around. Let me know if anything catches your eye."

Leon hesitated, then let his gaze drift over the towering shelves, the soft chairs tucked into corners, the old wooden counter piled with books.

He’d never been anywhere like this before.

Chris gave him a small nudge. "Go ahead, look around."

Leon hesitated, but the pull of curiosity was stronger than his nerves. He took a slow step forward, then another. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach out and touch the books, to feel their weight, their texture.

Luis didn’t hover, didn’t press him with questions. Instead, he leaned casually against the counter, flipping through his book as if giving Leon all the space he needed.

Leon finally let himself move, trailing his fingers along the spines as he wandered deeper into the shop. The shelves felt endless, stretching far beyond what the small storefront suggested. He found himself drawn to a section tucked into a corner, where the shelves curved around a cozy reading nook with a worn leather chair and a low table stacked with books.

He glanced over his shoulder. Chris was still by the counter, talking quietly with Luis. Neither of them was watching him too closely.

He exhaled, turning back to the books.

Titles blurred together as he skimmed them, but a familiar name caught his eye. A book by the same author as one Chris had brought home a while ago. He pulled it off the shelf carefully, running his fingers over the embossed letters. The weight of it in his hands was solid, grounding.

"You have good taste."

Leon stiffened, ears flicking back at the sudden voice. He turned to find Luis standing a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his vest. His posture was relaxed, his expression friendly but not overbearing.

Leon didn’t respond, gripping the book tighter.

Luis tilted his head slightly. "That one’s a classic. Darker than his other works, but real good. You like mysteries?"

Leon hesitated, then gave the smallest nod.

Luis grinned. "Yeah, I figured. You strike me as the type." He tapped his temple. "Quiet, but always thinking."

Leon blinked. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

Luis didn’t seem to mind. "Take your time, amigo. No rush here." With that, he pulled a book out of one of shelves and wandered back toward the counter, giving Leon space once again.

Leon stared after him for a moment, then looked down at the book in his hands.

He liked this place.

Chapter Text

The market wasn’t crowded that day, just busy enough to feel alive without being overwhelming.The aisles were bright and clean, and the scent of fresh produce and ground coffee filled the air. Chris pushed the cart, his pace unhurried as he glanced every few steps to make sure Leon was okay.

And Leon was.

He didn’t cling to Chris’s side anymore like he used to. He wasn’t hiding behind him or flinching at every loud noise. His steps were quieter, more measured, but steady. He still avoided people’s eyes, His eyes still flicked around with caution, but not panic. And that really was something.

Chris kept their pace easy, pushing the cart, occasionally reading from the list on his phone. Every now and then, asking for Leon’s opinion.

They stopped by the fruit section when Leon quietly spoke, taking Chris by surprise.

“Um... after this,” he started, not looking up. “Could we... maybe go to the bookstore?”

Chris raised a brow, “To Luis’s place?”

Leon gave a tiny nod.

Chris smiled, a bit amused. “So you like it there, huh?”

Leon glanced away, ears twitching faintly. “I just... it’s quiet. And the smell’s nice.”

Chris’s smile softened. “Alright. We’ll swing by. Maybe you can show me what section you always sneak off to.”

That earned a faint blush from Leon, who shrugged one shoulder. “...Maybe.” and Chris had to hide his smile at that.

They made it halfway down the dairy aisle when Chris checked the list again.

“Alright, I think we got everything. Wait—” He frowned slightly. “Damn, forgot the eggs. They’re all the way back in the last aisle.”

Leon hesitated, then spoke like he wasn’t sure. “I...I can go get them.”

Chris looked at him, surprised. “You sure?”

Leon hesitated again, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean... I think so.”

Chris wanted to make that move for quite  a bit of time now, but now Leon actually suggesting it himself? This was perfect. “Alright. I’ll wait right here.”

Leon gave a small nod and turned, walking off slowly toward the other aisle. His steps were careful, and though his shoulders tensed a little, he didn’t stop.

Chris watched him go for a moment, a quiet pride blooming in his chest.


---


Leon had surprised even himself with his offer. He just wanted to be helpful to Chris, but now...

He hesitated, but before he could talk himself out of it, he started walking

Chris was still nearby.

It'll be fine.

He kept telling himself that as he walked.

The closer he got, the more stressed he got.

As he finally reached the end of the aisle, Leon scanned the shelves quickly until he found the eggs—neatly stacked in rows. He reached out, just about to grab a carton, when someone rounded the corner fast and bumped into him hard.

Leon stumbled back a step, almost dropping the eggs. “S–sorry,” he murmured instinctively, head down.

And then—

"Hey—watch were you go, you mutt"

Leon froze.

The voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it made his stomach clench. Slowly, cautiously, he looked up.

The man was broad-shouldered, dressed in a heavy coat that strained at the seams, and his face was twisted in an expression that Leon recognized immediately—disdain.

Leon’s pulse kicked up. He hadn’t done anything wrong. That man had bumped into him. But that didn’t seem to matter because the man was already taking a step closer, his gaze flicking over Leon with the kind of emotions that made his skin crawl.

“You should learn to stay out of people’s way. Don’t they train you things like that—if they bother training you at all?”

Leon stiffened, a cold weight settling in his stomach.

The man took another step forward, eyes glinting with something meaner. “Seriously, they let animals walk around here like it’s normal without a leash? Where's your owner, huh?”

Where's your owner?

Those words hit Leon like a blow to the face, but he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink.

Because he knew this.

He knew exactly how this situation would go.

It didn’t matter that he had done nothing to warrant this. His mere existence was enough. The man had already made up his mind.

Leon should’ve walked away. Should’ve turned and disappeared before this could escalate. But his body had locked up, his instincts warring between fight and freeze.

The man stepped closer.

“You deaf or something? I said—”

The man's hand shot forward.

And suddenly, the space between them wasn’t empty anymore.

Chris had appeared—quick, solid—a wall of unwavering presence cutting between Leon and the man so fast it nearly startled Leon just as much as his would-be aggressor.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

Chris’s voice wasn’t raised, but it didn’t need to be. It carried the kind of weight that made people listen. Made them stop.

The man took an instinctive half-step back, his expression shifting—surprise, then something closer to irritation. He squared his shoulders, trying to recover. “What’s it to you?”

Chris didn’t answer right away. He just stared, a long, heavy look that made the tension in the air drop into something sharper, colder.

Then, finally, in a voice that was barely restrained —

“Try finishing what you were about to do. See what happens.”

Leon felt the shift, the way the energy in the space changed. It wasn’t just that Chris was taller, broader, and stronger. It wasn’t just that he was imposing in the way only a trained fighter could be.

Chris wasn’t just angry.

He was warning him.

The man must’ve sensed it too because he hesitated. His fingers curled, but he didn’t move forward again. Instead, he scoffed, rolling his eyes like this whole thing wasn’t worth his time. Like he hadn’t been seconds away from grabbing Leon.

“Whatever, you freaks” he muttered, shoving past Chris and disappearing into another aisle.

Leon still hadn’t moved.

Chris turned, his shoulders still tense. He scanned Leon’s face, eyes flicking over him like he was checking for injuries, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened.

“You okay?”

Leon opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because suddenly, now that it was over, now that the threat had passed, his body decided to react all at once.

His hands were trembling. Not just his hands—his whole body. His knees felt unsteady, his pulse still hammering so fast he could feel it in his throat. His breath came quicker, shallower.

Not here. Not in public. Move. Just move—

But the second he tried to take a step back, his legs gave out.

And before he could hit the ground, Chris caught him.

Chris’s arms locked around him, steady and warm—one hand gripping his upper arm, the other bracing around his back before he could hit the ground.

Leon’s breath hitched.

Chris is holding me.

And this time… he didn’t flinch.

He should have. Every instinct in his body was wired to recoil, to pull away, to reject any physical contact before it turned wrong. But—Chris wasn’t forcing him. He wasn’t holding Leon down. He wasn’t gripping too hard.

Chris had caught him so he wouldn't get hurt.

And that was different.

Leon could feel the tension in Chris’s muscles, the way he wasn’t just holding Leon up but supporting him, grounding him. Not caging him in. Not controlling him. Just—there.

Leon’s body still shook, and his breathing felt too fast, too uneven. His mind was caught between the residual fear still gripping his chest and the new awareness creeping in—the realization that he was allowing this.

Chris must have noticed because his hold remained firm but not restrictive, giving Leon the space to push him away if he wanted to.

Leon didn’t.

He couldn’t.

His body wouldn’t let him move, his limbs locked somewhere between exhaustion and fear.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then, quietly—so quietly Leon barely heard him—Chris murmured, “ it's okay, I've got you.”

Something in Leon’s chest lurched.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing. He could still feel the stares from the people around them, the weight of their attention pressing in. The encounter hadn’t gone unnoticed—people had seen—and that only made his pulse pound harder.

Chris seemed to pick up on it, too. With practiced ease, he shifted, keeping one arm secure around Leon while the other reached for something—his jacket.

“C’mon,” Chris muttered, voice still low but steady. He adjusted his hold, careful, deliberate, before pulling Leon up just enough to drape the jacket over his shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”

Leon didn’t argue. His whole body still shook, but he forced himself to move with Chris’s help.

Chris didn’t let go until he was sure Leon could stand on his own, and even then, he kept a steadying hand against Leon’s back, guiding him towards the exit. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t slow either—just purposeful. They moved past the aisles, past the checkout, until they were out of the doors, and the fresh air greeted them.

Only when they reached a bench on a quieter side did Chris stop.

Leon practically collapsed on the bench heavily, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His breathing was still off, but it wasn’t as bad now. The trembling had eased slightly, though he wasn’t sure if that was because of the distance they had put between themselves and the market or because Chris was still here.

Chris stayed silent for a moment, giving Leon space. Then, finally—

“You’re safe.”

Leon let out a slow, shaky exhale. His throat felt tight.

He hadn’t been in any real danger—not physically. The man hadn’t managed to lay a hand on him. But it wasn’t about that, not really. It was about what could have happened. About how easily things used to go wrong.

About how alone he’d always been in situations like that before.

But this time…

This time, Chris had been there.

Had stepped in. Had stood in front of him, shielded him, caught him. Had looked at that man like he would have torn him apart if he had tried anything more.

Chris had protected him.

And that…

That was new.

Leon let his hands drop away from his face. His gaze flicked to Chris, who was watching him carefully, eyes dark with concern and something that else.

The words were there. Lodged somewhere in Leon’s throat, stuck between instinct and uncertainty. He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to say I don’t understand why you keep doing this for me, but…

But instead—

He swallowed, licked his lips, and forced the words out.

“…You didn’t have to do that.”

Chris blinked, then scoffed—actually scoffed, like Leon had said something ridiculous. “The hell are you talking about? Of course I did.”

Leon shook his head, but Chris wasn’t having it.

“You think I was just gonna stand there and let that happen?” Chris’s voice wasn’t sharp, but there was weight behind it. He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Leon. That’s not how this works. I would never let anyone hurt you ever again. I'm here for you now.”

Leon’s breath caught.

I'm here for you now.

Not that you're mine now, but I'm here for you now.

“You don’t have to deal with shit like that on your own anymore.” Chris continued with so much sincerity in his voice.

Leon stared at him.

His chest felt… strange. Tight, but not in a way that hurt. Not in a way that made him want to run.

It was different.

Unfamiliar.

Warm.

Leon swallowed hard, gripping the edge of Chris’s jacket, where it still hung around his shoulders. His fingers curled into the fabric. His eyes were burning. He buried his face into the warmth of the jacket. It smelled like Chris’s cologne and safety.

He didn’t say anything.

But he kept it on.

And Chris—Chris noticed.

Chris understood.

Chapter Text

Chris paced in the kitchen, hand clenched tightly around his phone. His voice was low but sharp with frustration. “I should’ve gone with him. I should’ve known something would happen. What the hell was I thinking?”

Hunnigan’s voice on the other end was measured. “Chris—”

“No, listen—he offered to go, and I let him. I let him. I left him alone, and now he’s in his room with a fever, shaking like a leaf and reliving god-knows-what in his sleep.” He let out a bitter breath. “All because I didn’t walk ten steps to get the damn eggs myself.”

“He wanted to try, Chris,” came Hunnigan’s calm but tired voice through the phone. “You gave him space. You weren’t wrong to let him, Chris. You’ve done everything right so far.”

Chris scoffed, voice hardening. “I wanted to rip that jerk’s head off. The second he looked at him like that—I swear, Hunnigan, I could’ve—” He stopped himself, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “But Leon was already panicking. I couldn’t scare him more.”

“That was the right choice given he's afraid of loud noises and screaming.” Hunnigan said gently.

“He was doing so well,” he murmured. “He even asked to go to the bookstore. Blushed when I asked if he liked it.”

There was a pause. Then, softer: “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t know,” Chris muttered, staring at the floor. “What if this sets him back? What if he never wants to go out again?” He swallowed, his throat tight. “He was just starting to try, to trust the world a little. And I let something like that happen.”

“Chris—”

“I keep thinking about the look on his face when I found him. Frozen. Like he wasn’t even in his own body.” His voice cracked slightly. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve been there.”

“Chris you should —”

From down the hallway came a muffled sound. A whimper.

Chris froze, then moved instantly.

“I've got go. Talk to you later”



---




The room was cold. Stone floor. bright with the kind of light that only made the shadows look darker.

He was on his knees.

Hands tied.

Mouth gagged.

His arms were already numb, pulled too tightly behind his back, muscles cramping from holding still for so long. Every time he shifted, the ropes bit into raw skin. He didn’t dare move anymore.

A hand grabbed his hair.

Yanked his head up hard.

“There’s my pretty little pet,” the voice cooed—mocking, possessive. “All tied up just how I like you. You’re not a person, kitty. You’re mine. My toy. My property.”

Leon blinked against the sting of tears. He knew better than to cry. It made him angrier.

And when he got angry, he punished.

“You exist because I let you. You eat, sleep, breathe when I say so.” The man leaned in, breath hot, and sour against Leon’s cheek. “A filthy stray animal like you would’ve died by now. I gave you life.”

A hand—calloused, greedy—trailed down his chest, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises. “Still pretending you hate it? That’s cute. And here I thought you learned to be eager to please your master whimpering like a good pet. Maybe I spoiled you too much. You need more training. ”

Leon shook his head—No, he wanted to say, please —but the gag turned it to a broken sob.

The belt buckle clinked.

His stomach dropped.

He trembled harder, his body instinctively trying to recoil, even though he was bound—panic rising like a scream he couldn’t let out. His knees scraped raw against the floor as he shifted, breath ragged and fast.

A fist slammed into his side.

“Bad kitty.”

Another strike—sharp and humiliating—sent his head snapping sideways. Pain bloomed in his jaw. He bit down on the gag, tasting blood.

He wasn’t a person anymore.

Just an animal.

Just a possession.

A thing to be used.

And when the weight pressed down on him—pinning him like prey beneath a predator—he stopped fighting. Muffled screams off pain, filling his ears.

He stopped breathing.

He floated far away, the only way he could survive it.

But he still heard the voice whisper in his ear.

“You belong to me. You’ll always belong to me. I'm your OWNER PET.”



---



Chris didn’t knock. Just slammed the door open, chest tight with dread.

“Leon—!”

What he saw stopped him cold.

Leon was tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, thrashing hard, fists clenched like he was still fighting something. His head tossed side to side on the pillow, breath hitching with choked gasps. He whimpered—something between a sob and a plea—and kicked out, like he was trying to run even though he was trapped.

Chris’s heart cracked open.

He crossed the room fast but careful, crouching at the side of the bed. “Leon—Leon, it’s okay, you’re safe. You’re dreaming.”

Leon didn’t hear him.

He flinched violently as Chris reached out, so Chris paused. Waited a second. Then gently, slowly, touched his shoulder. “Leon. Wake up, buddy. I need you to come back now.”

It was the gagged sob that undid him.

Leon’s eyes flew open—wild, unfocused, terrified—and he pushed back hard, nearly tumbling off the bed. His breathing was too fast. He wasn’t seeing Chris. Not really.

“No—don’t—” he choked out, the words barely forming.

“Hey, hey—Leon, it’s me. It’s just me.” Chris’s voice dropped low, hands raised in front of him, careful not to get too close. “You’re at home. In your room. No one’s gonna hurt you. You’re safe.”

