WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

42. Leon Kennedy x OC 4

Dressed in Blue

Rk800downloading

Summary:

Solving your sister's murder means attending Raccoon City's police academy. The only catch?

You'll need to disguise yourself as a man to get in.

A Resident Evil AU set before the events of RE1.

2023-11-23: Thank you so much for your patience! Will update soon, chapter is about 80% written. It's gonna be a looong one :)

Notes:

For Nspired1.

So Nspired1 and I were talking about how much we both loved Mulan (and Leon and Chris) and the conversation went like this:

"What if the RPD had an all-male academy where Chris was a teacher, Leon was a student, and the reader had to disguise herself as a man in order to get in?"

"HOLY SHIT—"

So I want to dedicate this fic to my beloved friend, Nspired1. Talking with you, fangirling with you, brainstorming with you, and knowing you has been such a pleasure. Thank you for always reading and thank you for coming up with the awesomely witty title! Here's to this fic, your amazing fics, and many more fics to come!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Roll Call

Chapter Text

"Are you sure about this?"

Snip. Long strands of hair float down to the floor.

"Shouldn't you wait for my answer before cutting?" you laugh.

Snip. "Probably." Claire cuts off another large chunk. "Already know your answer, though."

"I see." You nod. "So the question was for dramatic effect?"

Snip. "If you don't hold still, I'll really give you something to be dramatic about, smartass."

If there's one thing you'll miss, it's Claire. You glance at her; she continues deftly working the scissors through your hair.

You first met Claire in Sociology 201. Her entrance was theatrical, interrupting the professor's grandiose welcome speech by barging into class late, reeking of gasoline. She had dropped her motorcycle helmet and threw her books trying to catch it. You attempted to help but ended up bumping heads. The both of you fell on your asses and laughed so hard you got kicked out. That was almost three years ago.

Claire catches you watching her. "Any last regrets?"

"Only that I won't get to see your cute face every day," you waggle your brows.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Snip. "Sneaking into the RPD academy, though… my brother teaches there. If we tell him about Katie, maybe he could—"

"No, I don't want to get your brother involved."

Snip.

You look in the mirror. Thanks to Claire's haircut and some makeup, a masculine version of yourself stares back.

"It's an all-boys academy." Snip. "If your brother says yes and I'm caught, he could lose his job." Snip. "Or he could say no and I lose my chance altogether. I'm not even confident I'll find anything—"

She sighs. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I understand why you have to do this…"

You think about that night. The rain. The envelope. Your shaking hands—

"That's why I begged Chris to let my 'male' friend in," Claire says.

You slowly turn to face her. "You did what?"

She spins you back towards the mirror. Snip. "You should've heard me rave about you to Chris. There was no way he could refuse—"

"Claire…"

"—I saved you the last seat, actually." Snip. "You just need to pass the fitness test and—"

"Claire." You make eye contact with her reflection. "You would never believe how eternally grateful I am to you, but what's the catch?"

"Catch?" Claire feigns offense. "Why would there be a catch?"

"Because you hate this plan." You cross your arms. "And now you have no one to eat lunch with."

"That's true… Still…"

She slides your hair between her fingers.

"After what happened at your house—I mean… Katie's house—all I can do is support you." Claire makes one last cut. "From one orphan to another."

Snip.

She places the scissors down and fluffs out your hair. You really do look like a man now.

"Thank you so much, for everything." You hug her at the hips and bury your face against her stomach. "What did you tell Chris my name was?"

"Huh?" her voice cracks.

You pull away with a confused expression. "When you recommended me to your brother as a male, what name did you give him?"

"Oh!" Claire bursts out laughing. "Oh, oh no…"

You narrow your eyes. She shrinks under the scrutiny of your gaze.

"I was just so sad that I have to eat lunch with Billy and Rebecca now! They're so gross and PDA-y, and you wouldn't even let me try sneaking in with you, but I couldn't sit around and do nothing and—"

"What's the catch?" you repeat.

Claire bursts out laughing all over again.

"Your name," she says, wiping away a tear. "I told him it was Shi Thead."

Your dream wasn't always to attend an all-male police academy.

For most 21 year olds, a dream could be graduating and finding a good job. Or maybe it's finding love in all the right and wrong places. For an orphan like yourself, a dream might be to have a place in a family.

And for a brief moment, your dreams had come true.

"Alright men! We're going to do a roll call. Raise your hand and answer 'here' when your name is called. Aaron Biggs…"

The July sun beats down hard. Little heat waves dance overtop the well-maintained field and over the obstacle course sitting smack dab in the middle of it. Despite being surrounded on all ends by campus buildings, the sweet relief of shade is nowhere to be found.

"...George Scott…"

Sweat makes the chest binder dig into your ribs. You try to adjust it without drawing attention to yourself, but it's impossible—you draw attention just by being here.

You are by far the shortest among this line up of men. You are also the slimmest. And probably also the least attractive. As luck would have it, America decided to drop off all their top models at this year's RPD academy intake. You can hardly believe the sheer amount of perfectly sculpted bodies, chiseled jaws, and faces blessed by a higher power present today.

"... Kevin Ryman…"

You gulp.

This is going to work out… right? You're confident in your ability to ace this program, but you didn't expect to stick out so much. Afterall, there's definitely short, feminine men in this world.

"... Leon Kennedy…"

Just not here. Or anywhere in sight.

"... Shit hea—uh, my apologies—Shi Thead?"

It's fine. You're going to make this work. For Katie.

Her face briefly comes to mind. Those kind soft features, her beautiful blonde hair tinted the slightest bit teal from an over ambitious makeover night…

And you remember how she looked when you found her near the sewers.

"Shi Thead?"

It was as if she were sleeping, except still and cold and pale. There was no rise and fall of her chest. No pulse. When you returned with the police, she was gone—

There's a gentle nudge against your arm.

"I think they're calling you," the guy next to you whispers.

You glance over at him. "Thank—" and stop mid sentence.

Apparently the centerfold of this whole model entourage has been standing next to you the entire time; this guy's eyes are such a gorgeous blue that you're lost in them for a moment. And when you finally find your way out, you get lost in everything else: the dark gold hair, the slightly tanned skin, the small beauty mark on his cheek. He makes a small hand raising motion—wow—he's even got nice hands.

"Sorry," you manage to whisper back. "What were you saying?"

The blue-eyed beauty tilts his head towards the instructor and mouths 'here'.

"Oh, fuc—" you mentally slap yourself across the face and shoot your hand up high. "Here!"

The instructor—also gorgeous but in a tall, broad, 'I'll-make-you-call-me-daddy' kind of way—frowns. He lightly taps your head with his clipboard. "Not a great start, Thead. Pay attention."

"Yes, sir." You straighten out your posture and let your shoulders drop once he continues down the line.

You sigh. Get it together. You can't afford to be distracted. You can't afford to lose this chance.

One year ago, you found your sister dead. That night, her corpse was stolen.

Yet the police… they just gave up.

There was no investigation, no search.

A month after you found her, you almost gave up, too. But by chance—some unbelievable chance—you noticed an old, weather-worn poster on the University's bulletin board. It was for a missing girl; she looked to be in her 20's, beautiful, blonde. The similarities between her and Katie were so striking that if the picture wasn't dated a year prior, you would have thought the poster was of Katie.

You tore the poster down and shoved it into your backpack. Raccoon City's a small town; you've seen the news channel promoting missing cats, so why couldn't you remember a missing girl? Was it because she returned home right away? You called the phone number on the poster; it was out of service.

The next few days, you searched every bulletin board, every pole. Your fingers grew raw and red diligently checking each and every poster until you hit the cork. What if there was some connected reason why Katie and the other girl were never searched for? What if there were more? After three days of finding nothing, you began questioning yourself: were you only connecting the two missing girls out of grief? Katie was the only one who ever made you feel like you had a family. If she really was murdered, how could you just accept that?

On the fourth day of searching, your doubts were silenced.

At a gas station on the outskirts of town, you found a poster for a missing girl. It was dated almost two years ago, the girl was in her 20's, beautiful, blonde. When you called the number on the poster, it was out of service. This time, the similarities were damning.

You took the poster and headed to the police station. Despite the cold and harsh rain, hope blossomed warmly in your chest when the Chief of Police offered to speak with you personally.

You remember nervously waiting in his office, wringing your hands, anxiously bouncing your legs. It smelt like you imagined a morgue would, musty and chemically at the same time. Eventually, footsteps approached; they were boisterous, clumsy. The door opened to a heavyset man fashioned in a well-tailored suit and red silk tie.

He walked in and reached forward to extend his hand. You stood up to introduce yourself.

And when you moved, the light from an antique lamp on his desk hit him just right.

Unobscured by shadow and jacket, inside his vest pocket was a small bundle; blonde hair bound together tightly by a rubber band.

You let go of his hand.

His arm fell back to his side, pocket hidden once more.

The strands…

You swear they were teal-tinted.

"I'm sorry for the wait, " the chief of police said with a cheshire smile. He sat down at his desk and leaned back in his chair. "My name is—"

The instructor taps your head with his clipboard again.

"Paying attention?" he asks.

"Yes," you answer.

The doors to campus building 'A' open. Two men walk out; the first is dressed in the RPD's uniform and decorated in badges. You glower at the second man following clumsily behind. Both stop in front of the obstacle course.

"My name is Marvin Branagh," the decorated man starts. "I am a lieutenant at the Raccoon City Police Department and will also serve as a teacher and mentor to you for the duration of this program…"

He begins pacing up and down the line like a drill sergeant.

"... During this time, you will address me as Lieutenant or Lieutenant Branagh—"

"Why? Didn't like the name your mom gave ya'?" one of the recruits—George Scott—snickers under their breath.

"That's funny," Branagh says deadpan. "You can call me Marvin when you join the force."

George smirks and it's a classic shit-eating grin that even you want to smack off. "Well, that won't be a problem."

"Excellent." Branagh looks George up and down. "Drop and give me 100."

"100?! Right before the test? That's bull—"

"150."

George drops and does as he's told. He mutters profanities more than a few times.

"Moving on," Branagh continues."With me today is the academy headmaster—"

The heavyset man who followed Branagh out of building A steps forward. He's wearing that same suit and silk tie from before.

"—he is also Raccoon City's Chief of Police."

You wonder…

Branagh begins clapping.

Is Katie's hair still in his vest pocket?

"Please give a warm welcome to Chief Brian Irons!"

The recruits whistle and holler. You watch in disgust as Irons takes it all in with a bashful smile. "Now, now." He chuckles. "No need to be so formal, Marvin!"

After you saw those teal-tinted strands in his office, you kept the other posters hidden in your backpack.

"What happened to your friend was unfortunate. Are you sure she didn't just run away? Girls that age having fights with their family isn't uncommon, you know, " Irons had said.

"Suppose she was actually murdered. You saw her close to sewers? No wounds? Was she actually dead? Without a body, it's a lost cause," he had said.

"But if you do find anything that can help us solve the case… you can call me directly," he had said.

Your knuckles grow white at your sides.

And what happened after… When you tried to show mom and dad—no—when you tried to show those people the posters…

There's another gentle nudge against your arm. You look to your side; it's the blue-eyed beauty again.

"Everything okay?" he whispers.

You let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."

"Alright, settle down," Irons tries to speak over the clapping. "Everyone knows why they're here, but I've still got a speech to do."

He opens his arms wide and clears his throat.

"Should you pass the fitness exam today, you will be accepted into Raccoon City's prestigious police academy program. Here, you'll receive hands-on training from our precinct's finest officers. You'll receive open access to police records, old and current, and access to our standard-issue equipment. We are training you so that at the end of this program, you will already be a part of the RPD—"

There's more whistles and cheers.

"—and I for one, can't wait to have you bright, young individuals on my team. So, without further ado, let's get the fitness exam started. Chris?" He gestures towards the clipboard instructor.

You do a double take. Chris? Wait, that couldn't be—

"Right." Chris nods. He tosses the clipboard onto the grass and then pulls off his shirt in one fell swoop and tosses that, too. "My name is Chris Redfield. I'm an instructor here at this academy, and I'll be the one overseeing this exam."

Your mouth gapes open at the sight. You quickly force it shut.

"One-by-one, you will complete the course you see here." Chris stands in front of the first obstacle. He points as he talks. "Go from the bar set to the log, roll the log to the planks. Jump across and army crawl underneath bars. Half way through, get on top of the bars. Run across until you reach the pit. Drop into the pit, hoist yourself up and out. Jump back and forth between the tires without touching the gravel. Climb the wall. Vault over the hurdle."

Chris takes a breath and then keeps going.

"Run across the beams. Cross the wire to the second set of bars. Over, under, over, under. Transport the tire to the white line. Jump across the escalating wooden bars. Sprint to and then weave through the queue. Run up the slanted wall, jump down—"

He takes another breath.

"And that's all. Questions?"

You and all the other recruits exchange nervous glances. There's a long pause before the blue-eyed beauty raises his hand.

"Is there a time limit?" he asks.

"Good question, Kennedy," Chris says. "Four minutes."

You remember a 'Leon Kennedy' being called. So the blue-eyed beauty is Leon? That name suits him—

"Four minutes?!" you blurt out when the realization sinks in.

Chris chuckles. "Four minutes is generous." He rolls his neck, does a cross-body stretch. "You can finish it in two. "

And with that, Chris takes off down the obstacle course. He goes from the bars to the log, rolls the log to the planks. He jumps across, crawls, maneuvers, drops, climbs, leaps, climbs again, and then vaults. He runs, tightropes, zig-zags, hoists, all while looking like Adonis-incarnate under the beating sunlight.

You and your new comrades watch in gobsmacked silence. Certainly less than four minutes later, Chris jumps down from the wall and wipes the sweat from his brow. "What was my time, Marv?" he pants.

Branagh's standing alone now; Irons must have left during the spectacle. He checks his watch. "1:45."

"You heard the man." Chris downs a bottle of water. "If anyone can beat 1:45, I'll take you all out for drinks."

"Yes!"

"Just a round or 'till we pass out?"

"Where—"

Your eyes go wide. The plan formulating in your mind drowns out the excited chatter of the other recruits.

Drinks.

Free drinks equals friendship.

Friendship equals… less suspicion and an easier time.

You bite your lip in thought. You want more than anything to beat Claire's brother, but you know he made that look way easier than it is. You're weaker than him. Smaller… Faster. Lighter—

"And since you have Thead here to thank for encouraging me to demonstrate, why don't we let him go first?" Chris says.

You glance left and right down the line. You glance back at Chris.

Everyone's watching you expectantly.

"Oh," you say dumbly.

"Come on." Chris waves you over. "We don't have all day."

You slowly walk up to the obstacle course. Leon offers a smile as you pass by. George is still doing push ups. Most of the men look either apologetic or skeptical.

"Thead totally looks like a girl," someone whispers.

"What do you wanna bet that 'Shi' is a 'she'?"

"Better not drop your soap, Shi!" There's laughter.

You warm up with some simple stretches. You wish you had more time to prepare; these bastards are underestimating you.

"Ready?" Chris calls.

You close your eyes for a moment.

Let those idiots underestimate you.

"Ready." You nod.

'Cause what you're about to do will look even more impressive.

"Go!" Chris starts his timer. You take off. Bars—easy. You leap onto the first, the second, and do a fancy little side spin off. There's some ooo's and ahh's, but they haven't seen nothing yet. The log is next, and you channel all your inner balance to appear Buddha-calm rolling it across. Planks? No problem. You leap over, crawl under the bars like a ghost is chasing you, and then run along the tops of them like you've just stolen a gorilla's bananas.

"Holy shit, Shi's actually crushing this thing."

"What if he actually wins us free drinks?"

You fall into the pit, and a second later, you're already hoisting yourself out. From the tires, you bounce over to the wall. Admittedly, it's hard to climb—although you're not going to show it. You vault over the hurdle, run across the beams, tightrope the wire, and leave the second set of bars in your dust.

"Shi's going to do it. Shi's going to beat Redfield!"

"How much time is he at?"

"1:05! 6, 7, 8…" everyone begins timing aloud.

You haul ass dragging the tire to the white line. Dirt's flying—you're flying—flying right across the wooden bars.

"...23, 24, 25…"

They call this a Queue? You've faced worse on boxing day.

"...33, 34, 35…"

You sprint for the slanted wall.

"... 36, 37…"

And the tiniest little rock sends your ankle rolling. You crash spectacularly into the obstacle.

A chorus of pained hisses echo across the field—but you didn't spend the past 10 months training just to quit here. Through the shame and humiliation, you somehow manage to drag yourself up the wall and resist the urge to recklessly throw yourself off. Instead, you drop down ungracefully and skid face first over the finish line.

"Time!" Chris clicks his stopwatch.

You lift your head just enough to spit out some gravel. "... what was it?"

Everyone holds their breath.

"1:47."

And everyone groans.

"Aw, damn, that's embarrassing."

"Think Shi would've made it if he didn't trip?"

"Probably not."

"I'd like to see you beat 1:47, Kevin!"

You sigh and roll onto your back. Hopefully no one can see the tears of mortification threatening your eyes. If they do, you'll blame it on the gravel.

Chris looks down at your ankle. "That's only gonna get worse."

Him standing overtop of you, highlighted beautifully by the sun and blue sky in a Baywatch-esque fashion, does very little to soothe the embarrassment. "Not any worse than my pride."

Chris softly scoffs. "If not for your ankle, my pride would have taken the hit." He kneels down to help you stand. "Marv, mind taking Thead over to the Nurse's Station? I'll finish up the tests."

"Of course." Branagh jogs over. He slides an arm under yours and helps hold your weight.

"You were close. Maybe if you're lucky, I'll let you try again sometime," Chris pats your back before walking back to the line. "Does someone else wanna give us an even better show than Thead did?" He starts up the exams again. "If all the tests go like that, this is going to be a good day for my entertainment and my wallet…"

You grimace and slowly follow Branagh's lead. "Lieutenant… I hate to be that guy, but…"

"But?" Branagh raises a brow.

"Did I pass?"

Branagh stops to laugh. It's hardy and loud, and catches you completely off guard. It's so boisterous that even Chris stops mid sentence across the field. He lets Branagh get out a few bouts before resuming.

"Is that a good or bad laugh?" you ask once it dies down.

"Oh, sorry." He composes himself. "I've just never seen such an… exciting fitness examination before."

Cool air gushes out of building C's doors when they open automatically. Inside is clean, pristine, and obviously well-funded.

The attendant sitting at the front desk rushes over with a wheelchair. "Lieutenant! What happened?"

Branagh doesn't laugh aloud, but you can feel the tremor of repressed giggles in his shoulders.

"Recruit rolled his ankle during the exam." He sets you down in the chair. "Judging from what I saw, it'll either be a grade 2 or 3 sprain."

"Understood. RICE and an x-ray, to start. Ultrasound after the swelling dies down?"

"Very good. Thank you Dr. Hart."

"It's what I'm here for, Lieutenant."

Branagh nods with a smile. "Thead—" He clasps your arm. "I can tell it wasn't the result you wanted, but 1:47 is still a damn good time."

You furrow your brows. "Does that mean…?"

"You passed," he says.

All at once, the weight you felt on your shoulder disappears with Branagh's hand. You let out the breath you had been holding; it comes out as a gasp.

"Thank you so much, I—" you shake your head to stop yourself from rambling. "Thank you."

"Like I said, 1:47's a damn good time." Branagh walks towards the doors. "Once you're iced and compressed, report to building D. Chris will inform you of your room assignment then."

You sit up straight. "Yes sir!"

Finally. Finally, you're one step closer to Irons… and one step closer to Katie—Katie who gave you a home. Katie who called you 'sister'. Katie who made you feel like family…

Even if it means living for years as a man—even if it means giving up living as a woman entirely—you'll bring her murder to light.

Branagh waves goodbye and Dr. Hart begins escorting you away. "So how did you hurt your ankle?" he asks.

You sit back in the wheelchair. This is just the beginning.

"Imagine the tiniest, most insignificant looking rock," you answer. "I rolled my ankle on it."

Dr. Hart chuckles. "Those are always the rocks that'll get you."

With crutches under arm and painkillers in your system, you enter campus building D—the dorms.

Sneaking into an all-boys academy was never going to be easy, but it certainly would have been easier if you didn't need to sleep there. Regardless, you knew what you were getting yourself into; among the standard clothes and toiletries, you also packed inconspicuous period supplies hidden in tissue packets, breast concealing PJ tops, and a padded jockstrap in case a bundle of socks didn't look convincing enough.

"Shi Thead," Chris mutters, looking at his papers. "You're in room 5."

"Thanks." You hobble down the hall.

From what you've seen so far, the RPD academy cuts no corners in appearance. There's various pieces of plush, luxurious furniture around and museum-worthy art hanging on the walls. You hope the same splendor has been extended to each room; you wonder how big they are—and who you're sharing yours with.

You arrive at the fifth door on the left; a small black '5' marks the center. When you walk inside, you're greeted by a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

Leon Kennedy looks up from the desk he was studying at. He's wearing the navy academy t-shirt now; he passed the test, too.

"Hey roommate." Leon smiles and sets down his pencil. "How's your ankle feeling?"

Chapter 2: Bright-eyes

Chapter Text

You don't drop your crutches at the sight of Leon.

You don't gawk at the perfect proportions of his face. You don't ogle his sharp jawline, or the cute smile he's got sitting pretty on those soft-looking lips.

No. You keep the straightest possible face that you can muster.

"Roommates, huh—" your voice cracks.

Fuck.

You quickly clear your throat and look everywhere other than Leon. "The ankle's okay. It's just a grade 1 sprain."

Dorm room 5 isn't as big as you had hoped, but it's large enough. There's two twin-sized mattresses, one on the far left and one on the far right. A curtained window and low bookshelf sits between them, and at the foot of each bed, a desk and chair. Much to your surprise, your room has its own bathroom; you can safely discard the communal-bathroom scenarios you had been dreading.

But—the centerfold, the blue-eyed beauty—that's your roommate? You recollect the handsome-bastard assholes whispering about you during the exam; it would have been easy to hate them, to avoid them. Yet instead, you have the only friendly and easily most attractive recruit as your bloody roommate.

"Only a grade 1?" Leon chuckles. "With that fall, I'm surprised you didn't break it." He takes the bags out of your hands.

As it would turn out, the blue-eyed beauty's got a sense of humor, too.

"Oh, I'm sure it was close." You watch him place your bags on the left desk. "Is this your way of claiming the right-side?"

"Most people would say 'thanks', but whatever." He grins.

You jokingly roll your eyes.

"I'm gonna get some dinner from the cafeteria." Leon grabs the hoodie off the back of his chair. "Wanna tag along?"

You hop over to your new bed—the left bed—and take a seat. The mattress isn't anything groundbreaking, but you suddenly feel so exhausted now that you're sitting. "Maybe next time." You yawn. "I'm pretty tired."

"1:47 was impressive. I would be tired too, if I were you."

"Why? What was your time?"

His mischievous smile returns. "1:47."

You grab your pillow. Leon flinches.

"You can take your bright-eyes and bushy-tail"—you whip the pillow at him—"and shove it."

Leon blocks your shot with the door and laughs hard. "You know what? I'll bring you back a dinner roll."

"If I hadn't tripped—"

"You want two rolls? Got it—" he quickly dodges out of the room and shuts the door before the second pillow can hit.

You scowl as his footsteps fade away. More than just a sense of humor, turns out Leon's a real comedian. Attractive, friendly, and now funny too?

"Goddamnit," you sigh and fall back against the mattress.

You stare blankly at the popcorn ceiling.

It's an off-white, little bits of dust clinging to the kernels.

You can remember the time that Katie was laying on her bed, pointing up at those little bits of dust. As she pointed, the dust fell down and straight into her eyes. Except it wasn't dust. It was a spider.

Her scream was something else. Her flailing was just as good.

You sigh again.

It's too quiet without Leon.

You close your eyes.

What a long day.

Claire parked outside your house, rain echoing loudly off the roof of her old beat up truck. She always spent more time on her motorcycle, but for stormy days like this, the truck was best. You have fond memories of singing in here, laughing in here… looking over your shoulder and seeing Katie in the backseat.

"Go in and tell them." Claire cranked the emergency brake. "Your mom and dad should know what you found."

You hugged the backpack in your lap tightly. "Wait for me?"

"That goes without saying." Claire gently pushed you towards the door. "We can go and tell my brother after—he'll help us."

"So I finally get to meet Chris." You grabbed the handle. "If things go well, we can be sisters-in-law—"

"Don't even finish that sentence."

You both laughed and shared a smile. But it was tense, strained.

After meeting Irons at the precinct, you ran to Claire's apartment and told her everything. She didn't question the posters, or what you swore you saw. Claire simply grabbed her keys and told you to follow.

And now, at her gentle behest, you opened the truck door and stepped out. The rain felt like tiny shards of ice against your skin, piercing and cold.

How do you tell mom and dad that Katie was murdered?

How do you tell them that the Chief of Police was involved?

The cobbled walkway seemed to stretch on with each step.

What if they didn't believe you? What if you had seen wrong? They've only been your parents for five years, but they were Katie's for 21.

You approached the house—home—and took in a deep breath. Warm light escaped the curtains drawn across the windows. Mom and Dad were inside, for the first time in a while.

But the door was locked. You fished out the key from your pocket and slid it into the deadbolt. Strangely, the key didn't fit.

Dad opened the door before you could question anything. There was a large bag in his hands.

His face was as cold as the rain when he shoved that bag into your arms. You looked down; it was full of your clothes, your belongings. A yellow envelope sat on the top.

You struggled to hold the bag in your arms. "What's this?" you asked. You couldn't help but notice the envelope had a familiar scent; it was musty… and…

"Those are your things," Dad said. "You don't live here anymore."

"What?" you blurted out. "That's… "

You glanced past him, at mom.

She refused to look at you.

"That's not funny." You tried taking a step inside. "I—"

Dad shoved you away.

You stumbled back and fell down against the wet stone.

Claire got out of the truck and called your name. Her steps splashed loudly in the puddles.

"You don't live here anymore," Dad repeated.

This time, it felt more real, more solid, like the weight of his words were suffocating. Tears welled up in your eyes, burning and painful. The same feeling crawled its way into your throat.

"What?" You tried to swallow the hurt down, but it didn't work. "I thought… we…"

"We?" Dad scoffed—

Or was it 'dad'? Who was this man standing in front of you? Who was the woman who watched him push you?

