Killshot ✷ Leon Kennedy

002. Torn

LEON OPENS HIS MOUTH, a million things he could possibly say to you after all these years racing through his mind. An apology, or ask why you're even here in the first place, or maybe just to ask if you were okay, especially after just narrowly avoiding getting shot at.

But before he could even do so you push him against the tree instead, quickly drawing the knife from its sheathe and pinning it against his throat.

It was the last thing he expected you to do. But you, on the other hand, had been waiting for this moment for years.

"It seems like the positions have switched now, haven't they, Leon?"

Although, the sheer resentment in your voice was no surprise to him.

"They sure have," he says, no anger in his voice. His gaze was focused solely on you, as if the sharp edged blade between you two were invisible. As if this stunt you pulled wasn't hurting him at all even though it did, in more ways than one.

He didn't struggle against you, nor did he pull you off him, even though he was more than capable of doing so with his strength.

This detail hadn't gone unnoticed by you. The burning anger seeped out of you the more the seconds passed, and you hated that it did. Bitterly, you withdraw your knife, and take a step backwards from him.

He takes a step forward, emerging into better lighting. You could view him better now, and you notice all the little details about him that stayed the same throughout the years. His blue eyes, his blonde hair, that scar above his upper lip that always stuck out to you. But there were things about him that were unrecognizable, evidently subject to change. There were more scars, some more prominent than others. His hair was slightly longer, and his blonde strands were wet and stuck to his face because of the rain. He was definitely more muscular now. But there was something even bigger that changed about him. His demeanor. It was as if the atmosphere around him was no longer that blithe, pacifying air you could step into and feel the stress on your shoulders lifted. His edges were sharper, and he carried himself with a surer confidence, a facade strapped closely to his face like the way a poker player would hold their cards secretively close to their chest.

Even after years of no contact you could tell he was putting up a front.

And after years of no contact, he could tell you were too.

Following those years, you wanted to ask him a thousand different things. What happened to him after that night in Raccoon City. Why he was standing in front of you right now, interrupting your mission. Or if anything that happened between you two all those years ago meant anything to him. Because it did mean something to you. But you would never let him know that.

Instead, you asked, "What are you doing here, Kennedy?"

He almost winced at the use of his last name but he ignored it.

"I could ask you the same thing," he remarks, his tone neutral.

You pause, noticing that his gloved hands weren't too far away from the gun on his holster. You may have had a past, but that doesn't mean you should trust each other the way you did back then.

"But I asked first," you state, taking a step to the side, back onto the trail between the forest thickets. He gradually follows your lead.

He nods, the corner of his lips lifting up into a smirk. It seems that fire from before has never dampened.

You try your best to ignore how that small smile of his made your insides twist.

"You did. I'm here on an assignment from the D.S.O.," he replies, slowly following you in the wide circle you two were making in the middle of the path. The game of cat and mouse felt the way it had back then: Like your nerves were on fire and like tomorrow would never come.