Leon’s breathing was all over the place. Ragged, shallow, frantic. Sweat soaked his hairline. His chest shuddered with every breath. Tear and sweat rolling down his face.

Chris slowly crouched beside the bed, voice softer now. “You’re safe. It was a nightmare.”

But Leon’s gaze was distant. He was still somewhere else.

Chris sat on the edge of bed, his hand inching closer to Leon’s but not touching.
“Leon look at me. No one’s here but me. No one’s gonna hurt you. Now breath with  me come on you know how to do it.”

He kept talking to him, voice low and steady, until Leon breathing started to calm down. He blinked, eyes still unfocused, but he could see Chris sitting there on the edge of the bed now.

“I…” Leon tried, but it came out as a rasp.

“Shh. Don’t talk.” Chris reached for something, and a moment later, he handed Leon a cup. “drink. Slowly.”

Leon raised the cup with shaky hands and drank a little.

“There you go, that's it” Chris murmured. “feeling better?”

Leon didn’t answer. His shoulders shook with the effort of holding it in, but his body was slowly coming down—inch by inch, like it had learned it was finally safe.

Chris’s hand returned—carefully resting over Leon’s. “You’re not alone anymore, Leon. You don’t have to hide when you’re hurting.”

Something fragile was in those big blue eyes. Maybe it was the fever, maybe just the way he looked at Chris. His hand felt hot beneath his.

“You’re fever hasn't gone yet. Just wait here. I'll go get you something .” Chris stood up and was about to go, but then—

Leon shifted weakly and, without really thinking, reached for him. His fingers curled into the fabric of Chris’s shirt. His voice was hoarse, barely audible.
.“Don’t...don't go...p...please,”

Chris leaned closer instantly. “I’m here,” he said again “I’m not going anywhere.”

Leon didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He just clung, trembling and warm and barely there.

----


Time passed, and Leon didn’t let go.

So Chris didn’t move.

He shifted just enough to sit properly on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Leon more than necessary. Chris twisted the cloth and laid it gently across Leon’s forehead, his heart still aching from the fear he’d seen in those wide, glassy eyes.

It was almost worse now that Leon was quiet again.

His breathing had evened out some, but the tremors hadn’t stopped. Every now and then, his hand would twitch like he was about to pull away—and then tense again, like he was scared Chris would vanish if he let go.

So Chris stayed.

He sat there in the dim light, shirt still caught in Leon’s fist, one hand resting on his shoulder with the softest pressure. He didn’t say much. Didn’t need to. Every now and then he’d whisper a quiet reassurance.

“You’re safe now.”

“I’m right here.”

“It’s over.”

Hours passed.

The sky outside slowly shifted from deep black to soft grey, morning easing in on the other side of the curtains. The fever finally began to break. Chris could feel it—the way Leon’s body slowly stopped burning, how the tension in his shoulders started to loosen. He stirred once, brows pulling together like he was about to wake, but he didn’t let go of Chris’s shirt.

By the time the sun started to rise, Chris had gone numb from sitting in one place too long. His back ached. His legs tingled.

But he didn’t move.

Not when Leon needed him like this.

Not when just being here seemed to make a difference.

He watched the light creep across the room, listened to the steady rhythm of Leon’s breathing, and let himself hope—for the first time since then—that maybe this wasn’t hopeless. The fact that Leon felt safe with him now it really was something.

He just sat there deep in his thoughts.

And when Leon finally shifted, letting out the faintest sigh, his hand still curled tight in Chris’s shirt and—

Chris whispered, “I’m here,” one last time.

And meant it with everything he had.

Chapter Text

The eggs were a little overcooked. Chris always forgot the stove if his mind was somewhere else. But Leon didn’t mind. He just poked at them with his fork and took a small bite.

The kitchen was quiet, except for the ticking clock and the low hum of the fridge. Sunlight filtered through the window blinds, casting pale stripes across the table. It felt calm. Almost too calm after everything that happened last night.

Chris sat across from him, silent, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate with his fork like they were an unsolvable puzzle. He hadn’t eaten much. Barely touched the toast.

Leon’s gaze flicked up for a second, then dropped again.

He remembered waking up.

Not the nightmare —he didn’t want to remember the nightmare —but the warmth of a hand in his. The sound of steady breathing. The quiet creak of the mattress when Chris shifted slightly to reach for a damp cloth.

He’d woken to that.

To Chris still sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes red from lack of sleep, holding onto him like he was something precious.

He hadn’t said much—just whispered “hey” and offered him water—but it had stuck with Leon all morning.

He stayed.

All night.

Just because I asked him to.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Chris had done nothing but prove how solid he was. How consistent. Leon had seen it in the way he offered warm milk after nightmares or in how he always stood a few feet back and waited instead of crowding in. Or every little thing he did to make him less afraid and safer.

But something about last night—how he didn’t leave, didn’t move, just stayed with him—left a weight in Leon’s chest that wasn’t entirely heavy. Maybe just… full.

He glanced up again.

Chris looked tired. Not just the usual early-morning kind of tired—drained. His shoulders were tense. Eyes still a little red. And there was a tightness around his mouth, like he was still stuck in something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

“Chris?” Leon’s voice was small but steady.

Chris blinked and looked up quickly, like he’d been miles away. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

Chris’s brow furrowed, like the question surprised him. “I should be asking you that.”

Leon shrugged a little. “I feel better. The fever’s gone. Still tired, but…” He hesitated.

There was a pause.

He could feel Chris watching him, but he didn’t look up again. He wasn’t great at this part—at saying things.

But he wanted to try.

“I—” He stopped, cleared his throat, then tried again, voice low. “It helped. Waking up and… and you were still there. That helped. You...You didn’t have to stay all night.”

Chris’s voice was soft. “You asked me to stay.”

That simple.

That honest.

Leon didn’t know what to say to that. So he just nodded, a small breath leaving him. “Yeah. Still, thanks.”

Silence stretched again. Leon shifted, then glanced up, catching the look on Chris’s face. Guilt. Heavy. Like last night was still sitting on his shoulders, and he didn’t know how to put it down.

Leon bit his lip, then glanced sideways. “You’re still… kind of upset.”

Chris’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but it didn’t quite happen.

Instead, he said, “I’m sorry, Leon.”

Leon blinked. “For what?”

Chris looked down at his plate. “I should’ve gone with you,” he muttered. “I never should’ve let you go alone.”

Leon frowned. “Chris—no. You didn’t. I asked to go.”

Chris shook his head. “Still. I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected you.”

Leon fiddled with the edge of his napkin. “You didn’t know that guy was gonna show up. None of us did.”

“I should’ve—”

“Chris.” The word came out too fast, too sharp. Leon flinched slightly and lowered his voice. “It’s not your fault.”

Chris stared at him.

Leon stared at his plate.

“You didn’t… do anything wrong,” he mumbled. “I mean—yeah, it went bad. But that wasn’t you.”

Chris opened his mouth, but Leon cut in again, softer now.

“You were there when it counted. That’s what matters.”

Chris stayed quiet.

Leon swallowed and glanced up, just briefly. “You...you stayed just because i...i asked. That… that means something.”

He looked back down again, cheeks burning faintly. His hands were still around the fork like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

“I’ve never really had that before,” he added, barely above a whisper. “Someone staying.”

Chris’s voice was hoarse. “I’m always going to.”

Leon didn’t answer, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

They sat like that for a while, not saying much, not needing to.

Chris eventually picked up his fork and took a bite of egg.

Leon didn’t say it out loud, but something in him felt lighter. A little smile was playing on his lips. It felt like he had just achieved something big.


---


Chris’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel as he waited at a red light. The heater hummed quietly inside the car, warm against the chill, still clinging to the glass.

He glanced at the time.

Leon would probably be curled up in his hoodie, in front of TV reading or watching something, waiting for him to come home.

His phone buzzed on the dashboard, and he reached for it, glancing at the caller ID.

Hunnigan.

Chris hit the speaker and set it back down. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied, her voice calm as always. “Just checking in.”

Chris exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “We’re alright. Things were rough after that market incident, but… he’s been stable the past couple of days. Eating, resting, and talking a little more.”

Chris exhaled through his nose, slowing slightly as he merged onto a quieter road. “He actually... asked me to stay again last night.”

There was a pause on her end, then, “Really? He asked you again?”

“Yeah. No eye contact, barely above a whisper, but he asked. I was halfway to my room, and I heard him—just a small, shaky, ‘Chris?’ That was it.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “So I stayed. Sat with him till he fell asleep and then crashed on the floor.”

“That’s huge, Chris.” Hunnigan’s voice softened. “You’re doing something right.”

Chris huffed. “Feels like I’m guessing most of the time. Half the time I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and make him shut down again.”

“You’re not a therapist. You’re doing this with your heart, and that matters more than you think.”

Another quiet beat passed before she asked, “And how are you doing?”

He blinked at the question. “Me?”

“Yes. You’re still human, last time I checked. This has been a lot on you, too.”

Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I guess I’m… tired. Worried. It was hard seeing him like that. I hate leaving him alone during the day, especially now. But at the same time, I’m kind of relieved to see him making these steps.”

“I know it’s hard. But you’re helping him rebuild trust in the world, one quiet morning at a time,” Hunnigan said gently.

Chris swallowed the lump in his throat. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You will,” she assured. “And speaking of that… I have an idea,” she said after a pause. “One that might help ease the memory of the incident.”

Chris glanced toward the phone. “I’m listening.”

“There’s a window right now. He’s still healing. His brain hasn’t fully locked in the danger of getting in touch with others yet. If you introduce a new, positive experience—something safe, warm, low-pressure—it can soften the impact of what happened.”

Chris frowned slightly. “What kind of experience?”

“Something simple. Something that reminds him not everyone is like that man. That not all encounters end in panic.” She paused. “He’s met Claire before, hasn’t he?”

Chris smiled faintly. “He didn’t come out of his room, but yeah. He knows her voice. Seen the pictures around the place.”

“And Jill?”

Chris nodded. “He knows of her too. I’ve talked about her plenty.”

“Then maybe now’s the time,” she said. “You could set up a visit. Something easy, at home. Let him feel what it’s like to be around good people who aren’t you.”

Chris didn’t answer right away. The idea made his stomach twist a little. Not because he doubted Claire or Jill—they were two of the safest people Leon could meet—but because it felt like another step. Another risk. Another chance for something to go wrong.

But…

Leon was stronger now.

He was talking. Responding. Letting Chris in.

Maybe this really was the time.

“I’ll bring it up,” he said finally. “See how he feels.”

“That’s all you can do,” Hunnigan said gently. “Let it be his choice. But you’re giving him the opportunity. That’s what matters.”

Chris gave a tired but genuine smile as he turned onto the street leading to his house. The sun had dipped a little lower, bathing the quiet neighbourhood in amber light.

“Thanks, Hunnigan. For everything.”

“Anytime, Captain.”


---


The tea was warm between Chris’s palms, steam curling upward in lazy spirals. The house was quiet, the TV on —some background nature documentary, and neither of them had really been watching.

Leon sat next to him on the couch, his own mug clutched with both hands. The sleeves of his hoodie hung low past his fingers, only the tips of his nails visible as he blew on the tea gently.

He looked calm. After everything, it was the kind of stillness Chris had learned not to take for granted.

Chris took a sip from his cup and then exhaled slowly. “So,” he said, as casually as he could manage, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Leon’s eyes flicked up at that, a touch of curiosity in them. He didn’t speak, but Chris had grown used to that by now. The kid listened better than most people ever did.

“I was thinking…,” Chris continued, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “It’s been just the two of us for a while now. I figured maybe we could both use a little company.”

Leon’s shoulders stiffened ever so slightly.

Chris didn’t push.

“I’m not talking about strangers,” he said quickly. “I’d never throw you into something like that. Just—Claire and Jill.”

Leon blinked.

Chris gave him a small, encouraging smile. “You remember Claire, right? She came by twice.”

Leon nodded slowly. “She… came and left food,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah. That’s her. And Jill’s her girlfriend, also my partner at work like i told you before. She’s good people.”

Leon was silent again, his gaze dropping back to his tea.

Chris took a breath. “I know it’s a big ask. But I thought, after everything… maybe a better company might help.”

Leon’s fingers tightened slightly around his mug.

Chris let the silence hang. Gave him room.

After a long moment, Leon mumbled, “Here?”

“Yeah,” Chris said gently. “Only if you want. I figured home would feel safer than anywhere else.”

Another pause.

Leon’s tail—tucked neatly around him—twitched slightly, betraying the swirl of emotion beneath his stillness.

“They want it too?” he asked softly.

Chris tilted his head. “to meet you?”

Leon nodded once.

Chris huffed a laugh when he answered. “Oh believe me, they want to. Claire’s been asking me for it since she didn’t get to meet you last time. And they know how important you are to me so it's important for them too.”

Leon’s ears twitched again. His gaze was still downcast, but his posture had changed. Less tense. Less closed off.

He didn’t say yes.

But he didn’t say no either.

Chris took that as a good sign.

“Think about it,” he said, standing and reaching for both their empty mugs. “We’ve got time. No pressure.”

Leon nodded, eyes still on the table.

Chris watched him for a moment longer, then gave his shoulder a soft pat as he passed by.

Just as he reached the sink, he heard a quiet voice behind him.

“…Okay.”

Chris turned.

Leon wasn’t looking at him, but his ears perked forward slightly now, and his hands had relaxed.

Chris didn’t smile. Not fully.

But his heart lifted all the same.

Chapter Text

Leon had been awake for hours before the sun even started to rise.

He wasn’t sure how much sleep he’d gotten—if any. His thoughts had twisted too tightly in his head, looping over themselves in anxious spirals. Every time he’d started to drift, a jolt of unease had snapped him back awake.

He sat on the edge of his bed now, elbows resting on his knees, the sleeves of his shirt bunched in his hands. The room was quiet, familiar. Safe.

But his chest still felt tight.

Claire and Jill were coming over today.

He kept telling himself it wasn’t a big deal. He’d met Claire before—sort of. She’d come to the apartment once to pick up her stuff, and once she came when Chris wasn’t even home. Both times he hadn’t left his room. But he did took a peak. He saw her secretly and he remembered her voice, the way she’d spoken gently through the door. She hadn’t sounded scary. And she hadn’t tried to force him out or anything.

And Jill… Chris had told him about so much whenever he talk about work and Leon saw the picture on the bookshelf. His best friend. His co-worker. Claire’s girlfriend.

A hybrid.

That part still didn’t make sense in his head.

Not because he didn’t believe it—Chris wasn’t the type to lie—but because Jill didn’t sound anything like him. Based on what he heard she was strong, confident. She had a place in the world. People respected her.

Leon… was still learning how to breathe without panicking.

He stood and wandered to the mirror. His ears were pressed low, his tail twitching erratically.

He’d already changed clothes twice. Now he was second-guessing this one, too.

What did you wear to a visit like this?

He wasn’t sure.

Eventually, he just gave up trying to look presentable and moved to open the door. The hallway was quiet, sunlight spilling in faintly from the living room. The scent of something warm drifted down the corridor—eggs, toast, maybe coffee.

Chris was already up.

Leon lingered in the hall for a while, hovering just out of sight. He could hear the occasional clink of plates, the low hum of the TV. His stomach fluttered.

Then—Chris’s voice, casual, warm. “Morning, kiddo.”

Chris didn’t turn, just flipped another piece of toast in the pan. “There’s food if you want some.”

Leon stepped into the kitchen.

The table was already set with two plates. Eggs. Toast. A couple of apple slices on the side. Simple, but familiar. Comforting.

Leon slid into his usual seat, hands folded in his lap.

Chris finally turned and gave him a small smile. “Sleep okay?”

Leon didn’t answer right away. His throat felt tight.

Chris didn’t press. He just set a mug of tea in front of Leon—his usual blend, with just a hint of honey—and returned to his own breakfast.

Leon stared into the mug. The warmth seeped through his fingers.

“They’re coming today,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris nodded. “Yeah. This afternoon.”

Leon glanced down. “Do I have to talk a lot?”

“No,” Chris said, calm and sure. “Just whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Leon nodded, though the knot in his stomach didn’t ease. After a long pause, he added, “She probably thinks I’m weird. Claire.”

Chris blinked. “Why would she think that?”

“I didn’t come out. When she was here. I just… hid.”

