SAVEGUARD ⟼ leon s. kennedy

xii. sparks between us

That night was the first night I dreamt about Leon Kennedy.

When I wake up, my face hot and my heart racing, the disappointment of reality hits me like a brick wall.

It was just a dream.

A stupid dream about his lips, his hair, him on top of me—

The pain brings me back into the present. Unfortunately.

I'm in the cruise's infirmary room still, a huge bite wound on my bicep, a gash across my neck from the mutated fish we encountered in the casino.

Leon is still on the floor, his back to the door, and he's nodding off, his head very slowly bobbing down, and then jerking back up again, like his subconscious is trying to force him awake. His eyes, semi-hidden behind his blond bangs, are closed, and he's gripping his Red9 handgun close to his chest.

I try not to make a sound. I want see him rest. And he also looks cute sitting like that.

So I lay back down on the stretcher, hear the cheap leather crinkle under my head. The pain is echoing through my body, and I need to rest. The journey looks like it will only get worse. I close my eyes and hold my breath.

The dream.

It's vivid in my head, like it has just actually happened. I can still feel the way he felt on my body in the dream. The way Leon's lips felt on mine still feels too real, how his fingers pressed into my hips, how his voice felt in my ear as he whispered my name...

Why was I having these dreams? Now? Here?

I sit back up. I can't sit here and think, I need to forget that dream. I need to be professional. My heart's going a hundred miles per hour, so I breathe as best as I can. I check my watch, it's been at least three hours. I pop a couple more painkillers. I chug some more water. I check my ammo.

Anything to not sit idly and let my mind wander.

Not think about how good of a kisser—

Even though I try to be as quiet as possible, after a few minutes, I hear Leon stir, and when I look back at him, he's shaking his head, like he's trying to shake off the sleepiness.

"Morning," he says groggily, and wipes his eyes. He stands up, stretches his neck.

"Did you sleep well, your highness?" I ask him.

"Not as well as you, princess," he says, adjusting his weapon belt. "Feel better?"

I look down, pretending I'm checking my injury, but I just don't want him to see me blush. "Painkillers seem to be working. Did you really manage to sleep?"

He shrugs. "Not much. Floor's not very comfortable."

I tighten the bandage around my arm. "Should've asked me to moved over, we could've shared that nurse's bed."

"Maybe," he says, and smiles briefly. "I'll do that next time. Still, you owe me one, for letting you take up the whole bed."

"Jeez, what is it with you and owing?" I ask, as I watch him push the barricades off the door, his arm muscles flexed.

I can't help but stare.

"Just something I picked up on an old mission," he says, and points to the door. "After you."

"Such a gentleman," I grin, and walk out. I keep my Glock to my side, ready for whatever.

He walks next to me, and after a while he says, "I was doing some thinking, while you slept. Next to the casino, there was an elevator. That should take us up to the control room. Or at least, bring us a few floors closer."