"Hi, Piers." I nod at him with a smile.
Leon's eyes snap up at me almost instantly. "You two know each other?"
"Uh . . yeah," I rub the back of my neck. "Him and Chris drove us here the night of the breakout." I explain. "He's a great sniper."
His face is flat, unreadable - gaze shifting to me, and then Piers, and then back at me again.
Why does it feel like I just did something I wasn't supposed to?
"Anyway, Leon," Chris starts. "About those defenses. I think it would be best you and I study this together."
Leon tears his eyes away from me after what feels like an eternity, flipping through the papers and maps on the table - their conversation going on about tactics and routes to scavange for ammo.
I stand near the wall, hands on my back, taking in every corner of the room, eavesdropping but unable to understand anything.
They're searching for routes where they could find supplies and ammo. Searching for routes they can transfer survivors.
Maybe if they talked about the infection I would understand. What am I even doing here? I should've just stayed upstairs.
Piers turns to me with a warm smile, gesturing for the door. "Some of the survivors are preparing lunch in the dining hall. Maybe you should join them." He says.
Food. "Sure." I shrug.
We walk out of the office, away from the stomps and crackle of radios, away from Leon and Chris. I limp behind Piers' heavy steps as we tread down the stairs. He glances at my bandages.
"That's still going on?" He cocks an eyebrow.
"Oh yeah it is. It's been a week or more."
"Have you checked it? Maybe it's infected."
It is infected. I have to stop myself from thinking about it too much or it's the only thing I'll think about. "No signs of sepsis at least. I'll be good."
"Have you tried herbs on it?"
"No I haven't. Maybe I will one of these days."
The dining hall downstairs is teeming with life. Real life. Not the one reanimated and sloughing off from flesh. People I've seen before and smiled at, people I've treated in the infirmary for minor injuries. A big dining table sits in the middle of the room, the smell of soup and bread wafting in the air and making my mouth water.
Piers and I join them, filling our bowls with soup and bread for lunch and sitting next to each other.
I don't know how long I'm there for - minutes, hours - my bowl empty and my bread gone before I know it. The survivors chatter about their town, about the incident and how traumatizing it is; but they also chatter about their lives. A teacher, a receptionist, some students from the local schools.
Some of them were driving home from work, some resting, getting ready for bed - all of that stripped away from them, replaced with everything the safehouse has been for the past week or so.
My mind swims back home. My real home. Away from this universe, where I studied until my books took over my own bed, I couldn't even sleep on it anymore. Where I have Gina and Bea constantly bugging me to go out with them every weekend. Where I carry the weight of Elliot abandoning me because of my dreams.
I miss them. Even the old pathetic bitterness about Elliot moving on so fast from me.
Because those are better. Better than the literal undead banging at the fence. Better than the constant weight of the horrifying truth pressing down on everything I do.
Sometimes I'd forget it's real. That I actually lived a life that isn't here. That I've been anywhere else away from Leon. And it's terrifying. It's only been two weeks but all of it feels like a lifetime ago now.
I haven't figured it out yet. Figured out why I'm here or how it happened.
At this point, part of me doesn't want to know anymore.
What would it change anyway?
Around four, I find myself strolling through the mansion with Piers - the marble floors of the living room squeaking under my shoes, the buzz of conversation from the BSAA agents dulling into quiet mumbles.
"So . . " He starts, looking up at the framed paintings on the wall. "You and Leon Kennedy, huh?" There's a teasing edge to his voice.
"What."
He looks over at me, a smirk plastered accross his face. "Slept in one room together, came out together. Didn't know you guys were close like that."
My face burns. I shouldn't be surprised. It's not like either of us are being discreet about it. Especially not after whatever that was in the office.
You two know each other?
What was he even saying?
But out of all people who could notice, I didn't expect him to be the first one to mention it. "It's not like that."
"No, no, it's okay." He pauses, leans closer just a bit. "I know it's none of my business. You don't have to tell me."
"Right." I shake my head and chuckle.
We keep strolling in silence, his gaze wandering about the mansion. His comms device crackles every now and then, updating the current situation outside. Zombies still swarmed out the fence but holding steady.
"Anyway, Piers." I pipe, moving closer to him. "I've always loved your sniping skills. You should teach me some of that next time."
"You wanna learn how to shoot?"