Chris’s expression softened. “Leon. She didn’t think anything bad. Trust me, Claire gets it.”

Leon didn’t answer, but the words settled somewhere inside him—not quite comfort, but something close.

Chris took a sip of his coffee and said gently, “You don’t have to impress anyone today. Just be yourself.”

Leon let out a slow breath. His ears were still down, but maybe not as flat now.

He sipped his tea and watched the sunlight creep across the floor.

He wasn’t ready.

But he wasn’t running either.


---


Chris checked the clock again. Fifteen minutes early. Claire had always been like that.

The doorbell rang just as he was drying his hands from cleaning up the kitchen. He glanced toward the hallway—Leon hadn’t come out since breakfast, but Chris wasn’t expecting him to. Not yet.

He opened the door with a small, worn-out grin already on his face.

“Hey,” Claire greeted, all bright eyes and a big smile. “Smells like tea and anxiety in here.”

Chris huffed a soft laugh. “Not wrong.”

Claire swept in like she owned the place, which—considering she used to live here—wasn’t entirely wrong. Jill followed more quietly, offering Chris a small nod and a warm, familiar smile.

Chris gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime,” she replied. “Plus it was kind of getting hard keeping Claire from crawling inside your home one random night.”

Claire, already halfway through unpacking cookie tins onto the table, piped up, “I heard that.”

Chris chuckled under his breath and moved to make more tea. His ears remained trained on the hallway. He hadn’t told Leon exactly when they were coming—just that it would be afternoon. And he didn’t want to call him out.

He wanted Leon to come when he was ready.

Still, as minutes passed and laughter started trickling from the living room, Chris couldn’t help glancing toward the hallway again and again.

He wondered if Leon was pacing.

If he was standing behind the door, hand hovering near the knob, listening to every word like it was a test he might fail.

Jill caught his gaze at one point and tilted her head slightly. Her hybrid senses were better than his. She could probably hear Leon too.

Chris nodded once.

Just be patient.


---


He could hear everything.

The light scrape of chairs. The low clink of mugs being placed on the table. Claire’s bright, clear laughter. Jill’s calm, even responses. Chris’s voice somewhere in the middle—low and warm and always steady.

He’d crept up to the door more than once, only to retreat again.

He wasn’t scared exactly. Not like before.

But his chest still felt tight, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how different they were. Claire and Jill were both so normal. Comfortable. Laughing like the world had never tried to rip them apart.

He rubbed the edge of his sleeve between his fingers.

He didn’t want to ruin this for Chris.

And yet…

He remembered Chris’s words that morning.

"You don’t have to impress anyone today. Just be yourself."

So this was it.

Slowly, Leon stepped out from the hallway, hands stuffed deep into the sleeves of his shirt. His tail curled tight behind his back, nervous and low.

Chris was the first to notice him. His smile was instant—soft, warm, proud. He didn’t call attention to him. Just stood, walked over, and gently touched Leon’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said quietly, so only Leon could hear. “You okay?”

Leon nodded once, tightly.

“Come on,” Chris said gently, leading him toward the couch. “You remember Claire.”

Claire turned immediately, eyes lighting up. She didn’t get up—Chris was grateful for that. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t crowd him. Just offered a soft smile and a wave.

"Hey, Leon! It’s good to finally see you."

Leon looked at her for a long moment… then gave a small, barely-there nod.

Claire’s grin widened, but she didn’t push.

“And this is Jill,” Chris added.

Jill gave a short nod of greeting, her posture easy and open. “Hey, Leon. Nice to meet you.”

Leon stared at her.

She was… tall. Calm. Her tail swayed lazily behind her. Her fox eras stood proudly. As if she had nothing to hide. She didn’t look ashamed to exist. She wasn’t afraid of being seen.

Leon ducked his head quickly, cheeks flushing.

Jill didn’t comment. She just took a sip of her tea.

Chris had rearranged the seating so Leon wouldn’t have to sit directly between anyone. There was a spot open next to him with enough space that Leon wouldn’t feel cornered. He hesitated, then moved to sit, his shoulders stiff.

Chris didn’t push. He just sat beside him.

Claire and Jill resumed their conversation, slowly, gently easing the mood back into something light. Leon didn’t speak—but he listened.

And Chris, watching him from the corner of his eye, knew that was a victory all on its own.


---


The conversation flowed easily, the attention not directly on Leon but still including him, leaving him room to engage without pressure.

Chris laughed and said, "Claire seriously i love you but your a terrible driver."

Claire scoffed. "Excuse you, I am great driver."

Chris smirked. "Tell that to the stop sign you took out last year."

Leon blinked and a quiet"Really?" Skipped his lips.

Claire groaned. "Not on purpose!"

Chris grinned, nudging Leon lightly. "See? She’s a menace behind the wheel."

Jill, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. "Don’t worry, Claire. I still trust you to drive."

"See? At least Jill believes in me," Claire said dramatically.

Chris snorted. "She’s just saying that because she's your girlfriend."

Leon was focused on Chris and Claire familiar banter when suddenly Jill shifted slightly and said, " So Chris mentioned you like books."

Leon looked at her, caught off guard. "...Yeah."

She reached into her bag, pulling out a book and holding it out—not pushing it toward him, just leaving it as an option. "Figured you might like this one."

Leon hesitated, then took it carefully. He ran his fingers along the spine before glancing up.

Jill just gave a small nod. "No pressure. If you don’t like it, no big deal."

Leon didn’t know what to say to that.

So he just nodded back and glanced at Jill again.

She was different from what he imagined. He hadn’t seen a hybrid like her before.

Her posture was relaxed. Her voice steady. No fear in her scent, no tension in the way she moved. She wasn’t small or weak or cowering like the hybrids he’d known before.

She was just… a person.

Not property. Not an animal.

And yet, she was still hybrid.

Leon looked down at his hands, pressing his nails lightly into his palm.

Chris caught the exchange and smiled. “Jill’s got good taste. She’s the one who got me into reading again.”

Jill smirked. “Yeah, after years of me telling you to read something besides mission reports.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. You were right.”

Claire laughed. “I should record this. Chris admitting he was wrong? Historic.”

Leon swallowed, feeling the edges of a smile tug at his lips before he could stop it. He quickly schooled his expression, but Chris caught it. He didn’t say anything, just gave Leon a small, knowing smile.

As the evening went on, the tension in Leon’s shoulders slowly lessened. He still wasn’t completely at ease, but he wasn’t drowning in panic, either.

It was strange, being around people like this—just people. No expectations. No orders.

They were just people.

People who happened to care about Chris.

People Chris trusted.

And maybe—maybe—they were people Leon could try to trust too.

It wasn’t easy, but maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t impossible after all. 

Chapter Text

Chris sipped his coffee slowly, staring blankly at the half-finished report on his screen. He hadn’t been able to focus all morning. Not from lack of sleep—he’d gotten some, surprisingly—but because his thoughts kept drifting back to last night.

To Leon.

How he’d stepped out of the hallway without being asked. How he’d sat beside Chris, listened, even answered Jill. How he’d let Claire tease him and accepted Jill’s gift without bolting for the nearest exit.

Chris had watched every second of it like it was a dream he didn’t dare break. And even now, hours later, the memory made something warm and a little stunned settle in his chest.

He hadn’t expected it to go that well.

He was so caught up in the thought that he nearly jumped when his phone rang on his desk. Claire.

He answered it with a sigh and a knowing grin. “Let me guess—you’re calling to thank me for yesterday.”

Claire’s voice was loud, enthusiastic, and already mid-rant. “CHRIS REDFIELD.”

He winced, pulling the phone slightly away from his ear.

“I swear to GOD if you don’t protect that boy with your entire life I’m running over there and dropkicking you.”

Chris blinked. “Leon?”

“YES, LEON. That boy is the cutest thing I have ever seen. Did you see how his ears twitched when I offered him cookies?! Did you see how polite he was even though I could feel him wanting to disappear into the couch? My heart exploded.”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to laugh. “Claire—”

“No. I’m not done. You didn’t tell me he was that pretty. Or that sweet. Or that he looked like he’d bite someone but also like he’d apologize after. He’s—ugh—he’s PRECIOUS.”

Chris shook his head. “He’s not a stray cat, Claire.”

“He absolutely is, and a very cute one at that. Don’t argue with me.”

Just then, the door opened, and Jill stepped in, raising a brow at Chris’s expression.

Claire kept going on the line. “Also I’m coming over again. Soon. I don’t care what you do, but you have to convince him, I’ll wait in the hallway like a creep until he agrees. I’ll bribe him with books. Or cookies. Or whatever he wants.”

Chris held the phone away slightly and looked at Jill. “Guess who?”

Jill grinned knowingly. “She still yelling?”

“She hasn’t stopped.”

Claire's voice echoed from the speaker, “I HEARD THAT, JILL.”

Jill just snorted a laugh.

Chris groaned. “When do you think she'll stop?”

Jill shrugged. “Don’t get your hopes up. I had to listen to her dissecting every moment of our little gathering until three in the morning. She made a PowerPoint, Chris.”

Chris blinked. “...Seriously?”

“She titled it ‘Operation Leon is our precious baby.’”

Chris dropped his head to the desk with a low, muffled groan.

Jill patted his shoulder. “Congrats, Captain. You’ve officially got a fan club for that kid.”

Chris muttered into the wood, “God help me.” Still hearing Claire’s excited voice going on and on.


---


The apartment was quiet again. Evening had already slipped into night, and the only light came from the soft glow of the lamp by his bed. Chris had gone to bed not long ago, after one last check-in—just a gentle hand on Leon’s shoulder and a quiet, “Goodnight, Leon.”

Now he sat curled up in his bed, legs tucked under him, blanket pulled over his legs. The book Jill had given him rested in his lap.

It had been two weeks or so since Jill had given it to him, but he still hadn’t started reading. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe part of him was afraid he wouldn’t like it. That not liking it would feel like… disappointing her somehow. Even though she said it was okay. No pressure. No big deal.

Still, his fingers ran absently along the spine, back and forth, back and forth.

The visit had gone better than he expected. That thought kept circling back every few nights.

He kept thinking about that visit. How he’d expected to panic, or shut down, or ruin everything. But none of that had happened.

He kept thinking about Jill and Claire. The way they had filled the apartment with warmth so easily, like it wasn’t something they had to try at. Like it was just part of them.

Claire had talked too much—but not in a bad way. Her voice had been lively, funny, and kind. And Jill… she’d been calm and sharp and confident—everything Leon wasn’t, but somehow, that didn’t scare him.

And Chris…

Chris had looked proud the whole time. Not in a bragging way. Just… proud.

Leon’s chest tightened.

He hadn’t done much. Barely even spoke. But Chris had looked at him like just showing up had meant everything. Like Leon had done something significant.

Leon didn’t know what to do with that kind of belief. Not yet. But it wasn’t bad.

And the funny thing was he'd been so busy thinking about his encounter with the girls that the memory of that man at the market just faded without him even realizing it.

He had a feeling that he'd be seeing them again soon. He didn’t know why maybe it was the way Claire’s eyes had sparkled when she said she wished to see him again soon.

Whatever it was, he wasn’t wrong, and Chris had brought it up a few days ago. Asked if it would be alright if Claire and Jill came over again for Christmas. Just to spend the day together. He’d made sure Leon knew it was his choice. Like  always.

And Leon… had said yes.

He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that he’d agreed almost immediately or that he didn’t immediately regret it.

And now Christmas was getting closer. Leon could feel it everywhere. In the lights outside the windows. In the music leaking from store radios.

He’d never really had a Christmas. Not a real one. The places he’d been days just came and went without notice. Just more days. More orders. More pain.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Christmas, but Chris liked it. Chris cared about it. And somehow, that made Leon care, too.

And so it made sense that Claire and Jill should come over. They were Chris’s family. They mattered to him. And Chris should get to spend Christmas with the people he cared about.

He stared down at the book, pressing the cover flat between his palms.

He even watched some Christmas movies the past few days to get more used to the traditions. And one had caught his eye more than others.

Gift giving.

Leon had never really given a gift before, so he practically knew nothing.

But he knew one thing.

He wanted to give Chris something.

Not because he had to. Not because it was a Christmas tradition and expected.Not because he owed it. Not because he felt guilty.

Because he wanted to and because... Chris deserved it. For everything he’d done—for every cup of tea, for every quiet night on the couch, for staying when Leon asked without a second thought.

He wanted to try.

His eyes drifted toward the small calendar on the wall. Just a few more days till Christmas. The thought made his stomach twist.

The problem was that he just didn’t know what it should be. And couldn't ask Chris. He didn’t want Chris to know.

He sighed, putting the book on the nightstand and lying down on his bed.

He needed help, but from whom?


---


The sky had started to grey by the time they were walking toward Luis’s bookstore.

Leon held a paper bag clutched tight to his chest, filled with cocoa mix, candles, and a box of string lights Chris insisted they had to have.

Chris had stayed close the whole time, arms full with different bags and checking his Christmas shopping list to make sure they've got everything.

The city was so much louder and brighter now, and somehow, Leon had made it through the whole outing without a problem. And wasn’t even that tired, so when Chris suggested stopping by the bookstore, he immediately agreed.

The bell jingled as they stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft thunk. Leon immediately felt the cold leaving his shoulders, replaced by the quiet buzz of jazz music and the familiar musty-paper smell. Even here, he could see signs of Christmas. A mistletoe was hanging near the door, and there were ornaments here and there.

Luis looked up from behind the counter. “Ah, my favourite duo,” he said cheerfully. “You’re out in this weather?”

Chris shook snow from his shoulders, brushing a hand over Leon’s shoulders too as he passed. “Had to pick up some stuff. You know—festive panic.”

Luis looked at Leon and raised an eyebrow. “And here i thought you hated the crowds.”

Leon just shrugged, and Chris instead Answered “Leon’s braver than you think.”

Leon blinked, startled at that, Luis chuckled, and he felt heat rushing to his cheeks.

Chris wandered toward the nonfiction section—something about needing a new coffee table book for guests. Leon stayed closer to the front, drifting toward the little shelf with bookmarks and journals and small handmade things.

He ran his fingers across a box of carved wooden figurines deep in thoughts. Most were animals. A couple were trees.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Chris’s phone buzz.

Chris glanced at it, sighed, and then caught Leon’s gaze. “Work. I'll be right back. You keep browsing.”

Leon nodded, and Chris stepped outside, already lifting the phone to his ear.

The moment settled, quiet and heavy.

Leon stood there a long minute, staring at nothing. His hands had started to sweat inside his sleeves. He tried to focus on the books, but he kept glancing Luis’s way.

The thought—about the gift, about Christmas—was there, tight in his chest. He still couldn't figure out what to do, and maybe...

Luis moved behind the counter, organizing receipts. Humming to the song. His presence was somehow both loud and low-key, like a cat pretending not to stare.

Leon shifted awkwardly, eyes still fixed on the shelves.

Then, hesitantly—too hesitantly—he took a step towards the counter.

“If you wanted to… give someone something. For Christmas. Just, like... to say thank you.” Leon barely managed to say while biting his lips.

Luis looked up slowly, one eyebrow raised. “Someone?”

Leon didn’t meet his eyes. “Someone who’s been… good to you. Kind. I don’t know.”

A beat passed. Then Luis’s grin softened, all the sharp teasing fading into something gentler.

“Ah,” he said lightly. “So that’s what this is.”

Leon’s ears twitched. His cheeks burning with shame. “Sorry , just forg—”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, cariño.” Luis leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “It’s nice. Wanting to do something for someone who matters.”

Leon didn’t answer. He still felt warm in the face. Embarrassed, maybe. Stupid.

Luis didn’t push. Just said, “So what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Leon admitted nervously. “I’ve never… done this before.”

“For Christmas, you mean?”

Leon nodded once.

Luis hummed, thoughtful. “Well… the good news is, the best gifts usually aren’t expensive. The ones people remember are the ones that mean something.”

Leon stared at a nearby display of bookmarks. His voice was small. “Like what?”

“Could be anything,” Luis said. “Something you make. Something that reminds him of you. Something that shows him you care.”

Leon swallowed hard. “I’m not good at stuff like that.”

Luis smiled, not unkindly. “I think you’re better at it than you think.”

Leon went quiet again. His tail had curled low, uncertain.

Luis tilted his head. “Wait a sec. I might have something to help.”