"We only adopted you for Katie's sake." He grabbed the door handle. "With Katie gone, we don't need you—"

"Hey!" Claire screamed. She fell to her knees and held you defensively. "You bastard! This is how you're going to run away from what happened?!"

The man didn't answer her.

You felt too much and too little. The hands that held the bag, the legs splayed against the ground, the memories of dad and mom and Katie… Everything was numb.

"I thought we were a family," your voice broke, just like your heart.

"You were wrong." He slammed the door shut.

"Shi… Shi… Wake up—!"

You jolt awake, and the first thing you see is Leon's face hovering overtop of yours. He jumps back and clutches his chest. You gasp loudly and shrink back into the far corner of your bed.

"You startled me!" he chides.

"Startled you?" you catch your breath. "You were the one staring at me while I was sleeping!"

"It wasn't like that, I—"

You cross your arms defensively.

Leon glances away and scratches the back of his neck.

"You were having a nightmare," he says finally.

You look at the clock.

3:12 am.

You look down.

You're still in your gravel-stained t-shirt.

"Shit." Your palm meets your forehead. "I must've fallen asleep."

Leon sits down on the edge of his bed. "I was gonna wake you when I got back from dinner, but you looked so peaceful."

"Legs half hanging off, no pillows or blanket— that's your definition of peaceful sleeping?"

"I don't judge sleeping positions, Shi." He shrugs. "I go by the snore."

You shoot Leon a pointed glare.

Or rather, you attempt to, because you immediately falter at the sight of him.

The light from the bedside lamp trails over his pecs, down the center of his abs, and ends at the 'v' of his hips dipping into gray sweatpants.

You clamp your mouth shut. Leon's topless.

He catches you staring. "What? Something on my face?"

Face? Ha! If only you could imagine, Kennedy! you want to scream.

"Your muscles are lowering my self-esteem," you confess alternatively.

Leon squints. "Don't say that… I think I see some abs poking out of the bottom of your shirt, too."

"Either you're pitying me or you need some glasses." You yank your shirt down.

He rolls his eyes. "You don't say 'thank you', you can't take a compliment—"

"And you don't even have abs," you mimic his voice, "worst roommate ever!"

Leon can't help but laugh at that. You join in with him after.

You gaze out the window, letting the last few giggles make their way out of your system. The moon shines brightly over the field and obstacle course. You almost feel normal right now.

"Hey," Leon speaks up. "Do you think you'll be able to go back to sleep?"

You think about your dream. You think about the last time you saw Katie's parents.

"Probably not," you admit.

"Wanna do some training then?" He glances down at your ankle. "No leg stuff, of course."

"You don't think you can sleep either?" You fully turn towards Leon.

He leans back on his hands. "Not really."

"Nerves?"

"Something like that."

You want to ask more, but you decide against it. Instead, you reach for the hoodie hanging on the back of Leon's chair and toss it at him. "Alright. Let's go."

He grins and pulls the sweater over his head. You start slipping on your sneakers.

"Shi?"

You look up from tying your laces. "Yeah?"

"Despite your lack of 'thank you's, ability to take compliments, and abs"—Leon holds out his hand—"I think we're going to be good friends."

Friends…

The idea of making friends here was simply a means to make your agenda easier, to avoid suspicion. But…

You take his hand in a firm handshake. Leon's palm eclipses yours; it's warm and a little calloused.

"I'd like that." You smile.

"Remind me"—you yawn—"whose great idea was it to stay up until 5 am this morning?"

"Not mine," Leon groans and slumps forward onto the table.

Recruits begin pouring into the small auditorium as the clock nears 0800. There's considerably less present than yesterday.

Beside you, Leon adjusts his tie. Unsurprisingly, the academy uniforms look good on him. It's identical to the official RPD officer uniform, save for a badge and the fact that your name tags have 'recruit' underneath them.

He pushes the hair out his eyes, but the dirty blonde strands fall right back down. "Wake me if I fall asleep," he whispers.

You scoff. "Would you like a pinch to the thigh or an elbow to the ribs?"

"A gentle nudge will suffice, thanks."

At some point between 3:12 and 5:00 am this morning, you and Leon became 'friends'.

And by friends, you mean that you did some arm and core workouts together. There wasn't much to talk about between the hefty reps, and upon returning, you quickly ducked into the washroom to wash your face and take off your binder.

Leon was already asleep by the time you came back. Through the darkness, you could see his relaxed expression and the slow rise and fall of his chest. The sound of his soft, quiet breathing seemed to fill the room. You had to force yourself to look away.

"Did you manage to get any sleep?" Leon mutters tiredly.

You rest your head in your palms. "A little."

It's a lie. Between wanting to honestly be Leon's friend, stifling your attraction to him, wearing boxers, and concealing your breasts, you barely got even 15 minutes of shut eye. Rooming with Leon makes you painfully aware of how female you are and how male he thinks you are. You're tired far beyond losing a night's worth of sleep.

The nightmares don't exactly help either.

Once more, you think about the last time you saw Katie's parents. You remember the yellow envelope in your bag, and you remember its familiar smell.

At first you refused to open it, too scared of what could be inside. But when Claire finally convinced you to get closure, there was no note. No 'sorry' or 'I hate you'.

All that was inside was cash.

Katie's parents had bought you off.

So why did the envelope have the same distinct mold and chemical scent of Iron's office?

You glance out the door. Irons has been talking to a woman in the hall for quite some time. As expected, he's still wearing that same suit.

It isn't enough to attend the academy where he's headmaster; how can you get Irons to take off that vest? Seduce him?

You smirk.

"Something funny?" Leon raises a brow.

You lean back in your seat. "Just your face."

"Oh, real mature." He shakes his head.

If you did try to seduce Irons, you might end up with your hair in that vest, too.

The woman finishes her chat with Irons and enters the auditorium. Maybe it's the strong aura she carries or the fact that she's simply a woman, but the recruit's chatter dies instantly at her appearance. You don't exactly blame them, she's quite beautiful, albeit in an I'll-kick-your-ass sort of way. Short chestnut hair sits in a bob, and the face it's framing has dark blue eyes, high cheekbones, and cupid's bow lips. The way her uniform fits isn't anything to scoff at, either. If you had that body, it would have been a lot harder to fool the men around here.

"Good morning," she says, spelling out her name on the chalkboard. "My name is Jill Valentine—"

"Will you be my Valentine?" someone whispers.

Before you even have a chance to roll your eyes, Jill's piece of chalk is flying through the air and hits that someone—oh, god, it's George again—right in the middle of the forehead. He groans in agony and clutches his face.

"Would anyone else care to make a joke?" Jill asks, terrifyingly calm. "If you find my appearance distracting, know that I served in the US army until I was recruited by Delta Force. I was then handpicked to join the RPD's S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team."

She tilts her chin up. George shrinks in his seat.

"Are you ready to learn how to serve the people of your city, Mr. Scott? Or do you have another offensive comment lined up for when I turn my back?"

Jill's voice drops low.

"Because I'd advise against that, Mr. Scott."

She smiles.

"Now may I return to my lesson? Is that okay with you?"

George nods meekly. A cold chill settles over the room.

Jill connects her computer screen to a projector. From there, she begins teaching the basic functions of the RPD software used throughout the precinct.

About an hour in, and without fear of the frightening display earlier, Leon's head dips down and bobs back up. As requested, you nudge him; he looks almost shocked that you did it gently.

You feel like nodding off too, but no matter how sweetly the sandman calls your name, you won't fall asleep.

Jill has started going over how to search the RPD's database.

She details how to locate criminal records, persons of interests, case keywords, and she mentions that the library in building B contains computers for recruit use. Student log-ins can't alter records, but they can view them to their heart's content.

You circle the words 'building B' in your notes.

Tonight, you'll go to the library. Based on what you find will mean one of two scenarios.

The first: you do see Katie's name in the database. That would mean the police department is aware of her. The mission person's case you filed should be available and all information pertaining to that case should also be available. You could take that information to the news and accuse Irons of negligence.

And then there's the second scenario: you don't see Katie's name in the database. That would mean the calls you made and the case you filed were either intentionally ignored, deleted, or covered up—

You accidentally break your pencil lead.

Leon notices and tosses his case of refills onto your notebook. You mouth 'thank you' and shake a lead free.

The second scenario would mean much worse than just a corrupt Chief of Police. Even Irons must be subject to some sort of auditing system—if Katie's had a record that was deleted, it should be recorded somewhere. That, or he's somehow convinced all of the RPD to blindly follow his commands—even the ones where he says not to look for missing girls.

A heavy feeling pools in your gut as you click the lead through your pencil.

If you don't see Katie's name… What exactly would that mean?

Jill moves on to explaining data entry and recording interrogations. Another hour later, Leon's head dips again; this time, you pinch his thigh.

It'll be another late night. You'll have to wait until the library is completely empty; you can't risk Leon or the other recruits asking about who 'Katie' is. The last thing you need is Irons catching wind of someone searching for her.

You sigh.

You're going to need a lot of coffee.

You glance at your watch. It's almost 1 am.

Judging by Kevin Ryman's careless and aloof demeanor during the fitness exam and class today, you're surprised to have waited nearly four hours for him to stop studying. Finally, he packs up his books—which happen to be all of Jill's recommended texts—and he runs a hand through his hair. If Bender from The Breakfast Club had an almost identical but slightly more attractive brother, that's what Kevin looks like. You laugh to yourself and accidentally inhale a leaf. Hiding in the bushes hasn't been exactly fun.

You sneak into the library once Kevin leaves. After a double, triple, and quadruple-take of your surroundings, you're confident you're alone. You find a computer in the far back corner of the library. It boots up with a whirring noise and the RPD's logo.

You're not sure what's funnier: the fact that you log in with the username 'ShiT' or the ' D' that scrolls across the screen when you do. Once you're in, though, the interface is exactly as Jill had shown. You navigate over to the search tool; a blinking line appears, ready for you to type.

Your hand hovers over the keyboard and you gulp.

Why does this suddenly feel so hard?

You decide to start with the girl who has been missing the longest. You begin typing the name from the poster at the gas station.

CLARICE SIMPSON

You click enter.

- NO RECORDS -

Next, you try the name of the second girl, from the university bulletin board.

ANNA JACKSON

Enter.

- NO RECORDS -

You let out a sharp breath and force yourself to type the last name.

KATIE JONES —

"Who's that?" someone says from behind you.

You don't scream, but you're pretty sure your soul leaves your body. You spin around to find a broad chest in your face.

"Yesterday, I saw you training with Kennedy. Tonight, you're here." Chris crosses his arms. "Do you ever sleep, Thead? Did no one tell you that the 'R' in RICE stands for 'rest'?"

You take a step back and bump into the computer desk. "I couldn't sleep."

"Mhm."

"Seriously! I just—"

"You don't have to tell me why you can't sleep, Thead." Chris nods towards the computer. "But you do have to tell me why you're here."

You glance at the name on the screen.

You think about lying; there's a hundred different excuses you could use. Yet, strangely…

Are you hesitating because he's Claire's brother? She always talked about him so warmly. You constantly teased her about wanting to meet him.

Who knew it would be like this?

After what happened at Katie's house you decided it wouldn't be safe to involve him. Not because you suspected Chris, but if he was anything like Claire, he wouldn't stand back and let Irons get away with murder. Without knowing the extent of Iron's influence, he could lose his job, or worse.

You gaze back at Chris. He's standing tall and broad, watching you carefully.

"I wanted to check if a missing person's case was ever solved," you admit.

Chris' shoulders relax. "I thought you were going to try and lie to me."

"I considered it."

"You're awfully honest," he chuckles and leans back against the bookshelf. "Is that why Claire likes you so much?"

Surprise shows on your face and you do nothing to conceal it. "Here I was, thinking you'd forgotten about me."

"It would be really hard to forget a name like yours."

You scoff.

Chris looks at the computer screen again. "I don't remember that name, though. Is it an old case?"

"Yes." You mimic his posture and lean against the desk.

"She's why you wanted to join the RPD?"

"Is this an interrogation or friendly conversation?"

"Just curious about the guy who's got my sister asking me for favors."

You glare at him for a moment and then decide it's probably not the best idea to glare at an instructor. "Yes, she is."

"I see." Chris glances down at his hands. "That's chivalrous of you."

"Were your reasons similar?"

He snorts softly. "Not in the slightest. I was discharged from the Air Force for insubordination, somehow wound up here after."

When Chris doesn't continue, you stare at him pleadingly. After a long moment, he lets out a sigh.

"I didn't see eye to eye with my senior officers," he divulges. "I didn't agree with their choices."

You suppress a knowing grin. It really is a good thing you didn't ask for help.

Chris checks his watch. It reads 01:36.

"Alright, now it's very late." He pushes off of the bookshelf. "You gonna run her name through the DB?"

You turn back towards the computer. 'KATIE JONES' is still there in the search box, line blinking slowly behind the 's'.

"Right," you say.

You can hear the creaking of the overhead fan, the dull hum of the monitor.

You can hear your breathing become shaky, and the thudding in your chest grow louder.

Ba-dum.

"Thead?" Chris asks.

Ba-dum.

"Yeah, sorry," you answer.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

You tap enter.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum—

And then you swallow thickly.

- NO RECORDS - shows.

"Huh." Chris reads the results over your shoulder. "When did she go missing?"

You scan over the words again and again and again. But no matter how many times you do, the message stays the same.

"... I'm not sure exactly. I guess it was too long ago." You fake a smile. "It was worth a check."

There's a burn in your throat building, crawling, scratching.

You log out of the computer. "Well, thanks for the chat, Mr. Redfield—"

"Chris is fine," he interrupts.

That same burn is threatening your eyes. You need to get out of here.

"Thanks, Chris. Um..." You hold your wrist and squeeze it hard. "Could you please not mention what I was doing here tonight to anyone?"

He looks you up and down. "I wasn't going to."

"I… just…" you take a deep breath. "Katie was important to me. I'd rather keep her to myself."

Lips in a tight line, jaw clenched, eyes glossy.

Thead looks like he's about to break into a million pieces.

Chris pats him on the arm. "Understood. Now get some shut-eye."

"I will." Thead nods.

He grabs his crutches and limps briskly out of the library. When Thead fully disappears from sight, Chris pulls up a chair to the same computer as before. He logs in and tabs over to 'student history'.

Click.

ShiT searched: CLARICE SIMPSON - NO RECORDS

ShiT searched: ANNA JACKSON - NO RECORDS

ShiT searched: KATIE JONES - NO RECORDS

Chris leans back in his chair.

Katie…

Not a 'Katie Jones' verbatim, but Claire used to talk about a 'Katie' and her sister. They used to hang out all the time…

… When exactly did they stop?

Chris grabs the lighter from his pocket and flicks it open. He quit a while ago, but every now and then, he still feels like taking a drag.

If 'Katie Jones' just happens to be the same girl, her missing case should be in the system.

"Claire—"

A small flame dances atop the Zippo.

"What are you and Thead hiding?"

Chris snaps the lid closed.

Chapter 3: Confidant

Chapter Text

If Chris hadn't been watching, you would have tried Katie's name again and again—you would've searched her name over and over until the disbelief finally died.

Without a doubt, Katie's name was typed properly. As were the names of the other girls.

But it's strange; in the entire history of Raccoon city, how could there be no records for anyone named Clarice Simpson, Anna Jackson, or Katie Jones?

Does Irons really have that kind of power?

Fingers snap in front of your face. Your vision jolts into focus.

"Earth to Shi." Leon moves his hand before you can slap it. "You look like you're a million miles away."

"Leave me in outerspace," you groan.

"Because that went so well during the fitness exam."

You roll your eyes. Leon raises his brows expectantly.

"Thank you." You huff. "I guess."

He grins. "Aww. You're learning."

Once again, Leon was already in bed by the time you got back last night. Evidently, he's been making this whole pretending-to-be-a-boy thing rather easy by conveniently sleeping every time you need to take off your binder and makeup. You took special care not to get caught off guard by his sleeping face this time, still you never knew a man's gentle breathing could make you feel so nervous. You laid in bed for what felt like forever, just staring up at the ceiling.

"Are you sure you shouldn't sit out?" Leon glances down at your ankle.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other; the compression gauze feels like it's doing a good job. Truthfully, you probably shouldn't be participating in basic today, but you couldn't stomach the thought of falling behind.

"Chris said he'll respect my decision given I don't over exert myself," you answer.

The jockstrap sitting awkwardly between your thighs feels way worse in comparison. You need it, though, because the cotton sweatpants and cotton t-shirt of the gym attire do little to hide your feminine frame.

On the other hand, Leon still looks like a model. He's not as tall as some of the other guys, but his face heavily outweighs difference in height; clear skin, strong dark brows, perfectly proportioned nose and lips, and a sharp, sharp jawline. His muscular body fills out the uniform well, curving in all the right places to pique your curiosity about what lies underneath.

Well… you already know what lies underneath the shirt.

"Alright men," Chris' voice booms across the open area. "I hope you did your warm-ups; we're going to start with simple self-defense techniques."

The academy gymnasium is large enough to accommodate a full basketball court. Bright lights hang overhead and the smell of freshly laid rubber wafts up from the flooring. A long mirror spans across the right wall; weights and various equipment sit on well organized racks.

"For today," Chris continues, "you'll be working in pairs—"

You glance over at Leon hopefully.

"—that I will assign."

And you frown.

"Thead and Ryman," Chris reads off a piece of paper.

You switch your gaze over to Kevin Ryman. His demeanor is completely different than at the library yesterday; he's standing imposingly, muscular arms folded over his chest, a sympathetic grin arching his lips.

"You sure that's right?" Kevin tilts his head. "Shouldn't Shi be with someone his own…" he looks you up and down. "... size?"

A scoff escapes you. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, no offense." He shrugs. "But going against me wouldn't be fair for you."

"Because I'm short?"

"Because you're dainty. I'm looking for a challenge, not a pillow fight."

"Hah!" You smirk. "I could be the living embodiment of a potato chip and still beat the shit out of you—"

"That's enough." Chris interrupts. He points to the ring painted on the gym floor. "Ryman, if you truly think Thead won't be a challenge, then show us."

"Fine." Kevin uncrosses his arms and walks over to the circle. "But don't come crying to me when you get hurt."

Recruits chatter in excitement. Somehow, it's starting to sound a lot like your first day.

"It's never dull around you," Leon says.

You let out a sigh. "Apparently."

And that's how you wound up fighting Kevin Ryman at 8:30 am on your third day in the academy. Laying low? Yeah... that doesn't seem to be working out for you.

"Listen up." Chris taps his clipboard. "I just want to see a standard takedown. No hair pulling, biting, scratching, going for the face or balls; fight's over when I say it's over. Got it?"

You both nod and stand at opposite ends of the circle. Recruits gather around the outside.

Chris offers you a thumbs up before joining them.

You give him a thumbs up back.

"Hey, Shi." Kevin smiles condescendingly. "I'd really don't want to embarrass you in front of everyone—"

"Don't worry about me." You stretch your neck and shake your arms. "You're the one who's about to be embarrassed."

Chris blows his whistle. Kevin rushes at you.

When he's within arms reach, you plant your foot forward, hook your right arm under his left armpit and spin on your heel.

You hear the moment his breath hitches. You hear the exact moment he realizes he's fucked.

You use your hips and his momentum to throw Kevin over your shoulder and onto the ground.

"What Thead used just now is a Judo technique called 'Seoi-Nage'," Chris narrates. "There's a few other variants of this throw—"

Kevin scrambles up from the floor. He snarls as he lunges. You grab his shirt, his arm, and turn around with a wide stance. Kevin hits the ground again.

"—like that one," Chris carries on with his educational speech overtop the chorus of ow's. "That there was 'Tai Otoshi'."

"Had enough?" You ask.

Kevin rises tiredly. "Stop turning around"—he charges—"and face me like a man!"

"Like a man?" You grab his shoulders. "I am—"

You step forward, hook your other leg around his knee.

"—a man!" and you throw him down hard.

The impact of Kevin hitting the rubber floor echoes across the entire gym.

When he doesn't get up immediately, Chris blows his whistle and cheering erupts from the recruits.

" Holy shit! Shi's crazy!"

"I thought Kevin would do better…"

"What was that last move called?"

"N-no," Kevin groans breathlessly. "I-I can still—"

"What Thead used to finish the match was 'O-Soto-Gari'," Chris explains. "You use the opponent's momentum and weight to—"

"Hey!" Kevin wheezes. "I said I can still fight—"

"Fight's over when I say it's over, Ryman." Chris kneels down next to him. "Besides, this was my mistake."

"W-what was?"

"Placing you with Thead. I should've paired him with someone more challenging."

Leon takes ice from the freezer and wraps it in a small towel. "Just couldn't resist, huh?"

At Chris' behest, Leon brought you to the First-Aid station near the gym. It's a small room in comparison to the Nursing Station in building C, but still well equipped with medical supplies and a rest area. He sat you down on the bed and propped your foot up on a stool.

"Resist what?" you ask, holding your ankle.

Leon pulls over a chair pushes your hand aside. He rests the ice bundle on top of the swelling. "Embarrassing Kevin at the expense of your sprain."

You try to grab the towel from Leon. He leans back and dangles it out of reach.

"I wasn't about to let him belittle me like that." You give up and let Leon hold the ice for you. "My sister always told me to stand up for myself."

"You have a sister?"

"I…" you hesitate. "I did."

Leon continues to gently press the cold towel to your skin. "I'm sorry to hear that. She would've been proud." He glances up, bangs hanging over his right eye. "Having a sibling must've been nice."

"You're an only child?" you ask.

"Yeah—with overly-expecting parents."

"Ah—a sibling probably would've helped shoulder some of the load."

"And probably would have made a pretty good confidant, too," he chuckles.

"You know…" You lay back on your elbows and smile. "I'm a pretty good confidant, myself. If you ever need one."

Leon stares at you for a moment. His Adam's apple bobs and he makes an expression that's hard to place.

He clears his throat. "I'll keep that in mind."

You suddenly sit up straight.

"What's wrong?" Leon asks.

Past Leon, through the window on the door, you can see into the room on the opposite side of the hall; Irons is sitting at an antique desk, looking at documents. Wearing the same goddamn suit.

That must be his office. He's alone and you're out of class—this could be your best chance at confirming what's in his vest.

But how do you get him to take it off?

You gaze at the water jug sitting on the counter. Then at Irons… and Leon.

"I have to go do something." You hop off the bed.

"And that is…?" Leon watches you fill the jug with tap water. "I told Redfield I'd make sure you got back to the dorms okay."

"It's nothing." You rummage in the cupboard for a cup.

"Clearly it's not nothing— "

"Okay, fine." You blow your bangs off your face. "It's not nothing, but it's important."

"Well let me help you then," Leon offers.

"I…" You stare down at the floor. You think about Katie's parents. "I can't."

"Why not?" he pries.

When you say nothing, he continues. "Does it have to do with why you were out so late last night?"

You gasp and glance up. Leon's brows are furrowed, lips drawn in a tight line.

"The circled 'building B' in your notes?" he asks.

Behind Leon, Irons is getting out of his chair. Time seems to slow: Irons tapping paper against his desk. The lingering cold against your throbbing ankle. Leon standing there, pleadingly.

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, voice barely above a whisper.

"I need to get Irons' vest," you admit.

Leon wordlessly follows your gaze out the door and sees Irons preparing to leave. He turns back and gives you a pointed look. "Using water?"

You blink dumbfoundedly. "Y-yeah?"

Leon quickly scours the room. He rips the cup from your grasp and rushes over to a thermos on the counter.

"Water won't make him take off that vest." Leon hands you a cup of hot coffee. "But this might."

Before your jaw has the chance to fully drop, the door to Irons' office clicks open.

"Hurry," Leon mouths.

You run out.

And with perfect timing, you crash spectacularly into Chief Irons. Coffee flies from the cup, onto the walls and onto him, completely saturating his jacket and vest.

He yelps in shock and anger, pawing at the scalding clothes. "You little—!"

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," you apologize profusely. "Let me get you a towel…"

"You fucking burned me!" Irons raises his hand and—

Leon catches Irons' fist before it can come flying down. "Sir, we need to get those clothes off." He manages to unbutton and slip off Irons' jacket and vest. "We need to put ointment on the burn—"

"Don't touch me!" Irons growls and shakes Leon off.

Regardless, Leon manages to drag the cussing chief of police to the first-aid station. You silently pick up the coffee-stained vest when he does.

"Sir, if you'd just let me apply the ointment…"

"Aren't you supposed to put ice or cold water or—"

You shakily slip your hand into the pocket.

"No sir, doing that restricts blood flow and—"

"Fine! Just give me that fucking ointment!"

Strands of hair wrap around your fingers and you feel sick to your stomach. You pull them out, into the light. Bluntly cut edges of hair have been stuck together by some sort of brownish glue, but…

The color…

The hair is definitely teal-tinted blonde.

"This isn't helping, you're wasting my time!"

"If you would just hold still, sir…"

You stuff the hair back in; a sealed letter falls out.

"I should expel the both of you for this!"

It's completely blank save for a logo in the top left corner.

"Sir, accidents happen…"

You roughly shove the letter in Iron's pocket just as he storms over and snatches the vest from your hands.

"You're lucky it wasn't a serious burn," he threatens before stalking off.

Leon slowly and tiredly walks out of the first aid station. He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms. "Get what you needed?"

You nod.

"Gonna explain why I had to rub chamomile cream on the headmaster's chest?"

You nod.

Leon lets out a long sigh before standing up straight. He ruffles your hair. "It's never dull around you."

Anxiety plagues your thoughts.

The walk to the dorms is only five minutes but it feels like at least 30 with the silence. You're about to combust by the time you reach your room; how much do you say? What do you admit? Do you tell Leon everything? What if he wants to help with the investigation?

Why did he help at all?

Leon may seem like a straight-laced, goody two-shoes, yet he just put hot coffee in your hands and—without so many words—told you to throw it at Irons. He even went as far as to create a diversion afterwards.

Should you tell him about Katie? Should you tell him that you're a girl?

"If you keep making that face, you're gonna get a wrinkle right"—Leon pokes between your eyebrows—"here."

You try to relax. It doesn't work.

"C'mon. There's nothing to be nervous about." Leon opens the door and ushers you in. "I'm just…"

"Just…?" you plop down on your bed.

He scratches the back of his neck. "Worried, I guess?" He plops down on his own bed across from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

You briefly think about working out together at 3 am.

"Well, yeah," you say. "I think."