I shrug.
He shifts on his feet and crosses his arms. "Sure, I'll teach you. Maybe we can have a little competition and see who's the better shot."
"Oh I think we both know the answer to that one." I shoo the thought away before it settles. "I know nothing about shooting. Just L2 and R2."
He cocks an eyebrow and I just realize what I said. "Video games, huh?"
Right. I don't need to tell him about that either. "Yeah . ."
"Well I can definitely tell you it's a lot different than just pressing buttons on a console. But don't worry, I'll start you off with the basics."
We pass by a bunch of agents in uniform. They talk Piers, discussing the recent scavange they apparently sent out four towns away where they found nothing but a convenient store. I loom behind.
Once that's done, I move close to him again. "So what can you tell me about Chris? Is he as stubborn as everyone says he is?"
Piers rolls his eyes. "Chris? Stubborn? That's an understatement." He scoffs. "He's as stubborn as a boulder, especially during missions. But that's the best thing about him."
Saw him punch a boulder in resident evil 5. But he probably doesn't know about that yet.
My eyes gravitate to Piers' arm, in tact and normal, covered with the sleeve of his uniform. I remember what he did in resident evil 6, when he shot himself with the C-Virus during the final boss fight to save Chris.
Of course I'm not going to tell him. I don't need another knife to my throat like what Leon did when I told him the truth. But a part of me coils with guilt.
"Hey, Piers?"
He looks at me.
"So say if I turn into a giant B.O.W, would they be able to bring me back?"
His face becomes quizzical. "Are you going to turn into a giant B.O.W?"
"Hypothetically."
"Are all med students this chatty?"
"Oh, c'mon, just answer the question."
He rolls his eyes and lets out a chuckle. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Are you forgetting you're the only medic in this safehouse right now?" He tilts his head to the side. "Would you be able to bring yourself back if you turn into a giant B.O.W?"
Right. So I absolutely cannot.
"Okay, that makes sense."
We head on to the basement, at the very edge where a big, empty, white room is-shooting booths on one side and targets with bullseye on the other.
Target Practice.
We're the only people there.
Piers sets down his weapons on the table with a thud - so many, one wouldn't even believe they were on him the whole time. A sniper, a rifle, a pistol, a dagger and some flash grenades.
I sit in the corner to observe, the floor cold on my legs but comfortable. He picks up a pair of safety glasses and slides them on, standing by one of the booths, pistol in his grip.
He aims, holding himself steady, locking into the target in front. And then he shoots, again and again, each of them landing straight in the center, the blast cutting through the room in quick snaps.
"That looks so cool." I gush.
"Could be better." He shrugs.
"Can you show how you snipe?"
Piers laughs lightly, an air of cockiness spreading over his face. "Sure thing. Though, I'm not sure you'll be able to keep up with my skills."
He sets the pistol on the table before picking up his sniper rifle. A big, heavy thing sitting so snugly in his grip. Like it's always meant to be.
He settles back in the booth, holding the rifle steady, slightly lowering himself as he lines up the shot, peeking through the scope.
Fire.
He doesn't even jolt as the bullet punches a hole into the target, finger still hovering over the trigger.
Fire.
Again, and again, the shots clean and quick and crisp.
"Woohoo! Way to go, Piers!" I erupt into cheers, clapping my hands in amazement.
He grins and looks at me, lowering the rifle. "Not bad, right? Told you, I'm practically a god at this."
"You have teach me some of that." I jump to my feet, rubbing my hands together as I get closer to the booth.
"Woah woah woah, there-" He frowns. "Right now? Are you sure that's the best idea?" He puts the rifle down on the table.
"I don't care, let me have a go."
"Fine then, choose your weapon. If you even have a preference."
I skim through the guns on the table: a magnum, his handgun, an automatic rifle and his sniper rifle - black glinting under the harsh florescent lights. I remember my games back home - the sheer firepower of each one of them and my inventory favorites.
I pick up the magnum, barely, the metal cold against my palm and immensely heavy in my hands.
Piers steps in and pulls it from my grip. "Maybe start with something smaller." He instructs, handing me the pistol instead.
"But I wanted that one." I pout, letting my eyes linger on the shiny magnum.