Leon’s fingers twitched as Luis disappeared between the bookshelves. He took a peak outside. Chris was pacing and talking to his phone.

“There you go. I think this
Might help.” Luis said coming back, holding out a book.

Leon hesitantly took it. It was a book about DIY gifts made of everyday items.

Leon didn’t say anything and just stared at the book. Luis chuckled “I assumed you'd want to make something for him yourself, and this can give you ideas.”

Leon bit his lips. This was actually very good, but how was he supposed to pay for this? He didn't want Chris to know.

Luis, as if reading his mind, suddenly said “Now come on, hid it in your bag before he comes back in.”

Leon eyes widened “But...but i haven't...”

Luis’s eyes softened. An easygoing grinn playing on his face “Don’t worry about it, amigo. Consider it my early Christmas gift to you.”

Leon felt a warm feeling spreading through his body. A gift for him. His first Christmas gift.
His fingers curled around the book. He swallowed the lump in his throat “Th..Thank you.”

Luis just smiled “Anytime my little friend.”

Just as Leon put the book inside the paper bag, the door opened again, the bell breaking the moment as Chris stepped back inside, brushing snow off his jacket.

“All good?” he asked.

Leon blinked, startled, and then nodded quickly. “Yeah. I'm just looking.”

Chris smiled. “Take your time.”

Leon turned back to the shelves, fingers clutching the bag tightly, heart still fluttering.

Anytime my little friend

So he...had a friend now?

Chapter Text

Leon wasn’t sure how to feel.

Christmas wasn’t something he ever had—not in any way that mattered. Growing up, it had just been another day. Sometimes cold, sometimes hungry, but never special. He knew what it was, of course—had seen it in movies, heard people talk about it like it was the happiest time of the year. But it was never his.

And yet, here he was about to experience it for himself. Now, standing by the couch with his tail flicking anxiously behind him, Leon wasn’t sure if he’d like it.

The thought barely had time to settle before the front door swung open.

“Merry Christmas!” Claire’s voice rang out as she kicked the door shut behind her, arms full of bags.

Jill followed behind, more subdued, but still weighed down with supplies. “We brought the essentials.”

Chris grinned, moving to help them. “You mean you brought everything. Jill’s just here for damage control.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta make sure she doesn’t set the place on fire,” Jill said, smirking.

Leon barely had time to process before Claire was suddenly in front of him, eyes bright with excitement. “Hey Leon! Are you ready for your first real Christmas?”

Leon blinked. “I—”

“Great! Because we’ve got everything!” Claire dumped her bags onto the coffee table and began pulling things out at random—tangled Christmas lights, a pile of ornaments, cookie dough, candy canes, and—

“Did you seriously bring matching sweaters?” Chris asked, holding one up with an unimpressed look.

Claire looked far too proud. “Of course I did. Redfields go all in for Christmas.”

Leon swallowed. This was already… a lot.

Chris, catching his hesitation, shot him a look—more question than push. You okay?

Leon exhaled slowly and gave a small nod. He wasn’t sure how to do this. But maybe, just for today, he could try.


---


Leon hovered near the edge of the living room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His ears twitched at every sudden laugh, every shift in movement, every rustle of bags as Claire and Jill unpacked their Christmas chaos.

The apartment felt full in a way it never had before.

Claire was a whirlwind, already diving into the ornaments and rambling about how the Redfields took Christmas very seriously. Jill, meanwhile, was her total opposite—calm, observant, leaning against the couch with a barely-concealed smirk as she listened to Claire’s dramatic speech about the sacred art of tree decorating.

Chris was right there with them, laughing, teasing, chiming in with stories about past Christmas disasters. It was easy. Familiar. The kind of effortless warmth Leon had never really experienced before.

He felt… separate from it.

Like an observer looking through a window.

Chris must’ve noticed because his attention shifted. Brown eyes found Leon’s before he casually made his way over. He didn’t reach out, didn’t push—just brushed his fingers lightly against Leon’s hand.

Leon didn’t pull away.

“Wanna help with the tree?” Chris asked, voice gentle. Like he knew Leon was on the edge of bolting.

Leon hesitated. His tail curled slightly, ears dipping. “…I don’t know how.”

Chris smiled, and there was something so patient about it that Leon’s chest tightened.

“That’s okay,” Chris said softly. “It’s not hard. Here—” He reached into the box and pulled out a small silver snowflake, holding it out between them.

Leon took it carefully, turning it over in his fingers.

The metal was cool to the touch, light, and delicate. He swallowed.

Claire, mid-argument with Jill over the superiority of homemade garlands, turned suddenly. Her eyes lit up.

“Oh! He’s gotta do the first ornament! It’s his first Christmas, right?”

Leon’s stomach dropped.

Chris shot her a quick look, but Jill smirked and joined in. “Tradition,” she said lazily. “Better let him do it.”

Leon stiffened. His grip on the snowflake tightened.

First ornament. First Christmas.

The words made his throat close up.

Chris’s hand returned—this time a soft, steady squeeze on his shoulder. “No pressure,” he murmured. “Just put it wherever you want.”

Leon exhaled slowly, glancing at the tree.

It felt dumb, standing here overthinking an ornament. But it wasn’t dumb to him. It was new. Unfamiliar. Vulnerable.

Still, Chris was looking at him like there was no wrong answer.

Leon’s ears twitched.

Slowly, he stepped forward and hooked the snowflake onto a branch near the middle.

He stepped back again—awkward, unsure—only for Claire to beam. “Perfect.”

Jill gave him a short nod. “Solid placement.”

Chris grinned. “See? You’re a natural.”

Leon ducked his head, ears burning.

It was just a decoration. It didn’t mean anything.

And yet…

Something warm stirred in his chest.

Before he could think too hard, Chris casually tossed him another ornament—like it was nothing, like Leon was already part of the flow.

Leon caught it.

And—after a pause—reached up and placed it beside the first.


---


After that, things got… easier.

Leon still felt out of place—still caught himself hesitating before every movement—but no one seemed to notice.

Or, if they did, they didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Chris kept handing him ornaments like it was the most natural thing in the world. Claire chattered non-stop while she decorated half the tree and critiqued the other half. Jill, meanwhile, continued her quiet campaign of sabotage, placing the most ridiculous ornaments in the most obnoxious spots possible.

Leon didn’t talk much. He wasn’t ready for that.

But he watched. Listened. Let himself take it all in.

He learned that Claire had an intense, frankly alarming passion for themed Christmas aesthetics—so much so that she and Chris apparently fought about it every year growing up.
“Red and gold is the superior aesthetic,” she declared, holding up a glittering ornament like it was a legal exhibit. “Chris has no taste.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Says the woman who once hung a disco ball on the tree.”

“That was festive and creative.”

“It was blinding.”

Jill, for her part, took nothing seriously. She made a game of hiding strange ornaments deep inside the branches—one of which was a miniature giraffe in a Santa hat.

Claire hadn’t noticed that one yet.

“I give it an hour,” Jill whispered to Leon, nodding toward the giraffe. “Maybe two if she starts monologuing again.”

Leon blinked, then… his lips twitched. Just a little.

Chris, ever the observer, noticed—but didn’t say a word. He just kept moving, offering Leon another ornament like it was no big deal.

And Leon took it.

That was the strangest part—how easy it became. Not easy in the sense that it stopped being overwhelming. But easy in the way he started moving through it instead of away from it.

The apartment still felt full. But not like before.

It wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t loud in the wrong way. It wasn’t full of sharp eyes or voices waiting for him to mess up.

It was laughter. The smell of pine tree and cinnamon. The soft blink of fairy lights. Claire bumping music in the background that she insisted was “vintage holiday pop.”
It was Chris moving through the space like Leon mattered. Like he belonged.

And the realization crept in—quiet, strange, unfamiliar.

This is what it’s like.

To be included. Not watched. Not commanded. Just… there.

Jill passed by and dropped a peppermint candy into his hand without comment.

Leon looked down at it, fingers curling around the wrapper.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel.

But for the first time in a long time, he was surrounded by people and didn’t feel afraid.


---


By the time they finished the tree, the apartment smelled like candy and cinnamon.

“You guys have no idea what you’re in for,” Claire said smugly, pulling a tray of cookie dough from the fridge. “I make the best Christmas cookies. It’s a Redfield tradition.”

Chris snorted. “You burned the cookies last year.”

“That was a fluke.”

“Was it?”

Jill leaned against the counter, smirking. “We should probably have a backup plan. Just in case.”

“Have a little faith!” Claire said, dramatically offended. “Besides, we’re all making them. So it’s not just on me this time.”

Leon, standing quietly near the sink, froze.

All of them?

Chris caught the hesitation immediately. He glanced over, voice casual. “Think you’re up for it?”

Leon hesitated. He wanted to say no. To stay back, let them handle it while he kept to the edges—where it was quiet, where it was safe. But then Claire turned to him, expression warm and open.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” she said.

And the thing was—she meant it.

There was no pressure in her voice, no teasing, no expectation. Just genuine enthusiasm, like she actually wanted him there.

And maybe that was what made Leon nod. Just barely.

“…Okay.”

Chris smiled.

Claire clapped her hands. “Alright! Let’s make some magic happen.”


---


Leon quickly learned that making cookies was way harder than it looked.

Claire worked like she had something to prove, rolling out dough with chaotic energy. Jill was unbothered, slowly cutting out shapes while making sarcastic commentary. Chris moved methodically, treating the oven temperature like a high-stakes mission.

And Leon?

Leon was… struggling.

The flour, the sticky dough, the need for precise measurements—it was all messy, unpredictable. His first attempt at rolling dough came out uneven. His cookie shapes were lopsided. When Claire saw his sad attempt at a Christmas tree, she laughed—but not cruelly.

She just grinned and handed him another cutter. “Try again.”

So he did.


---


Chris had never seen anything cuter in his life.

He knew Leon was trying—really trying—but the poor kid was awful at this. His hands moved cautiously, like he was expecting someone to scold him for getting it wrong. That first cookie barely looked like a tree. Claire had laughed, enough to make Leon’s ears twitch in embarrassment.

But she hadn’t teased. Just handed him another cutter.

And Leon had taken it. Had tried again.

Chris couldn’t stop watching him.

So serious. So focused. Brows furrowed, ears flicking every time he pressed a cutter into the dough. His tail swayed behind him—not irritated, not tense. Just thoughtful.

At some point, Leon must’ve wiped his face with his sleeve because now there was a faint streak of flour across his cheek.

Chris nearly reached out to brush it off before stopping himself.

God, it was ridiculous how much it got to him.

Leon was just so… damn cute.

Not that Chris would ever say that out loud. He could already picture the reaction—flushed cheeks, flattened ears, tail puffed like a bottle brush.

Still. The truth remained.

Chris glanced away before he got caught staring, his heart warm and full.

He forced himself to focus on cleanup but kept an ear on the room.

Leon was still tense in small ways—shoulders slightly hunched, ears flicking at loud noises—but he hadn’t retreated. Hadn’t asked to step away.

Claire chatted as she rolled out more dough. Jill had taken over cutting when Leon’s hands got too shaky. She didn’t comment—just slid in beside him with a calm smile and picked up a cutter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Leon hadn’t pulled away.

Chris leaned back against the counter, quietly watching.

It was simple—just baking, just traditions—but it meant something. Seeing Leon here, still unsure, but trying.

Then Claire turned to Leon with a grin. “Hey, you wanna decorate these later?”

Leon blinked. “I… I don’t know how.”

Chris watched Claire’s expression soften. “That’s fine! We’ll teach you. It’s easy. Just icing and sprinkles. The fun part’s making a mess.”

Leon looked like the concept hadn’t even occurred to him.

He hesitated—then gave a small, slow nod.

Chris smiled.

Yeah, he thought. This is a good Christmas.


---


Dinner was… nice. They were all wearing the matching sweaters that Claire brought. They even got a photo in front of they tree- which Leon was so nervous about he ended up clutching Chris's sweater.

And now sitting together wearing the same clothes...Leon wasn’t used to sitting at a table like this—people laughing, talking over each other, passing dishes like it was second nature. He mostly listened, quietly picking at his plate while Claire and Chris argued about mashed potatoes.

(Chris insisted his were better. Claire called him a liar. Jill, unsurprisingly, just shrugged and kept eating.)

Leon didn’t mind the noise as much as he expected. It wasn’t yelling. It wasn’t harsh. It was warm.

He didn’t know that kind of noise could exist.


---


And then, before he realized it, it was time for presents.

Leon hadn’t expected much—maybe something from Chris, because that felt like something Chris would do—but he hadn’t thought about the others.

So when Jill handed him a small, neatly wrapped box, and Claire shoved another onto his lap, he just… stared.

Chris huffed a laugh. “They’re for you, Leon.”

Leon swallowed. His fingers curled around the wrapping paper. “I didn’t get anything for—”

“Don’t care,” Claire said cheerfully. “This isn’t about that.”

Jill nodded. “Just open them.”

Under their expectant looks, Leon slowly peeled back the paper.

Claire’s gift was a soft, dark blue hoodie—thick and warm. Leon’s ears twitched as he ran his fingers over the fabric.

“Figured you could use something cozier,” Claire said. “I know you get cold easy, and you like hoodies.”

Leon glanced at her, startled. She just shrugged, like it was obvious.

He didn’t know what to say, so he muttered a shy thank you and reached for the next one.

Jill’s box was smaller. Inside was a pair of soft, black gloves, with reinforced palms.

“Something practical,” Jill said. “Ans still comfortable.”

Leon turned them over in his hands, brushing his fingers along the seams.

“…Thanks,” he said quietly.

Jill gave a simple smile. “Don’t mention it.”

Chris handed him one more package. “This one’s from Piers.”

Leon opened it carefully. Inside—a simple blue scarf suitable for winter.

He stared at them for a long moment before setting them aside.

Then Chris held out the final box.

Leon hesitated. This one felt heavier. Different.

Chris gave him a small nod.

Inside was a smartphone.

Leon blinked. “…Huh?”

Chris chuckled. “Figured it was time you had one. It’s yours. You can use it however you want—but mostly, so you’re not stuck at home without a way to reach me.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I already added my number.”

Leon stared at the screen. Something about it sat heavy in his chest.

“Thanks,” he murmured, quieter than before.

Chris smiled. “Merry Christmas, Leon.”

Leon didn’t know what to do with the warmth blooming in his chest, so he kept his eyes on the phone. Pretending like he wasn’t feeling anything at all.

“…Thanks,” he said again. But this time, it was different.

This time, he meant it.


---


The apartment was quiet again.

Claire and Jill had left not long ago, their laughter still echoing faintly in Leon’s head. The tree lights blinked softly in the corner. A few stray ornaments sat on the table where Claire had tried to reorganize the “aesthetic” for the fifth time and failed.

Chris was in the kitchen, rinsing mugs from the cocoa they’d had after dinner. Leon sat on the edge of the couch, fingers curled in the hem of his sweater. It was warm. Heavy. Comfortable in a way that felt strange.

The phone Chris gave him sat on the coffee table, still untouched.

He hadn’t expected any of it.

And now that the day was over, now that everything had quieted down, the weight of his gift settled back in his chest.

He hadn’t wrapped it.

He hadn’t even planned how he’d give it.

But it was in his pocket—had been all day. He’d checked on it at least six times when no one was looking. The bracelet was nothing fancy. Just a simple braided accessory. The knots weren’t perfect, but they were solid.

He’d made it by hand. From scratch. After reading that book, Luis gave him.

It was the first thing he’d made for someone else.

Chris stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He looked tired but peaceful. Content. Like he was full of something warm and good.

Leon stood before he could talk himself out of it.

Chris blinked in surprise as Leon crossed the room and stopped right in front of him, his hand still curled in his pocket.

Leon didn’t speak at first. He just pulled the bracelet out and held it out, fingers slightly shaking.

“I… um…” He stared down at it. “It’s not much. But I made it. For you.”


---


Chris froze.

His gaze dropped to the small, black object resting in Leon’s hand.

A bracelet.

Simple—just braided yarn. A little uneven in places. The ends frayed from being held too many times. But clearly, carefully made. Every knot looked like it had been done and redone until Leon was sure it wouldn’t come undone.

For a second, Chris couldn’t speak.

Then he stepped forward and took it gently from Leon’s hand, like it might fall apart if he wasn’t careful.