"Not 'I think'." Leon frowns. "We are friends now. Conspiring to search the Chief of Police's belongings constitutes that."

He leans forward and rests his elbows against his knees.

"I can't shake the feeling that you're caught up in something big, and I…"

Leon looks you in the eyes. "I wanna help."

You clamp your mouth shut. Heat builds in your throat and your jaw grows tired from how hard you clench it.

Fuck. Why did you tell Leon about the vest in the first place?

Why do you want to lean on someone you just met?

You think about that rainy night outside Katie's house, and why, after only three days, does your chest feel tight when you think that Leon could abandon you like they did?

"You have no clue what you want to help," you falter. "You have no idea what you'd be getting into—"

"Then tell me," Leon says plainly. "Look…"

He glances away, out the window. The sky is grey, storm clouds shading the entire field. Rain softly pelts the glass.

"I mentioned that my parents expect a lot from me," Leon begins. "For as long as I can remember, I haven't been given the chance to make choices for myself."

He cradles his chin in his palm.

"And, all my life, I've been treated a certain way because of my appearance."

"Appearance?" you ask.

He nods. "Men hating me because they feel threatened, women getting close to me because they like how I look…"

A guilty feeling settles deep into your stomach.

"It's different around you—I feel like I can be myself around you." Leon sits straight. "I'm sorry if that sounds sappy or whatever, but you're a great guy, Shi."

He stands up.

"While I haven't been able to make many choices for myself, I've made the choice to help the only friend I've had in a long time."

Leon holds out his hand.

"So, let me help. Okay?"

Just like two days ago, at 3 am, Leon's hand extends outwards to you again.

Your mouth feels dry. Fists tighten at your sides, nails digging into skin. The guilt building in your stomach is making you nauseous.

You want nothing more than to tell Leon the truth: I'm a woman. I'm not a man. I'm not Shi.

How could you tell him that, though? Do you have the right to? After ogling him like all the other women? Right after he admitted that he felt comfortable around you?

You weren't lying when you said you wanted to be his friend, but…

Leon crouches in front of you, blocking your line of sight. You can't look away.

"Please?" he asks.

You weren't lying about wanting to be Leon's friend. But even if you tell Leon about Irons, you can't tell him that you're a woman. Leon wants to help Shi, not you.

And Shi… is your only ticket to avenging Katie.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open them, Leon's still there, patiently waiting.

Why…

Why do you want to be his friend so badly?

"My sister…" you whisper. "She was murdered."

"Murdered?" Leon repeats slowly.

You slink off the edge of your bed and sit on the floor. Your head falls back against the mattress.

"About a year ago, I found her body by the sewers," you start. "I ran to get the police, and by the time we returned, her corpse was missing."

Leon sits down next to you, listening attentively.

"Despite the obvious missing persons case, the police gave up without searching. I then found out that not only my sister had gone missing, but two other girls before her."

"In Raccoon City? How—" Leon shakes his head. "How is that possible? I never heard anything on the news about missing girls."

"I had the exact same thought." You reach over to your backpack and pull out the posters.

You pass them to Leon. He examines them carefully.

"I tried calling the numbers; they were both out of service," you continue. "Still, three missing girls should've been more than enough evidence to start a case."

"You went to the precinct?"

"Yeah, and Chief Irons offered to meet with me personally."

Leon looks up from the posters. "Something happened."

"Mhm."

You run your fingers along the ground and grasp at the carpet.

"By chance, I saw Katie's—my sister's—hair in his vest pocket. I know it sounds crazy, but her hair… it was a really specific color. I recognized it instantly."

"So that's why you needed Irons' vest earlier," Leon pieces together.

"It was a gamble that her hair would still be in there. I sacrificed a lot to get into this academy; I needed to try and confirm what I saw."

"And did you?"

"Yes, thanks to you." You give a small grin. "And thanks to you rubbing cream on Irons' chest, I also found something else."

Leon grimaces. "Glad that was worth something. What did you find?"

"A sealed letter tucked into the same pocket," you recall. "The only thing on it was the Umbrella logo."

"Hm…" he crosses his arms. "Umbrella … the pharmaceutical company?"

You nod. "Why would Irons put that letter in the same spot as Katie's hair if he wasn't trying to hide it?"

"I don't know." Leon holds out his hand once more. "But we should figure it out together."

You glance down at his open palm. You have a feeling that this is the last time he would offer it. "Even after hearing all that, you still want to help?"

"I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't want to." He holds his hand up higher. "Hurry, my arm's getting tired."

You gingerly place you hand in his, much like two nights ago, at 3 am. Leon firmly shakes your hand and the warmth of his skin does little to soothe the guilt of your lies.

"Thanks for trusting me." Leon smiles. "I won't let you down."

Chapter 4: The Other Sister

Chapter Text

"I've been thinking a lot about last night."

"Oh?"

"And I… Shi?"

"Yes?"

"Do I still make you feel self-conscious?"

Your gaze is somewhere in the corner of the ceiling, far, far away from Leon standing there, hair damp from a shower, towel slung around his neck, in nothing but black briefs.

Last night, you told Leon about all the details; Katie's corpse, the missing girls' similar appearances, Irons' dismissive behavior, and the lack of search results in the RPD database. Other than the yellow envelope and its pitiful story, you told Leon everything.

And laying in bed after, listening to those gentle breaths again, you made up your mind to smother whatever attraction you felt for Leon and bury it deep into the ground.

Of course, Leon decided to make that really easy for you this morning.

"I watched you during the fitness exam," he says, fabric ruffling in the background. "I also watched you toss Kevin around like a rag doll."

You crane your neck further away. "So?"

"I know you're not weak."

Leon tugs on your sleeve. You glance down; his uniform's on, but the shirt's still unbuttoned.

"Show me," he says. "I'll tell you right now if you've got anything to be self conscious about."

You half scoff, half snort, disbelief in full. "What?"

"We're roommates for the next year. You really think I won't catch you topless at some point?"

"You won't."

Leon shrugs and starts working on his buttons. "Suit yourself. You're eventually gonna have to take your shirt off for water safety training."

"I, uh…" You cross your arms. "... Have a chlorine allergy."

Leon raises a brow. "Convenient."

"Anyways—you were thinking about last night?"

"Right." Leon adjusts his tie in the mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. "I was thinking that our next step should be to search Irons' office. If he's comfortable enough to hide your sister's hair in his pocket, there's no telling what might be in his desk. "

"Okay." You purse your lips. "How do you suppose we'll get in?"

Leon fiddles with his hair; the strands immediately fall out of place. "This is the plan: borrow the custodian's keys and—"

"Borrow?"

"Yeah, borrow." He rolls his eyes. "Because we'll return them."

You lean back and squint. "I was wondering about this yesterday, but… I thought you were… you know…"

Leon stops with his hair to shoot you a look. "What? A teacher's pet? An ass-kisser?"

"I mean, I wasn't going to say that exactly—"

"Stick around, Shi." Leon meets your gaze through the mirror. He grins. "You might just learn a thing or two about me."

Today, you and Leon purposefully sit at the back of class. 15 minutes into Jill's lecture on equipment, Leon quietly slides over his notebook. His writing is neat, uniform, and slanted ever so slightly to the right. Seeing it makes you surprisingly giddy—you bite your tongue and swallow the feeling down.

The Plan:

1. Borrow—yes, borrow—the custodian's keys.

Play by ear? Create distraction?

2. Sneak into building A.

Other than the library and dorms, all other buildings go 'lights-out' and lock at 23:00.

3. Sneak into Irons' office.

Take disposable gloves from the first-aid station and thoroughly examine the office. Place everything back where found, dispose of gloves among other gloves in first-aid station.

4. Find incriminating evidence.

Thank Leon Kennedy dramatically and profusely for his plan—

You snort aloud.

Jill stops her lecture. "Is something funny, Thead?"

"No ma'am, sorry ma'am." You bow your head.

She gives you a stern, firm glare before continuing. "Moving on, then. Standard issue includes…"

Leon takes away his notebook. A few seconds later he pushes it back with new writing.

'Pay attention.'

This time you hold back the snort and silently jab his ribs with your elbow.

Class seems to both fly and crawl by. With each second that passes, you feel closer to solving Katie's murder; and with every second that passes, you become more and more aware of Leon. Everytime he lets out a sigh or shifts in his seat, you're so goddamn aware despite knowing full well that you shouldn't be.

You find yourself wanting to know about Leon: What's his favorite food? What does he do for fun? What makes him excited? What makes him tick?

And…

You rest your elbow against the desk and cradle your chin in your hand. Just as you turn your head to look at him, he glances over at you too.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" you whisper.

Leon mirrors your pose; he rests his elbow against the desk and cradles his chin in his hand.

"No," he whispers back.

Jill dismisses class and the noisy thudding of your heart is masked by scraping chairs and flipping pages. Leon doesn't move, though. He continues watching you, a curious smile curving his lips.

"Why?" he asks. "Gonna tease me for being single?"

"No, I—"

You accidentally slam your book shut and Leon jumps from the loud noise it makes. He shoots you a questioning glare; you mentally scold yourself.

"I just thought you would," you explain, grabbing your things.

His glare deepens. "Because…?"

You begin walking towards the cafeteria. Leon quickly catches up.

"Because?" he repeats.

"Because you're nice and you have abs." You roll your eyes. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Leon laughs. "Oh so you can't take compliments but you can give them?"

"Whatever."

"I don't have a girlfriend because—hey, listen to me—!"

Leon jogs ahead and blocks you with his arm. You try to get around him, but he traps you against the wall with his other arm.

"Stop running away," Leon grumbles. "I'm trying to answer the question you asked…"

All you can smell is the detergent of his freshly laundered uniform. All you can feel is the heat of his skin radiating through it.

Your voice catches in your throat, heart thudding even harder than before when his knee accidentally bumps yours.

You glance up at him.

He gazes down.

Blue eyes meet yours—

and Leon takes in a deep, sharp breath when they do.

"Sorry." He suddenly jerks away.

"It's fine!" you murmur, biting your tongue hard, again. "It's, uh…"

Leon apologetically meets your eyes once more. He nervously rubs his neck.

"... fine," you say more firmly. "So what is the reason?"

"Nothing worth pinning you to the wall for." He frowns.

Leon's dejected demeanor makes your chest hurt in a different, unpleasant way. Intentional or not, he has the puppy-dog face nailed.

You let out a sigh. "... It's 'cause I'm small, right?"

"Huh?" he drops his hand.

Turns out you're weak to puppy-dog faces.

"It's because I'm short, slender, and have no abs— that's why you wanted to pin me, isn't it?" You wrap your arms around yourself. "You snake!"

Leon bursts out laughing. "What the—"

"You even watched me in my sleep that time too…"

One of the recruits walking by gives Leon a funny look; Leon's face turns bright red.

"Shhh," he hisses and tries to cover your mouth. Your laughter spills through his fingers.

Turns out you're just completely and utterly weak to Leon.

The cafeteria is a buzz by the time you arrive. Fresh food makes your stomach growl loudly and Leon snickers at the alien-like gurgle. Recruits chatter excitedly while waiting in line.

"Apparently there's some babe visiting the academy."

"Really?"

"She came in on a motorcycle."

Your ears perk up.

"Someone's girlfriend, maybe?"

"Or their sister…"

"Not sure. But, damn, she looked good in red leather—"

Oh… oh, no.

"What color was her hair?" you butt in.

"Didn't take you for the bad-girl type," Wes Drucker chuckles. "Hate to burst your bubble, but I'm pre-tty sure she was taller than you—"

"What color was her hair? " you repeat with a groan.

Leon nods and hands you a tray of food. "That's right. Don't listen to Wes, Shi—height isn't what's important."

"That's not what I—"

"Hey!"

The attention of the entire cafeteria is drawn to the woman standing in the doorway. Auburn hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, figure accentuated by a tight red leather jacket. The buckles on her boots ring like spurs with every step she takes, visitor's pass swinging back and forth. She scans over each and every man until she spots you.

Slow steps turn into a sprint.

"Is she going for…?" Wes starts.

"Yep." You answer.

You hold your tray of food out of the way before Claire Redfield can knock it out of your hands. She hugs you tightly—hugs you tightly with her whole body.

"I missed you!" Claire nuzzles so affectionately into your neck that the intense glare of your fellow recruits nearly burns a hole in the back of your head.

"So that's why you asked if I had a girlfriend," Leon mutters. "Because you didn't want me to feel bad when yours showed up…"

"Wait—" you try to balance both Claire and your food. "She's not my girlfriend—"

Claire finally lets go. "Aww, I'm not? I'd treat you so good, Shi."

"I'm sure. Other than to flirt with me, what brings you here?"

She glances at Wes and Leon. "I have some news for you. About that thing we talked about."

"That thing we talked about," Wes mocks. "Leon, better watch out that they don't do that thing in your bed."

"Jealous?" Claire tilts her chin up teasingly.

Wes' jaw drops. "Yes."

"Stop poking my classmates." You drag Claire over to an empty table on the far left. "I'll catch you later, Leon."

"Sure." He smiles and pulls Wes in the opposite direction.

Over lunch and a plate of hot fries, you explain the past several days to Claire. From the fitness test, to her sexy brother—

"Seriously?" Claire pretends to gag.

—to Leon being your roommate, Chris catching you using the database, the showdown with Kevin, and Leon's request to help.

Claire snags another fry and dips it in ketchup. "Let me get this right… that guy—Leon—he doesn't know about you but he knows about Katie?"

"Mhm." You steal her pre-dipped fry.

"Isn't it hard?"

"What?"

"Rooming with him." Claire steals her fry back and downs it before you can continue the tug-of-war.

"Actually..." You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling. "I think he's making it too easy."

"Nah. He's hot. That can't be easy."

"Easy for Shi, not me."

The look Claire gives speaks the pity she would never dare to say. She napkins her hands and reaches over the table to hold yours. In a small, hushed voice she whispers your real name; it sounds so foreign that you're caught completely off guard.

"I'm here for you." She squeezes. "Just say the word and I'll cut my hair, bind these fantastic boobs, and weasel my way in."

"I know." You squeeze back. "Binding those tits, though? That would be a disservice to humanity."

"Ugh. You know I love a compliment, but you're even starting to talk like a man."

"Thanks, I'm trying my best."

You and Claire giggle, just like back in university. And just like in University, Claire snorts and you start to cough, resulting in even more laughter. Your voice is hoarse by the time it finally dies down.

"So what was the news?" You take a long sip of apple juice.

"Oh, right…" she exhales, letting the last few giggles out. "Yesterday, I—"

Something clips your shoulder hard and your big cup of apple juice spills all over your face. You sputter, juice up your nose and down your shirt. "What the fu—"

"Oops," Kevin says, walking past with his tray. "My bad."

Juice drips from your hair into your eyes. It stings to blink at him.

My bad? You're all the way in the back corner of the cafeteria, far from the other tables, might as well have been in Narnia.

How did Kevin-asshole-Ryman bump into you?

The smug smirk on his face gives you the answer.

"Hey," you growl. "What was that for—"

Claire grabs your arm firmly before you can get out of your seat. She shakes her head. You try pulling away. She shakes her head again.

You begrudgingly sit back down as Kevin leaves.

"What gives?" you frown. "I thought you'd cuss him out with me—"

"Your shirt," she interrupts. "I can see your binder through your shirt."

"What?"

You look down. The juice-soaked fabric sticks to your skin, to the thick material of your binder, to the curves that the binder can't hide.

You slowly fold your arms over your chest. "Oh."

"Stay calm," Claire says discreetly. "Use my jacket?"

"That'll draw even more attention to my tits than the apple juice."

"Ugh. Stop saying 'tits'—"

"Focus!"

"Right! Uh, cover them with your books?"

You hold up your 5x7 notebook.

"Why the fuck is it so small?!" she scolds.

"I thought it was cute..."

"You can't even cover one tit with that!"

"Ha! You said tit!"

"Focus!"

From the corner of your eye, you can see the clock nearing 13:00. Once everyone heads off to class, people will question why you're not joining.

"The dorms are too far…" you mutter. "Can I make it to the washroom?"

Claire is quiet for a moment. "There's no other choice."

"What do you mean?"

Her gaze is fixed on something behind you, and you turn around to see Leon, Wes, and George heading to your table.

"You can run fast, can't you?" Claire asks.

You gulp. "I can..."

"Then sprint to the bathroom like you're gonna poop your pants." She unzips her jacket just enough to show cleavage. "I'll distract them."

"Claire… you're not going to tell Leon I have diarrhea are you—"

"Go!"

You leap out of your seat and run so fast that Leon's bangs blow into his face when you pass. You can vaguely hear him yelling 'sprain' and Claire shouting 'diarrhea', but you don't stop until you're tucked away in the washroom's furthest stall.

You take a second to catch your breath.

First things first:

You hold your head in shame.

Second:

You take off your shirt and tie and hang them overtop the stall door. Your binder is soaked in apple juice; you attempt to blot it dry with toilet paper.

Every time the door opens, pants unzip, and a sink runs, you feel like your heart might stop. By the time your binder is in a wearable state, not only are you a ball of nerves, but your watch reads 13:10. You're already late for class, you haven't even begun to tackle the juice on your uniform, and—

You tilt your head. "Huh?"

The top of the stall door is empty.

Maybe your shirt fell, maybe you knocked it over; you drop down to your knees and—

There's nothing on the ground.

Claire paces around outside the men's washroom.

It's already 1:15pm. What the hell's taking her—Shi, him, goddamnit—so long?

Shi Thead…

If Claire had known that would become such a permanent name for her friend, she would have taken it much more seriously when speaking to Chris.

After all, seeing Shi here, it's almost as if they belong. When everything is said and done, will Shi continue the program? Live as a male forever?

Claire thinks about Shi's roommate, Leon. Even after such a short time, they already seemed so close…

A janitor walks out of the washroom. Claire doesn't suspect too much until she sees the light-blue fabric bundled in his hands.

"What's that?" she blurts out.

The janitor startles at her voice. He looks her up and down wearily. "... a shirt."

"Is it covered in apple juice?" she prods.

"Uh… maybe?"

"Oh." Claire smiles sweetly. "I think that's my friend's shirt you've got there. Do you mind if I grab that from you?"

"Miss, uh, how do I say this…?" The janitor tucks the shirt into his utility belt. "No offense, but I don't believe you."

Claire blinks dumbly. "Why?"

"This academy gets a lot of stalkers, you see… trying to take the boys' clothes and stuff…"

"I," Claire gasps, "am not a stalker."

"I've heard that before—"

"My brother teaches here! My friend goes here!"

"And I've heard that before, too."

"Are you serious?" Claire can hardly believe her ears. "You have to trust me! I need that shirt—"

The janitor frowns. He starts to push his cart away. "Look, I can't help you—"

"Wait! You don't even have to give it to me, just… just leave it in the washroom!"

"So you can take it after?" he grimaces. "Please stop."

Claire is so dumbfounded she can't find the words to say, and so she watches the janitor push his cart down the hall, over to the security guard. She watches him point and whisper, and she watches the security guard angle himself towards her.

Great. Shi's stuck without a shirt and storming the washroom is now clearly out of the question.

Could Claire find a shirt and toss it in? No. What if someone else is inside? What if Shi can't leave the stall to grab it?

Could she track down Leon and ask him? No. From what Claire's heard, there's no way he wouldn't start questioning why.

"Think, think," Claire whispers to herself.

An idea comes to mind, but she's sure Shi's gonna hate it.

Well…

Getting found out would be a lot worse, Claire decides.

Chris leans back in his chair. The week's lesson plans sit on his desk, taunting him; he briefly flips through the pages and sighs. He should be out in the field somewhere, not doing paperwork. Hell, even writing parking tickets would be better than—

His office door suddenly bursts open and Chris jumps to his feet.

He furrows his brows. "Claire?"

It's his sister standing in the doorway. She's out of breath, worry etched into her features.

"Chris, I—" she begins only to cut herself off. "Is it just us?"

"It is." Chris follows her gaze as it scans across his office. "What's wrong?"

She makes her way in and quickly shuts the door. "I need your help. But first you have to promise me that you won't get mad, no matter what."

Chris' shoulders drop. "Huh. That's not how I was hoping this conversation would start…"

"Promise me," she reiterates.

"Fine."

"Promise me!"

Chris squints. "Fine, Claire, I promise I won't get mad. Now tell me what's wrong."

"Okay." She takes a deep breath and exhales, shifts her weight from left foot to right foot. "Shi needs help."

Chris raises his brows. "Why does Thead need help?"

"S—he's stranded in the washroom."

"Stranded?"

"Apple juice spilled on his shirt—he went to dry it and hasn't come back out."

"Alright…" Chris folds his arms over his chest. "This has you worried, why exactly?"

Claire fidgets with her hands. "Well… I saw the janitor take Shi's shirt—"

"The janitor stole Thead's shirt?"

"No! Maybe! Stole might not be the right word…"

"Claire." Chris shakes his head. "You're not making any sense. Even if something happened to Thead's shirt, why can't he just walk out and grab a new one—"

Claire slams her palms against Chris' desk.

"God, why do you always ask so many questions!" she erupts. "I just need you to go to the washroom and give Shi a new shirt! Is that so hard?"

Chris clenches his jaw. "It's not."

"Then why can't you just do it?!"

"Because I don't like it when you hide things from me." Chris sits down despite his sister's flaring nostrils. "You started this with 'don't get mad', you ran all the way to my office to ask me for help instead of anyone else—"

"What?" Claire scoffs. "I'm just shy. Stop over analyzing this—"

"You're not shy." Chris corrects. "And lastly, you're saying Thead's stuck in the washroom unless I bring him a shirt?"

There's a long silent pause before Claire finally nods. Chris leans back in his chair.

Trouble's always surrounded his sister, even when their parents were alive. She never wanted help; not with the bullies, or learning the things a girl her age shouldn't have had to learn. For Claire to be standing in front of him now, asking for help…

"We can play the guessing game if you want," he says. "It'd be easier if you just told me what's going on, though—"

She bites her lip.

"—because you know I will help you regardless."

Claire looks up with big, glossy eyes; she had mom's light blue, Chris had dad's darker color.

"I promised, didn't I?" Chris smiles. "That I won't get mad?"

What exactly is Thead to Claire? Why is Claire so adamant about helping him?

She swallows thickly. "Thank you, I—"

Chris taps the edge of his desk. She takes a seat on it.

"Do you remember I used to hang out with two sisters a lot?" Claire starts.

Chris thinks for a moment. "Was Katie Jones one of them?"

Those big glossy eyes go wide. "How… How did you—"

"I'm sure Thead's mentioned it already, but I caught him using the database a few nights ago."

"He did," she says slowly.

"Putting two and two together is my job."

"Right…" Claire looks away. "Well… Katie is Shi's sister. Katie was murdered and Shi came to this academy to try and see if she could solve the murder—"

"If she could solve the murder?" Chris interrupts.

Claire's mouth pops open. "Ah… That's—"

"Before you give me some bullshit answer like 'I was repeating Shi's name', or 'I don't use pronouns anymore'—"

"—Chris, I—"

"—please. Please just be honest with me."

Claire goes completely silent.

Her hands grip her jeans, knuckles turning white.

"Claire," Chris says softly, trying to piece together a puzzle he can't see. "The real reason why Thead can't leave the washroom without a shirt is because…"

Claire stands from the desk, fists forming at her sides.

"Is because Shi is the other sister," she says firmly. "Shi Thead is a female."

You check your watch.

13:50.

Now you're really late for class.

Everytime you try to leave, the door opens, pants unzip, and a sink runs. It's just a matter of time before Leon or someone else comes looking for you and the jig is up.

Four days. You lasted a whole four days. Couldn't even make it to a week.

Tears burn your eyes. You've never felt more pathetic. Why didn't you wear an undershirt? Why—

The door opens.

"Thead?" a voice calls.

You stay silent.

"Thead are you in here? I've got a shirt for you."

That voice—is it…?

A black t-shirt swings overtop the stall door and you let out a startled yelp.

"Not sure what the deal is, but the janitor had your uniform top," Chris Redfield says from outside the stall. "Said he found it here. I figured you could use a new shirt."

"O-oh," you manage to croak out. "Thanks, I, uh—"

"Now get to class. You're late."

A few heavy steps later and the door opens again. As quickly as Chris had arrived, Chris is already gone.

You stare at the shirt, blink at it, question it.

And after a brief internal struggle, you decide it doesn't matter and slip the shirt over your head.

You finally emerge from the toilet stall and see your reflection in the mirror. The shirt is about five sizes too large—you hold up the fabric to your nose—and it smells faintly of cologne.

Starting tomorrow, no matter how hot the July heat gets, you're wearing undershirts.

This was way too close.

Chris leaves the washroom and glares at Claire waiting outside. She simply smiles.

He walks down the hallway, rounds the corner, and leans against the wall.

Shi Thead is a woman. A woman he let into the academy. A woman he just gave one of his shirts to—

"Fuck," Chris mumbles aloud and then sighs. The things he would do for a cigarette right now—

"Sorry I took so long," Chris overhears Thead say.

"Why did the janitor have your shirt?" Claire chides.

"I must've dropped it. Hey… you didn't ask Chris to bring me a shirt did you?"

"No. I did try and get yours back from the janitor, though. He thought I was a stalker."

Thead laughs.

Liar, Chris thinks.

"You're already super late and I should get going," Claire continues. "But I need to tell you what I came here to say first."

"Right. What's the news?"

There's a pause.

"Katie's parents are gone."

Another pause.

"What do you mean?" Thead asks.

"I drove past her house yesterday and… the whole house is gone. It's just dirt."

Thead exhales shakily. "Dirt? I-is there rubble? Did… Did something happen?"

"I got off my bike to look and there's nothing left. Not even a single scrap. I tried calling their number as soon as I got home and—"

"Out of service?"

"Out of service," Claire confirms. "Just like the other two missing girls…"

Chris tilts his head back against the wall. The two other missing girls… Clarice and Anna?

If he could get ahold of their numbers, he could check the city's phone records—but it's bad enough that he vowed to keep Thead's secret. To personally get involved in her problems, too?

"You absolutely cannot tell Shi that you know the truth," Claire had said.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because she begged me not to bring you into this—it's the same reason why she won't let me help either. I think she's scared of losing anyone else… I mean, Katie was her everything."

Chris holds his lighter in his pocket, runs his fingers along the engravings.

How would he feel if Claire were murdered? Could he completely hide himself to bring her justice? Change his name and his gender?