He chuckles and shakes his head. "Trust me, you should start with something more manageable. The magnum is a powerful gun, but it has quite a kick to it. You're probably not ready for that yet. Take this." He holds out the handgun again.
He's right. Maybe I shouldn't trust myself too much with something I've never done in real life before.
I take the handgun, the handle still warm from his grip. It's lighter and smaller but still heavy, dragging down my hands as I hold it with both. I step into the booth, my arms suddenly thrumming with nerves.
Piers' gaze is heavy on my back, hovering just close enough for his warmth to cut off the air. "Okay, now take a deep breath and aim for the target. Don't strain yourself, just try to hold the gun steady and shoot." He says, tone low and serious.
Gun Steady. Shoot. I repeat it in my head, pressing my lips in a tight line. I hold my arms up and aim, narrowing my eyes at the target for a better scope. I take a deep breath, my grip trembling from the heavy gun.
"Take it easy." He mumbles, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Don't grip it too hard, your aim won't land."
I loosen my grip just a bit and gulp, my wrists still shaking, trying to balance the pistol.
"That's it, just relax." He gives my shoulder a light pat. "Don't focus on the weight too much, focus on your aim." He states. "Just breathe. Slow and steady."
Slow and steady.
I shoot, the blast cutting through my ears-the recoil jolting back, pushing me against Piers's chest. The bullet on the target is way out of the line. Not even close.
He chuckles behind me, placing a light but steady hand on my hip and putting me back into place. "Not bad for a first attempt. But you need to practice your stance and aim." He says and steps back again.
I grit my teeth.
What a way to embarrass myself in front of the greatest sniper I've ever known.
I shake the embarrassment crawling up my neck, adjusting my grip. I lick my lips, widen my stance just a bit, my arms aching as I aim.
"That's better, keep your stance wide and steady." His voice is firm and but still soft. "Don't worry about the gun being heavy, it's your first time. It takes a while to get used to the recoil."
"Right."
I pull on the trigger, the recoil firing back and sending me crashing against Piers's chest once more, the gun slipping out of my grip and onto the floor with a loud clatter. The bullet is way out of the line again. We burst into laughter, the vibration of the recoil still thrumming under my skin.
"You're getting a bit too attached to me." He teases, grip on my hips, steadying me back on my feet. A flash of warmth crawls up my neck.
I bite my lip to stifle the grin pulling on my mouth. "Sorry." I shake my head, "Didn't know shooting would feel so good."
"I know what you mean." He crouches down to pick up the pistol. "It's the rush. Makes you feel powerful . . in control. It's kinda dangerous." His tone drops just a bit, as if mulling over his own words.
He stands back up, steps in closer - maybe too close - the warmth of his chest pressing on my back. "Now try it again and keep your grip as steady as possible." He instructs, sliding the gun in my grip, steady hands leading my arms forward. My throat is suddenly dry, hyper aware of his touch. "Hold your breath."
I hold my breath, narrowing my eyes to focus on the target.
"Shoot." He utters next to my ear with a soft, demanding tone.
I pull the trigger, the blast jolting through my entire body, but the recoil doesn't jerk me back this time, Piers's grasp firm on my shoulders holding me in place.
The bullet lands closer to the center, but still four lines too far.
"See? You're getting the hang of it." I hear the smile in his tone, his breath brushing against my ear - goosebumps rising on the back of my neck.
I blush. "Thanks." I murmur, pulling myself away from the thought.
"One more." Piers orders, holding out my arms again, fingers gentle on my skin. He shifts closer, my back completely on his chest now, my breath stuttering just a bit. What? "This time relax and hold the gun firmly. Try to shoot multiple times at once." He says.
I suck in a breath, my grip slippery with sweat - Piers' proximity, a low whisper in the back of my mind. I purse my lips and aim, pulling the trigger. The recoil bounces through me but Piers steadies my shoulders tightly. So I pull the trigger again, and again and again, my skin jumping for every one, the blasts echoing through the concrete walls.
"Good job!" Piers smiles. Four bullets right in the bullseye, I can't help the heavy punch of pride in my chest. He gives my shoulders a light squeeze and I hold back a gasp, my heart picking up under my ribs.
The recoil of the gun is still vibrating through me, my skin quivering underneath. It feels good. It feels wrong.
It feels dangerous.