“You made this?” he asked, his voice softer than he meant it to be.

Leon gave a tiny nod, eyes fixed on some point near Chris’s collarbone. “Yeah. I, uh… read about it. In a book. Thought I’d try.”

Chris looked down at the bracelet again.

He made this for me.

Something about that—this—hit him harder than it should’ve.

He cleared his throat. “It’s really good.”

Leon mumbled, “It’s not. But I tried.”

Chris looked at him again. And suddenly, it wasn’t just about the bracelet.

It was Leon.

Leon—nervous, flushed, tail twitching like he expected rejection. Leon, who had barely accepted any touch from Chris two months ago, now standing here offering something he made with his own hands.

“You made it for me,” Chris said, almost like he needed to say it out loud to believe it.

Leon’s ears flicked. “…Yeah.”

Chris stared at the bracelet for a moment longer. His fingers tightened around it, not because it was fragile—because he was.

He hadn’t expected to feel like this over a piece of string. But damn, it was like someone had reached inside his chest and pressed on something raw and beating.

“Can I wear it now?”

Leon blinked. “I mean—yeah. If you want.”

Chris sat slowly on the edge of the couch and looped the bracelet around his wrist, tying it in a careful knot.

It didn’t match anything he owned. It wasn’t stylish. But when he looked at it on his wrist, all he could think was, This is from Leon to me.

He lifted his arm slightly, admiring the fit. “Perfect.”

Leon shifted awkwardly, clearly overwhelmed. “It’s dumb. I'm sorry I didn’t know what else to—”

“Leon,” Chris said, cutting him off gently. “It’s perfect.”

Leon’s eyes flicked up, uncertain.

“You didn’t have to give me anything,” Chris went on. “But the fact that you wanted to…” He let out a breath, trying to control his voice his emotions. “That means everything.”

Leon looked down, face burning. His tail curled tight against his leg, like he didn’t know what to do with the words.

“Thank you so Leon for the best Christmas gift ever.”

Leon blushed again, making Chris’s heart ache in a good way and then...

“Merry...Christmas Chris.”

And Chris couldn’t help the sting in his eyes as he beamed “Merry Christmas to you too, Leon.”

Chapter Text

The apartment still smelled faintly of cinnamon and cookies. The little reminders of yesterday lingered—cookie crumbs on the counter, the soft crinkle of wrapping paper no one had thrown out, the twinkling lights still glowing near the window.

Leon sat curled on the couch, fingers idly tapping at the new phone in his hands. The screen lit up at the touch—too sleek, too expensive. Too much.

He didn’t deserve it. He knew that. And yet… Chris had given it to him like it was the most casual thing in the world.

But it wasn’t. Not to Leon.

A phone meant connection. It meant being reachable. Being part of something. And that still felt strange.

Maybe I should return it.

The thought came quickly, instinctively.
He didn’t need it—not really. It wasn’t like he had anyone to text. No one waiting for him to reach out.

Chris, sprawled beside him on the couch, nudged his knee.

“You planning to actually turn it on, or just stare at it all day?”

Leon flicked his tail but didn’t answer.

Chris huffed a quiet laugh. “C’mon. Let’s go through it together. You know… actually use your Christmas present?”

Leon hesitated, glancing down at the screen again.

Phones weren’t foreign to him. He’d seen them a hundred times. Watched people tap and scroll and laugh like it was nothing.
But knowing something existed and owning it were two completely different things.

It felt weird. Unfamiliar. Like he was holding someone else’s life in his hands.

Maybe Chris could tell—because this time, he didn’t tease.
He just gently plucked the phone from Leon’s hands and powered it on.


---


“Alright. This one here opens your messages. This one’s for your contacts. I already added myself, Claire, Jill, and Piers. You don’t have to talk to any of them if you don’t want to—but if you ever need them, they’re there.”

Leon nodded, quiet, eyes following every motion like it might disappear if he blinked.

Chris kept going—how to change the brightness, adjust the volume, and switch between apps. He didn’t rush. He didn’t talk down to him.
He explained things like Leon wasn’t stupid, just… new to all of this.

And that made all the difference.

At one point, Chris opened the camera app and grinned. “Say cheese.”

Leon’s ears flicked down. “Hey, wait—”

Click.

Chris pulled back, smug. “Look at that. First photo.”

Leon blinked at the screen. The photo wasn’t great—his ears were still halfway down, and he looked like he’d just been ambushed.
But somehow… he didn’t hate it.

Chris nudged him gently. “You’ll take better ones later.”

Leon rolled his eyes and shook his head—but he didn’t delete it.


--


Days went on, and before Leon knew it, It had been weeks since Christmas, and yet nothing felt the same.

Not for him.

So much had changed—and it all traced back to the same source: the phone sitting quietly on his nightstand.

Chris’s gift.

At first, Leon didn’t use it. Even after Chris taught him everything. It still felt too new, too much—a symbol of a world he still didn’t fully know how to belong to.

But Chris had made it happen again.

Little things at first. Simple texts while at work.
“On my way home—need anything?”
“I’m grabbing takeout. You want the usual?”
“Might be a little late today. Be home soon.”

Nothing demanding. Nothing overwhelming.

And then, one day, Chris brought it up casually—how Claire and the others had been pestering him nonstop about adding Leon to their group chat.

Leon had hesitated. The thought of being in a group, even a digital one, made his stomach twist. But Chris had just smiled, reassuring him. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to read it if you don’t want to. But they’d love to have you.”

So Leon agreed.

The second he was added, Claire went wild.

Dozens of celebratory emojis. Fireworks. Hearts. More sparkles than Leon thought existed.

Jill followed up with a dry “God help us. No, actually, God help me cause you don't live with her.”

And Piers? Piers sent a dramatic gif of someone weeping into a pillow, followed by:
“I STILL haven’t even met you. Do you know the emotional toll this has taken on me??”

Apparently, Chris had told him no less than three times to calm down, and he’d spent an entire afternoon loudly complaining in the precinct that everyone but him had met Leon.
(Leon had re-read that exchange more times than he cared to admit.)

He didn’t reply.

But he read everything.

And to his surprise, he found himself… smiling. Quietly. Secretly. It wasn’t like talking—there was no pressure to do anything. Just reading. Observing. Learning how they teased each other, how often Claire sent bizarre memes, how Jill’s sarcasm always slid under the surface, and how Piers was somehow the most dramatic and the most sincere all at once.

And slowly… it stopped feeling like he was intruding.

It felt more like listening in on something warm. Something he could maybe be part of.

Texting, he realized, was easier. Easier than speaking. Easier than looking someone in the eye and trying to figure out what to say. He could take his time. Think. Type. Delete. Try again.

And somehow, it started to make things feel… a little less lonely.

And there was also Luis.

The first time Leon had gone back to the bookstore after Christmas, Luis had asked how everything went with the gift—his tone light, but eyes sharp as always. Leon, awkward and unsure, admitted that he had used the book to make a bracelet and that Chris had gotten him a phone. Luis had grinned and demanded to be added to his contacts immediately.

Now, Leon had five people on his phone.

Five names.

Five people who texted him.

And that… was still so unbelievably strange.

Sometimes, he opened the messages just to stare at them. The blinking cursor. The little reactions. The silly gifs Claire spammed. The way Chris always ended his texts with “See you soon, kid.”

He picked it up and turned on the screen.

There it was—Chris’s last message from thirty minutes ago:

7:07 PM – Heading back now. Do you want anything?

And his own reply

> 7:17 PM – No, drive safe. Waiting for you at home.

He stared at the message for a long time.

And when he finally set the phone down again, the corner of his mouth had curled—just a little.


---


When Chris came home, he was a mess. He looked like someone who had used up every bit of energy hours ago.

It hadn’t been a normal day—Chris had explained after he dropped to the couch. a blackout that had knocked out half the traffic grid and flooded their precinct with accident reports and backup calls. Three officers had called in sick. A gas leak near the east precinct forced rerouting half the patrols. No one was hurt, thank god, but everything was a mess, and Chris had been juggling it all.

Now he looked like someone who’d been doing damage control with duct tape and a headache for twelve hours straight.

Chris let out a sigh as he leaned back

Leon looked at him for a second and got up.

“I’ll make you something,” he said, voice low.

Chris blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“Maybe a tea?” Leon said, and to that, Chris smiled tiredly.

“That actually sounds very nice.”

And Leon was already moving toward the kitchen in bare feet.

And that’s when it happened.

The first crack of thunder rattled the windows.

Leon froze.

The second came louder, sharper. It roared through the apartment, shaking the walls, and suddenly—

He wasn’t in the apartment anymore.

It was rain and stone walls and the sting of a riding crop. It was the barking of dogs—coming closer, closer—

“Leon?”

Chris’s voice didn’t reach him.

Another crack of thunder—and Leon lost all control. The room blurred at the edges.
His heart pounded wildly in his chest, but it didn’t feel real—none of it did. The present was slipping.

He stumbled back instinctively, breath coming short and shallow. He hit something. Hard. Something rattled up top. He didn’t react.

Didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Something fell.

But the impact didn’t come.

There was a flash of movement—a hand grabbing Leon’s shoulder, the weight of a body slamming into him—and then a sharp thud as metal met flesh. A sickening sound: something heavy connecting with bone.

Leon, caught between the bookshelf and Chris’s solid weight, slowly looked up—and his breath hitched.

Chris stumbled slightly, a hand flying to his forehead where blood was already welling at his hairline.

He looked down, dazed but alert. “Leon,” he said, voice urgent, eyes scanning him. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Like it was the only thing that mattered.

Leon just stared.

He couldn’t answer—his gaze locked on the blood slipping down Chris’s temple. Bright red against pale skin.

“You’re—” His breath caught. “You’re bleeding.”

Chris exhaled slowly, winced, and pulled his hand back slightly. His fingers were slick with red.

The sight made Leon’s chest twist violently.

Chris saw the look on his face and softened immediately.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentler now. “I’m fine.” He pushed back slightly, swaying where he stood.

“You’re not fine,” Leon said, panic rising in his chest. “You’re not—oh god—you got hit—you’re bleeding—oh god.”

Chris was bleeding.

Leon’s breath hitched again.

His fault.

It was his fault.

The words sank in fast and deep, wrapping around his ribs like a vice, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe.

Chris was bleeding because of him.

Chapter Text

Chris was bleeding, and it was his fault.

Leon took a step back. Then another. His ears flattened to his skull. His tail curled in tight.

“I—” His voice cracked. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean—”

Chris’s brows furrowed. “Leon—”

Another step back.

Leon was shaking now.

His hands curled into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms—too hard, too deep.

His throat was closing. His eyes stung. He hated that. Hated the lump forming behind his teeth, the way his breath came in short, choking bursts.

He needed to stop this.

But he couldn’t.

Because Chris was bleeding. Because it was his fault.

“Leon.” Chris’s voice was closer now.

Leon flinched.

Chris stopped moving.

That only made it worse.

Leon’s vision blurred. He blinked hard, but it didn’t help. His ears still rang. His chest was too tight.

“Shit,” Chris muttered. “Hey, Leon. Breathe.”

Leon tried. Failed.

His breath hitched. Something hot spilled down his cheek.

No!

He couldn’t be crying.

Chris didn’t deserve that. Didn’t need to deal with him falling apart. Chris was the one hurting.

Chris needed—

Chris needed—

Leon squeezed his eyes shut.

He felt sick.

Chris sighed. “Alright,” he said, voice low but steady. “C’mere.”

Before Leon could back away again, Chris moved.

He didn’t grab him. Didn’t force anything.

He just stepped forward and dropped his hand gently onto Leon’s head.

A simple touch. Light. Careful.

But grounding.

Chris’s palm was warm. Solid. His thumb brushed over Leon’s messy hair in a slow, steady motion.

Leon froze.

His ears twitched. His breath stuttered.

But he didn’t pull away.

Chris exhaled, his hand still resting there. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

Leon shook his head.

Chris didn’t move his hand. “You are.”

Leon’s breath shook. Fresh tears slipped down his cheek. He hated it.

But for some reason, he still didn’t move.

Chris didn’t rush him. Didn’t push.

He just stood there, petting Leon’s hair, waiting.

And after what felt like forever—

Leon finally took a breath.


---


Leon was still trembling, but his breathing wasn’t ragged anymore.

Chris could feel it—the slow shift. The way Leon was grounding himself again, even if his hands were still clenched too tight at his sides.

Good.

Chris gave his hair one last gentle ruffle, then pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.

“There you go,” he said, voice soft and steady. “See? You’re okay.”

Leon’s ears twitched. His eyes flicked away. He didn’t argue.

Chris sighed, adjusting his stance. “Alright, kid. You mind giving me a hand here?”

Leon stiffened. His gaze flicked toward the gash on Chris’s forehead. The blood had slowed, but a thin trail still traced down toward his brow. His pupils dilated again. His breath caught.

Chris immediately waved it off. “I’m fine,” he said before Leon could spiral again. “Not exactly my first time getting smacked in the head.”

That wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped.

Leon still looked rattled, tail curled tight around one leg.

Chris softened his tone. “But I’d rather not let it sit like this. So… what do you say? You think you can help me clean it up?”

That got through.

Leon’s ears perked just slightly.

Chris noticed.

Smart kid. He probably knew exactly what Chris was doing—giving him something to do. A focus. A way to feel useful instead of guilty.

Leon hesitated. Then, slowly nodded.

Chris smiled. “Alright. Let’s go.”


---


Leon barely said a word as he cleaned the cut, but Chris saw the way his hands trembled.

It wasn’t the wound.

It was the reason for it. The why.

Chris sat still and let him work. Let Leon press the damp cloth to his temple, dab at the blood in quiet concentration.

“See? No big deal,” Chris said, trying to keep the moment light.

Leon didn’t answer.

Chris tilted his head, watching him. “Leon?”

Leon’s hands paused.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Chris blinked. “Done what?”

Leon lowered the cloth, still not looking at him. His eyes were fixed on his hands. His tail curled tight.

“You shouldn’t have jumped in like that.” His voice was raw. “It was—I mean, I would’ve been fine.”

Chris let out a breathy laugh. “Oh yeah? ‘Cause from where I was standing, you were about to get your head knocked in.”

Leon’s jaw clenched.

This wasn’t stubbornness. He meant it.

Chris’s smile faded. He leaned forward slightly, voice quiet.

“Leon… I didn’t do it because I had to.”

Leon looked up, finally.

Chris held his gaze. “I did it because I wanted to.”

Leon’s ears flicked. His fingers curled tighter around the cloth.

Chris reached up slowly—giving him time—and tapped a finger gently to his forehead.

Leon blinked. “What—?”

“You’re  just that important, Leon,” Chris said. “That’s just how it is.”

Leon froze.

Chris didn’t push. Just watched him take it in—tail flicking, ears twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do with the words.

Eventually, Leon just muttered something inaudible and went back to patching up the wound.

Chris didn’t press him for an answer.

He didn’t need one.


---


Chris groaned as he sat up, rubbing the band-aid on his forehead. The cut wasn’t bad—just a little swollen and itchy—but the way Leon was staring at him, you’d think he’d broken his skull.

“Chris, you should stay home.”

Chris sighed, picking up his phone. “Leon—”

“You got hurt,” Leon cut in, ears twitching in frustration. “You should rest.”

Chris gave him a flat look. “I hit my head, not my legs. I can still walk.”

Leon’s tail flicked sharply. “That’s not the point.”

Chris started walking toward the door. “I’ll be fine.”

Leon followed him. “You don’t know that.”

Chris sighed—equal parts exasperated and amused. He reached out and ruffled Leon’s hair. “It’s sweet that you care.”

Leon ducked away, scowling. “I—That’s not—!”

Chris chuckled, grabbing his coat. “I’ll text you when I get there, alright?”

Leon’s ears twitched. He didn’t reply—just stood there, arms crossed, watching grumpily as Chris slid on his coat and grabbed his keys.

Before stepping out, Chris paused in the doorway and turned back, his expression softening.

“Hey. I promise, I’m okay.”

Leon didn’t look convinced.

But he didn’t stop him.


---


Chris had barely made it to the elevator when his phone buzzed.

> [New Message: Leon]
8:07 AM – Did you get there?

Chris smirked and typed back as he walked.

> 8:08 AM – Yeah, I told you I’d text.

Thirty seconds later:

> 8:08 AM – How’s your head?