Chris pushes off of the wall and heads towards the dorms. There's no use standing around.

Thead needs all the help she can get.

Shi just doesn't need to know.

Chapter 5: Close Friends

Chapter Text

"Katie!"

Your feet stomped on the pavement, pulse drumming in your ears. How long have you been looking?

"Katie—please answer me!"

There was still no response.

And other than your own ragged breaths, there was no sound at all.

But even that grew silent when you saw the body slumped against the sewer entrance.

It must have been several minutes before you moved, before you forced yourself closer, to see—to verify the face you already recognized.

There was no rise and fall of her chest. Just stillness, quiet, as if Katie had been frozen in time.

The noise that ripped from your throat wasn't a noise you knew you could make.

Grief, sorrow, abandonment.

Once again, you were all alone.

Your eyes open to a ceiling fan. Moonlight casts dorm room 5 in a pale blue.

When you turn your head to the right, Leon's there sleeping peacefully. His chest rises and falls, breathing mingled together with the soft whirring of the fan.

You let out a sigh.

How long will these nightmares continue? Until Katie's avenged?

What does that even mean, though? There's been no progress for a week; what if you can't find the evidence to convict Irons? What if you do find evidence and still can't?

Would it be better to kill him instead?

A thick lump sits in your throat. You lay your arm over your eyes.

... did you really just think about killing someone?

"Another nightmare?"

You glance past your knuckles. Leon's propped up on an elbow facing you.

"Yeah." You roll onto your side. "Did I wake you again?"

He shakes his head. "Was it about your sister?"

"Am I that easy to read?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

Leon chuckles tiredly. "You're not. It's just that some nights I can hear you calling her name in your sleep. You must miss her a lot."

You sit up and turn the bedside lamp on. Leon squints at the light and you squint at him; you're pretty sure you'll never get used to seeing Leon topless.

You're pretty sure you'll never get used to seeing your room this messy, either. Textbooks, notes, and pens are all strewn across the floor, remnants of the past week's studying. While you haven't had the opportunity to search Irons' office, you and Leon have begun inching your way to the top of class. You've both aced the various pop quizzes and assignments, but the first heavily weighted exam is tomorrow.

Leon dangles half his body off the bed, using the tips of his fingers to drag a stack of flashcards closer. "One last study session before the test?" he asks.

You cross your legs and wrap your blanket around yourself. "Hit me."

"What is the law enforcement code of ethics?"

"A set of standards police officers are held to."

"The two most important words in the code of ethics?"

"To serve."

"Four major components to law enforcement code of ethics?"

"Private trust, public trust, competence, and trustworthiness."

"What was your sister like?"

"She—" you stop and catch yourself.

Leon gives you an encouraging smile. "Only if you're feeling up to it."

Katie… What was Katie like?

It feels so long ago now.

"She was amazing," you start.

Leon sits straight, listening attentively.

"Hilarious and awkward," you recall. "Kind. Beautiful. Terrified of spiders, but nothing else."

"Older or younger?" Leon tilts his head.

"Older."

"I can see that you take after her," he laughs.

Your eyebrows arch up.

Leon's face pales when the realization sets in.

"Uh, not the beautiful part," he scrambles to explain. "Wait—that's not to say that you're not handsome—I guess? I mean—"

"Thanks," you say, ending his rambling. "I'm not scared of spiders, though."

He lets out a breath of relief. "What are you scared of then?"

"If I tell you, you're not allowed to laugh."

"I won't."

You narrow your gaze.

"Probably."

"... rats," you sigh. "I'm scared of rats."

Leon ponders that silently for a moment. He folds his arms over his chest. "So out of everything—heights, snakes, needles, zombies—"

"Zombies?" you repeat incredulously.

"—you're afraid of rats? You know they're essentially miniature dogs, right? You can even train them to use a litter box—"

"I am aware," you interrupt. "When I was young, I heard a scary fairy tale about rats and I've been scared ever since."

"I see..." Leon hums. "Let's hear it."

"What? Why would you purposely want to—"

"I need to verify how scary this story is." He tosses you his RPD flashlight and turns off the lamp. "Come on, Shi; traumatize me."

You scoff loudly, clicking on the flashlight and holding it below your face.

"Once upon a time, in a tall, tall, tower, lived an idiot name Leon—"

"Hey."

"—and for some strange reason, all the girls in the village below loved him. Despite their many proposals, Leon refused to marry. That made the villagers angry and they decided to ransack the tower. Leon, fearing for his life and what the women might do to him, begged the tower's alchemist for a potion that would grant him a quick death—"

"Morbid," Leon grimaces.

"The alchemist did not want to kill Leon, though, so they gave him a potion that would put Leon into a deep sleep, merely tricking the villagers into thinking that Leon was dead. Leon drank the potion just as the villagers stormed the tower. They killed everyone in sight, however, as the alchemist had planned, they thought Leon to be dead when they found his body."

"So… when do the rats come into play?"

"Patience." You shine the flashlight into his eyes for a second. "Leon awoke many hours later in a tower full of blood and corpses. No matter how he tried, though, he could not move; the alchemist's potion was too strong and the muscle paralysis had yet to wear off."

"Uh-oh."

"It was then that Leon began to hear scratching. Scratch, scratch… Tiny nails clicked against the floor."

"I don't like where this is going..."

"You see, Leon's tower had a rat infestation; hundreds upon hundreds of hungry rats had been trapped away in the basement—until the villagers broke the lock, that is. Like any starving animal, the rats fed on the corpses surrounding Leon until every bone was picked dry... Well, not every bone—"

"Okay." Leon snatches the flashlight from your hand. "Jesus Christ."

"Traumatized?" You turn on the lamp.

"Thoroughly."

"Scared of rats?"

"Of course not. In that situation, any household pet would've eaten me—"

You whip a pillow at him.

Leon takes it hostage. He only gives back your pillow after you answer five flashcards correctly.

"We"—you yawn—"have got to stop doing this."

Leon groans and slumps forward onto the table. "Stop yawning. You're reminding me how tired I am."

The Academy doesn't take tests lightly. Jill, Chris, and Marvin all enter the room. Chris begins handing out thick exam booklets while Marvin hands out scantron sheets.

"Thead." Chris drops an exam on your table; the whoosh of air it sends up messes with your bangs. "Come to my office after class."

You glance up at him. "Did I do something wrong? If it's about the shirt, I—"

"It's not about that," Chris cuts you off. "And you're not in trouble. See you later."

Leon watches Chris leave before he shoots you a look. What did you do?

You shoot a look back. I dunno.

He raises a brow. What did you mean by shirt?

You raise two brows. The other day, I spilled apple juice on my shirt and—

"I have no idea what you're trying to communicate right now," Leon admits.

You throw your arms up. "There goes our circus act."

"Gentlemen," Jill's voice booms across the class. "You have two hours for your examination. Ensure you use only 2B pencils on the scantrons, pens will not be picked up by the scanners. As for the written portions—"

Your stomach grumbles loudly

"Second place buys lunch?" Leon whispers.

You smirk. "You're on, Kennedy."

Luckily, the test goes by without a hitch.

Thanks to your improv study session last night, you're fairly confident you aced the entire exam. You're less confident of a free lunch, sadly; Leon's pencil was scribbling just as fast as yours, if not faster.

"Hello?" you poke your head into Chris' office.

You find him sitting inside, crossword on his lap, legs propped up on the corner of his desk. The smell of fresh coffee perfumes the small space.

Chris looks relatively harmless there, holding the back of his pen between his lips and not in his hand like a makeshift weapon. Still, you can't wrap your head around what he could possibly want to talk about.

"Hey." He brings his boots down when he notices you. "Come in."

Well, you've officially lost your opportunity to run away. You awkwardly step inside and take a seat. Even sitting, Chris seems to tower over you. "You wanted to see me?"

"Mhm." Chris leans forward, elbows resting against his desk. His eyes flicker to yours. "So how'd you meet Claire?"

Like the planets aligning, it suddenly occurs to you that you're nothing more than just a random male hanging around Chris' sister.

That's fine, you think. You can play it cool, act like that thought doesn't make you nervous.

"We met at Raccoon University sir"—goddamnit—"Chris."

He tilts his chin up questioningly. "Were you in the same degree?"

"No, we just happened to take the same class."

"And you just happened to start talking?"

"... would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

"I—uh—"

"Thead."

"—her motorcycle helmet fell and—"

"Thead." Chris raises a brow. "This isn't an interrogation."

"It's… not?"

He shakes his head no. Your shoulders drop.

"Oh, god," you let out a sigh of relief. "I thought you were gonna ask if I was dating Claire—"

Chris looks almost amused. "Are you?"

"No!" you shout.

And then quickly add, "but I'm sure she would make a lovely girlfriend if we were to date! Not that we have a history or anything!" Ugh. What a bad time for Leon to start wearing off on you—

Chris laughs.

To be more accurate, Chris bursts out laughing. Because your eyes can't possibly grow any wider, your jaw drops a little.

"I know you're not dating my sister," he says in between deep chuckles.

Your face goes bright red; Chris' laugh is as handsome as he is. "Could you have worded that any more ominously?"

"I'm sure I could have." He grins. "Wanna try again?"

You slump back against your seat. "We ended up in the same Sociology class. Hilarity ensued, I got caught up in it, and you know Claire; after you talk to her once, it's impossible to stop."

"She speaks highly of you." Chris sips his coffee. "I've never heard her talk about someone so passionately before."

"We're really close," you answer, eyeing his cup; it appears to be the source of the delicious, toasty scent you've been smelling this entire time. "I've come to owe Claire a lot these past few years."

Chris' mug hovers at his lips. He watches you quietly, almost as if he's analyzing you.

"Close friends," you enunciate.

"I know." He sets the mug down. "I was just thinking that I'm grateful Claire has you; that girl has a hard time opening up to people, even if it doesn't seem that way."

Chris slides his cup over. You stare down at the coffee in front of you.

"Go ahead." He leans back in his chair. "You're not as subtle as you think."

"... I swear I tried to be," you cringe. "It smells so good, nothing like what they have in the cafeteria—"

"That's because the cafeteria serves swill. This is real coffee."

You stare down again.

Chris nods in approval.

It starts with an innocent, curious sip—just enough to try. But the moment the coffee hits your tongue, you're throwing it back like a shot.

"Huh." Chris' eyes follow the cup. "Somehow I thought you'd be shyer about that."

You wipe your lips against the back of your hand. "Sorry, I—"

"Inhaled it?" Chris grabs a thermos and refills the mug. "These beans are from a guy on the S.T.A.R.S. team. Burton makes blends and roasts them himself; I had the same reaction the first time I tried."

You laugh. "So I'm not the only coffee vacuum around here?"

"Nope."

Chris' watch beeps. He glances at it briefly and then stands.

"I've gotta run," he says, shrugging a jacket over his arms. "Stop by my office whenever you don't feel like drinking swill. I bring coffee with me every morning."

"Really?" You smile mischievously. "What are you going to do if I actually take you up on that?"

"Bring you your own mug," he answers simply.

Chris leaves before you can respond. He shuts the door behind himself, leaving you alone in his office, sipping coffee from his mug.

"Oh," you mutter aloud.

He didn't tell you what he wanted to talk about.

Leon isn't there when you return to your room.

You glance over at his bed—the right bed—and other than a wrinkled pillowcase, the bed has been made immaculately.

Leon himself is just as immaculate: top grades, good looks, well mannered. He showers every morning, studies diligently every night, and works out every other day. It's an enigma that he wants to be your friend.

And, honestly, even more of an enigma that he wants to help with your investigation.

You sit on the edge of his bed and smooth out the wrinkles. His blankets have the same fresh scent as his uniform.

Would Leon still want to help if he had met you as a woman?

Would you even be friends?

The door opens abruptly. "There you are!" Leon says when he sees you. "Where have you been? I was—"

He stops when he sees you sitting on his bed. You scramble to stand.

"I was just fixing your pillow!" you say quickly, smoothing out the fabric again. "It was wrinkly."

He raises a brow. "That's awfully nice of you, considering you usually only throw pillows at me."

"What can I say? I've turned a new leaf."

"Uh-huh."

"Speaking of jokes," you start, "I was gonna gloat about how well I did on the exam but you disappeared right after. Where'd you go?"

"Well…"

Leon pushes on your shoulders and sits you back down on his bed.

"Instead of talking about it," he says, reaching into his pocket. "Let me show you."

You eye him wearily. "You do know there's probably hundreds of porn that all start exactly like this, right?"

Leon pauses to give you the most deadpan expression that he can muster. After a sufficient amount of time passes, he continues digging in his pocket and eventually pulls out a ring of keys.

You gasp. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Maybe." He twirls the keys around a finger.

"How did you get those?" you question. "Did you bribe someone?"

"Bribe?" he scoffs. "I assure you it was much more badass than that."

You cross your arms. "The janitor left them on his cart, didn't he?"

Leon shakes his head no and yes at the same time.

"The janitor left them on his cart and you—"

"—and I grabbed them before he could notice, yes." Leon drops the keys into your hands. "So what do you say? Let's do this thing tonight and put the keys back on the cart tomorrow."

You stare at the keys in your palms. They're warm from Leon's pocket.

"Are you sure you want to help with this?" you question.

"For the 99th time, I'm sure." Leon pushes past you to lie down. The bed dips with his weight, pillowcase and blankets wrinkling. "What can I do to convince you?"

You pretend to think. "You could hand me scalding hot coffee to spill on Irons."

"Rubbing cream on him must have completely sold you, then."

"I thought you did that for fun." You pat Leon's back. You can feel the muscle through his shirt. "Tired?"

He glares at you. "Because of a certain someone, every time I close my eyes I see rats."

"Is this the part where I remind you that you asked for it?"

"Only if this is the part where I pretend I can't hear you."

You laugh, hand lingering a little longer than it should.

"Tonight?" you ask.

Leon nods. "Tonight."

When the coast is clear, you and Leon quietly run over to building A's front doors. Leon manages to open the lock on his first try and you both slip in undetected.

The halls are completely dark and abandoned, but you stay low and keep beneath the windows. The first-aid station is a short jaunt away; in less than 5 minutes, you stand before Irons' office with fresh gloves and nerves of steel.

Leon sorts through the keys. "This one seems right," he says, picking at random and trying the lock.

It clicks open.

"Are you serious?" you whisper. "Two for two?"

"Two for two." He shoves the ring into his hoodie pocket. "Come on."

The smell of must and chemicals hits like a truck when you enter. Dark wood shelves span the right wall, and a large desk sits atop a royal-red carpet in the middle.

Leon carefully shuts the door behind you. "Stinks in here," he wheezes, trying to avoid inhaling through his nose. "Smells like that one shop downtown."

"Oh, yeah, I totally know which store you're talking about." You start with Irons' desk. "That place with all the taxidermied raccoons—what was it called again?"

"First of all, how dare you." Leon begins with the coat closet at the very back. "Those 'taxidermied raccoons' are odes to our city's mascot. Secondly, the place is called 'Raccoon-gregation'."

You stop what you're doing. "That's not really the name is it?"

"I wish I had come up with that on my own."

There's nothing in the top two drawers of Irons' desk, but the last one sticks when you try. A strong jostle dislodges whatever's blocking it and a thickly bound journal turns out to be the culprit.

You leaf through and stop on the last page. "Leon."

"Yeah?" He puts down the box he was searching. "Find something?"

You wave him over. He reads the journal over your shoulder.

June 8th

As I was straightening up the chief's room, he burst through the door with a furious look on his face. It's only been 2 months since I've started working here, but that's the second time I've seen him like this.

The last time was when I bumped into that statue, only this time he looked even more agitated than ever. I seriously thought for a moment that he was going to hurt me.

June 15th

I finally discovered what the chief has been hiding all along... If he finds out that I know, my life will be in serious danger.

It's getting late already. I'm just going to have to take this one day at a time…

Leon's Adam's apple bobs when he reaches the end. "These entries are over a month old…"

"Irons having this journal in his desk isn't a good sign." You flip to the front page. Jessica Hornby is written in the top corner.

"How can we make sure she's okay?" Leon asks worriedly. "We can't exactly ask the police."

"But we could pay her a visit ourselves," you think aloud. "Where's 'here', though? Where was she working?"

"And what's Irons hiding that she felt he would hurt her over?"

A beam of light suddenly flashes by the window on Iron's door.

You and Leon go silent; there's a jingle of keys and heavy footsteps in the distance.

"We need to hide," Leon whispers. He quickly glances around the room and spots the closet. "Come on!"

The steps grow louder.

You hesitate. "Is this a bad time to mention that on top of rats, I'm also scared of small dark places?"

"Yes." Leon puts the journal back in the drawer and yanks you into the closet with him.

The door to Iron's office opens a second later.

"Where is it?!" Someone begins speaking frantically.

"Where did I put it?!" You recognize the voice as Irons' himself.

It's pitch black inside the closet. Boxes stab into your back, walls press against your shoulders. You can feel the heat of Leon's breath fanning across your skin. You can feel your hands start to shake.

You've tried to forget about life before Katie: the orphanage, the cramped, lightless rooms. Yet no matter how hard you try, the memories always trickle back when you're in the complete dark; when you can't see what's in front of you, when you can't remind yourself that you're not there anymore.

You try holding out your hand, desperate to find something, anything. It bumps into Leon's chest.

"Where the fuck did I put that journal?"

There's a bang. You clutch Leon's sweater.

"Oh, there you are," Irons laughs. "Sneaky little thing."

Leon gently grabs your wrist.

"Almost forgot to get rid of this."

He pulls you closer.

"That dumb bitch."

And pulls you into his arms.

Chapter 6: Swamp Goblin

Chapter Text

Irons leaves and his footsteps fade away.

Instead of thinking about the journal, Katie, or the orphanage, your mind is filled only with Leon; how his arms wrap around you, how his head dips into the crook of your neck, bangs brushing the exposed skin there.

And while you should be thinking about what's beneath your binder—if Leon can feel past the thick fabric of your clothes each time he takes a breath—each time his chest rises and falls against yours— you hug Leon back. You circle your arms around his waist and he lets out a soft moan—

His body suddenly grows rigid in your arms.

"I, uh—" Leon stammers, pushing away. "Sorry. That was—"

His elbow knocks the door open and moonlight pours into the closet. His face is close to yours, so close that you can feel his breath hitch, so close that you can see the confusion etched into his features.

"... Something was…" You glance at his lips. "... caught in your throat…?"

He doesn't move. "I… think so—"

A loud bang sounds from outside. You both jump and clutch each other at the noise.

The office is empty—thank goodness—but the third drawer of Irons' desk is now in a pile of broken wood on the ground. You slowly let go of Leon's sweater and he slowly lets go of yours.

"... Chief Irons must have really wanted that journal," Leon says, moving to examine the wreckage. "It's gone."

You sigh. "That figures. Out of all the days we could have chosen to do this, why would he come for the journal tonight?"

"Or"—Leon picks up a piece of wood and drops it—"Out of all the days for him to leave the journal in his desk, why did we choose tonight to search his office?"

You tilt your head. "The glass is always half full with you, huh?"

"Someone needs to counter your negativity. Think we'll find 'Jessica Hornby' in the database?"

You open your mouth to say 'no' and stop yourself.

He lets out an amused snort. "C'mon. We should get out of here."

You follow Leon's lead, disposing of the gloves at the first-aid station and exiting towards the library. You fixate on his broad shoulders and back during the quiet walk.

There's no sign of Chris or Kevin when you arrive, but you almost wish there was; you can't help but feel overly conscious of being alone with Leon.

It's easy to count the number of people you've hugged on one hand: Claire, Katie, and Katie's parents. But none of those hugs felt like Leon's—like you were melting against him—like everything would be okay as long as you stayed in his arms.

"That's unfortunate," Leon says, watching you type your username into the login screen.

You tab over to the search tool. "It really is, isn't it?"

"You'd think someone would monitor these things."

You carefully type out JESSICA HORNBY. "And you wonder why I'm not an optimist."

- NO RECORD - flashes on the screen when you hit enter.

Your watch reads 03:02 by the time you leave the library. It appears that fireflies have found a home on the training field, lighting up the obstacle course in shades of green and yellow. Crickets sing and grasshoppers leap with each step.

When you first met Katie, she mentioned Raccoon City had fireflies in the summer. For five years, every summer, you went searching for them; and for five years, every summer, they never showed up.

"I used to dream about summer nights like this," you admit quietly.

Leon glances over at you. "You used to dream about almost getting caught searching the headmaster's office?"

"No." You playfully jab his arm. "Ever watch those cheesy coming-of-age movies? I feel like there's always a scene where friends sit under the stars on a clear night, listening to the sounds of summer, talking about their lives."

He raises a brow. "We can do that too, you know."

"Oh," you say dumbly. "No way—"

"Way." Leon drags you towards the obstacle course.

He sits down on the bars, silhouette softly illuminated by the fireflies. They really are as beautiful as Katie used to describe.

"We don't have to do this." You rub your arm shyly. "I was just—"

Leon pats the spot next to him.

You roll your eyes. "Really?"

He pats the spot again.

You begrudgingly plop down and follow his gaze to the stars.

"Big dipper." He points out.

"Little Dipper." You point.

"Orion's belt."

"Taurus."

"Shi?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable back there."

You look over at Leon. He grins sheepishly.

"That was the first time you ever reached out to me," he says. "I wanted to help, I just didn't know how—"

"I wasn't uncomfortable at all!" you utter. "Rather, I'm thankful. I…"

Really, really wish I could hug you again.

Your hands ball up into fists on your lap. "... I know you would've done that for anyone—"

"I wouldn't."

"Huh?" your hands open.

Leon turns towards you. There's no smile or smirk on his face, no furrowed brows or pressed lips; just earnest blue eyes reading you, searching you.

"I wouldn't hug just anyone," he says. "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

You want to look away, to hide the uncontrollable blush ghosting your cheeks, to remind yourself once again that Leon thinks of you as just a friend.

But you don't. You stare back and muddy the line you drew in your heart when you first met him.

"No, it doesn't," you answer.

Leon smiles.

You turn back towards the stars.

"Gemini." He points out.

"Ursa Minor." You point.

"That's the same thing as the little dipper, dumbass—"

The sound of you slapping his shoulder temporarily silences the crickets.

"Good morn—augh!"

You trip on the door sill when entering Chris' office. He sips his coffee and watches you pick yourself up from the ground.

"We'll, uh..." You carefully sit down and fix your hair. "... pretend that didn't happen, okay?"

"Sure," Chris chuckles and pulls out a second mug from his desk drawer.

As promised, he pours you a cup of fresh coffee. It has the same delicious scent as yesterday, but this time it's not in a mug that Chris' lips have touched. It's in a mug shaped like the head of a panda bear.

Chris slides the cup over when he's finished. "Good morning."

"Morning." You smile. "This is cute."

"You think so? It reminded me of you—"

You choke on the coffee.

"—because the bags under your eyes keep getting darker." He grins.

After returning to your room last night, you washed your face, took off your binder, snuggled into bed, said your good nights, and, of course, couldn't stop thinking about the hug at all. You replayed the moment in your mind; the feel of Leon's body, his voice next to your ear, sitting together outside under the stars, and the look on Leon's face when he said wouldn't hug just anyone.

What exactly did he mean by that?

You shoot Chris a glare between the coughs. "You're so funny."

"I know," he nods.

"You're sooo funny Mr. Redfield—"

"Alright, that's enough." Chris visibly cringes. "What's the reason you're not sleeping this time?"

You huff and take a sip of coffee. "Insomnia."

"Nice try, but I've seen you and Kennedy sleeping in Jill's classes on more than one occasion."

You squint. "We… both have insomnia?"

Chris raises a brow.

"Anyways, we get good grades. A little shut-eye never hurt anyone."

"Exactly." He grabs a notebook and starts working on what appears to be today's training plan. "So why aren't you getting any?"

You push your cup forward for seconds.

Chris fills it without looking at you.

"Er…" you bite your lip, squinch your face, and then let out a long sigh. "How do you feel about hugs?"

Chris stops writing. He slowly raises his head to meet your gaze.

"What do I think about hugs?" he asks flatly.

"Yeah," you chuckle awkwardly. "Hugs, you know."

Chris blinks.

You gulp.

"Actually, nevermind—"

"It depends," he answers seriously, folding his arms over his chest, considering your question like you're asking about push-ups. "What do you mean?"

You lean back in your chair. "Well… would you hug just anyone?"

His eyes widen and then narrow. "Probably not just anyone."

"What about a guy like me?" You point to yourself. "We're bros—"

"Bros?"

"—we share coffee, we talk—"

"Mhm."

"—we get along I think—"

"So you're losing sleep because someone hugged you?"

"And—" you stop mid-sentence. "What?"

He places his elbows on his desk, rests his chin on top of his hands. "Was it a good hug?"

Your mouth pops open and your face turns red.

He flashes a toothy grin.

"I— that's—" you stutter. "C-can we just pretend I never asked? Please?"

Chris nods thoughtfully. "Am I also still pretending that you never fell into my office this morning too, or…?"

"I take it back. You are not funny at all."

He laughs loudly before turning his attention back towards his training plan. You stew in silence, cheeks probably a similar temperature to the sun.

It isn't until quarter to 8 that Chris rips out the page from his notebook and tucks it under the clamp of his clipboard. "Ready for today?" he asks, preparing to leave. "If you don't like me now, you might hate me later."

You glance at the training plan and scoff. "You do know it's supposed to be, like, 100 degrees outside today, right?"

Chris stands at the door. "Wanna sit out?"

"Hah!" You tilt your chin up. "I can handle—augh!"

Once again, you trip on the door sill—except this time you fall directly into Chris. Your face presses against his chest and muscular arms hug your shoulders tightly.

His body is firm, yet soft. Warm and… there's a faint scent of Cologne that seems so familiar…

Chris looks down at you against his chest. "You could have just asked," he says, toothy grin returning.

The blood drains from your face.

"Try not to lose too much sleep tonight." He laughs, standing you up straight and patting your back. "See you on the field, Thead."

"The devil… Redfield's the devil!"

"I think I have heatstroke."

"My balls are too sweaty, can I be excused?"

"Do you think crime rates care about your sweaty balls?" Chris says, downing a bottle of water. "Stay hydrated and you'll be fine."

Sun beats down hard on the training field.

Chris wasn't kidding about hating him later; you've been doing various cardio and strength exercises all morning under the walloping heat.

"Shi."