Suddenly, the door clicks open behind us - the familiar air from the basement hallway clinging to my face.
"Leon." Piers greets, taking his hands off of me and stepping away so quickly, I almost tumble back.
Leon.
He walks in, boots heavy on the floor, piercing blue eyes set on me. I can't read his face - his jaw is clenched, hands in his pockets, gaze shifting between me and Piers.
My heart races, the room suddenly charged with something. "Hey! Uh . . Piers here was just teaching me how to shoot." I flash him a smile, gesturing at the pistol in my hand.
He stops short, eyes on the gun. "I can see that." He mutters. Cold, detached, like he wasn't just on top of me panting this morning.
What's his problem?
"She's doing quite well." Piers says, hands on his back. "She wanted to start off with a magnum but I told her that's a bad idea."
"Mhm." His eyes flit to Piers. He crosses his arms.
The air thickens and my shirt suddenly feels tight at the collar.
Maybe Piers feels it too.
"She just shot four right in the bullseye. I think she's good to go out there . . But with more practice of course." Piers adds.
"I still wanna shoot the magnum." I chuckle, eyeing the magnum still calling my name on the table.
"That's too heavy for you." His tone is sharp and clipped. Almost insulting.
"I can teach her how to shoot the magnum . ." Piers suggests. "If you want of course."
"No, I'll teach her." He snaps, shooting Piers a look.
"Uh yeah, sure." Piers shrugs, stepping aside and crossing his arms.
Leon walks over to the table, picking up the magnum like it isn't the heaviest thing on earth, the handle sitting snugly in his big hand. "You sure you want this? It's going to kick back hard." He mutters, checking the rounds, clicking the safety off and cocking it, hands moving precisely and quickly.
"I like it when they kick back hard." I smirk, excitement vibrating in my fingers.
He sighs, rolls his eyes, annoyed. "You better not complain when shoulders are all bruised up tomorrow."
"I think I can handle a couple of bruises."
Leon quirks an eyebrow at me. "Famous last words." He mutters under his breath, holding out the magnum to me. I take it, his hand lingering on the grip just enough that it doesn't fall off of mine.
The magnum is heavy. Much heavier than the pistol - cold - like a weight sitting in my grip. I hold the handle with two hands, my heart suddenly spiking in my chest.
The magnum was my favorite weapon in the games. I loved how it burst through zombies like a hot knife through butter.
Leon winces at me. "Grip it tight." He says. "It's going to fall off if you hold it like that."
"Highkey scared." I laugh, nerves heavy on my chest.
"You wanted it, commit to it." Leon takes a step back.
I position myself in the center of the booth, the floor steady under my weight. I take a deep breath, the air cold and laced with the faint scent of gun powder.
My arms shake as I hold them out and aim, aching from the weight of the magnum - big, intimidating. I suck in a breath, my finger hovering over the trigger.
With one final exhale, I pull the trigger.
Bang.
The blast pierces through the air and my eardrums like an atomic explosion - the recoil bounces back, jerking through my arms and entire body, my stance slipping on the floor. The gun slips off my grip, and I fall back, the loud thud echoing through the room.
Wow.
Leon rushes to my side, face laced with concern, hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay?" He grasps at my elbow, already pulling me up. "That's a hell of a kickback."
"Uh . . I'm okay I guess." I shrug, trying to get up. "That felt . . painful." I wince, an ache growing in my shoulders.
"I already told you." He rolls his eyes, steadying me on my feet.
"Maybe it would be better if you taught me like how Piers did earlier."
His eyes flicker to Piers - minding his own business - in the corner of the room for just a second. "And how exactly did he teach you?"
"Hold me so I don't go crashing on the damn floor?"
His eye twitches. I almost miss it. He scoffs and leers at me. "Fine, but don't complain if I'm rougher than him."
He positions himself behind me, immediately close, chest pressing on my back, firm hands on my waist. He tugs on me, adjusting my stance in the right place, fingers digging just a bit into my shirt. I tense, my grip slick with sweat on the magnum now. I hold out my arms, still shaking, still unsteady as I aim, my fingers thrumming with the previous recoil. I gulp and take a deep breath.
"Focus." Leon's voice is sharp, unrecognizable, breath tickling my ear. He adjusts my wrists with firm hands, my chest suddenly tight.
I pull the trigger.