Chris sighed, smiling faintly.

> 8:09 AM – Still attached.

> 8:09 AM – That’s not funny.

He chuckled under his breath.

> 8:10 AM – It’s fine, Leon. I promise.

A pause.

Then—

> 8:11 AM – But what if it gets worse? What if you pass out?

Chris rubbed his forehead.

> 8:11 AM – I’m not gonna pass out.

Silence followed.

Until—

> 8:15 AM – …Are you sure?


Chris laughed.

Leon was still fussing—even over text.

He shook his head, already bracing himself for a very long day.


---


Chris had barely settled into his desk chair when a thick folder dropped onto it with a loud thud.

“Alright, spill.”

He looked up. “Spill what?”

Piers stood over him, arms folded, smirking. “You’re grinning at your phone like a lovesick teenager.”

Jill strolled in behind him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”

Chris rolled his eyes, quickly locking his screen and tucking the phone away. “It’s nothing.”

Piers wasn’t buying it. “Uh-huh. And what’s up with your face?”

Chris winced. Of course. He knew someone would bring it up. The band aid on his forehead was hard to miss.

Jill’s smirk widened. “Let me guess—Leon?”

Chris sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “There was… an incident.”

Piers perked up. “Define ‘incident.’”

Chris leaned back, letting his head rest briefly against the chair. “Thunderstorm hit outta nowhere. Freaked him out. He backed into a shelf, something started to fall. I jumped in. Got clocked.”

He gestured vaguely toward the bruise.

Jill gave a low whistle. “Damn. Took one for the kid.”

Piers grinned. “And now he’s texting you nonstop, isn’t he?”

Chris huffed a laugh. “Yeah. He’s worried.”

Right on cue, his phone buzzed again.

> [New Message: Leon]
9:32 AM – Did you eat breakfast? Are you nauseous?

Piers leaned in. “Oh my God.”

Jill chuckled. “That’s adorable.”

Chris shook his head, thumb flying across the screen.

> 9:33 AM – No, Mom. No, I’m fine.


Another buzz.

> 9:33 AM – Not funny.

Chris grinned.

Jill leaned on his desk, smiling. “You know… it’s kind of sweet. He really cares about you.”

Piers grinned wider. “And you're totally loving it.”

Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Because yeah.

He totally did.


---


Chris rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped out of the bedroom after changing his clothes, blinking blearily against the light. The dull ache behind his eyes hadn’t gone away—it had settled there since noon, a slow, pounding throb that made everything feel a little too loud.

He didn’t think much of it. Just a bruise. A minor one. But maybe he should've listened to Leon because going to work did actually make it worse.

He winced when he reached for the cabinet door a little too quickly.

“Your head is hurting.”

The voice came from behind him—quiet, observant. Leon stood in the kitchen, eyes flicking from Chris’s face to the spot just above his brow.

Chris gave a tired smile. “Just a little. Nothing major.”

Leon didn’t look convinced.

Chris turned to grab the tea box from the shelf, but Leon was already moving. “Sit down.”

Chris blinked. “Huh?”

Leon cleared his throat, not looking at him. “I’ll make the tea. You should rest.”

Chris raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Honestly, he did feel a little off-balance. And Leon was already walking over, tail twitching behind him with a kind of nervous determination.

“Alright,” Chris muttered, slumping into one of the kitchen chairs. “Bossy.”

Leon didn’t respond. He filled the kettle, grabbed two mugs, and moved with a kind of careful focus that was both hesitant and determined—like he’d rehearsed this in his head already but was still scared he’d mess it up.

Chris leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Didn’t know you were a nurse now.”

Leon’s ears flicked. “I’m not.”

“You’re doing a good impression.”

The tea steeped in silence, and Chris watched as Leon poured it carefully, sliding the mug toward him without a word. Chris noticed he’d even added a bit of honey—the way he usually did it for Leon.

Their eyes met briefly.

“…Thanks,” Chris said quietly.

Leon gave a stiff little shrug and sat across from him, curling his hands around his own mug for warmth.

Chris took a sip and exhaled. The warmth helped.

The silence wasn’t awkward. Just still. Gentle.

A few minutes passed before Leon mumbled, “You should lie down after this. Headaches are worse when you stay upright.”

Chris blinked. “You looked that up?”

Leon didn’t answer, but his ears twitched again.

Chris smiled into his mug. “Fine, fine. You win. But only because you’re scarily good at hovering.”

Leon frowned faintly. “Not hovering.”

“You kinda are.”

“…Just making sure you don’t pass out or something.”

Chris chuckled softly. “You and your obsession with me passing out.”

Leon frowned a little but didn’t argue.

Eventually, Chris stood, stretching slowly. “Alright. Couch it is.”

Leon followed him out, and when Chris dropped down with a soft sigh, Leon returned a few minutes later with an ice pack. He didn’t say anything. Just offered it quietly, his hand a little unsteady.

Chris looked up at him, surprised. Then he smiled again—smaller this time, gentler.

“Thanks, kid.”

Leon didn’t answer. Just sat beside him, not too close, tail curled neatly around his leg. He didn’t look at Chris directly, but every few minutes, Chris could feel those baby blue eyes flick toward him, as if checking he was still breathing.

He didn’t say it out loud, but it meant something.

A lot, actually. And it was adorable.

He wasn’t used to being taken care of. Not like this for a long time.

But Leon… was trying.

And that was everything.

Chapter Text

It was a calm day. Chris had the day off. Leon had expected a lazy morning—coffee, maybe a movie, something quiet—but instead, Chris rolled up his sleeves after breakfast and said, “We’re cleaning today.”

Leon blinked at him. “Cleaning?”

Chris smirked. “Yes because I haven’t seen the top of the kitchen cabinets in three months. And because I’m afraid to open the coat closet.”

Leon stared at him for a beat, tail flicking behind him. Then he shrugged. “Okay.”

He kind of liked these little tasks they shared.There was a rhythm to it—wiping things down, rearranging clutter, tossing out old receipts and empty boxes. Chris whistled off-key to the music as he worked and occasionally made dumb jokes.

They started in the living room, working in sync. Leon dusted, Chris vacuumed. In the kitchen, Chris scrubbed the stove while Leon wiped down the fridge door.

After a couple of hours, Chris handed him a bottle of cleaner and nodded toward the hallway. “Wanna tackle your room next?”

Leon nodded. “Sure.”

Chris didn’t follow. He just smiled, soft and easy. “Let me know if you need help.”

Leon disappeared into his room, leaving the door half open.


His room felt more lived-in now. There were the gifts he received around the space-his favourite stuffed cat, the nightlamp...–and all this other stuff they bought together with Chris or Chris but him. Like a new pencil holder on his desk or the bookmark he picked himself or those little dumb stickers that he didn’t even admit liking, but Chris bought them anyway.

He moved around the space slowly, picking up a stray hoodie from the floor, smoothing the edge of the blanket on his bed, adjusting the way a few books were stacked on the windowsill. Then he turned to the closet.

He opened the door.

Stacks of folded shirts lined the shelves—sweaters, T-shirts, button-ups, hoodies in soft cottons, and thicker fleece. His drawers held more: socks, sleepwear, pants, and jeans.

All of it his.

Leon just… stared.

His tail went still behind him.

He knelt down in front of the lower shelf. He hadn’t realized how much he actually had—how much Chris had quietly made sure he had.

Some of it they’d picked together. Some of it Chris had quietly ordered online when Leon wasn’t looking. All of it his.

They were just clothes. It was nothing compared to so many other things. Just a little thing. But it hit him hard. Too hard.

His fingers skimmed over the soft fabric, hesitating.

And just like that, the memory hit him.


—


Cold air bit into his skin as he stood in the middle of the room fully naked, arms wrapped around his own body, trembling. His clothes lay in a discarded pile at his feet.

His master stood there, watching him with a smirk. His dark eyes gleamed at the sight of Leon’s naked body.

"Animals don’t need clothes," he said. " Now walk pet,"

Leon kept his eyes down, his heart pounding. He didn’t dare speak, and he couldn’t stop the tears running down his face.

He took a shaky step forward, and then suddenly, a boot slammed into his side, sending him sprawling. The impact rattled his ribs, but before he could even process the pain, a hand fisted in his hair and yanked him up—just enough for his master’s voice to be right in his ear.

"What are you doing?" the voice sneered, dripping with mockery. "Are you walking? Like a human?"

Leon whimpered, the sound small and pathetic. "I—"

The grip in his hair tightened.

"Animals don’t walk on two legs."

Leon barely managed to brace himself before he was shoved back down, his hands and knees smacking against the ground.

"Again."

His stomach churned with shame as he forced his shaking limbs to move, crawling forward like an animal. His master walked behind him, watching, waiting for any sign of defiance.

And when he hesitated, there was a sharp crack! and searing pain exploded across his back. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out and just kept going and going.


---


Leon blinked back to the present, his vision blurring.

His chest felt tight, his throat aching as he stared at the wardrobe full of clothes—his clothes. Not borrowed, not given to him as some mockery of generosity. His.

His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater.

A choked sob broke the silence. His own.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying until a shadow moved in the doorway.

“Leon?”

Chris’s voice was tight with concern.

Leon turned slightly—just enough for Chris to see his tear-streaked face.

Chris’s expression changed instantly. He took a slow step inside and was on his knees right next to him.

“What’s... what's wrong? Are you hurt?”

Leon opened his mouth. No sound came out.

His fingers clenched tighter in the fabric.

How was he supposed to say it?

Leon exhaled sharply, trying to stop the tears, but the weight in his chest wouldn’t go away, and the tears kept coming.

Chris slowly reached out, resting his arms on his knees, staying at eye level but not pushing into Leon’s space. His voice was quiet, steady. “Hey… it's okay, Leon...what ever it is, it's going to be okay. I'm here.”

Leon tried to focus on Chris. His warm hand drawing soothing circles on his knee. Those worry filled brown eyes. His sound whispering reassuring words to him.

Chris felt him getting a little calmer, too cause then he said, " Do you want to talk about it?"

Leon swallowed. His throat still felt tight. He kept his gaze on the sweater in his hands, twisting the fabric between his fingers. “It’s stupid.”

Chris shook his head. “I doubt that.”

Leon hesitated, shifting slightly where he sat. The memory was still too fresh, too real. His skin still felt cold, even though he wasn’t. His hands clenched tighter.

“It’s just…” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t always get to have them.”

Chris’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. He just let Leon talk.

“Cloth...I... There was a time when…” Leon hesitated, his shoulders tensing. He could still hear his master’s voice. Animals don’t need clothes. The memory sent a fresh wave of nausea through him.

He swallowed again, pressing his lips together. Then, finally, barely audible—“I wasn’t allowed to wear them.”

Chris’s whole posture shifted. His hands curled into fists against his knees, his jaw tightening. He took a slow breath, schooling his reaction before he spoke.

“That piss of shit made you—” He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. “He didn’t let you—?”

Leon gave a small nod, not trusting himself to say anything. His fingers clenched even tighter around the sweater.

The pressure inside Leon cracked.

A choked sob ripped free before he could stop it.

Chris’s expression shifted instantly, concern flickering across his face. “Leon—”

“He made me crawl,” Leon’s voice was strangled, almost frantic, words spilling out before he could stop them. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. “Like a fucking animal.”

Chris stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t interrupt.

Leon barely noticed. The memories were pouring out now, breaking past the barriers he’d tried so hard to keep up. “He said animals don’t walk on two legs.” His voice hitched. “So I had to—I had to crawl.”

His breath trembled. His whole body trembled.

Chris didn’t move, didn’t speak. He was listening.

Leon let out a sharp, broken breath, “And he
... he always—” He shook his head, his throat tight, the words barely making it out. “Kept me on leash in a cage.”

Chris inhaled sharply, but still, he stayed silent, letting Leon keep going.

Leon wiped at his eyes harshly, but the tears kept coming, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “He—he said I should be grateful he let me inside at all.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the memories wouldn’t stop. “And...and on rainy days when there was a storm he...he locked me up in his stable with his dogs and...and...”

Leon let out a sharp, uneven breath. His shoulders were shaking. He couldn’t go on sobing so hard now. All he could hear was his own cries and Chris’s gentle voice saying it was all over now that he was safe now.


---


Chris closed the door to Leon’s room with quiet precision, letting the click of the latch settle into the silence. The apartment was still. Too still.

His hands were shaking.

He turned, heading down the hall with quick, restless steps, every nerve in his body on fire. His mind was a storm, replaying every word Leon had said—he made me crawl… kept me in a cage…—Chris swallowed hard, his jaw locking as he stepped into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

He needed a second.

No, he needed out.

Chris ran a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands as he let out a sharp exhale. His chest felt too tight, as if something inside him was coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. He had always known—always—that Leon had been through hell. But knowing it in theory and hearing it in Leon’s raw, broken voice were two different things.

He had seen a lot in his life but, this felt worse. Maybe because it was Leon. Because the kid was in the next room, curled up in bed, trying to sleep off a nightmare that had once been his life.

Chris paced. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He felt like he was losing it. If that bastard were in front of him right now—

He squeezed his eyes shut. No. That wasn’t helping. Leon needed him here, not consumed by rage over something he couldn’t change. But what the hell was he supposed to do with all of this? Where was he supposed to put this anger, this helplessness, this need to do something?

Chris let out a sharp breath, then grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dropped onto the edge of the bed. His thumb hovered over his contacts for half a second before he hit dial.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his leg bouncing as he listened to the ringing.

“…Hey,” he said when the call connected, his voice low, tense. “I need to talk.”

There was a pause on the other end, just a soft breath before her voice came through.

“I’m here,” Hunnigan said gently. “Is Leon okay?”

Chris dragged a hand over his face. “He’s asleep now. I think. I stayed with him until he calmed down.”

“What happened?”

Chris leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the phone cradled between his shoulder and cheek. “He told me stuff. About his past. Stuff I wasn’t ready for. Stuff I don’t think anyone could be ready for.”

She didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

Chris swallowed hard. “It was bad Hunnigan. Worse than I thought. He… he was treated like an animal. Like he wasn’t even human.”

Hunnigan was quiet for a long beat.

Then–“He told you that?”

Chris nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. He just—broke. I don’t think he planned to. But it hit him all at once.”

“Chris,” she said, voice softer now, “that’s huge. He had never share with you like that. That means he really trusts you now.”

Chris let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Yeah, and now I don’t know what the hell to do with it. I just sat there. I couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t make it go away.”

“You weren’t supposed to fix it,” she said gently. “You just had to stay and listen. Which you did.”

Chris closed his eyes. “He looked so broken —just… like he was back there again. Like all of it was happening to him in real time.”

Another pause. Then her voice came through, careful but steady. “Chris, this could be an opening.”

He frowned. “An opening?”

“Leon sharing this much? It’s huge. He’s starting to open that door. And if this keeps going … maybe there'll be time to start laying some groundwork.”

“For therapy?” Chris asked, his voice quiet now.

“Not like a formal office visit,” Hunnigan said. “That would be too much, like I come to your place. Just me. We keep it low-key. No pressure. You stay with him the whole time.”

Chris exhaled slowly.

“ I'm not saying right now. It's the first time he opened up and it was because it was you. And it will be like that for while and it's totally okay for now but just keep that idea in mind.”

Chris nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll keep it in mind.”

They both sat in silence for a second.

Then Hunnigan asked softly, “So are you okay now?”

Chris didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the door—at the hallway just beyond it. Where Leon was sleeping.

Where that pain had poured out like a cracked pipe, and Chris had just sat there, trying to catch the pieces with bare hands.

“I will be,” he said finally.


---


The room was dark and quiet, shadows stretched long across the walls.

Leon stirred, his brow furrowing as his ears twitched faintly in the dark. For a moment, he didn’t know why he’d woken. Then his eyes adjusted to the shadows—and he saw him.

Chris was there.

He was on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting across his chest. There was a pillow under his head and a blanket next to him. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady, like he’d been there a while.

Leon blinked slowly, disoriented.

“...Chris?”

Chris’s eyes opened instantly, a little groggy but alert the second he heard Leon’s voice. “Hey.” His voice was soft, hoarse. “You okay?”

Leon pushed himself up slightly, watching him through the dim light. “What are you… doing here?”

Chris scrubbed a hand over his face. “Didn’t want you to be alone. Thought… just in case the nightmares came.”