It doesn't help that your brain is somewhere between the consistency of jello and a plate of spaghetti, either. Not only are you thinking about Leon—you're also thinking about your instructor. Where have you smelt that cologne before?

"Shi."

If you were to talk to Claire about this, after first gagging about Chris, she would probably say something along the lines of 'man, you really need to get laid'—

Wes snaps his fingers in front of your face. "Dude, why are you so out of it today?" he scolds. "I called your name like three times."

You fan yourself with the collar of your shirt. "I only heard you call me twice."

"So you've just been ignoring me?"

"Pretty much," you laugh.

Everyone except for you and Chris has thrown off their tops, and everyone except for you and Chris has collapsed onto the field, exhausted. Leon gives you a breathless smile when you lay down next to him.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Wes yanks at the bottom of your shirt. "Jesus Christ, you've even got an undershirt on—"

"You think I do this for fun?" You tiredly slap his hand away. "UV rays are no joke— skin cancer is no joke."

George scoffs, using his arm to wipe the sweat dripping from his hair. "What? So you put on sunscreen every day?"

"He does." Leon rolls over to face you.

Your heart skips a beat.

"Guys," a recruit shouts.

You prop yourself up just enough to see Elran shouting.

"We need drinks," he whimpers, ripping grass out and tossing it in the air. "We need booze and babes!"

"That sounds good."

"Shots!"

"Drinking might help me forget how sweaty my balls are."

George's gaze grows glossy. "Imagine an ice-cold beer right now."

"Imagine a babe right now," Wes adds. "Call your friend over Shi, the one with red hair. I can show her a good time—"

Chris' clipboard flies across the field and smacks Wes in the head.

"I have an idea," Kevin-asshole-Ryman says suddenly, gathering everyone's attention. "Redfield, on our training exam, you said that if anyone could beat your time, you would take us all for drinks, correct?"

Chris crosses his arms over his chest and you briefly remember what that chest felt like exactly. "I did," he says gruffly.

"If Thead hadn't biffed it, I think he might've beat you," Kevin elaborates.

"Your point?"

"Give him another chance. If Thead beats your time today, take us all out for drinks."

Recruits cheer at the idea and the eruption of excitement reminds you of your first day.

You glare at Kevin.

Why would he suggest this?

Chris considers it. "Thoughts, Thead?"

Wes, George, Elran, and everyone else stare at you with shimmery, beckoning eyes. You don't exactly feel great with the accumulating lack of sleep and your period on the horizon, but how do you say no while wanting to win them over?

"You don't have to if you're too tired." Kevin smiles sweetly. "It's just an idea."

"A really, really nice idea," Wes whispers.

Leon looks at you worriedly. "Can I try in his place?"

"But you only managed to get 1:47 without spraining your ankle," Elran argues—

You stand.

Everyone goes silent.

"I'll do it," you say, fists forming at your sides. "For the sake of booze and babes, I'll do it!"

If you thought the cheering was loud on your first day, it's 10-fold now—probably will be 20-fold if you can actually pull through. The disappointment if you fail, though…

You glance over at Kevin. He smiles again.

Oh. Oh, that bastard.

You're going to do this.

For booze, babes, and beating Kevin at his own game, you will defeat Chris' time!

"Thead's totally gonna win us drinks," someone whispers.

"What do you wanna bet that he sets a new record?"

"I'll put $20 on it!"

You slowly walk up to the obstacle course and begin warming up with some simple stretches. Leon waves and catches your attention.

'You've got this,' he mouths.

'Thank you,' you mouth back.

Chris places a hand on your shoulder. "Ready?"

You close your eyes for a moment.

Booze, babes, and beating Kevin. Booze, babes, and beating Kevin…

"Ready." You nod.

Chris steps back, readies his timer.

And when he shouts 'go', you move like your life depends on it.

"To Thead!" Everyone clinks together their cans. "To Thead and 1:43!"

"I can't believe Shi gave us that spectacular performance and we're not going to an actual bar," Wes complains, drowning his sorrows with beer. "This is a sausage fest!"

"We tried." Chris sets down drinks on the cafeteria table.

"Couldn't get a bus on such short notice." Marvin places some bottles of hard liquor and plastic shot glasses. "Sure as hell didn't want to be held liable for getting all your drunk asses home."

"Besides." Jill knocks her beer against Wes'. "It's not a complete sausage fest."

His eyes go wide.

"Oh, I would advise against drinking with Jill, Drucker," Marvin warns.

"Yeah," Chris laughs. "She'll drink you right under the table."

Despite being unable to drink at a bar, a party has been set up in the cafeteria to celebrate the destruction of Chris' time. You think back to this afternoon, standing in front of the course; how you cleared your mind of everything other than the triple B's and soared. The recruits chanted your name, counted up the seconds. And by the time you stopped to catch your breath, you were across the finish line, unscathed, with a record of 1:43.

Kevin had frowned upon your victory; it isn't exactly a shock that he's not here tonight.

"You're a beast." George hangs an arm around your neck. "Thanks to you, we can let loose for a night." He throws back the rest of his beer.

Leon cracks open his second can; his cheeks are already flushed. "I knew you could do it." He tosses an arm overtop of George's and hangs off your other shoulder. "Didn't stop me from being impressed, though."

"Kennedy." Meyers, another recruit, smiles. "Are you an affectionate drunk?"

"Not really." Leon squishes his cheek against yours.

"Right… And are you also a lightweight?"

"No." Leon squishes you harder.

"Drunk already and we haven't even started shots," Elran clicks his tongue. "Let's fix that, shall we?"

Surprisingly, Marvin is the one to start pouring. He slides shots of tequila to each recruit and instructor like a well-practiced bartender. On the count of three, you all shoot it back with varying degrees of screwed up faces.

"Let's play spin the bottle." Wes flutters his lashes at Jill.

George frowns. "Dude… there's only one woman here, the chances of landing on a guy would be way too high."

"If you had to pick then—"

"I am not picking a guy to kiss—"

"But if you had to."

George looks at you.

And then suddenly everyone looks at you.

"No," Leon gasps and throws his arms around you defensively. "Shi's mine!"

"I thought you could handle your liquor better than this," Jill laughs.

"I'm…" Chris holds up a hand. "... handling it just fine, thanks."

"So you want one more shot?" Marvin chuckles. "Be honest with yourself and say no. I know you can do it."

"I"—Chris hiccups—"I… want one more…"

Jill pours one knowing full well he won't take it. "Prove it then, big boy."

Chris stares at the shot.

Picks it up.

Swirls the liquid.

Gulps.

But you snatch the shot out of his hand before it can make it to his lips.

The vodka goes down rough. You have no regrets.

Chris flinches when you flash him a toothy grin.

"Knowing I saved you from this shot will help me sleep tonight," you whisper. "Big boy."

"What's her name?" Wes slurs.

Elran's eyes are heavy lidded. He nearly falls out of his seat. "Who?"

"That beautiful redhead—"

"Ya mean Shi's girlfriend?"

"Claire"—Leon stands abruptly—"is not Shi's girlfriend!"

"Claire," Wes hums thoughtfully. "So that's her name! What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman. What's the surname?"

"Redfield," Chris answers.

"Redfield! Thank you—" Wes gulps. "Mr. Redfield."

"Let's be real." George huddles you all in close, breath reeking of booze. "What's your ideal woman?"

"Big tits!" Wes shouts, and then worriedly glances at Chris before whispering, "big tits."

"I'm more of an ass-man myself, but I respect it." Meyers nods. "Thead?"

You awkwardly chuckle. "Oh, I don't know. I'm not really into that—"

"Asses? Tits?" George squints. "Or women—"

"Well I like nice and funny people," Leon interrupts, body swaying back and forth. "What about you, Mr. Redfield?"

Chris glances in your direction. "I'm"—hiccup— "not answering that."

"Party poopers." George huffs. "Then, are any of you still virgins—"

"Alright," Chris slurs. "We're changing the subject now—"

"—because breasts. Have you ever felt a—"

"Scott," Chris warns.

George frowns and then quickly adds "but nothing compares to what's between the legs—"

Chris throws his hand over George's mouth and they both go tumbling back.

"Thead," Marvin beckons you over.

You stumble past the other drunken recruits and find Leon in Marvin's arms.

"Shi," Leon beams when he sees you, smiling wide with straight pearly whites. "I missed you!"

"Please bring him back to your room," Marvin pleads. "If he drinks any more, we're gonna have to bring out the buckets."

"Too late," you wobble, gesturing towards Elran puking into a plant pot.

Marvin practically tosses you Leon to run off for damage control, but Leon simply giggles in your arms, grip tightening around your waist.

"Shi," he hums. "Ab-less Shi. You're so warm and soft."

It's refreshing to see this side of Leon, plastered out of his mind, hanging off of you like a monkey on fermented fruit.

You drunkenly run a hand through his hair. "Time to go back to our room, okay?"

"Anything for you, Shi," he sighs happily, leaning into your palm.

You push open the door and while outside is cool, it's far from sobering. The fireflies, crickets, and grasshoppers all scatter as you and Leon stagger towards the dorms like blind leading the blind.

"I'm drunk," Leon groans.

"That you are." You stop him from running into a wall. "You're even worse than Claire—"

"Stop bringing her up," he interrupts. "What about me? Bring me up."

You enter building D's lobby and nearly trip on the corner of a couch. "Has anyone ever told you that you're an adorable drunk?"

"No. I don't usually get drunk 'cause I'm too worried."

"About throwing up?"

"About being taken advantage of." He smiles widely again. "Guess that just means I feel nice and safe around you—"

"W-wait." You push your way into room 5 and sit Leon down on his bed. "That hasn't happened before, right?"

He holds on to your leg. "It's weird; people assume I expect they'll sleep with me"—his head falls and he snaps it back up—"so they make the first move, constantly try to touch me even if I tell them to stop. I hate it…"

You take your hands off his shoulders.

He grabs your wrists and puts them back.

"It's okay?" you ask.

"It's okay if it's you," he answers.

You nod, unable to hide the smile curving your lips. His Adam's apple bobs.

"Shi… can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

He tries to look at you but bumps his forehead into your hip. "It's embarrassing, though…"

The room starts to spin a little too much; your knees give out and you both crash onto Leon's bed. He laughs and tries to push you off. You giggle trying to move.

"Hey." You finally manage to roll over. "I'm your confidant, remember?"

He lays on his back. "So I can just tell you anything?"

"Mhm."

"And you won't judge me?"

"Nu-uh."

"Then, I—" his voice suddenly breaks.

You prop yourself up on an elbow when he doesn't continue. "Leon?"

"People don't wanna touch me because they like me. They only wanna touch me because they like how I look," he confesses. "I'm just some trophy to them, not a person. Even with my parents, I—"

Leon swallows thickly.

"I always had to be 'perfect'. They forced me to join the academy because cops are 'admirable' and the training would 'keep me in shape'—I saw it as a chance to let someone hit me hard in the face, break my nose into a million pieces…"

He starts to sniffle.

"But whenever we're training and a fist comes close, I get scared, Shi—because even here, away from my parents, away from everyone, I still feel like I need to be 'perfect' to mean something, to be wanted, even if it isn't real."

Leon harshly rubs his eyes.

"I'm scared telling you this. And I'm always afraid that you'll realize I'm no good—"

You clumsily sit up. He tries to hide his face; you gently pull him towards you.

"Leon." You bunch up your sleeve and use it to sop up his tears. "I won't lie about your attractiveness, but even if you were the physical manifestation of a swamp goblin, I'd still like you because you're you."

His eyes go wide and he blinks so hard that the tears get stuck in his lashes.

"You're funny, thoughtful, helpful, and the nicest person I've ever met," you laugh to yourself, "I just wanna see you mad even once!"

"I get mad sometimes." He sniffles harder. "I can show you what I'm like when I'm mad."

"I wanna hear more of your complaints, too."

"I'll tell you each and every one."

"I also wanna hear you ugly laugh."

"Well… that would require you saying something actually funny."

You both cackle, vision wobbling, room spinning, haze refusing to subside.

"Before I met you, I wished I wasn't me," Leon says quietly. "But if it was someone else sharing a room with you, sitting here with you right now, I think I'd be really jealous."

Your throat grows tight. "I think if it was someone else here, I wouldn't be doing this with them."

He reaches up and tries to poke your cheek. He misses and grabs your nose instead.

"Man, woman, physical manifestation of a swamp goblin," Leon repeats, "no matter what, I would still like you, too."

"Really? Even if I was a woman?" you ask, voice nasally.

"You're more worried about that than the goblin?" he chuckles, eyelids heavy. "I would. Actually, I think it'd be easier to…" his eyes shut for a moment and his hand drops. "... and then…"

"And then?" You pinch his cheek.

He doesn't move.

"And then?" You brush the hair out of his eyes.

He lets out a tiny snore.

"Why'd you fall asleep there," you mutter aloud, getting out of bed and carefully tucking him in.

The floors seem to tilt from left to right as you make your way into the washroom. Like always, you wash your face, take off your binder, slip into PJs, and then into bed. Yet, for the first time in a long time, your bed is warm and sleep calls to you almost instantly.

You shut your eyes, wishing, praying, begging that you and Leon don't forget about tonight.

And then you fall asleep. You fall asleep so quickly that you don't even notice you're in the wrong bed.

Chapter 7: Blue and Tacos

Chapter Text

Your eyes flutter open.

The first thing you notice is that the sun is way too sunny and the fan is way too fanny.

The second thing you notice is that your stomach feels like black hole of nausea and regret.

The third thing you notice is that Leon's sleeping face is directly across from yours.

You gasp so loudly that Leon's eyes flutter open too; in an identical sequence, he squints, groans, and then notices you.

"Shi!?" He flails back.

You grab his arm and stop him from falling out the bed, but the sudden movement reminds you both of how sick you feel. You and Leon plop down on the pillows nauseated, exhausted, and completely hungover.

"Sorry, I think"—you burp up the taste of tequila—"I think this is my fault. I remember tucking you into bed and then—"

"I thought that was just a dream," Leon mutters and then quickly adds, "not the tucking me in part, I mean—"

He stops himself.

"No, that part, too," he corrects. "The whole night felt like a dream."

You open your mouth to speak.

The words die in your throat.

Sunlight streams through the window and illuminates Leon; his dark blonde hair is a mess, deep purple sits underneath sleepy eyes. Usually pink lips are pale and slightly chapped.

Somehow, right now…

This is the best that Leon's ever looked.

You grip the blanket—his blanket—and the scent of his laundry detergent surrounds you.

"About last night... I want to know more," you admit before you can stop yourself.

Birds chirp loudly outside and the overhead fan above swings nosily, but you can still hear the sharp inhale Leon takes with perfect clarity.

"When we're not feeling so sick… and only if you want…" You focus on your hands, the bed, anywhere other than his face. "I want to know what you're into, what you've been through… your favorite color, favorite foods—"

"Blue and tacos," Leon answers instantly.

You glance up at him.

"You can ask me anything you want." He smiles. "But I want to know about you, too."

Your heart hammers in your chest, beneath this blanket, beneath this pajama top designed to hide what you are.

"What do you want to know?" you ask.

"Anything you'll give me," he says.

The room feels too hot. You swallow thickly. "Anything?"

"Everything."

"But—" your voice shakes. You shouldn't be doing this. "What if you hate me after?"

"Hate you?" Leon's eyes widen.

You clench your jaw. He notices.

"Hate you?" Leon asks again, soft and gentle. "I don't know if that's possible, Shi."

Nervousness, happiness, excitement, guilt, and sadness washes over you all at once—and you feel it rise up your throat. You jump out of bed and sprint for the washroom.

It isn't until you're staring into the toilet bowl at eye-level puking up last night's fun that you truly appreciate how clean Leon keeps things.

When was the last time you got so hungover you puked? When was the last time you puked?

Probably that time with Katie when—

No. You don't feel like thinking about her.

You're too busy retching to hear Leon approach. He crouches down and rubs your back. "And this is why you shouldn't mix."

"Apparently I'm a masochist," you chuckle dryly.

Leon brushes the sweat soaked bangs from your forehead. "Is that so? I guess I'll just have to take care of you then."

You've always felt that having others take care of you would be a burden to them. You always hid when you were sick from Katie and Claire. Maybe it was a side effect of growing up in an orphanage, maybe it was that you hate showing moments of weakness.

Yet, in this hungover haze, with Leon's hand warming your back despite the scent of vomiting filling the tiny space between you, you want nothing more than—

"By the way," Leon says, hand leaving. "Valentine was teasing Branagh last night."

You don't finish your thought.

You flush it down the toilet and lean against the cold wall. "Oh?"

"You'll never guess what it was about." He stands and runs a face cloth under water.

"C'mon now," you drawl, using a bad western accent. "The suspense is killing me."

"What the hell is that?" Leon grins, wringing out the excess. "Anyways, it was about a secretary named Jessica."

Before you can shout 'what?!', Leon presses the cloth to the back of your neck.

"Apparently Jessica had a thing for Branagh and always tried to flirt with him," he elaborates. "She suddenly quit, though."

"'Suddenly quit' my ass." You frown. "Did they say from where? The precinct?"

Leon shakes his head. "The orphanage."

Your mouth clamps shut.

"There's only one orphanage in Raccoon city," Leon continues. "I think it's safe to say we have our next lead— hey!"

You attempt to stand and Leon rushes to your side. The bathroom feels like it's spinning, but it's not because of the hangover.

"Irons has ties to the orphanage…?" you mutter aloud.

Leon walks you over to your bed. "You didn't know? It's a subsidiary of the RPD."

"For how long?"

"For as long as I can remember…"

You sit and hold your head in your hands. "What does this all mean? Is what happened to Katie purely a coincidence or—"

"Slow down." Leon crouches in front of you. "What does the orphanage have to do with Katie?"

"It doesn't have to do with her," you answer. "It has to do with me."

"Why are you here?" Claire says, opening the door for her brother. "And why do you look like shit?"

Chris pushes his way into her apartment. Other than a new dying plant on her windowsill, everything looks the same; clean but cluttered with the various knickknacks she finds in thrift stores and gas stations.

He sits at the small wooden table pushed up against the wall in the kitchen. "Had too much to drink last night."

"Way too much, I'd say." Claire places a cup of cold water in front of him. "Think some fast food might help?"

"Was hoping for some of your french toast."

"Idiot," she sighs.

Chris smiles to himself when she starts pulling ingredients from the fridge anyways. He still remembers the first time she made him french toast: he had just returned home from a graveyard shift and there it was on the table, cold and burnt to hell, with Claire asleep in the chair waiting for him.

"What's in the envelope?" Claire asks, cracking eggs into a bowl. "An NDA because you're about to tell me you won the lottery?"

Chris snorts. "What makes you think I'd tell you?"

"So you're not taking me to Disneyland?"

"Unfortunately."

"Probably for the best." She begins whisking everything together. "Would you even fit in half the rides? You barely fit at my table."

Chris rolls his eyes. "Moving on, I overheard your little conversation with Thead the other day."

The sound of sizzling butter fills the kitchen.

"Thead?" Claire adds soaked bread to the pan. "Oh, you mean—"

She suddenly stops herself and Chris raises a brow.

"You're not going to tell me her name?" he asks.

Claire puts a lid on the pan. "No. She can tell you herself if she decides to."

Chris frowns. "Really?"

"Yep." Claire smiles. "So, the other day, hm? The last time I talked with Shi was when I saw her at the academy— oh no ," she gasps. "Was it in the cafeteria?"

He nods.

"Oh my god, don't let it bother you. Shi won't try anything—"

"Yes she will, and that's exactly what I'm bothered about."

"Then just say 'no'." Claire grabs a plate.

Chris scoffs loudly. "You want me to walk up to her and say 'no, I can't let you do this?'"

"I mean, maybe you could say it a bit nicer."

"Huh?" Chris squints. "How do I say it nicer?"

Claire lets out a long sigh. "You know what? Just because she said you're sexy once doesn't mean she's going to make a move on you. Geez, your ego is as big as your biceps—"

When Chris doesn't immediately respond, Claire turns around to look at him.

He blinks blankly at her.

She blinks blankly at him.

"Um." Claire tilts her head. "By conversation in the cafeteria, did you mean by the tables?"

"No." Chris mirrors her pose. "I meant the one by the cafeteria washroom, after you forced me to give her a shirt."

Her face pales. "Ah. By the washrooms."

"Yeah."

Claire clears her throat.

Chris stifles a smile.

"It appears that you will need to… remind me what exactly you overheard." She places a plate full of french toast on the table. "Clearly I can't remember."

"Clearly." He leans back in his chair and reaches for the syrup on the counter. "You mentioned something about phone numbers being out of service."

"Yes… Given the information I've divulged, that should mean nothing to you, though."

Chris bites into the french toast; it's buttery, sweet, crispy, and soft, with just a hint of vanilla like their mother used to do.

He presses a napkin to his mouth. "I'll tell you what's in the envelope, but you need to do something for me first."

"The french toast didn't count?"

Chris considers it. "No."

Claire shrugs. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I find it strange that Thead's sister went missing, yet a police report wasn't filed." He pulls over the salt shaker from its home against the wall. "Then apparently two other girls have gone missing, yet police reports also were not filed—"

"How do you know about that?" Claire questions.

"Not important." He pulls over the pepper. "If all Thead needed was to use the database, why did she impersonate a man when a female police academy is just a city over?" He pulls over the paprika. "Would've had access to the same files—"

"It's 8 am on Saturday and you're hungover," Claire groans. "Take a break—"

"And then you said something else that I've been thinking about," Chris continues. "'I shouldn't tell Shi because she begged you not to bring me into this, that she was scared to lose anyone else."

His sister crosses her arms.

Chris places a finger on top of each shaker. "There's something that ties together all these pieces, and I have a feeling that ' something' is dangerous—"

Claire's mouth drops open. "Oh, I see what's going on here."

"What?" Chris moves his hand.

"The reason why you're still bothered about this even after I told you that Shi refuses to involve me"—Claire nods in disbelief—"Is because you're worried about Shi!"

Chris looks down at the three shakers.

It is true that he was initially concerned about what his sister was hiding; but now that he knew and Thead had made sure to exclude Claire from her plans, why couldn't he stop thinking about it?

Chris thinks back to the past few mornings, sharing coffee with Thead.

When did she get so close?

"To be honest…" Claire sits at the table across from him. "I'm worried sick about her, too."

Chris still doesn't deny anything. Claire leans back in her seat.

"Since we're both incapable of dropping this"—she snatches the envelope from his hands—"I have a proposition for you."

Chris eyes her wearily. "What?"

"Why don't we carry out our own little investigation from behind the scenes?" Claire offers the envelope back.

Chris hesitates.

When he reaches for it, she doesn't let go.

"But if we do this, you cannot tell Shi," Claire says in a serious tone that's unfamiliar to Chris. "I already broke my promise not to tell you once. If she finds out I completely betrayed her trust, then I—"

She grips the envelope harder.

"You're right; that 'something' is dangerous." Claire bites her lip to stop it from quivering. "I'm terrified that if she finds out I told you, she'll leave the academy and do something reckless where I can't reach her. I need to know that she's safe first, I need—"

Chris lets go and he does something he hasn't done in years.

He pats his sister's head.

"I haven't said anything and I won't," he says softly. "You have my word."

Claire swallows hard.

She forces out a laugh after a deep breath. "What good is a word? I'll cut off your balls if you do."

"Ah." Chris moves his hand. "You had me worried for a sec."

Claire offers him a lopsided smile. "Are you in?"

"On some of my own conditions." He swiftly grabs the envelope back and starts opening it. "You are not allowed to do anything that you suspect might be dangerous. If you're even the slightest bit worried, you call me first—got it?"

She nods

"And—"

"And…?"

"And you're gonna tell me what that 'something' is." Chris tilts his chin up. "You're going to tell me the entire story, beginning to end. Because if we do this, we need to be completely transparent with each other. No more secrets."

Claire rests her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. "Do you want me to report every time Shi calls you sexy too? Or just the serious stuff?"

Chris chokes on his own spit. "Claire—"

"Just kidding. Now are you finally gonna tell me what's on the paper?"

Chris glares and then takes a big bite of french toast. "I looked into those phone numbers that went out of service. These are the results."

Claire returns his glare. "That's interesting considering I never even told you about those girls or what their numbers were."

"It's not that interesting. Anyways—"

"Chris. You did not."

"—all three numbers—"

"Chris. Do not tell me that you went through Shi's things."

"Okay, I won't," he agrees. "Anyways, all three numbers—"

"Chris!"

He briefly remembers that day, walking towards the dorms after overhearing the conversation by the washrooms. He wasn't surprised that Thead and Kennedy kept things clean and orderly; it didn't take long to find what he was looking for.

Tucked in the corner of their room was the same backpack Chris had seen Thead carrying that late night in the library. Inside the innermost pocket were two carefully folded missing posters for Clarice and Anna; Chris wrote the contact numbers down and then returned everything to its respective place.

Obtaining Katie Jones' phone number was complete and utter luck, though. Claire had left a box of old things at his place when she switched apartments a year ago; he vaguely remembered seeing an address book among the bobbleheads and tools there, and he was more smug than he'd care to admit when it turned out he had remembered correctly.

The red, sticker-clad address book contained Katie's phone number—and now that he thinks about it, is Thead's real name somewhere in that book, too?

"I can't believe you," Claire sighs deeply. "This better be good…"

"It's a start." He hands her the paper.

"Is it? Looks like a bunch of numbers to me…"

Chris uses a finger to tip down the page.

'030101-020201-0200010-030010-0200101-020200-020200-0200001' is written next to Clarice, Anna, and Katie's numbers.

"The numbers mean something that I haven't been able to decipher yet," he says, letting go of the paper and wolfing down the last bite of breakfast. "One thing's confirmed, though."

Claire sets down the paper and grabs Chris' empty plate. "What's that?"

"Answer this first: how did you and Thead tie Katie together with the other girls?"

"Hm." Claire brings a hand to her lips. "Shi thought it was suspicious that they all looked the same. Then when she tried calling the numbers, both were out of service. She also mentioned that they all had the same result when she checked the database, but I guess there's no way to know for sure—"

"Look"—Chris grabs the plate from her hands and replaces it with the paper again—"all three numbers have same cancellation code."

"Then…" Claire looks closely. "They really are connected."

"Now it's time for your end of the bargain." Chris rolls up his sleeves. He takes his plate to the sink. "Tell me everything."

You slowly chew on some nuggets from the cafeteria.

You can't remember ever seeing Irons at the orphanage.