The same force cuts through me, pushing through my arms and face, slamming me right back into his chest hard. I gasp. Leon wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer, my heart hammering in my chest now. "Steady now." He instructs, voice low, hot breath fanning against my ear.
I shoot once more, and the blast echoes - the sharp recoil sending me staggering back further in his grip, waves of excitement and adrenaline vibrating under my skin.
"You're doing good." His voice is almost a whisper, a familiar spark of warmth spreading in my neck. His fingers dip into my waist, rougher, tighter, it almost hurts.
I catch Piers in my peripheral, taking the booth next to ours. He picks up his sniper from the table and positions himself, aiming.
Leon leans in closer to my ear, pulling me away. "Shoot." His voice cuts with dead urgency, his fingers trailing just slightly under the hem of my shirt. Goosebumps rise on my skin.
I lick my lips and clench my jaw. I pull the trigger one more time, my eyes closing as the recoil reverbs through my body, exhilaration tingling - prickling like static under my skin.
"Good girl." He murmurs and my face burns.
He presses himself flush against me, the buckle of his belt stabbing into my back. My breath snags in my ribs, my grip wavering just a bit as the air thickens, a familiar weight of heat building in my stomach.
It's too hot - the air, his chest, his hands on my skin like I'm naked. I try to focus back into the task at hand, closing one eye to shoot into the bullseye. When I pull the trigger again, I fail ultimately, the shot flying right out of range and into the wall behind the target, the recoil slamming through my limbs, my heart skipping a beat as it swirls my mind into mush.
I feel Leon's breath stutter in his chest - not from the recoil, but from something else - his grip crawling under my shirt, fingers tracing the edge of my ribs, shivers running its icy nails down my back. My knees buckle, weakening from the touch, my heart hammering as my hands numbs around the magnum. I have to concentrate. I can't-
I gasp, and flinch, Piers's shots blasting through the air again, and again, and again in the booth next to us, a gentle reminder he's there.
My skin vibrates with exhilaration.
"Do it again, doll face." Leon instructs, lips brushing slightly on my ear, fingers clenching on my skin. "Show me how good you are."
I part my mouth, the air viscous in my throat. I drag my gaze back to the target but I can't focus now - too aware of the heat curling under my skin and his touch. Too aware of his belt buckle.
I shoot, and I feel it more than I hear it, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, making me giddy and weak at the same time.
I feel Leon growl behind me.
Fuck.
"I-I think I'm done." I stammer, my throat dry and my skin vibrating.
"Good." Leon utters, snatching the magnum away from my grip too quickly - my hands suddenly too light, I thought they'd fly away.
He pulls me away from the booth, hand on my wrist as I stumble. My eyes meet Piers from his own booth, a shadow of confusion falling on his face. He takes off his protective glasses and watches us with a frown.
I crash on the floor in the corner of the room, my face hot, flustered against the cold of the air. A haze swirls through me, the vibrations prickling, thrumming under my hands and thighs, the ghost of Leon's fingers grazing my ribs.
I can't breathe, I can't think, the fluorescent lights piercing through my eyes.
What is this feeling?
Why does it feel so good?
Leon crouches in front of me, hand on my face. "Hey." He calls, eyebrows furrowed with worry.
I chuckle breathlessly, just staring at him, the weight of the air pressing on top of me. I feel warm, too warm, like I need to cling to him and let him feel it too.
Piers puts his rifle down from the booth, and walks towards us, gaze filled with worry. He crouches down next to Leon, apprehension written all over his face. "Is she alright?" He asks him first then turns to me, brown eyes studying my face. "Are you good?"
"She's fine." Leon mutters, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He places a hand on my cheek and forehead as if checking my temp.
"Crazy first time, huh?" Piers arches an eyebrow and smirks. "Felt the same way when I first fired a mag."
Leon scoffs at him and I burst into laughter. "It's a natural reaction. Nothing crazy about it." He snaps and pulls on my arm, inching me closer to him.
My chest tightens, my face still hot as I take deep breaths. Is it really normal? Did Piers really feel this way too when he first fired his gun? Am I weird?
An ache tugs at my stomach, spreading down my legs, and I have to press my knees together to pull myself out of it. I look down, praying they don't notice the flush still lingering in my cheeks.
"Illa, talk." Leon tucks a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.