Leon was silent for a long moment.

“They didn’t.”

Chris smiled faintly. “That’s good.”

Leon looked down at him, the line of Chris’s body outlined in the light of his nightlamp. “You slept on the floor?”

Chris gave a sheepish shrug. “ Like i said didn’t want to leave.”

A pause. Leon’s hands tightened in the blankets.

“You thought I’d fall apart again.”

“No,” Chris said gently. “I just… wanted to be close. In case you needed someone.”

Leon looked down. His fingers curled tighter.

“I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you,” he mumbled. “It just… came out. I'm sorry.”

Chris stood slowly, not approaching the bed, just watching him from a few feet away.

“You didn’t dump anything,” he said, voice quiet. “You trusted me. That’s different. And I'm really thankful that you opened up to me. ”

Leon didn’t know what to say to that.

Chris shifted onto his side, propped up on an elbow. His tone stayed gentle. “You don’t have to talk about anything again. Not unless you want to.”

Leon didn’t respond.

Chris didn’t push. “But if you ever do… I’m here. Always.”

Leon’s ears flicked. He swallowed once, the tightness in his throat returning—but softer this time. Not panic. Not shame.

Just something he couldn’t name.

“…Okay,” he whispered.

Chris gave him a small, tired smile. “Get some sleep, kid.”

---


Leon laid back down without a word, turning to face the edge of the bed, closer to Chris. He didn’t close his eyes, though. Chris could tell—his breathing was too light, his posture too alert. He wasn’t sleeping. Neither of them were.

Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable, just quiet.

Then, softly—so quietly Chris almost missed it—

“Can I... ask you something?”

Chris turned his head toward the bed. “Of course.”

“What was it like?” Leon asked, his voice hesitant. “Your childhood.”

Chris blinked at the question. “My childhood?”

Leon gave a small nod, still not looking at him. “You and Claire. I didn’t have any siblings, so... I just wondered.”

Chris let out a quiet breath. He smiled faintly. “Well... it wasn’t perfect. But yeah, it was good.”

He shifted on the floor, stretching his legs out and folding his arms behind his head so he could look up at the ceiling.

“I was a total menace when I was little,” he said, voice lighter now. “Always getting into trouble. Claire, too, honestly. Once, we tried to build a fort in the living room using couch cushions and duct tape. Took out a lamp. Our mom was not impressed.”

There was a long pause. Then, the blanket on the bed rustled faintly. Leon was still listening.

Chris kept going. “We used to have these epic snowball wars in our backyard. Full-on ambushes. Claire would build these elaborate forts behind the garage and stash snowballs like ammo. She was ruthless.”

He smiled to himself. “One year, we got snowed in for two days straight. We tried to build a snowman that looked like our neighbour. Gave it glasses and everything. Claire said it was a masterpiece. I’m pretty sure it was a crime against snow.”

There was a small sound from the bed—barely a huff. But the corner of Chris’s mouth lifted. That was a laugh. Or the closest thing to it.

He rolled his head to the side, looking toward the narrow shape under the blankets. Leon’s face was mostly in shadow, but Chris could make out the curve of his cheek, the soft rise and fall of his breath in the dim light.

“I used to let her win snowball fights, too,” Chris added. “She still thinks she was just that good.”

Leon’s tail shifted slightly beneath the blanket, curling once, lazily.

“…Sounds nice,” Leon whispered.

Chris’s voice softened. “Yeah. It was. We didn’t have a lot growing up. But we had each other. That made all the difference.”

He waited, but Leon didn’t reply.

When Chris sat up slightly, he saw why—Leon’s eyes were closed now, his breathing slow and steady. His fingers were curled loosely in the blanket, no longer clenching it like a shield. His brow was smooth. Peaceful.

Chris lowered himself back down onto the floor with care, stretching out beside the bed again. For a moment, he just lay there, watching the slow, even rhythm of Leon’s breathing.

His chest ached—not with sadness, not entirely. Just something deep and quiet and a little overwhelming.

He let out a breath, low and soft. “Goodnight, kid,” he whispered.

No reply.

Just the steady rise and fall of a boy who, finally, felt safe enough to sleep.

Chapter Text

The snow had started falling around mid-morning—quiet, steady, soft as cotton. It dusted the apartment windows like powdered sugar, covering rooftops and sidewalks with a calm, patient hush.

Leon stood by the window, his fingers pressed lightly against the cold glass.

Chris didn’t know what he was seeing, but he looked peaceful.

“Hey,” he said, gently going closer. “It’s not too cold yet. Thought maybe we could go for a walk.”

Leon didn’t answer. His tail twitched once behind him.

Chris continued “It’s nice out there. And we’ve both been cooped up too long. And I kinda want to see you throw a snowball.”

Leon glanced over his shoulder, ears angled toward Chris skeptically.

Chris grinned. “C’mon. You’ve never had a proper snow day, have you?”

Leon hesitated.

Chris knew that Leon didn’t liked the cold that much but ever since that day when he told Leon those stories about him and Claire playing in the snow...the look on Leon’s face...he just wanted him to experience that too. To know that snow can mean more than being cold and hurt that it could be fun.

“…No crowds?” he finally asked.

“Promise,” Chris said, holding up two fingers. “Just the park. It's too early and cold it should be quiet.”

“…Okay,” he said softly.

Chris smiled.“Alright, then go get ready”


---


The park was mostly empty—just a few scattered footprints in the snow and the occasional squirrel darting between tree roots. Leon stuck close to Chris’s side, a hat pulled over his ears, gloves snug around his hands, and a scarf around his neck. His Christmas gifts. It was his first time using them, and he secretly wandered if this was the reason they'd got him these so he could go out in the cold.

Every so often, a gust of wind blew powdery flakes across the sidewalk, and Leon blinked up at the trees, surprised by how quiet everything was.

The side near the trees looked like something out of a painting—untouched, white, soft edges everywhere. The benches were empty. The paths were half-buried. No people. No cars.

Just space.

Leon kept walking, his breath misting in front of him. He could hear the birds huddled in the trees. The breeze. Chris’s boot shifting in the snow behind him.

It was strange—how alive the world felt without anyone else around.

They reached a small clearing near the edge of the park. The grass was buried, and the only sound was the slow crunch of their boots.

Chris stopped. “Alright. Now’s your chance.”

Leon blinked at him. “Chance for what?”

Chris crouched down and scooped a handful of snow.

Leon’s ears twitched. “What are you doing?”

Chris looked up at him, already packing the snow loosely in his gloved hands. “Introducing you to the time-honored tradition of freezing your fingers off in the name of fun.”

Chris tossed the snowball at him—not hard, just a soft arc. It hit Leon’s arm and exploded into powder.

Leon flinched back, stunned. “Hey!”

Chris laughed. “That was a warning shot.”

Leon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly—hesitantly—crouched to scoop his own handful.

The snow was cold, yes, but not sharp. Not painful. He packed it too tightly at first, then adjusted, feeling the weight of it in his glove.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “What, no payback?”

Leon narrowed his eyes.

The snowball flew, awkward and off-target, and hit Chris squarely in the side.

Chris yelped in mock offence. “Uncalled for!”

Leon blinked. And for the first time in… he didn’t know how long—he laughed. Just a quiet, startled laugh that escaped before he could stop it.


---



Chris froze the second he heard it.

Not because of the snowball (which had hit him square in the side), but because of that sound—quiet, rough, caught mid-breath—but unmistakable.

Leon laughed. He laughed out loud

It wasn’t long. But it was real.

And it hit Chris like a punch to the chest.

God, how long had it been that he dreamed of hearing something like that? It wasn’t a controlled huff. Not a bitter scoff. But a genuine, startled laugh, like something snuck out before Leon could stop it.

Chris didn’t say anything. He didn’t dare.

He just smiled, slow and wide, and grabbed another handful of snow.

“You know,” he said casually, brushing flakes from his shoulder, “that was a declaration of war.”

Leon’s ears flicked. His expression was wary—but there was the faintest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Chris grinned.

Then launched a snowball straight at him.

Leon ducked barely, and it grazed the edge of his hat. He retaliated almost immediately with a clumsy one-handed scoop, flinging another snowball that exploded uselessly near Chris’s boots.

Chris gasped dramatically. “Oh, now you’re just embarrassing yourself.”

Leon narrowed his eyes. “You started it.”

“Oh, so that makes it okay?”

Leon didn't answer—he was already scooping snow again.

They kept going for a few more minutes. Nothing serious. Just a messy, chaotic back-and-forth of half-packed snowballs and flinching and dodging and snark. Chris let himself miss on purpose a few times—just enough to keep it going. Leon’s throws got more confident. His posture loosened. His tail was flicking—not in agitation, but in sharp little sweeps that looked almost like excitement.

Chris kept catching glimpses of his expression.

Still guarded. Still cautious.

But lighter.

Freer.

He’d never seen Leon like this.

And for a second, it hit him—hard—that he was watching a version of Leon that never got to exist before. A kid who should’ve had snow days. Should’ve had someone throw snowballs at him. Should’ve known what it felt like to laugh and not flinch afterwards.

Chris put his hands up in the air and exhaled slowly.

“Alright,” he said. “You win.”

Leon tilted his head. “You’re giving up?”

Chris smirked. “I’m not admitting defeat. I’m just… surrendering with dignity.”

Leon blinked “That doesn’t make sense.”

Chris grinned. “Exactly.”


---


They wandered toward the other side of the park after that. A little breathless, boots crunching in the now slightly-messy snow. Leon didn’t speak much, but he didn’t look like he wanted to go back in either.

Chris glanced down the street, spotted a little pop-up stand tucked at the corner—probably someone selling snacks or drinks for the early snow crowd. The smell of something sweet drifted over on the wind—vanilla, cinnamon, and something warm.

“You want something hot?” Chris asked, already veering toward it.

Leon blinked, caught off guard. “Like what?”

“Hot chocolate. Or cider. Whatever they’ve got.”

Leon hesitated, glancing between him and the little stand. “…Okay.”

Chris smiled.

He ordered two cups—one for himself, one for Leon—and handed it over without ceremony. Leon took it cautiously, wrapping both gloved hands around the paper cup, sniffing it like he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Then took a sip.

And blinked.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

Leon gave a small nod. Then, after a pause: “…Sweet.”

Chris chuckled. “Too much?”

Leon took another sip. Didn’t answer.

But Chris saw the way his shoulders lowered. The way his grip on the cup loosened. The way he didn’t seem in a rush to go back inside.


---


By the time they got home, the snow had started to fall again—light and slow, dusting their shoulders before they made it through the door. Chris kicked his boots off by the entrance and tossed his gloves onto the heater, shaking out his coat. Behind him, Leon moved more quietly, carefully peeling off his jacket and folding his scarf.

Chris didn’t say much.

He just turned on the heater a notch higher, flipped the kettle on for another round of tea, and motioned toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll bring you something warm.”

Leon hesitated for a second—then nodded and padded over, tail low but not tense. He curled up in his usual corner of the couch, blanket pulled halfway over his knees by the time Chris came back with the tea.

“Thanks,” Leon murmured, taking the mug with both hands.

Chris settled down beside him and sipped his own.

For a few long minutes, they just sat there, surrounded by the quiet hum of the heater, the clink of mugs, the muffled wind brushing against the windows. The silence wasn’t awkward. It didn’t press. It just was.

Chris caught Leon glancing out the window again, his breath fogging gently against the edge of his mug.

“Did you have fun?” Chris asked, voice quiet.

Leon didn’t answer right away. Then, “It wasn’t what I expected.”

Chris gave a soft smile. “Good surprise or bad?”

Leon’s ears twitched faintly. “Good.” His cheeks blushing a little.

Chris couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips at the sight.

Eventually, Leon finished his tea and sank a little deeper into the cushions. His eyes blinked slower. His posture went soft and loose, like the weight pressing into his shoulders had eased just a bit.

And when Chris came back after washing the mugs—Leon was asleep.

Curled up against the arm of the couch, blanket half-pulled around him, one hand still tucked near his chest, ears flicking faintly even in sleep.

Chris let out a little chuckle. He must’ve been exhausted.

He stayed where he was for a while, just watching. Letting Leon rest. Letting the quiet stretch.

Then, gently, carefully, he moved.

He slid the blanket more securely over Leon’s legs, then bent down, brushing his fingers lightly against his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly. “C’mon. Let’s get you into bed.”

Leon stirred, blinking sleepily, but didn’t pull away when Chris helped him up. Didn’t argue. Didn’t flinch. He leaned into the touch and let Chris guide him down the hallway.

Chris pushed open the door to Leon’s room, the familiar scent of him already tucked into the space—faint mint from his shampoo, the cotton warmth of his blankets, a trace of the something else he couldn’t place.

He let Leon sit on the edge of the bed, then tugged the blanket over him once Leon curled in without a word.

Chris watched him for a while. Soft silky strands of blonde hair surrounding soft skin. He looked so peaceful at that moment. And Chris was actually tempted to just sit there and watch him sleep for hours. Instead, he just brushed a hand briefly over Leon’s hair, a gentle carding motion between his ears, and turned off the light.

“Sweet dreams Leon ”


---


The apartment was quiet. Leon was on the couch, phone balanced in one hand, the other buried in the folds of his sweatshirt.

The light from the screen glowed against his face in the dim room. The heater hummed. Outside, snow was falling again—soft and steady.

The same kind of snow from that day they built the snowman.

That had been the second time Chris had taken him outside. No crowds. No noise. Just them and the snow and quiet laughter that didn’t feel forced.

Chris had let him name the snowman. Leon had picked "Steve"—on impulse. Stupid. Meaningless. But Chris had laughed and said it was perfect.

He hadn’t realized Chris took a picture until Claire sent it a few days later.

[Claire] 6:47 PM
idk how to break it to u, but Steve is an icon

The image attached showed their lopsided snowman, his button eyes crooked, one stick arm falling off. Chris stood behind it with a stupid grin, while Leon was adjusting the noise, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Leon blinked down at the screen.

Then his phone buzzed again.

[Claire] 6:48 PM
u better appreciate this bc it’s my new lock screen

He let out a small breath. Not quite a laugh. But close.

It was weird how it had become normal—this constant, quiet thread of messages from Claire. No pressure. No expectations. She didn’t flood him. Just checked in. Sent memes. Stupid facts. Bad jokes.

And somehow, it… was nice.

He scrolled back to one from earlier today.

[Claire] 10:02 PM
u ever notice Chris talks to his plants like they’re coworkers??

He hadn’t replied yet.

Now, after a pause, he typed:

[Leon] 4:07 AM
He talks to the kettle, too

A moment later, the reply:

[Claire] 7:03 PM
STOPPP, he does that, too?? LOL, it's so fun making fun of him with you😂😌

Leon stared at the screen for a second. Then, quietly, added—

[Leon] 7:07 PM
I like the messages
Even if I don’t always answer

There was a pause.

Then:

[Claire] 7:08 PM
I know. Me too. Don't worry I’ll keep sending them anyway.

Leon smiled and opened the picture of him and Chris again in his gallery.

He had three of them now. First was that sudden shot Chris took of him. The other was a picture from Christmas Eve with Claire and Jill and nervous Leon almost hiding behind Chris and the tree and the last one the one with the snowman.

Four pictures. Four memories.

It still seemed unreal that these were his memories. And yet, weirdly enough, he wanted to make more of them with these strange strange people around him.

Chapter Text

The phone rang softly on the coffee table.

Leon stared at it from where he sat curled up on the couch. The name glowing on the screen—Chris—made something in his chest unclench just a little. He reached out and answered.

Chris’s voice was warm on the other end of the line, but there was an edge of tiredness too.

“Hey,” he said, “how’s everything going over there?”

Leon shifted on the couch, eyes flicking to the book in his hands. “Fine.”

A small pause, then Chris exhaled. “Listen, I didn’t want to drop this on you, but… something came up at work. Might be a late one. Real late. There’s a chance I won’t make it home tonight at all.”

Leon tensed, fingers tightening just slightly around the mug. “Oh.”

That never happened before. He was late sometimes but not coming home at all...

“I know that’s not ideal,” Chris said gently. “I’m not thrilled about it either. But I wanted to ask would you be okay if someone came to stay with you tonight?”

Leon frowned. “Someone?”

“I thought of Claire first,” Chris continued quickly, “but she’s out of town on a work trip for a few days. So… I was thinking maybe Jill.”