But then again, you've always tried to forget that part of your life.

From the look on Leon's face earlier, it's possible he's already pieced together that you're an orphan. It's not like you were trying to hide it; you just can't bear hearing the usual pitying responses.

'You were abandoned?'

'Have you ever tried looking for your real parents?'

'That must have been so sad!'

You dangle a nugget in ranch.

Leon wouldn't pity you. Well…

Even he might after hearing you were abandoned twice.

You glance up at the clock. It's already six; one hour left.

This morning, the discussion ended with your head in your hands and Leon kneeling worriedly in front of you; to be grossly hungover didn't seem like the right time for where that conversation was going.

And so you went back to bed—your own beds—and nursed each other to health with sports drinks and toast. Once your heads were no longer pounding and stomachs no longer twisting, Leon stepped out, you went to the cafeteria, and you agreed to continue the talk at 1900.

'Talk', you sigh, dipping your next nugget in barbecue.

In regard to Irons, that would mean the orphanage. But what about last night? This morning?

Given ten more minutes, you might've spilled everything—

A hand slams suddenly down on your table. You drop your nugget.

"Hey," Kevin-asshole-Ryman says, taking a seat across from you. "How was the party last night?"

You frown at your lost nugget and sigh. "What do you want?"

Kevin smiles. He looks amused. "Just a moment of your time. Why don't we go somewhere else to talk—"

"Not interested," you interrupt.

"Alright, so then…" he leans in close, close enough that you can smell the scent of his shampoo. "You don't mind me talking about your little secret in the middle of the cafeteria?"

If Kevin didn't have a sliver of your attention then, he has it all now. Your blood runs cold and it takes every ounce of control to not let your face show it.

"I can see I've struck a nerve," he chuckles.

"What can I say? I don't respond well to empty threats."

"Empty?" his voice drops to a whisper. "Well I thought it was real cute that you and Kennedy were sneaking into building A the other day—"

You clamp a hand over his mouth.

He raises his brows.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was just you involved, but Leon…

"Fine." You drop your hand. "Lead the way."

Kevin smiles again, triumphant. You snap down on your last nugget and clear your tray before following him out.

He leads you down a hall that you've never seen; it appears older than the rest of the academy, dusty, like it's waiting to be torn down and replaced. There's a small set of stairs leading down at the end.

"Are you planning on murdering me?" you ask, deadpan.

"Yes," he responds, also deadpan. "I led you out of the cafeteria in front of everyone just to murder you in the same building."

The stairs lead to a door that looks like it hasn't used in a decade. Kevin pushes it open and flicks on the light; a hanging lamp reveals the size of a standard office, filled with old cleaning equipment, a table, and two chairs.

You try to hide your awe. "How do you know about this place?"

"I go exploring when I'm looking for quiet places to study." Kevin shrugs.

"Oh, that's"—you shake your head—"completely besides the point! Why did you need to talk to me alone?"

Kevin gestures to the table. You sit. Textbooks and filled notebooks litter the top.

"Let me get straight to the point," he starts. "There's something you need and something I need—"

"I thought you were getting straight to the point." You fold your arms across your chest.

He frowns. "Fine. I saw you and Kennedy sneaking into building A. I saw he had a ring of keys and I'm guessing that they didn't belong to either of you."

You lean back. "Very cool little story you're coming up with. Got proof?"

"No. But rumor alone would place suspicion on you and Kennedy. Not to mention"—he pretends to think—"there's not too many notable places to go in building A, is there? Chief Irons would probably be pretty interested to hear what you've been up to."

You narrow your gaze. "I don't understand why you've been such an ass to me this entire time. What did I do to you?"

"That brings us to what I need." Kevin grins. "You've got the second highest grades in class and I need you to tank them."

You sit up straight. "What?"

Kevin takes in your bewildered expression. When you obviously don't understand what he's getting at, his eyes go wide.

"C'mon," he furrows his brows. "Don't tell me you don't know about the scholarships?"

You shake your head 'no'.

"Do you even know that the exam scores were posted today?"

You shake your head again.

"Fuck." Kevin's fists bang the table. "This is what pisses me off about you!"

You startle at the noise and your shoulders go tense. Kevin stands and roughly pushes out his chair behind him.

"The Umbrella scholarship is an award that only goes to the top two students of the intake." He paces the room. "But it's impossible for the rest of us with you and Kennedy in our class—"

"That's what this has been about this entire time?" You push back your own chair. "The snide comments, spilling juice, suggesting I run that course—"

"You were supposed to fail!"

"And now you're blaming me for not?"

Kevin walks towards you. "Kennedy actually tries. I see him training and studying all the time. He deserves that scholarship, but you…"

You back up until you bump into the wall. Kevin slams his hand next to your head.

"You're just going through all the motions like it's nothing at all," he says, leaning closer.

You scoff, fists forming at your sides. "If you think you deserve it, then just beat me! Study even more—"

"What the fuck do you think I've been doing?" he raises his voice. "Everyday, all I do is work hard and study—for what? So that someone who doesn't even know about the scholarship can take it away without trying half as hard? I promised my mom—"

Something runs between you.

Kevin jumps back. "W-what was that?"

Tiny nails scurry across the floor.

You flinch. "Kevin…"

A long pink tail disappears behind a shelf.

"What?" he gulps.

Squeaking echoes.

"Don't tell me that's a—"

Two black beady eyes appear from the shadows.

"Rat!" you and Kevin scream in unison. You both scramble to get on top of the table and kick away the chairs.

"Can rats climb wood?" Kevin shudders.

"I don't know—"

The rat tries climbing up the table but you and Kevin scream so loud it thinks better of it and stands by the door.

"Do something!" You point.

"Me?!" he exclaims. "You do something!"

"But I'm terrified of rats!"

"Well so am I—"

As if at the same time, you realize you're holding onto Kevin's arms and he realizes he's holding yours.

You slap each other away and settle on sitting cross-legged back-to-back on the table.

"So…" you break the abrupt silence. "You're scared of rats too?"

"Shut up," Kevin grumbles.

You sigh.

Great.

You're stuck in some room that no one knows about with someone that hates your guts.

It takes forever for just 10 minutes to pass. That's 10 forever minutes of your back pressed begrudgingly against Kevin's, and 10 forever minutes of the rat continuing to guard the door like a prison warden.

You've spent the time considering possible routes to try and bypass the beast—each seems to play out in failure. It's 18:30 already; if you don't figure out how to escape soon, then Leon—

"I'm sorry," Kevin says suddenly.

"What?" you blurt out.

"I said I'm sorry," he repeats.

You rest an elbow on your knee, your head in your palm, and wait for him to continue.

'I'm not like this," Kevin admits defeatedly. "Stooping this low—that's not me."

"Then why?" you mumble against your hand.

"Desperation, I guess? But that's a shitty excuse…"

You look at the textbooks on the ground and think back to all the times you'd seen Kevin outside of class.

"I'm sorry, too," you say.

"Why?"

"I see you studying all the time. I shouldn't have told you to study more."

His back slumps further against yours.

"How are you so talented at everything?" he asks after a moment passes. "Is it 'cause you room with Kennedy?"

"No. I…"

You glance at the door. The beast is curled up in a little ball in front of it and the clock above reads 18:40.

Just like in the library with Chris, you strangely feel like being honest.

Or maybe…

Maybe you're just tired of lying.

"I gave up everything to come here," you answer.

You look down at your shoes. These sneakers were the only thing you kept; once white soles have been stained by the red gravel outside.

" I can't go back," you think aloud. "If I don't do well here, there's no way for me to move on."

Kevin mulls that over.

He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and then opens it again. "I get that. My mom, she, ah—"

He lets out a deep, frustrated breath.

"I always wanted to be a part of the RPD, but the program wasn't something we could afford. I was going to let it go, but my mom…"

Kevin leans his head back. It lightly bumps yours.

"She went and took out a loan, registered me before I even knew what had happened. Since the scholarship is more of a grant, I figured I could pay her back. I promised her I would…"

He swallows thickly.

"But I was too confident. I thought that as long as I worked hard and put in the effort, I could make it to the top. And then as fate would have it, I ended up in a class with you and Kennedy."

Now that you stop to think, everyone has always been working hard—even Wes and George. You've studied with Leon and you've trained with Leon, but when was the last time you took initiative to study something when it wouldn't further Katie's case?

You rest your head against Kevin's. He doesn't move.

This is Kevin's future.

What's yours?

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask.

Kevin turns to face you. "Oh, I'm sure that would've gone well; 'hey Thead! Can you drop your grades so that I can get a scholarship for my mom?'"

"Yeah! I would have—"

"Not believed me at all."

You grin. "You know… Someone recently taught me that it's okay to rely on others."

Kevin raises a brow. "Kennedy taught you, you mean."

"T-that's… that obvious, huh?"

"Yep."

You hold out your hand for Kevin, just like Leon did for you before. He stares down at it.

"I'm not going to flunk, but I can aim for third," you offer.

His eyes go wide.

"Not in sparring, though," you laugh. "I'll kick your ass every time—"

Kevin's face lights up. He leans forward and his arms raise slightly—and then his face darkens. His arms drop in his lap and he sits up straight.

You tilt your head. "Just now… were you—"

"No I was not."

"Were you—"

"No."

"Kevin."

"What?"

"Were you going to hug me?"

He visibly recoils.

You smile. "Wow. We've come a long way in 30 minutes, huh?"

Kevin groans, embarrassed. "Do you ever stop talking—"

It's hard to imagine that you would ever hug Kevin-not-such-an-asshole-Ryman, yet here you are, wrapping an arm around him.

He squirms beneath your grasp. "What are you doing?!"

"If you keep struggling, that rat's gonna get you."

Kevin groans again. He pats your back and then pushes you away. "Alright, that's enough—"

"But this is what you wanted!" you laugh.

You used to be able to count the people you'd hugged on only one hand, but since being at the academy, your world has slightly grown.

Kevin's hug didn't feel like Claire's, Katie's, Leon's, or even Chris'.

It just felt… nice.

"Anyways." Kevin shakes his head. "Speaking about the rat, how are we going to get out of here?"

You cross your arms. "I came up with something earlier, but you were still a jerk back then."

Kevin half chuckles, half scoffs. "Fair. What was it?"

"I will…" you gulp. "Sacrifice myself."

His eyebrows shoot way up. "What?"

"This is the plan," you say, trying to mask the terrified wobble in your voice."I'm going to get off the table and try to scare it away—"

"You did see it attempt to claw its way up earlier, right?"

You point over to the shelf, to the plastic container sitting there. "That's why we'll make a trap—something to catch the rat with should the initial objective fail."

"Shit," Kevin clicks his tongue. "You've got balls of steel."

"I've been told they're nice."

"Ugh—"

"Hold me. I'm gonna try and reach it."

Kevin reluctantly grabs your hips and you lean towards the shelf, just barely hooking a finger under the lip of the lid. He pulls you back, you collapse in his lap, and then he quickly shoves you off.

You hold the container in your hands. It feels sturdy enough. Probably.

"I'm gonna go now." You grip the container tighter. "Ready?"

Kevin looks more worried than you. "Shi, about your offer, I…" His lips press into a thin line. "I can't reject it, but I promise I'll pay you back some day."

"Just keep my secret—we'll call it even." You smile and hop off the table.

The beast's eyes fly open at the noise and it burns rubber scrambling to get up and chase you. You scream—heroically—as it approaches, tiny little nails scratching against the ground just like you fear. The rat jumps to your shoe, crawls up your leg, and your soul nearly leaves your body.

"Shi," Kevin screams, "the box!"

With shaky hands and the reflexes of a demi-god, you trap the rat against your thigh and flip it around fast enough to slip the lid on.

"D-did I do it?" You stutter.

Kevin's eyes are the size of saucers. "I-I think you did!"

"Holy shit!"

"That was crazy!"

"Did you see what I did?!"

"I did, dude, I did!"

You laugh and pop a corner of the lid open. "Don't wanna suffocate the little fellow, though."

"It's a little fellow now?" Kevin's excitement dies down.

"Well it's not a big one—" You glance at the clock.

18:55.

"Oh, crap." You make for the door. "I gotta go! I'll bring the rat outside—"

"Wait!" Kevin grabs your sleeve. "I'm… sorry. For everything," he speaks quietly, as if it were a secret. "And thank you."

You smile. "You're welcome. Kev."

He grimaces at the nickname. "Don't start being chummy with me—"

Kevin lightly shoves your shoulder. The plastic container falls from your hand.

You both scream as the rat scurries back out.

You find Leon on the obstacle course. He's sitting alone on the bars, watching the sun set. Your footsteps are loud in the grass, and Leon turns around to greet you with a smile.

Last night's clothes are gone, replaced with well-fitted t-shirt and jeans. His hair is back to its usual style, except for the few rebel strands that always seem to dangle over his eyes.

"Sorry I'm late." You sit down next to him. "It's a long story. There was a rat and—I'll tell you about it later."

"A rat?" Leon chuckles. "That sounds promising."

"Even I'll admit it's a pretty good story." You nod to the bag he's got hanging off his wrist. "What's that?"

Leon holds out the plastic bag for you to look in. There's various chocolates and candies inside.

"In those cheesy coming of age movies, there's usually a scene where friends sit and watch the sunset together eating treats." Leon tilts his head. "Ice cream would've been better, but I was worried it'd melt."

Your heart feels full—so warm and wholesome. You pull out a pack of gummy strawberries; your cheeks are tinted in the same sweet pink.

"So, um." Leon awkwardly clears his throat. "Should we… talk?"

"You're making it sound so ominous," you giggle.

He laughs and reaches for the chocolate covered jujubes.

Everything is cast in the golden orange glow of the setting sun. The field is deserted other than the same crickets and grasshoppers from the other day; all of the other recruits have gone back to their dorms, preparing for Monday tomorrow.

"About last night…" Leon starts. "The stuff I talked about… I wanna explain myself."

He shakes a jujube out of the box and pops it into his mouth.

"I mentioned before that my parents are very controlling. They wanted—needed—me to be their version of 'perfect'. I had to act a certain way, talk a certain way. Be whoever they needed me to be."

Leon puts the chocolates down.

"And who I wanted to be got lost somewhere along the way. I tried to find it in other people, but it was so confusing being told 'I love you' over and over again when the person saying it didn't even know me."

He laces together his fingers.

"I tried bringing it up to friends, they brushed me off as ungrateful. I truly started to believe that something was wrong with me. I kept trying to date, but I doubt any of the girls even knew my middle name—"

"Scott," you say.

"How"—Leon blinks dumbfoundedly—"How did you know?"

"You mentioned it once before."

"I don't even remember mentioning it."

"I guess I just listen attentively to everything you say." You grin.

Leon's breath hitches and his lips part. "What else do you know about me?" he asks.

You set your gummies down next to Leon's jujubes and dust off your hands. "Going off of what I was saying yesterday..." You hold up one finger. "Your sense of humor is sarcastic, well-timed, and witty as hell."

You hold up a second.

"You're caring to a fault, always putting others before yourself. Even when they don't know it."

A third.

"You're kind and friendly to everyone. You make sure to include people and you make them feel wanted."

A fourth.

"You work hard, you try hard. You inspire me all the time."

A fifth.

"You're calm and collected—"

You switch hands.

"—but still so fun to be around; I could never get bored—"

Leon groans. "You're making me shy."

"I'm just trying to answer the question you asked," you recite.

"Ha ha. Funny." He grabs your hand and brings it down to your lap. "Turns out you already know so much more about me than anyone else ever did."

Leon keeps his hand on yours.

"I think I was really lonely…"

His grip tightens.

"... Until I met you."

Your heartbeat rings nosily in your ears, pulse drumming in your throat.

Leon's hand feels almost as clammy as yours.

"Last night, I told you I would like you no matter what," he says. "And I meant that."

That ringing in your ears grows louder, pulse stronger.

"So… Would you be okay telling me about your past too?" Leon asks sincerely.

Despite the warm sun and the sweet taste in your mouth, deep in your heart is a small pang of disappointment.

By past, he doesn't mean your gender—he means the orphanage.

There's no reason for that to come up, after all; that's why you bind yourself everyday, make yourself look like a man.

"Are you sure you want to know?" you ask. "It's sort of depressing."

"I want to know everything about you," he answers. "If you don't want to talk about it, though—"

"No. It's okay."

You clear your throat. It's been a while since you talked about it.

"I grew up in the Raccoon City orphanage," you begin. "I don't know if my parents died or left me there, but being an orphan is the only childhood I know."

Leon runs his thumb over your knuckles. He listens quietly.

"It was cramped. There wasn't enough rooms for all the kids, so they started cycling the older kids to the basements."

You hold your free hand out in front of you. You can see your fingers, the scar you got from trying to ride Claire's sports bike. The new scrape you got from running with Kevin.

"There were no windows. When the lights went out, it was like time stopped. I couldn't see anything; I felt like I would be stuck there forever…"

You bring your hand down.

"And then the Jones family came in," you recall fondly. "I remember laying down in the dark and suddenly Katie was there, turning on the lights. Her parents came a second later, scolding her for going off on her own. And for some reason…"

Your eyes grow warm—

"She insisted that they had to adopt me."

—and you hate how it feels.

"I was a part of the Jones family for five happy years," you continue. "Then one night, Katie was just gone."

The heat threatening your eyes starts to sting. You turn away from Leon when you realize you can't control it.

"Without Katie, her mom and dad didn't want me anymore. I—"

Tears slide down your cheeks.

It's not really the pitying remarks that stop you from talking about the orphanage, about what happened—it's this— the tears, the burn in your throat, the vulnerability you feel.

Even after all this time, you still can't face it straight on—you haven't grown up at all.

Leon's fingers gently bring your face back towards him. You want to pull away, but you don't.

"When you mentioned Irons ran the orphanage, I wondered… What if he had seen Katie before?" your voice cracks. "She died on her way to meet me. What if they had just left the orphanage and Katie never turned on the light? Would she still be alive—"

Leon holds your face in his hands. "The only person who deserves blame"—he wipes away a tear—"is the person who killed her."

Something inside you snaps and the careful wall you had been building—the strong facade you pretend to have—crumbles. You grip Leon's t-shirt hard and he lets you—lets you sob in his arms as he circles them around you and holds you against his chest.

Perhaps it's the aftereffects of a hangover, the aftereffects of trapping a rat with Kevin, or the aftereffects of another summer talk with Leon, but you don't stop crying until the sun has fully set. You're not sure if anyone saw you crying in Leon's arms. You're not sure if you even care.

"Hey." Leon whispers. You can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. "You're not alone."

You glance up from your spot in his arms, eyes puffy and cheeks wet.

"All the guys here and even the instructors… I think they see you as family." He smiles. "You should hear them when you're not around: 'where's Shi?', 'is Shi okay?', 'I miss Shi'."

"What about you?" you ask, sniffling. "Do you see me as family too?"

"Family, friends…" he answers, "whatever you want us to be."

One by one, fireflies begin to glow, twinkling like the stars above.

"Leon."

"Yeah?"

"When you said you wouldn't hate me, what if I had a really big secret?"

Leon hums in thought. "Well… Even if I didn't understand it at first, we would talk it out and I would come to understand. I trust you, Shi. Do you trust me?"

You push out of his arms.

He stares at you, waiting for an answer.

This guilt you feel with Katie—you don't want to feel that with Leon.

You can't.

"I have something I need to tell you," you say. "I'm not ready to admit it right now, but when I am, will you remember this moment?"

"I will." Leon nods. "I promise."

Earlier, you had told Kevin to rely on others; that you would have believed him if he had just been honest.

Once you've built up enough courage…

You'll tell Leon your real name.

You'll tell him the truth.

Chapter 8: The Sun

Chapter Text

When it rains, it pours, they say.

You've always found this to be true. There's been many periods of rain in your life—rain so heavy you thought you might drown.

But you've also always found that the most beautiful rainbows only appear after the heaviest of storms.

At least… that's what you're trying to convince yourself right now.

"Jesus," Leon exclaims when he sees you. "Are you okay?"

You stagger out of the washroom, drenched in sweat, pale as a ghost.

Not only has your period finally arrived with a vengeance, you feel warm, sluggish, and like your head might possibly explode. Has the lack of sleep finally caught up? Is your body finally revolting?

Leon's brows furrow in worry. He presses a hand to your forehead and furrow deepens. "I can get a thermometer to check, but I'm pretty sure you have a fever—"

"No, no," you groan. "I think you're right."

Your uniform is uncomfortable and sticky, but you can't seem to bring yourself to take it off.

"Im'ma stay here." You collapse into bed and pull the blankets up. "Can you take notes for me?"

"I should be staying with you," Leon tries to argue.

You wave him away with a limp flick of your wrist. "I'll be fine— "

"You can't be serious."

"Don't miss class for my sake." You reach out of bed and give his hip a little nudge to the door.

"That's it." He frowns, grabbing your wrist. "I'm taking you to the nurse's station—"

"No!"

Leon startles at your raised voice, looking like the human equivalent of a puppy with it's ears down and tail between the legs. You immediately feel bad.

"I just hate medical facilities," you lie. "They freak me out."

Leon seems like he doesn't fully buy your excuse, but he also doesn't ask any more questions. Even though you'd love to go, you can't risk a medical examination.

"Hey." You touch his arm. He's still in the t-shirt and shorts from his morning run. "I'll be okay, I promise."

Your eyes grow heavy and your head is threatening that if you seriously don't rest, it really will explode.

Leon says something. You don't hear what.

You fall asleep thinking about the orphanage basement, remembering all the times you've done this before.

It's Leon's first time skipping class.

The sun is blindingly bright, but outside is just the right temperature. The grass is green and the sky seems somehow bluer.

Leon briefly wonders how much this will drop his grade—and very quickly decides it doesn't matter. What does matter is helping Shi, and if Shi doesn't want Leon to stop at the Nurse's Station? That's fine. He'll stop at the drugstore.

The 15 minute walk only feels like 5 with the beautiful weather. Bells chime when he enters the store; there are a few seniors and parents inside that stare upon his arrival. Leon's used to the stares, yet they always manage to make him self conscious.

He begins making his way to the pharmacy when a magazine catches his eye. It's Cosmopolitan, the same crap his mom always reads. Every other month she'd be on some new insane diet. Leon used to get so worried—there were days she could barely stand, but she would never listen.

She would quote some model instead: 'Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels'.

"Skinny, large—I just want you to be healthy, mom!" Leon cried—he was 14 then.

That was the only time his mom ever slapped him.

And the last time he ever said anything.

Next to the Cosmo is a local magazine—something much more Leon's speed. It's called 'Raccoon City-zine'. He wonders where the hell they get these names from.

Leon's about to walk away when he notices the loud, red text on the front: it reads 'Help! I think I'm sexually attracted to my best friend!'

His eyes widen.

He glances around, and when the coast is clear, he gingerly plucks the magazine off the stand.

The column starts 'Dear Mama-Raccoon'—

"Seriously?" Leon mutters aloud.

An elderly lady peeks over the aisle at Leon. He smiles awkwardly and then turns back to the magazine.

'Dear Mama-Raccoon,

Help! I think I'm sexually attracted to my best friend!

I've never had a friend like him before; we get along so well and can talk about everything. It's like I can show him the deepest, ugliest sides of me and for the first time in my life, someone accepts them all!

Lately, I've started feeling that I want more. Our hugs are not enough, I get jealous if I think about him dating someone else. Is it because I've never had such a close friend before or have I become sexually attracted to him?

Sincerely,

EotMS

Leon continues reading.

'Dear EotMS,

Mama-Raccoon here! This is a question I've heard time and time again. My answer always remains the same:

Imagine your friend, imagine being face to face with them, just a whisper away—could you kiss them?

Can you imagine letting your hands roam over them? Can you imagine taking off their clothes and can you imagine selflessly pleasing them? Does the thought of their moans excite you?

If you answered yes to any of these questions—then my answer is 'yes' to yours—

He drops the magazine—and then smacks his head on the stand trying to pick it up.

The little old lady from the next aisle comes running over. "Is everything alright?!"

"Y-yes… thank you," Leon tries to hide the pain in his voice. He puts the magazine back and heads for the pharmacy. "You have a good day, ma'am."

Well that was embarrassing… almost as embarrassing as the noise he made hugging Shi—

Leon shakes his head—now's not the time to dwell on that.

For a small drugstore, the pharmacy's well stocked and has plenty of selection. It makes Leon strangely happy to pick out medicine for Shi; products have changed so much since the last time Leon was sick.

It was about 2 years ago, right before the Super Bowl. Leon had been invited to watch the game with a group of people from his graduating class. He didn't particularly care to go, but his dad had other ideas; one of the girls was the daughter of some CEO.

Leon's dad was pissed when his son woke up with a fever that day. He didn't care about Leon's pounding head, the sweats, or the chills, he was too busy yelling about missed opportunities, furious about what could have been.

Leon tosses medicine into his basket.

If only dad could see him now.

If only he knew his son couldn't stop thinking about a guy—

Something suddenly bumps into Leon's legs.

He looks down in horror to find that a little girl has run head first into his knees. "Are you okay?!" Leon bends down to help her off the floor. He can handle many things, but crying kids isn't one of them.

She rears her head up, face bunched in a preemptive wail. Leon braces himself and then—

"Mommy!" The little girl points at Leon. "I wanna marry this guy!"

Her mom comes racing around the corner—expression as apologetic as it can possibly get. "I'm so sorry!" she reaches for her daughter—

But they both stop in their tracks when Leon starts to chuckle.

"I'm flattered," he says softly. "Thank you."

The girl smiles widely, teeth missing. "Does that mean you say 'I do'?!"

"I'm sorry." Leon apologetically holds up his basket. "I've gotta go take care of someone."

She frowns and runs behind her mom's legs. "What's in the basket mommy?"

"It looks like his princess has caught a cold," she answers.

They wave goodbye and the drugstore's muted 70's music fills the gap of silence after they leave.

Leon glances at his basket.

"Prince," he says to no one but himself. "My prince has caught a cold."

Leon uses a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

Seriously, has the sky always been this blue?

The plastic bag swings on his wrist with each step. He looks at his watch; first period has already ended.

Sexuality… isn't something Leon has ever questioned before.

He's dated women, kissed women, slept with women. He's acknowledged when men are attractive, but never felt an urge to do those things with them.