I blink and swallow. "Fine . . I'm fine . ." I pant. "I just need water. Cold."
"I'm on it." Leon presses me snugly onto the corner, gliding out of the room before I can say another word.
Piers slumps down next to me, leaning on the wall, looking across the shooting range. "Leon treats you like you're his child." He chuckles.
I blush harder from the comment, bringing my lip between my teeth. Leon's firm grip around my waist, pressing me against him as I shoot . . I pray to god he didn't see it. Then again, it's way too obvious. "He's just like that, I guess." I murmur.
He cocks an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He muses, gaze flicking between me and the door. "He doesn't treat anyone else like that, you know. And he definitely doesn't teach anyone to shoot like that." He adds with a smirk.
"He doesn't? How about Ada?"
He rolls his eyes. "That's different."
Is it?
"Ada Wong's a professional. Too good. Probably better than him. He doesn't need to teach her."
Of course he doesn't.
I sigh, leaning against the wall and looking up at the lights, tinged pink from my eyes.
The door clicks open again - Leon storming in, a bottle of water in one hand and a bowl of ice cubes in the other. He slides down in front of me, twisting the bottle cap and holding it to my mouth.
"Drink." He orders. I take long swigs, the water cold and fresh against my throat, but it doesn't do a lot to wash off the flush in my skin. He puts it down once I'm done, taking an ice cube between his fingers and sticking it against my lips. I gasp, the sudden cold cutting through me.
"Hold still." His gaze watch me closely, jaw clenched, gliding the ice over my mouth. But it doesn't cool me down. Not at all. His eyes burning through me - the ice melting, dripping down my chin.
Once it's small enough, he pushes it between my lips.
"Feel better?" His eye flick up to meet mine.
I just nod, holding the ice against my tongue.
"Atta girl!" Piers smiles and I almost forget he's there, nudging me on the elbow.
Leon's eyes dart to him like daggers, his jaw tightening even more.
Is he okay?
"We should head back. Before you go picking up another gun again." Leon mutters with a certain hostility, wrapping a grip on my elbow and pulling me up.
He drags me toward the door, my feet stumbling, catching on the floor, my knees wobbling as I try to keep up. I look back at Piers and wave him goodbye before we step out.
Leon's steps are long and deliberate as we tread down the corridor, not looking at me, fingers too tight on my wrist like I'm going to run off if he doesn't. Forgetting one of my knees are bandaged up with a fucked up wound.
But I don't protest, the air cold on my skin, my hands itching, still thrumming with the recoil of the magnum.
I love it.
I love it so much.
I love it enough I might just get back there tomorrow and do it again.
By the time we get back to the room, he throws me into the door, clicking it shut behind him. I slump on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped, a smile still lingering on my mouth as I look at him.
He looks beautiful but pissed - messy hair, eyes green from the lamp on the nightstand. He leans against the door, eyebrows furrowed, gawking at me like a disappointed parent.
What the hell did I do?
"What?" I chuckle.
He just stares at me, eyes trailing down my face to my neck, then my shirt, a familiar warmth igniting under my skin.
"Leon?"
"Nothing's wrong." He replies, voice gruff.
Right. Because standing there like a gremlin means there's nothing wrong with him.
But I don't push it, kicking off my shoes, hugging my knees against my chest on the bed. Every inch of movement reminds my skin of the tension. The cold, heavy metal in my grip and the recoil slamming hard in my bones like a live wire, the blast of the bullets and his chest on my back.
"Have you ever felt that before?" My gaze falls in the corner of the room, pondering. "It was like . ." I try to find the words. Try to find anything else to describe the adrenaline coursing through me like a virus, infecting every decent thought. "Like having sex almost." I suck in a breath, knowing how ridiculous I sound.
"Can you stop?" He snaps at me, chest moving too quickly like he's losing breath.
And for some reason I like that - no fuck that, I love it.
"It felt so good . ." I whimper, imagining the vibrations between my thighs, my hands trailing my neck to my chest, goosebumps rising on my exposed skin.
He jumps at me - grip on my arm, a mixture of anger and something else mixing in his face. "Stop." He utters. "Because if you don't, I'll make you."
I pout, jerking my arm away from him. "Fine."
He lets out a sigh, pacing back to the door - away from me. "What was that?" He finally speaks.