Leon bit the inside of his cheek. His tail twitched slightly where it rested against the couch cushion. Jill. She wasn’t a stranger anymore, not really. But still—staying here when Chris wasn’t home?

Chris seemed to sense the hesitation through the silence. “Only if you're okay with it,” he added. “I mean that, Leon. You can say no.”

Leon stared at the blank TV screen for a moment, his thoughts swirling. The idea made him uncomfortable, but…

Chris was worried. He didn’t say it outright, but Leon could hear it under every word. And the idea of Chris out there, busy and stressed, also having to worry about him—it sat wrong.

“I guess,” he said quietly. “If she doesn’t mind.”

Chris’s voice softened. “She doesn’t. I already texted her earlier just in case. But I wanted to hear it from you first. You sure?”

Leon hesitated one more beat, then nodded, even though Chris couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” Chris said, with that soft exhale that always meant more than words. “I’ll message her now. She’ll probably be there in an hour.”

Leon closed his eyes for a second. “Okay.”

“Hey,” Chris added before hanging up. “Thank you. Really. I know it’s a lot.”

Leon’s voice was soft, but steady. “Just… come back when you can.”

“I will,” Chris promised. “And Leon?”

“…Yeah?”

“She’s just there in case you need anything. That’s all. You don’t have to entertain her or talk if you don’t want to.”

Leon didn’t answer. But he didn’t hang up, either.

Chris took the silence in stride. “I’ll check in later, okay?”

“…Okay.”


---



Leon had vacuumed the hallway carpet twice. Not because it needed it—Chris always kept the place spotless—but because it gave his hands something to do. Something that didn’t feel like waiting.

Jill was coming.
Just Jill.
No Chris.

Leon stood in the kitchen, eyes darting to the clock every few seconds. He was trying to make some tea.

Then the doorbell made him freeze.

His ears twitched. Tail stiffened. The spoon in his hand clinked awkwardly against the edge of the tea pot he was trying to fill—half the hot water missed, dribbling onto the counter.

He muttered something under his breath and wiped it quickly, heart already thudding too loud in his chest.

It’s just Jill. It’s just Jill.

But knowing that didn’t make it easier.

Being home alone didn’t make it easier.

Chris wasn’t here. That part kept echoing in his head.

Chris wasn’t here.

He stood there for another beat, staring at the front door like it might bite him, like he could somehow delay this whole thing into nonexistence if he just stayed still enough.

Then the bell rang again—short, polite.

Leon inhaled, shoulders rising, then exhaled slowly through his nose.
He could do this.

He was doing this.

He padded toward the door, hoodie sleeves half-swallowing his hands, his nails tapping softly against the wood as he paused—just one last second—before unlocking it.

The door creaked open.

Jill stood there, casual as anything. Leather jacket. A small paper bag in one hand. Fox ears flicking forward with interest the moment she saw him.

“Hey,” she said, voice warm. “Hope I’m not early.”

Leon blinked at her. His throat was dry. “You’re… on time.”

That was good, right? He wasn’t sure why his hands were clammy.

Jill stepped in, not too close, not too fast—just the right kind of careful, like she got it. She gave him a small smile as she slipped off her boots.

“You look different without Chris glued to your side,” she teased lightly, eyes crinkling.

Leon blinked again. “He’s… working.”

“Yeah, I know. Said it might be an all nighter.” She held up the paper bag. “So I brought snacks. Emergency backup in case of awkward silences. Mostly for me.”

That startled something like a breath out of him. Maybe even the tiniest smirk.

Jill grinned, pleased with herself. “By the way, I'm going to bragge my ass off after this.”

Leon frowned. “Why?”

“Because I get to spend the whole night with you.” Jill made a dramatic face.

Leon flushed. He looked away. His tail twitched. “It’s… not a big deal.”

“It is,” Jill said gently, and not in a pushy way. “It’s your first time letting someone hang out when Chris isn’t here. That’s huge.”

Leon’s shoulders hunched just slightly, like she’d said something too loud. Too true.

But she didn’t press it.

Instead, she walked further into the apartment and gave the place a casual once-over. “Whoever organized your bookshelf deserves a gold star.”

Leon muttered, “That was me.”

Jill turned, raising a brow like that fact genuinely impressed her. “Nice. Seriously. You mind if I sit?”

He shook his head, still lingering nearby like he wasn’t sure if he should join her or disappear.

Jill took the couch, relaxing into the cushions. Leon finally settled a few feet from her on the other side, watching as Jill opened the bag, pulled out a bag of peanut puffs, and cookies and set it on the coffee table between them. “You eat today?”

Leon shrugged. “Yeah. Sort of.”

She slid the pack toward him. “Well, here’s dessert.”

He looked at the cookies and then Jill and then— “I...I made some tea if you want.”

Jill’s smile widened “Sure that would be perfect.”

Leon nodded and hurried to the kitchen coming back with to steaming mugs.

He carefully put one in front of Jill and retreated to his spot.

The silence returned, but it wasn’t bad. Not the heavy kind. Jill leaned back, munching a cookie.

They sat like that for a while—Jill relaxed, Leon stiff but slowly adjusting.
Eventually, he picked up a cookie and bit into it without thinking. he asked, voice soft but curious, “You have the day off?”

Jill nodded. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

“…Thanks for coming.”

That earned a smile from her. “Thanks for letting me.”

They went quiet again.

Jill tapped her mug thoughtfully. “ On second thoughts i may not have a chance to bragge at all. Claire’s gonna kill me before that.”

Leon glanced over, puzzled.

“She’s in Washington on some hybrid rights panel,” Jill explained with a grin. “And when she finds out I got to come hang out here with you while she was stuck in back-to-back meetings… yeah. I might not make it out alive.”

Leon huffed, almost-smile ghosting on his lips. “She’ll be fine.”

“Oh no, she’ll make me pay,” Jill said flatly. “She’ll be unbearable for a week.”

Leon looked down at his mug, fingers curling slightly around it. The warmth felt nice. Familiar. Jill’s voice didn’t bother him—not too loud, not invasive. And there was something in the way she spoke… casual, honest. Not like she was trying to draw him out, just… sharing.

After a moment, she shifted her weight, her tone softening. “I met her before I knew she was Chris’s sister, actually.”

Leon blinked.

“I was in a different precinct then,” Jill said, eyes distant now. “First year on the job. I’d barely made it in—top of my class or not, it didn’t matter much to some people.” Her mouth curved into a humorless smile. “My sergeant back then—real piece of shit. Always found a way to remind me I was different. Called me ‘fox,’ or ‘tail’—never my name.”

Leon’s grip tightened just slightly. He didn’t look up.

“I didn’t report him. What was the point?” Jill murmured. “He was my superior. Respected. Said I should be grateful he ‘let me wear the badge.’”

Leon’s ears flicked back.

“Then one day, he corners me in the back hallway after patrol. Said I’d hit a wall in my career. Said if I wanted to move up—hell, if I wanted to stay employed—I should be more cooperative.” She paused, swirling her tea once. “Said it wouldn’t be hard to get rid of me. That I was just an animal. And then Started saying real weird stuff—asking if my tail was real, if I’d let him touch it and...more.”

Leon inhaled sharply through his nose. It wasn’t loud—but Jill noticed.

She looked over at him gently, but didn’t stop.

“I was going to say yes,” she said, voice quiet now. “Not because I wanted to. Because I was exhausted. Because I thought… if I just survive it, I can outlast him. Get strong enough to fight it later. I just needed time.”

Leon’s chest tightened. He knew that thinking. Too well. If I stay quiet. If I obey. If I survive long enough…

“But then she showed up,” Jill said, a faint breath of something like awe in her voice. “Claire Redfield. I didn’t even know who she was. She was there following up on another case, heard voices, stepped in. Just—stepped in like it was the most natural thing in the world. No hesitation.”

Leon slowly raised his gaze. Jill’s eyes were distant, remembering.

“She had a recorder running before I even registered what was happening. Called him out, laid into him like she’d known me her whole life. Said she was going to make sure every superior above him saw the footage. That he’d never get near another rookie again.” Jill chuckled, low.

Leon was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Did she report him?”

“Oh, yeah. He was out within few months.” Jill’s expression shifted—pride, maybe, but there was something else there too. Gratitude. “She gave me her number. Told me not to let it harden me. Said I was allowed to be angry, but I was also allowed to be—to take up space without apology.”

Leon didn’t answer.

But his eyes were locked on the floor, and something behind them flickered. Like an old memory kicked up from dust.

Jill looked at him gently. “It was the first time someone ever stood up for me.”

Leon swallowed hard. His throat felt tight. His tail curled closer to his leg, like he needed something—anything—to ground himself.

He didn’t say me too. He didn’t say I know what that’s like.

But he thought it. And he felt it—deep in the hollow of his chest where all the times he had been alone lived. All the times someone could have helped and didn’t. All the times he was the animal.

His fingers curled tighter around his cup. Jill didn’t say anything more, just let the silence sit.

He thought of her—young, hopeful, scared. In uniform. In a hallway. Cornered.

He thought of himself.

Jill’s story lingered in the air like a pulse—soft, steady, but impossible to ignore. The kind of silence that wasn’t heavy exactly, just… full.

Leon hadn’t moved much. Still curled near the armrest, both hands around his cup. The tea had gone lukewarm, but he didn’t seem to notice.

His voice, when it came, was low. Careful. “You don’t… let people do that to you now.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jill looked over. Her eyes softened, but she didn’t smile. “No. I don’t.”

Leon swallowed, throat tight. “How?”

He hadn’t meant to ask that. But the word slipped out before he could stop it, like it had been sitting on his tongue for months.

Because Jill…

She was different. From the first moment he’d seen her—confident, sharp-eyed, shoulders back, tail flicking with easy control—she hadn’t seemed like someone who ever had to flinch when people looked at her. Not like him.

She always looked like she belonged. Like she didn’t care who stared.

Leon had admired that. Silently. Secretly.

And maybe, in some darker corner of his mind, he’d assumed Jill looked at him and saw the opposite. Another broken hybrid too far gone. Too timid, too damaged.

But now—

Jill blinked once, slowly. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her chest tugged. She set her mug down gently on the table.

“I had Claire,” she said after a moment. “And after that… I had Chris. I got transferred to his precinct not long after everything went down. He had my back from day one.” Her voice went quieter. “It still hurt, though. Even with them around. I still flinched when a certain kind of man got too close. I still second-guessed myself.”

Leon’s ears flicked, and he turned his face slightly to hide the way his jaw clenched.

“But I got lucky,” Jill added, her voice dipping further. “It was bad, but I got out. I had people to catch me. And that was enough to help me grow teeth.”

She looked at him then—not with pity. With a gaze that was steady, solid. Respectful.

“But not everyone gets that,” she said quietly. “Not everyone has someone who shows up. Not everyone makes it out.”

Leon didn’t answer. But the words curled around something in him, something raw and still healing.

He had always assumed Jill was strong because she’d never been through what he had. Because her world had been hard, sure, but not cruel.

But maybe that wasn’t it.
Maybe she was strong because she knew.
Because she had made it out anyway.

Jill leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees, her tone gentler now. “You know… I’ve seen strong people. Brave people. But you—” She shook her head slightly, like the word she needed hadn’t been invented yet. “You got through hell, Leon. And you didn’t just survive. You’re still here. Still… you.”

His brows drew in slightly. His gaze was fixed on the floor, but his breathing had shifted—just a bit uneven.

“That takes a kind of strength I can’t even imagine,” Jill said. “And I know it didn’t happen overnight. I know it still hurts. But for what it’s worth…” She hesitated, then finished, voice unwavering: “I admire you. So much.”

Leon looked at her. Actually looked—eyes wide, caught off guard.

She didn’t mean that, did she? She couldn’t.

“You don’t even know me,” he said hoarsely.

“I know enough,” she said simply. “I’ve watched how Chris talks about you. I’ve seen how you walk around this place—careful, like you’re always expecting it to vanish. But you’re still trying. Still learning how to stay.”

He didn’t reply. But his ears had lowered now, his whole body a little more still. The tension hadn’t vanished, but it had shifted into something quieter.

“I don’t need to know everything to respect you,” Jill added. “You don’t owe anyone your story. But you deserve to be proud of how far you’ve come.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Leon’s voice, when it finally came, was barely there.

“…It’s hard.”

Jill nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

“I’m tired all the time,” he added. “Even when nothing’s wrong. Even when things are… okay.”

“I know,” she said.

Silence settled again—different this time. Not heavy. Not tense.

Just shared.

After a while, Jill leaned back again and let out a exaggerated sigh.

“What?”

Jill gave a small, rueful grin. “ Talking about Claire just reminded me how I'm doomed. She's never gonna let me live this down. She’s gonna explode.”

Leon huffed. A tiny sound—but real.

“She’ll want a full report too,” Jill added playfully. “Probably ask me if you smiled. She’s weirdly obsessed with your ears, by the way.”

Leon blinked, horrified. “What?”

“She says they’re expressive,” Jill said solemnly, trying not to laugh. “Like ‘animated poetry.’”

Leon gave her a flat look, but the edges of his mouth were twitching now.

“I didn’t say it,” Jill said, raising her hands. “I just date the weirdo.”

Another small huff escaped him. It might have been a laugh.


---


The door clicked shut behind Chris with a soft thud. The living room was dim, bathed in the faint blue light from the streetlamp outside. Shoes off, keys in the bowl. Chris exhaled a long, tired breath and rolled his shoulder once, feeling the weight of the day slide off slowly, reluctantly.

It was almost 4 a.m.

The place was quiet. Peaceful, even.

He noticed Jill first—curled up on the couch beneath one of the throw blankets, her hair a mess, one leg half-hanging off the cushions like she’d lost a battle with gravity in her sleep. Her ears twitched once as he passed, but she didn’t stir.

Chris paused beside the couch, watching her breathe for a moment. Just to make sure.

He smiled a little. She stayed the whole night.

He set his bag down quietly and stretched, groaning under his breath as his back cracked. The floor creaked as he moved toward his room, socked feet dragging slightly.

He was halfway down the hall, already pulling at the zipper of his jacket, when he heard it—

A soft, familiar click.

His head turned.

Leon’s door had cracked open.

Chris blinked in surprise.

There, in the glow of the hallway light, was Leon. Hair tousled, face soft with sleep, one ear slightly askew like he’d rolled on it funny. He blinked up at Chris slowly, like his brain was still buffering.

“…Chris?”

His voice was scratchy. Barely a whisper.

Chris’s whole chest tightened at the sound and the sight.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Did I wake you?”

Leon shook his head—slow, cutely drowsy. “Heard the door.” He rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his too-long hoodie. “Didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”

“I wasn’t sure either,” Chris admitted. “Things ran long.”

Leon nodded again. He was still hovering by the doorframe, bare feet shifting on the hardwood. He looked so adorable like that—shoulders tucked in, tail curling loosely behind him, blinking up at Chris like he hadn’t quite decided whether this was real or a dream.

Chris crouched down a little, trying not to smile too much. “You okay?”

Leon nodded. “Didn’t sleep much.” He looked away, murmuring, “Not in a bad way. Just… lots on my mind.”

Chris tilted his head. “Everything alright with Jill?”

“Yeah.” Leon’s answer came quicker than expected. “She was… nice.” A pause. “Easy to be around. Not like I thought.”

Chris’s heart tugged a little.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly. “She really wanted to make it a good night.”

Leon didn’t answer that. But he stepped forward a little—just half a pace, enough for the light to catch his face fully.

Chris saw it then. The faint warmth still clinging to Leon’s expression. The way his eyes softened just slightly when he looked at Chris.

He looked tired. But not scared. Not guarded.

Chris reached out gently, brushing a hand over Leon’s hair, smoothing it back from his face. “Sorry for getting back so late.”

Leon blinked slowly. “It’s okay.You going to bed?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah. Dead on my feet.”

“Okay.” Leon hesitated. “...Goodnight.”

Chris smiled. “Goodnight, Leon.”

Leon started down the hallway, tail flicking sleepily behind him, and Chris lingered just a second longer—watching.

And quietly, his chest filled with something soft and steady.

Leon had opened the door.

He’d come looking.

Even at 4 a.m., even with eyes half-closed and words slurred from sleep—he still came.

Chris went to bed smiling.