With his exes, it was like going through a checklist of things he thought he had to do in a relationship. Other than brief moments of physical pleasure, there was no happiness in his previous experiences; no excitement, love, or the rose-tinted glasses that romance movies often talk about. They'd break up with him when they found a new attractive guy. Or if Leon was the one to do it, they'd shrug and say "I knew you were too good for me anyway."

The birds chirp loudly. Leon's bag crinkles with each step.

He thinks about that magazine:

Imagine your friend, imagine being face to face with them, just a whisper away—could you kiss them?

Can you imagine letting your hands roam over them? Can you imagine taking off their clothes and can you imagine selflessly pleasing them? Does the thought of their moans excite you?

And then Leon thinks about Shi.

He imagines kissing him… kissing his lips and his neck… letting his hands trail down Shi's body, slipping under Shi's shirt to touch the soft-looking skin he's only caught glimpses of—

Leon stops.

He tries to imagine kissing George instead and—

"No," Leon says aloud.

Chris…?

"No." He holds his head in his hands. "Definitely not."

So maybe Shi's the only guy Leon finds sexually attractive. But he's never thought about what it could mean to be romantic with another man.

Could he bring himself to touch Shi?

Stroke him? Go down on him?

Take him, or be taken by him?

Leon blushes, flustered. He's never thought about it, never even considered it.

But if Shi wanted that, then—

Wes suddenly appears in Leon's line of sight. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Anal!" Leon squeaks—

—and then quickly adds, "yzing—analyzing—I'm analyzing the beautiful weather."

"... Okay." Wes tilts his head. "What's in the bag?"

Leon was so lost in his own mind that he didn't even realize he'd arrived back to the academy. He looks down at the plastic bag still dangling off his wrist.

"Shi's not feeling well," Leon answers. "Skipped class to go grab some things."

"I was wondering where you two were!" Wes grins. "To think you were out taking care of your lil' shit head—"

"Do not let Shi hear you say that." George walks up. "You'll get beaten to a pulp."

Leon stares at George's lips.

He tries once more to imagine angling his face, closing the distance, feeling George's breath on his skin—

"God," Leon grimaces. "No."

"See! Now you're offending Leon." George points. "That's his shit head!"

"Wait—" Leon clamps his eyes shut like it'll help him process what they're saying. "Why do you guys keep saying that?"

"What?"

"'Your' Shi. 'His' Shi."

Wes' jaw drops. "Don't you remember spin the bottle?"

Leon blinks blankly.

"You know?" George grabs Wes defensively. "Holding Shi like this, saying 'mine!'?"

When Leon thought he remembered all of that night, it turns out he only remembered everything after leaving the party. Hazy memories come back of holding Shi tightly, exclaiming, loudly, that Shi didn't have a girlfriend—and that Shi was his.

Leon groans. His palm meets his forehead. "Never let me drink again…"

"Not a chance!" George slaps Leon's back. "It's so funny that I used to find you intimidating. You're really just like the rest of us, huh?"

"Yep," Wes laughs. "You're just another dude, albeit, stupidly good looking for some reason—"

"You know what 'albeit' means?" Leon teases.

He dodges a joking punch from Wes and tells the pair he'll see them at dinner.

Leon takes one last look at the sky before heading inside. Just a year ago, the same blue sky always looked so grey.

Leon opens the door and quietly closes it behind himself. It's pitch black inside dorm room five, curtains drawn and lights off. Compared to the sunny blue and greens outside, he can barely see a thing.

"Shi?" he whispers.

There's no response.

Leon feels for the wall and makes his way toward the window. If he could just let in a little light—

"Agh!" He trips over something in the middle of the floor.

Leon doesn't go down gracefully, but he does manage to click on the bedside lamp during the fall. When he opens his eyes, he finds a mysterious body-shaped blanket-covered lump on the ground.

"Shit." Leon rushes over and unravels the mess of blankets.

Shi's inside, still in uniform and drenched in sweat. Leon gently lifts him and places him back on the bed.

"Hey," Leons calls.

Shi must be really out of it, because his only response is a groan.

If Shi hadn't made such a strong objection to the Nurse's Station, Leon would be sprinting there with Shi in his arms. But…

"Stubborn." Leon kneels next to the bed. "I did say I would take care of you, though."

He mumbles, rolling over and burying himself into Leon's chest. Leon can feel Shi's feverish heat through his shirt. He can feel the sweat from Shi's forehead dampening the fabric.

"Leon…" Shi mutters.

"Hm?"

"You're"—there's a little snore, Shi's definitely still asleep—"an idiot..."

Leon laughs hard and the shaking of his shoulders jostles Shi.

Shi reminds Leon of the sun—bright and warm and what makes a day so beautiful, so much more vibrant, when everything seemed gray before.

Leon can't fully describe the feeling taking over him—the swelling of his heart, the pleasant breathlessness in his chest.

But if he had to guess…

"This is it, right?" He brushes the hair from Shi's face. "Those rose-tinted glasses the movies talk about?"

It would take Leon nothing at all—no effort or convincing—to reach down and press his lips against Shi's.

Leon swallows thickly.

This feeling is so wonderful…

and so scary at the same time.

Leon gently rolls Shi away and walks to the washroom. He runs a cloth under warm water and looks at himself in the mirror; the reflection is the same as always.

Even if gender doesn't bother Leon, he can't expect the same from Shi.

What if Shi only likes women? What if Shi can't see him as anything other than a friend?

What if his feelings make Shi uncomfortable?

Leon's Adam's apple bobs. It's hard to swallow. His eyes feel strangely warm. He looks the same, but everything's different now.

It didn't take a magazine called 'Raccoon City-zen' for Leon to begin questioning what he thought he knew.

He had been asking himself the same questions since pinning Shi in the hall. Seeing his roommate between his arms, feeling his stomach twist in a way he had never experienced—not for a woman. Certainly not for a man.

And then it was the closeness. The banter. The friendship and the acceptance.

But the moment Leon knew the line between seeing Shi as a friend and something more was that night in Iron's office.

Shi had reached out, grabbing Leon's shirt with shaky hands and unsteady breaths. And Leon—

Finally understood what it meant to want.

He wanted to wrap his arms around Shi. And he did.

Leon hates the word 'perfect'. Nothing's ever perfect—not his parents, not him—yet Shi felt so perfect in Leon's arms, like puzzle pieces slotting together.

That night, if someone had asked Leon if he could imagine kissing Shi…

A once uncertain answer became a definite 'yes'.

Leon brings the cloth to Shi's bed. He begins attentively wiping away the sweat from Shi's face and neck. It'd be good to get him into some fresh, dry clothes.

Shi is only here to avenge his sister; developing feelings for someone, let alone for another man, is probably out of the question.

But if there's some chance that Shi ends up feeling the same, Leon would take that chance and cherish it—regardless of what his mom thinks—what his dad thinks.

And if there's no chance…

Leon takes off Shi's tie.

Then this is enough.

He begins unbuttoning Shi's uniform.

Having a close friend—a confidant—is already more than Leon could have ever wished for.

Leon carefully sits Shi up and slides the top down his shoulders.

Even if these feelings never go away…

He pulls off Shi's undershirt.

Nothing would be worse than losing Shi altogether—

Leon pauses.

There's some sort of sturdy vest in the way.

Like Shi's uniform and undershirt, the vest is soaked in sweat. There's a zipper on the front that's a little hard to pull down. It almost reminds him of a bra—

Leon's hand freezes on the undone zipper. Leon freezes at the sight.

Shi's splayed out in front of him topless and suddenly nothing makes sense anymore.

That's not the chest of a man.

That's the chest of a woman.

"Either you're pitying me or you need some glasses." Shi yanked down his shirt, embarrassed.

"I, uh…" Shi crossed his arms over his chest. "... Have a chlorine allergy."

"Really?" Shi asked, smiling drunkenly. "Even if I was a woman—"

Knock. Knock.

There's a quiet tap on the door.

Leon jumps, eyes still stuck on the breasts in front of him.

Knock. Knock.

"Ah—" Leon blinks once and then twice. He finally manages to tear away his gaze. "J-Just a sec!"

He moves quickly, zipping up Shi's vest and grabbing his—no, her—shirt—

It's still soaked. Is just a blanket enough? No. Where the hell does he—fuck —she keep her shirts?

"Hey, Shi," a muffled voice says. "It's Kevin."

Kevin?

There's no time to look. Leon pulls off his own shirt, slips it over Shi's head and tucks the blanket around her. He tosses the sweaty clothes in the hamper.

Leon breathlessly opens the door and leans against the frame. "Hey."

Kevin looks up from the small notebook in his hand. He squints. "Do you always answer the door topless, or…?"

"Just for you I guess," Leon chuckles awkwardly.

Kevin gives him a blank stare.

"Bad joke." Leon clears his throat. "Shi's not feeling well. Can I help you with something?"

Kevin somehow appears to be both aloof and worried at the same. "I know. Wes and George told me. I, uh, brought this."

He shoves a plastic bag in Leon's hands. Leon peeks inside; it's full of things similar to what he had picked out at the drugstore earlier.

"Tell Shi to get better soon," Kevin says before briskly walking away. Leon doesn't miss the blush tinting the tips of his ears, though.

Once Kevin disappears down the hall, Leon shuts the door behind himself. He sits on his bed and runs a shaky hand through his hair. He stares at the woman laying across from him.

Leon's… confused

Shocked.

Upset.

And, quite honestly, annoyed that his brain has the audacity to feel jealous of Kevin right now.

Leon can't even begin to explain himself.

He thinks about the body he saw, the delicate curves, smooth skin, and round breasts.

He wants to storm out.

He wants to grab Shi by the shoulders, shake her awake, and ask why she kept lying to him even after everything.

Leon wants so badly to be mad. Yet at the same time, he wants to stay. He wants to comfort Shi for how hard things must've been—

But…

Leon gets up and grabs a new shirt.

He can't be here right now, he can't even breathe—

His hand is on the door handle when he hears a loud thump and a soft groan.

Leon's sure that if he turns around, he'll find Shi on the floor again.

And Leon's sure that if he turns around, he won't be able to leave.

He closes his eyes for a moment. The voices that keep him awake at night seem louder than ever:

"If you're ugly, no one will love you."

"Connections, son. Change yourself to make people like you."

"You're upset that people treat you differently 'cause you're attractive? Don't you think you're being ungrateful?"

"Let's break up. You're making me look bad."

"That guy is such a prick. My girlfriend's always staring at him."

"You don't have to talk. I just want your body."

"Do you think you're better than me?"

"I know we just met, but I love you—"

"Even if you were the physical manifestation of a swamp goblin," Shi had said, "I'd still like you because you're you."

Something warm slides down Leon's cheek. He harshly wipes it away.

"When you said you wouldn't hate me, what if I had a really big secret?"

"I have something I need to tell you. I'm not ready to admit it right now, but when I am, will you remember this moment?"

Leon remembers.

He remembers the sweet taste in his mouth, the warmth of the sunset, and the feel of Shi in his arms.

Leon knows why Shi hid her gender from him.

He understands why she didn't tell Leon, and even more, he understands that Shi wanted to tell him.

Leon glances at her again. Just as Leon didn't look any different in the mirror, Shi doesn't look any different laying there.

That's the same Shi who listened to him, accepted him, and used her sleeve to blot his tears.

Leon doesn't feel confused because he's been questioning himself. He doesn't feel upset that he can no longer pinpoint his sexual orientation.

He's starting to think that the real reason why he's feeling everything, all at once, is because in the end…

It doesn't matter, does it?

He's been spending all this time thinking and pondering and willing to try for Shi, but regardless of the gender, he would have done that anyway.

The twist in his stomach when he pinned her—the closeness, the banter, the friendship, the acceptance…

The way Shi feels so perfect against him…

Nothing's changed at all.

Leon turns around. Once again, he gently picks up Shi and places her on the bed. He removes the shirt he hastily dressed her in and replaces it with the undershirt he had tossed in the hamper.

Shi reminds Leon of the sun—bright and warm and what makes a day so beautiful, so much more vibrant, when everything seemed gray before. Even now, Leon can't fully describe the feeling taking over him—the swelling in his heart, the pleasant breathlessness in his chest.

He would still kiss her.

Touch her.

Please her.

And gladly listen to her moans—

If that's what she wanted.

Nothing's changed at all.

Shi accepted Leon for who he really is. She tore down the fake, lonely world he lived in and helped Leon feel something—the very thing he had been searching for his entire life.

Leon will accept Shi, too; he'll help with her sister's investigation, he'll be there to comfort all her worries, anger, sadness, and anything else she's willing to give him.

Leon will protect her secret.

And when she's finally ready to tell him, he'll be there to say "I still like you anyway."

Chapter 9: Her Name

Chapter Text

Your feet stomped on the pavement, pulse drumming in your ears. How long have you been looking?

"Katie—please answer me!"

There was still no response.

And other than your own ragged breaths, there was no sound at all.

But even that grew silent when you saw the body slumped against the sewer entrance.

The dim light of a distant street lamp illuminated familiar shoes—pink Converse, like the ones Katie saved up to buy. Your eyes trailed up to familiar jeans—light wash, like the ones you helped Katie find in the thrift store. Then there was a familiar jacket—bomber, like the one Katie borrowed from you.

And, lastly, familiar blonde hair, tinted the slightest bit teal. Like Katie's, after that over-ambitious makeover night.

You fell to your knees—world shattering, everything shattering—surrounded in the same dark black of the orphanage, unable to see anything ahead.

Once again, time had stopped:

Katie's pulse, her breathing.

But also you—

"You were always stuck in the past," a familiar voice says.

You look up.

Katie's staring right at you.

You gasp awake.

There's the fan, popcorn ceiling, and a warmth in your hand—

You glance over to find Leon sitting on the floor. He's leaning against the bed asleep, hand in yours.

"Huh?" You mumble groggily.

A cold patch tumbles off your forehead when you prop yourself up, and you realize you're down to your undershirt when the blankets fall. Medicine sits on Leon's desk and a cloth hangs off the back of his chair.

Did…

Did Leon come back for you?

You're so used to taking care of yourself that you can hardly believe it at first. You reach out to see if Leon's really there—to prove this isn't some sort of lingering dream—and your throat grows dangerously tight when your fingers brush against the soft strands of his toffee-colored hair. Your knuckles graze his cheek. He's warm—so warm and real—

"Feeling better?" Leon's eyes slowly open.

You yank away your hand, but not quickly enough.

He gazes at you through his lashes. "You don't have to stop."

Are you really awake?

You hesitantly reach forward again, and this time, you gently bury your fingers into Leon's hair. Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest as he leans into your touch; you cup his face, thumb against his cheekbone.

This has to be a dream—this can't be real.

He's looking at you in a way that makes you feel completely defenseless. His voice is raspy with sleep when he asks "can you come a little closer?"

You eagerly comply, glancing down at his lips and—

Leon slaps the cold patch back onto your forehead.

"As much as I'd like to continue"—he stands—"we should focus on that fever of yours first."

You let out a surprised… croak? Whimper? You're not sure.

"... What happened while I was asleep?" you mutter.

Leon stretches and lets out a tired groan. "Not much." He walks over to his desk and starts pouring some medicine. "Skipped class, went to the drugstore, got proposed to by a little girl, had an existential crisis—oh, and Kevin visited."

"Huh." You down the capful of green liquid he gives you. "Wait—you skipped?"

"Only because you told me not to," he chuckles.

"You're going to get in trouble!"

"Guess we'll be in trouble together, then."

You open your mouth in rebuttal and then clamp it shut.

Leon tilts his head, that toffee-colored hair falling into his eyes like always. Cupid-bow lips quirk up in a 'why are you staring at me?' sort of way.

You sigh and avert your gaze. "... It wasn't a burden, was it?"

"What?" he asks incredulously.

"Taking care of me." You rub your arm. "Was it a burden—"

"Shi." Leon sets down the medicine. "Taking care of you is a privilege, not a burden."

You want to believe him, but you're not sure how. "Really?"

"I mean it." He smiles sweetly. "The people who told you otherwise are fucking idiots—"

You gasp.

"—shit for brains—"

And then you laugh.

"—assholes—"

"Leon!"

"—sons of bitches—"

"Leon!" You start laughing even harder.

"You wanted to see me mad?" He starts to laugh too. "Well, thinking of you being called a burden makes me mad!"

Everything about Leon is attractive, from the way he fills out his uniform to the small dimple in the middle of his chin.

Lately, though... something's changed.

Maybe it's because of the secrets you've shared. Maybe it's because he took care of you. But...

Leon seems more attractive than usual.

It has nothing to do with his body or that adorable dimple; it's the way he always rests his chin in his hand when he's sitting. The way he chuckles when he's slightly amused. How he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath when he's stressed. The way he awkwardly stumbles over his words, and now, how he swears when he's angry.

"All that swearing worked up an appetite." Leon wipes away a tear. "Wanna try eating something? Wes and George wanted to join us for dinner tonight. Kevin too, probably."

You let out the last of your giggles and take a deep breath. "Oh, yeah—you said Kevin dropped by?"

"He brought that for you earlier." Leon gestures to the bag hanging off the back of your chair. "I didn't know you two were friends."

"It's new." You grin. "Turns out musophobia brings people together."

"I never did get to hear the rat story."

"I didn't tell you?!"

Leon pretends to think. "I was too focused on holding you in my arms for us to get to it."

Your hands freeze in the air and your cheeks turn a deep red.

"Tell me on the way." Leon shrugs a hoodie on. "I'm starving."

"O-okay." You slowly lower your hands.

"Also, where do you keep your shirts?"

"... How come?"

"No reason."

You make a face, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed and letting them adjust to the blanket-less outside.

In all of your nightmares, that was the first time Katie ever spoke to you… and you think you know why.

You glance at Leon standing there, trying to fix his hair. When he catches you looking, he smiles at you through the mirror.

You've lost everything: your family, your life, yourself.

But you're done losing.

In the depths of your heart, you're finally starting to see a future. It's blindingly bright and scary and you feel like one wrong step will destroy you; yet, you can also see yourself happy. You can see Leon. Claire. Chris. Wes and George and Kevin and everyone.

You need to become stronger. Strong enough to protect this.

You close your eyes.

Katie...

This time, it will be different.

The next morning, Chris isn't in his office when you swing by.

You almost give up on the idea of finding him when you spot Chris training in the gym. The way he's laying into that punching bag makes you feel like it's going to retire early; the sheer force of his punches look as if they could break a boulder.

Chris lowers his fists when you enter the gym. "Look who it is," he says, catching his breath.

"The one and only." You bow.

He scoffs out a laugh, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. You catch a glimpse of well-defined abs and a trail of dark hair leading into shorts—and by the time you tear your eyes away, Chris has already seen you looking.

"You're lucky to have such good friends," he says, dropping his shirt.

You leave your things by the door and sit on the mats. "I know."

Skipping class without permission should have warranted a harsh penalty for you and Leon—and it would have, if not for Wes and George pleading to Jill. They told her how sick you were and that Leon was being a good guy for taking care of his roommate. What was supposed to be a permanent write-up on your record became a 10-page essay on the importance of attendance.

You sigh.

"What's wrong this time?" Chris asks, adjusting his wraps. "Victim of another hug?"

You roll your eyes. "If I keep complaining to you, you're not going to share your coffee anymore."

"'Bros' tell each other things," he says plainly.

You scoff. "Tell me something then."

Chris shrugs. He sits down next to you. "I have a student who's become someone I consider a friend. He didn't show up one morning for coffee and I was worried."

"A 'friend'?" You grin. "Is that considered fraternization?"

"Only if one of us starts flirting."

You chuckle.

Chris leans back on his arms and you bring your knees to your chest

"How can I be as strong as you?" You ask.

He turns to face you. "Why do you want that?"

You think about yesterday, the new glimmer of hope bubbling in your chest.

"I want to protect the people I care about," you admit aloud.

I can't lose anyone else, you keep to yourself.

You rest your head on the top of your knees. "I was hoping you'd give me some pointers."

"I see," Chris hums. He looks away and quietly mulls over your request.

You don't look away, though.

Chris has this unshakeable will that you envy; it's evident in the way he holds himself. Earned confidence oozes off of him—the kind you find yourself wanting to depend on.

How can you become like that?

After a long pause, Chris stands and holds out a hand.

"Hm?" Put your hand in his.

"Let's spar." He pulls you up.

You bark out a surprised laugh. "I knew you'd scold me for skipping but—"

"If you want to be mentally strong, I can offer you coffee and an ear," he says, still holding your hand. "If you want to be physically strong, I can teach you how to fight."

"You're twice my size, though—"

"You're strong enough to beat me as you are." Chris lets go. "What we need to work on is your attitude."

He tosses you a sparring helmet.

"You fight recklessly. Like you don't care what happens as long as you win—"

"Because that was true," you answer honestly.

"Was?"

"I want to change."

Chris flashes you his signature toothy grin. "Then give me everything you've got."

You stare down at the helmet. The gym lights reflect dully off the padding.

This is going to hurt, but…

"Pfft." You slip the helmet over your head. "I'm insulted that you think I would give any less."

For the next hour, Chris kicks your ass. It's not a competition, it's a slaughter; he reads you like a book, blocking all of your punches, kicks, and throws.

In a last-ditch effort, you take a judo stance. Chris shifts his center of gravity to block your throw—except you don't throw him; you sweep your leg under his and he falls hard against the mat. You pin him with Kesa-gatame, and when he tries to escape, you trap his arm between your thighs—

And you very, very quickly remember you're not wearing a jockstrap.

You release his arm in panic and Chris uses the opportunity to reverse the pin. Your back hits the mats once more.

"That was close," Chris says breathlessly from above.

This would be an impressive view if you weren't so tired, sore, and embarrassed. "But still no dice."

"It's a matter of time." He gets off your hips and helps you stand.

Despite feeling tired, sore, and embarrassed, you also feel stronger—your mind feels a little clearer. "You said you were discharged from the Air Force, right?"

Chris finishes his water bottle. He wipes his mouth with his arm. "Why are you thinking about that?"

"Well…" you smile. "Maybe you were meant to be a teacher."

He huffs out a laugh through his nose. "I don't exactly believe in fate, but…" Chris returns your smile. "Maybe I was meant to teach you."

Once upon a time, you never would've imagined having friends who would take care of you, fight for you, and fight alongside you. You wish you could stick your head through a portal into the past and scream to your younger self 'in a little while you'll be surrounded by people who care about you!'

That blindingly bright future seems even brighter now.

You glance at the clock. "Hey, have you eaten yet—"

It reads 07:25.

You gasp.

A part of growing stronger also means not pissing off Jill any more than you already have. You need to get to class on time and you're not even in your uniform yet.

"Thanks for the training!" You run for your things by the door. "I gotta get going!"

"Thead," Chris calls after you.

"Yeah?!"

"You're still wearing the helmet."

You pause, slowly bringing your hands up just to feel the padding still there.

"Oh." You say dumbly and yank it off. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Chris takes the helmet from your hands. "And Thead?"

"Yeah?"

"Classes are canceled for today."

"What?"

Chris begins putting away the equipment. "I've got some coffee. Let's grab a quick breakfast and—" he frowns. "What's that mischievous look for?"

"We have the day off?" You reiterate.

When Chris nods, the gears start turning in your head. Today would be the perfect opportunity to visit the orphanage—

Your stomach suddenly growls. It growls so loudly that Chris raises his brows.

Maybe… you should shelve the idea until after food.

"Breakfast and coffee would be lovely," you say quietly.

Chris laughs. "You got it."

07:55.

You race back to the dorms, officially unshelving the plan.

Today would be the perfect opportunity to visit the orphanage. It's a weekday—which means little to no visitors. Staff-wise, only one receptionist would be out front. Irons would be stuck here or at the RPD, and—

You don't expect Leon and Kevin to be standing there when you drift around the corner at mach speed. Kevin holds out his hands to stop the collision and you run chest-first into them.

Your jaw drops.

Leon's jaw drops.

And Kevin rolls his eyes. "Should've known that pitter-patter was you."

Before the full realization of Kevin inadvertently touching your breasts can kick in, Leon knocks Kevin's hands away. "Hey."

"What?" Kevin frowns. "You want Shi to run into me? What if I catch idiot-itis?"

"Wow. Says the guy bringing meds for Shi the other day—"

"Do you mind?!" Kevin covers Leon's mouth.

You clear your throat.

Both recruits turn to look at you. They quickly let go of each other.

"... Judging by your books," you change the subject, "I'm guessing you haven't heard the news?"

Leon grabs his pencil case off the floor. "News?"

"As much as I'd love to stay and hear all about it…" Kevin adjusts his tie and takes off down the hall. "I'm gonna get to class. On time."

"Wait!" You try to say. "The news is—"

He waves with a flick of his wrist. "Later."

You and Leon watch Kevin exit the doors.

"What was the news?" Leon asks once Kevin completely disappears from sight.

"Class got canceled today," you answer.

He laughs. "Perfect."

You fix Leon a look. "Well, Kevin aside, I was thinking today would be perfect for"—you look around and then lean in closer— "you-know-what."

"Uh…" He tilts his head. "Do I know what?"

You nod. "There's one little problem, though."

"Should I bother asking or…?"

"Yes."

Leon's gaze narrows in skepticism. "Okay then. Tell me what this 'one little problem' is."

"We need a third person," you answer.

His gaze narrows even further. "... Why?"

"Don't worry about it." You smile. "Thankfully, I know exactly who we should visit."

"So this is what you meant," Leon says, leaning against bike racks.

You keep an eye out for red hair among the university students. "What else could I have possibly been talking about?"

"Oh, I can think of a few things..."

Standing at the doors to the Raccoon City University brings back fond memories. It's a beautiful Victorian-inspired building, dressed in the colors of gray and muted blue. There's a large clock tower that overlooks the entire campus; it makes a pretty mean bing-bong at 12.

"Do you think that guy's a model?"

"He has to be!"

Everyone that walks past can't help but steal a peek at Leon. If you thought he stood out among the handsome RPD recruits, then this isn't even comparable.

There's something about Leon in casual clothes that still makes you pause, too. Seeing him like this reminds you of the Leon that exists outside of the academy: What was he like before you met him? In high school? As a kid?

You overhear a group of girls giggling and blushing.

"Go talk to him!"

"No, I'm too shy—you do it!"

What type of people did Leon try dating? Pretty girls like these students?

You glance at him again.

What's he like when he's dating someone? What kind of expression would he make looking at someone he loves?

Leon catches you watching him. He stops fiddling with his watch and smiles. "What's up?"

Your heart does a prideful little flip-flop. Everyone's watching him, but he's only responding to you.