"What was what?"
He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging a hand over his face. "I saw you and Piers getting too comfortable with each other before I came."
I frown. "You were stalking me?"
He pauses for a beat, mouth opening to say something but closing again. "No, I wasn't." He defends. "That's not the point. I was in the goddamn office all day with Chris doing all that shit and I find you shooting a gun behind my back? Do you want to get yourself killed?"
"So what if I was learning how to shoot? I want to. I need to."
"With Piers?!" He exclaims, eyes wide, pulse jumping under the skin of his neck so hard, I see it.
Oh.
"Wait a minute, are you jealous?"
He stops, clenches his jaw, looks away from me and then back to me again. "Yes I fucking am." He curses.
Oh my god.
My heart skips a beat.
"He has no fucking right touching you like that. And now you're horny over a damn shooting session?! Jesus Christ, Illa." He fumes, seething, my own jaw hurting just from looking at him.
Guilt washes over the adrenaline in my bloodstream. His mouth is parted, shoulders heaving up and down, anger still plastered over his face. I reach an arm over. "Come here."
He looks at my hand for a second, breath slowing down, the fury written on him slowly but surely slithering away. He walks over, sitting down next to me, the mattress shifting from his weight.
How do I do this?
What do I do with the information that Leon Kennedy is jealous that Piers Nivans is teaching me how to shoot?
I'm losing my damn mind.
I take a deep breath, placing a hand on his cheek, brushing my thumb against the skin. He leans into it with a sigh, eyes closing, the tension in his shoulders dropping.
"I'm sorry." He mumbles, glassy eyes finding mine. Cautious. Like I'd break if he looks too hard.
"Don't." I start. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"I yelled at you." He explains.
"Yeah but I was being stupid so it's warranted."
He rolls his eyes, shifting on the bed.
He's jealous.
He admits it. Came right out of his mouth.
But why would he be?
We just had sex this morning. It's not like we're a thing, are we?
Not like I'd feel the same way if I saw him teaching Ada how to shoot.
Who am I kidding?
I'd hate myself if I saw that. I'd hate every single inch of my existence.
I pull myself on top of his lap before he can say anything, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pressing my cheek against his. His hands finding my waist, lightly, instinct more than anything.
"You're so pretty when you're jealous, Leon." I grin.
"Shut up." He mutters.
I pull slightly away from him but keep my face close, locking my gaze into his, biting my lip. "Okay, I'll shut up." I smile, taking a strand of his hair, twirling it between my fingers. "I'll never talk again."
"Oh c'mon, I like that pretty voice." The shadow of a smile finally breaks through him.
"You do?"
Blue eyes flick to my lips. "You know I do."
"I'm not convinced eno-"
He cuts me off, knocking air out of my lungs, smashing his mouth onto mine. He kisses me, hard - hand on the back of my head, holding me in place, arm closing around my waist pulling me closer, pressing me against him.
All the tension in my body melts, replaced with a familiar warmth, my hands finding his chest. He groans into the kiss, slipping his tongue between my teeth, devouring me like he's been starved - warm, wet. And I've been starved too, feeling him heave under my fingers. His grip tightens, pressing me down the buckle of his belt, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through me.
I moan under my breath, letting my teeth graze his tongue, running needy fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. It's not enough. I need him. I need him everywhere.
I still can't think. Still can't feel my face or my limbs. But I can feel him - his fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt, his soft tongue grazing mine, his breath intoxicating me.
I pull away but he holds me back, "Come here," lips finding mine again, not even giving me a chance to breathe.
My mind reels back to the training room - the weight of the gun in my grip and his chest on my back. His breath on my neck and every single shift of his muscle pressing on me.
I remember what Piers said about Ada. About the fact he doesn't need to teach her because she's already too good.
And suddenly, I also remember the fact I'm not supposed to be there.
Not supposed to be kissing him.
Not supposed to be getting comfortable.
But it's already too late, isn't it?
What on earth have I gotten myself into?
Leon's kisses slow - softer, gentler, turning into lingering pecks on my lips instead of hungry. His hands on my waist become lighter, tracing shapes under my shirt, his breathing evening out. But he still holds me close, arms heavy on my torso, grounding me against him.
"I should probably let you rest before I keep you up all night."