"What the—?" A familiar voice says loudly.

The redhead you were waiting for comes bounding down the stairs. She pushes through the masses and into your arms.

"You two are the ones causing all the commotion?" Claire says, finally letting go. "Do you know how tight you guys have the school's panties bunched?"

"How tight?" You ask.

"Just look up."

You and Leon look up to find girls staring through the windows. Their squeals are so loud that you can hear them from here.

"So this is the extent of your power," you sigh.

Leon grins apologetically. "I tried to look nice for you."

You blush. "You… did…?"

"Less flirting, more walking!" Claire links her arms around yours and Leon's.

She escapes the intense stares by dragging you down the street, past Raccoon-gregation, and to Emmy's. The door makes a satisfying chime when you enter; the waitress behind the diner counter smiles when she sees Claire.

"The usual?" She asks with a voice only a long-time smoker could have.

Claire pulls you to the first booth she sees. "Three, please."

You watch the waitress disappear into the back. "What's the usual?"

"Water," Claire laughs.

The waitress returns and places three tall glasses of water on the diner table. Ice cubes clink against the sides of the cup, red and white striped straws bob up and down.

"So…" You lean in. "Are you free this afternoon?"

"Shi's got something planned," Leon explains.

Claire's squint is as skeptical as Leon's was earlier. "... It's not a threesome, is it?"

Leon throws his hands up as if to say 'see?!'

"It's not." You dig your elbow into Claire's ribs.

She let out a pained hiss. "All jokes aside, I am free. What sort of mischief are we about to get into?"

You sit up straight and lace your fingers together. "I need your help sneaking into the orphanage."

"What's there?" she asks more seriously.

"Another one of Irons' offices." You lean closer. "And we have reason to believe he's hiding a secret worth killing for."

Claire swallows thickly. Her lips press into a thin line. "Tell me everything."

Other than a new coat of paint, the orphanage is exactly as you remember.

The brick exterior still feels towering, and the stained glass window still reminds you of a watching eye.

But this is no time for reminiscing.

"Let's go over the plan one more time," you began, huddling together in the diner booth. "Leon will start with a distraction…"

Leon walks into the orphanage. He leans against the right-hand wall, diverting attention far from the door. He flashes his brightest smile at the receptionist sitting there.

"Think of something good to say," you explained. "I'll sneak in once they're not paying attention to the door."

"Something good to say?" Leon questioned.

"So…" He clears his throat. "You, uh, come here often?"

Your palm nearly meets your forehead as you slip in undetected. Thankfully, the receptionist giggles.

"You're funny." She plays with her hair. "Who are you?"

"If they ask, don't use your real name," you warned.

Leon sipped his water in thought. "What name should I use then?"

"Hank, Sam, Fred…" Claire listed. "But if you really can't think of a name, go with the first thing you see!"

"The name's…" Leon hesitates.

He looks at you, crouching and sneaking along the floor.

"... Smea…" he mutters, "... Gol…?"

You hold in the loudest guffaw your body has ever produced.

"Smeagol…?" The receptionist tilts her head. "I've never heard that name before!"

"Assuming they haven't changed anything, the keys will be hanging on a hook behind the reception," you recalled. "Keep up the distraction until I can grab them."

Leon laughs awkwardly. "It's like, first name Smea, last name Gol…"

"Oooh." She purses her lips. "That's a cool name. I'm Cassy."

Luckily, the keys are exactly where you thought they'd be. You creep closer and closer until you're within arm's reach—

Annnd your sweater totally catches on a binder hanging off the desk. It crashes to the floor way louder than any binder falling ever should. You freeze like a raccoon caught in a dumpster. Leon's eyes grow to the size of saucers.

"If anything goes wrong"—Claire crossed her arms—"just turn on the charm."

"You want me to flirt," Leon responded plainly.

"Well. Yeah," she laughed. "That handsome face might just save Shi."

Cassy gasps. "What was—"

"Hey." Leon grabs her chin. "You're really pretty."

She completely disregards the crash, arms limp at her sides. "S-s-seriously?"

You wrap your sleeve around the keys. Their jingle is muffled as you slip them off the hook.

"There's a hall leading to the headmaster's room on the left," you continued with your plan. "Once I have the keys, I'll head there."

"That's where I come into play." Claire smiled.

"Mhm. You'll keep an eye out and warn me if anyone comes."

"—and I'll pull your ass out when we're done."

Your years as an orphan are paying off; you don't need to bother trying all the keys, you already know exactly which one it is. The door unlocks with a small click that Cassy can't hear over herself. You slink inside and carefully shut the door behind you.

Claire's waiting at the windows down the hall. You rush over and unlatch one of them.

"How'd everything go?" She asks when you slide it open.

"Good." You glance around. "You?"

She shrugs. "Good. Except that people think I'm a squatter."

"A stalker at a boy's academy to a squatter outside of an orphanage? Movin' up in the world, eh?"

"The things I do for you." She waves you away. "Be careful."

You wink. She gags.

"At the end of that hall is a door," you said finally.

"Irons' office?" Leon asked.

"Yes."

Around the corner is a rich, dark wood door with a single wall sconce to the right. You've seen this door a handful of times in your life, but you would never have guessed Irons was the man sitting behind it.

You struggle with the handle until a key fits; nervousness gurgles in your stomach as you open the door and the smell of mold and chemicals fills your nose. The first thing you see is—

Shelves…?

Sheet-covered shelves form an aisle that leads further into the room. You pull back the sheets, finding unnamed boxes and bottles. Could that explain the chemical scent?

Past the shelves are more familiar: expensive furniture, miscellaneous pieces of art, a Persian rug. In the middle of the room is a large wooden table with a few more of those unnamed bottles sitting on top.

Your eyes are drawn to the papers hanging off a shelf in the small alcove to the right. The floorboards creak loudly beneath you as you approach.

There's not a whole lot as you sift through the documents. You stop at a resignation letter:

'To Whom It May Concern,

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation. I will be moving immediately due to family concerns, therefore this letter is also effective immediately.

Sincerely,

Jessica Hornbe, June 16th.'

"Hm…" you mumble aloud, running a thumb along her signature.

The last name is spelled wrong and June 16th is just one day after her last diary entry. You're pretty confident this is forged—

A bright yellow sticky note falls off the papers and flutters to the ground.

You bend down to grab it—and you pause at what you see.

There's a name written down on the sticky note.

You swallow thickly.

It's… your name—your real name.

You abruptly stand and bump into another shelf. Folded blankets fall off.

Is… is this because of all the missing person reports you filed for Katie? Did Irons flag your name?

But then why is the note here at the orphanage—

"Ka-ka-ka!"

You tear your eyes away from the note. "Is that…?"

"Ka-ka-ka!"

"We should have a signal in case I see anyone coming," Claire hummed, stirring around the ice cubes in her drink.

"How about a bird call?" Leon suggested. "Maybe you'll even call over a few pigeons."

"Ka-ka-ka!"

You shove the sticky note in between two random pages and stack the papers where you found them.

"Ka-ka-ka-bitch-someone's-coming!"

"That is"—you force the blankets back on the shelf—"the worst bird call I've ever heard…!"

Thankfully this room was already a mess—the blankets and papers don't look too out of place. You scramble for the exit.

Claire's voice is laced with panic. "Ka-ka-ka-I'm-not- playing-get-your-butt-out-here-now—"

You nearly trip on the rug making it back to the window. "I'm here!"

Claire yanks you out by the arms and you both fall back into the bushes. You sit up and spit out a few leaves.

"Took your sweet time," Claire mutters, dusting the dirt off her jacket. "C'mon, we gotta go give Leon the signal!"

"How do we get the keys back?" Leon asked.

"Hm, we'll need a signal." You put your hands to your lips. "How about Claire's bird call?"

Whoever came to visit must already be inside; the coast is clear when you peek your head around the corner of the building. Claire stands next to the front doors, and in the loudest voice she can muster, she 'ka-ka-ka's to the heavens.

It's actually quite the sight, watching Claire's head rear back like a rooster waking up the entire neighborhood. You can't help but burst out laughing.

"Ka-ka"—Claire starts to laugh too—"ka-ka—shut up!"

You're full-on crying now. You mimic the pose so that Claire can see and she laughs so hard there's no sound.

"That was the worst bird call I've heard." Leon exits the orphanage. He stops at the sight of you both standing like chickens. "What the—"

You give Leon the keys with shaky hands; he gives you a face before ducking back inside to pretend as if he found them in the courtyard.

The door to Emmy's chimes. Once again, the waitress behind the counter smiles at the sight of Claire.

"Twice in one day?" She says, already grabbing three cups. "Are you gonna order something this time, Redfield?"

"Your smile already has my heart so full though." Claire clutches at her chest.

The waitress playfully scoffs. "Good thing you're such a sweet talker."

"I learn from the best."

"Hah!"

You sit in the same booth as before and the waitress—Em, you've learned—brings over more ice-cubed filled water with bendy straws.

Claire leans over the table towards you. "Please tell me all my cawing was for something."

Leon scoffs. "We're still calling that cawing?"

"Let's hear yours, then," she scoffs back.

He squints. They have a stare-off. And then Leon lets out an overly-casual, nonchalant "coo."

You and Claire can barely manage a blink before you die in each other's arms, laughing loudly over the diner jukebox. When Leon tries coo'ing again more seriously and his voice cracks, all three of you have your heads back and fists against the table.

"Keep it down, would ya?" Em shouts over the bar, gesturing to the empty diner. "Your youthful, lively smiles are scarin' everyone away."

"Sorry, sorry." Claire wipes away a tear. "So, what did you find?"

"Well"—you take a deep breath —"unfortunately, I didn't find much. There was a resignation letter for Jessica Hornby. Her last name was spelled wrong and the date was suspiciously close to the diary's last entry."

"You think it was forged?" Leon asks.

"Almost definitely."

"Damn." Claire hums. "Anything else?"

Leon thinks to himself. "The person who visited… That guy in the suit…"

You furrow your brows in confusion. "Oh! The reason for Claire's bird, uh, impressions?"

"Calls," she corrects.

"Right. Anyways, he was looking for Irons," Leon explains. "Cassy told him that Irons wasn't there and he offered to wait, but the interesting thing is…"

You and Claire lean in closer.

"There was a small Umbrella pin on his lapel," Leon whispers.

"Huh." You sit back with a thump. "I wonder if that's connected to the envelope I found in his vest…"

"But what would Irons have to do with a pharmaceutical company?" Claire shakes her head.

No one can answer.

You all sigh defeatedly.

"The trip wasn't a waste," Leon speaks up. "The resignation letter and Umbrella pin are a good start."

Claire slumps against the table. "Really, though? That's it?"

The bright yellow sticky note comes to mind.

"There might be one more thing," you confess. "It's probably nothing… but…" you pause.

Leon and Claire wait patiently for you to continue.

Saying your real name aloud feels strange, foreign. Your voice wobbles as it leaves your lips; Claire's mouth drops open and Leon has no reaction, as expected.

"I found that name on a sticky note in his office." You smile awkwardly. "I doubt it means anything—"

"What?" Claire's mouth snaps shut. "How in the hell could that not mean something?"

"Who are you talking about?" Leon asks.

His question is innocent, but it still hurts a little. "It's… someone we know," you respond carefully. "She was close to Katie."

"Really"—Claire's hands ball up into fists—"really close."

You grab one of Claire's hands and begin unraveling her fingers. "I've been thinking. Seeing her name makes sense; she kept calling the RPD, kept filing reports. She asked way too many questions. You would want to keep an eye on someone like that, too."

Leon frowns. "Shouldn't we be worried about Irons targeting her then?"

"No," you sigh. "That girl… she…"

"... She doesn't live here anymore," Shi answers.

There's a sadness behind her words that Leon doesn't understand; a story that Leon doesn't know. Claire and Shi are walking on eggshells around him, but he can't bring himself to ask why.

The diner music suddenly feels too loud when Shi slides out of the booth. "I'm gonna go use the washroom." She smiles awkwardly again. "I'll be back in a sec."

Claire silently fumes. She watches Shi disappear towards the washrooms and she doesn't speak up until Shi's completely out of sight. Her voice is barely audible over the music, just above a whisper.

"That's her name," she says.

Leon slowly turns to face Claire. He can't hear the music at all anymore, only the nosy thudding of his heart. "What?"

"That's her real name," Claire repeats, meeting his gaze.

His shock is obvious.

But the way he understands what she means completely gives him away.

Claire begins idly playing with her straw, bending and twisting it between her fingers. "When did you find out?"

"A few days ago." Leon doesn't bother denying it. There's no use. "How did you know?"

She tilts her chin up. The look Claire gives him reminds Leon that she's a Redfield. "Call it a hunch."

"I see..." Leon furrows his brows.

Is he that obvious—

Someone screams. It's booming, deep, crackly, and coming from the washrooms.

Before Leon or Claire can get up, Shi races around the corner.

"I'm so sorry—!" she whimpers. "I-it was an accident, I—"

Em also races around the corner. She's chasing Shi with a mop. "Tryin' to peep on me! The nerve! While I'm flattered, I'm also married— "

"Why didn't you lock the door?!"

"Why were you in the women's washroom—" Em abruptly stops. "Unless you identify as—"

"I'm a man!" Shi shouts. The chase resumes.

Claire shakes her head. "... I'm surprised you didn't find out earlier."

"Honestly," Leon chuckles, "me too."

Em swats Shi in the butt. Shi yips.

"I'm nervous about that note," Claire says. "You'll take care of her, right?"

Leon watches Shi fondly.

In the small space between him and Claire, he quietly says Shi's real name aloud. It feels as wonderful as he thought it would.

"I won't let anything happen to her," Leon vows. "I promise."

The warm feeling in his chest is growing stronger and hungrier each day.

Who knew a name could be so beautiful?

"Sir." Chris raps his knuckles on the door. "You wanted to see me?"

Chief Irons glances up from his desk. "Yes. Come have a seat, Redfield."

Iron's office is as gaudy as always.

The overly padded armchair Chris sits in feels more like decoration and less like a functional chair. Where the hell Irons gets all the money for this shit is beyond Chris.

"I have a question for you regarding one of your students," Irons begins.

Chris has always hated the way Chief Irons smells: it's unnatural—like where they store bodies in a morgue—preserved by cold temperatures and various chemicals.

That smell is suffocatingly strong today.

True to Claire's word, she had told Chris everything—including how Thead suspects Irons to be Katie's murderer.

Missing reports. Discontinued cases. Hair in the vest pocket. Stacked together one after another like that, the evidence is convincing.

But it's also evidence without proof.

Unlike with the Air Force, Chris can't rush into this headfirst. Too many people he cares about are involved. He needs to first find something solid, tangible. Something irrefutable—

"About Shi Thead," Irons says and Chris snaps into focus. "I've finished looking over their essay."

"Was there a problem with it?" Chris asks stiffly.

"The essay itself was fine, but I'm… concerned. Their grades also are slipping."

Chris frowns. "I will make a point to talk with Thead about his grades—"

"Where did you find this student?" Irons interrupts. "You're the one who recommended him, correct?"

Chris stops his jaw from clenching. "I did. I met him at my sister's university—"

"Oh? It seemed like you didn't know each other at the fitness exam."

"Formalities, sir."

Irons looks unconvinced. He drops the essay on his desk. "I see. Well, make sure you keep him in line; he spilled hot coffee on me not that long ago."

"Understood." Chris nods. "Will that be all?"

"Yes." Irons smiles widely. "Thank you for your hard work, Redfield."

Chris calmly stands. He exits the dimly lit office, shuts the door, and takes in a deep breath of fresh air.

His stomach feels sick.

Irons has never asked about a student before.

Chapter 10: What Comes After

Chapter Text

Wes stares out the window. "Wow, it's that time of year already!"

"Autumn leaves shower like gold," Meyers begins in a low voice, "like rainbows, as the winds of change begin to blow—"

"What the hell?" George laughs.

"I thought it was nice," Leon and Kevin say in unison and then frown at each other.

"I didn't know you were capable of being pleasant." Leon glares.

"I am," Kevin scoffs. "Just not to you."

"Why?"

"Because I'm sure you hear it enough already."

Leon stops. "Oh. Thank you, I think."

Kevin blushes. "Whatever—"

"So"—you snag a fry off Wes' plate—"where'd you get that quote from, Meyers?"

He shrugs, shoving the last of his burger into his mouth. "I always used to see it on my mom's fall-time mug."

Outside, summer has given way to fall; greens have faded into yellow and orange, and the sun seems to set earlier each day. Classes have picked up the pace since—you're in 3rd place now—and Chris' extracurricular training has been relentless—but you feel stronger.

The breeze is warm with a hint of chill in the air; you're entering the new season feeling unusually optimistic.

Elran also snags a fry from Wes' plate. "We're really not gonna mention anything about Meyer's mom having seasonal mugs?"

"Says you." Kevin crosses his arms. "I bet you're the type to drink pumpkin spice lattes."

"Hey! Those are delicious—"

"Why, pray tell"—Wes gives up on his fries and pushes them into the middle of the table—"are we actually not talking about the field trip tomorrow?"

"Field trip?" George squints. "You're making it sound like we're in elementary school."

"Would 'excursion' make you feel better?" Leon asks.

"Yes." George aggressively grabs a fry and eats it.

Tomorrow, there's going to be a group excursion to the precinct. The instructors will be giving an in-depth tour, all the way from the basement to the top of the clock tower. Although you don't have the fondest memories of the RPD, you can't help but find their enthusiasm infectious.

"Did you know the building used to be an art museum?" Wes says excitedly. "Not to mention there's gonna be—"

"Oh, here he goes," you laugh.

Meyers shakes his head. "It's all Elran's fault..."

The accused stands. "What did I do?!"

"You know what you did," George scolds.

Wes ignores everyone and holds his hands to his chest. "There's gonna be babes!" he shouts with glee, "babes in uniforms! Babes in tight pants! Babes with handcuffs—"

Elran sits. "Yeah, that's my bad. Sorry guys."

"And we went…" Kevin pretends to think. "How long without Drucker mentioning women?"

Leon looks at his watch. "27 minutes."

Between the laughter, banter, and arguing, Wes' plate of fries begins to disappear quickly. You reach for the final fry and beat Leon by a millisecond. In retaliation, he uses the puppy dog face.

"You know I can't win against that." You hold out the fry for him to take.

Leon leans over and eats it from your hand. "Guilty as charged—"

"Ahem."

You both look over to find the entire table staring. Their cheeks are tinted in various shades of pink and red.

"Leon." George calmly puts down his drink. "If I go get us another basket of fries will you—"

"No," Leon answers firmly.

The moon is especially bright tonight, tinted the slightest bit gold—a celebration of fall, maybe—instead of its usual pale blue.

You lay on your bed with your legs up against the wall. The dull hum of the shower echoes from the washroom.

Last night, you went to sleep, and this morning, you woke up. Nothing happened in between; closing your eyes and opening them felt like only a second had passed.

You stretch your arm out in front of you; your hand is illuminated by the bedside lamp and the golden moon.

Last night…

You didn't dream of Katie.

You can't remember the last time her memory didn't haunt your sleep. It was strangely quiet. Strangely empty. You feel both relieved and guilty. Happy and lonely.

The shower turns off and you drop your hand.

You've been thinking about the future a lot; you've been thinking about what comes after Irons. But…

The orphanage was underwhelming. There was a forged letter from a girl already gone. The Umbrella pin seems like a temporary dead end. And that note—

You gulp.

You had told Claire not to worry about that note in Irons' office, yet you can't seem to get it out of your mind, either.

All the excuses you gave her…

Who were they really for?

The washroom clicks open. You hear the soft padding of Leon's footsteps; he stops by the door and you can feel him staring.

"What are you doing?" he finally asks.

You wiggle your legs and tilt your head back over the edge of your bed. "I read in a magazine that—"

Gray sweatpants sit low on Leon's hips. A towel's slung around his neck. Droplets of water fall from his hair onto his shoulders, over his pecs, and down his abs.

It's been a while since you saw Leon topless. No matter how many times you see it, you're never going to get used to this sight.

"... I read that," you repeat, looking away, "If you do this, all the thoughts jumbled around in your heart will fall to your head and sort themselves out."

He raises a brow. "And what magazine did you read that from?"

"Raccoon City-zine."

"Of course."

Leon walks over and sits on the floor against your bed. His face is close to yours, just a whisper away. You can smell the lingering scent of his shampoo, the faint scent of shaving cream.

"Sometimes talking about it helps, too," he says, resting his arms on the tops of his knees. "What thoughts need unscrambling?"

You gaze at the ceiling; the dull white and monotonous texture.

It's always been easy to say nothing. It's easy to say 'I'm fine' when you're not.

But ever since you met Leon on that training field, you've found yourself wanting to rely on him. Something about Leon breaks down your walls, makes you talk and cry; spills open the bottle you've kept closed for a long time.

"Where..." You swallow thickly. "Where do I go from here?"

Leon glances at you. "What do you mean?"

You slide your legs down the wall and roll onto your side. "When Katie died, avenging her was my entire future. I didn't care about the afterward, or if there would even be one."

He's silent for a moment. A droplet of water dangles from his bangs. "Has that changed?"

You catch the droplet between your fingers. "It has."

Leon brings his hand to his mouth and tries to hide the smile forming there. When you push his hand aside, the smile only grows.

"I'm glad," he admits.

You tuck your arm under your head. "Me too. It's scary, though… I've got this big future ahead of me and I'm not sure what to do with it."

"If it's any consolation…" Leon's eyes meet yours; his expression is soft. "I'll be there for you regardless of what you choose."

"Thanks." You watch him fondly. "That means a lot to me."

"Thanks for opening up." Leon doesn't hide his grin this time. "You mean a lot to me."

It's your turn to shyly hide your face—except you don't. You keep watching, that same fondness deepening, blossoming.

"The future…" Leon laces his fingers together, wrists dangling off his knees. He lets out a huff through his nose. "To be honest, I haven't thought about what comes after the academy."

You hum. "You said your parents forced you to come here, right?"

His eyebrows raise. "I did."

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing! It's just…"

"What?"

Leon chuckles. "Seriously, it's nothing. I'm an idiot."

You squint. "I mean, you are, but why—ow!"

"I am." Leon pinches your elbow. "I just… still always get shocked when you remember something about me."

"Oh." You frown. "Then you're a giga idiot—"

You scramble off the bed and try to run before Leon's knuckles can noogie your head, but you trip on your blanket and fall into him instead. Leon barely catches you and you both tumble onto the floor.

The carpet is hard against your back. "Sorry," you mutter in pain.

Leon groans. "How'd you get 1:43 when you're this clumsy? "

"If you forgot, I tripped the first time—"

You open your eyes at the same time Leon does.

The noisy fan, the birds outside, the voices in the hall—everything seems to suddenly go quiet as the sound of your heartbeat takes over.

Bright blue eyes,

dark gold hair,

slightly tanned skin,

and a beauty mark on his cheek.

Leon's on his hands and knees overtop of you.

There's barely any space between his hips and yours; no space between his thighs and your legs. When his breath hitches, you can see the muscles of his stomach tighten.

You feel so tiny beneath him, completely engulfed in the shadows of his broad shoulders.

"You're an idiot," you say quietly.

Leon doesn't move or look away. "I know."

"I would never forget something about you."

"I know."

You want to reach out.

You want to touch and pull and—

The want is so strong, you're almost confusing it with need. If you move at all, you might not be able to stop yourself.

'Something changing', 'Leon seeming more attractive'; fond gazes, warm smiles, the loud, harsh drumming of your pulse—

That line you drew in your heart—when did it disappear?

Leon's watching you carefully as if he knows what you're thinking.

Can he tell that you'd ruin everything just to kiss him right now?

Water falls from Leon's hair onto your cheek. He flinches when it does; his mouth parts as if he wants to say something—

But he drops his head to your shoulder and lets out a long sigh instead.

"Maybe you could try being a little more careful?" His voice is muffled against your shirt. "I'm scared you're going to hurt yourself."

The scent of Leon's shampoo surrounds you. It's intoxicating.

"... Planning on not always being there to catch me?" you ask sheepishly.

He chuckles. "Is that what you want?"

Before you can answer, Leon stands.

"That'd mean we have to take showers together." He offers you a hand. "Doesn't really work when you're so adamant about not being shirtless around me."

"H-hey." You blush, accepting his offer. "What I've got isn't comparable—"

You're not expecting Leon's grip to be so strong; you go flying into his chest when he helps you up. One hand lands somewhere on his pecs and the other on his abs. His muscles are firm, yet soft, radiating that same familiar warmth.

"... to this," you croak out, stepping back.

"I'm confident whatever you have underneath that shirt of yours"—he tugs on the hem of your top—"is a lot better."

Your entire body feels hot. Your knees feel shaky. "Your confidence's misplaced."

"I don't know about that, Shi." Leon grins. "Weren't you waiting for the shower? We could find out once and for all."

You snatch the clean PJ's off the back of your chair. "Or not."

"What if you trip—"

"I won't!" You hurry into the washroom and close the door behind you.

You've never understood why people slide down doors dramatically after shutting them—but you do right now; you slide down slowly, heart beating painfully hard and fast. When you catch a glimpse of the mirror, you don't recognize yourself. Your brows are furrowed, cheeks red. You look flustered and embarrassed, barely held together.

You hold out your hand again.

Are you allowed to feel like this?

It's too late, anyway.

"I like him," you whisper aloud, clutching your hand to your chest. "I like Leon."

The last two times you visited the RPD were the last two times your life changed drastically.

As Wes mentioned before, it's obvious that this place used to be an art museum; there's reflective marble floors, detailed wooden trims, and a columned balcony overlooking the main hall. The comforting scent of old books and coffee permeates the air around you. The buzz of busy cops and their echoing chatter fills the large space.

"Dang," George says in awe. "You weren't kidding about this place being cool."

"You've never been here before?" Kevin asks.

"Once a long time ago. I feel like it's gotten way fancier—"

"Babe central," Wes whistles slowly. "Check it out! Even the statue's a babe!"

"It's a statue." George frowns.

The statue of a woman sits behind the police desk in between two flags. Every time you see it, you're reminded of a goddess of justice.

'Justice', you scoff to yourself.

You glance over at the waiting room, remembering the time you spent crying there, remembering the time you spent wringing your hands in anxiety.

Leon's fingers brush against yours. "You okay?" he whispers.

"Don't worry about me." You turn away from the waiting room and smile. "I'm not planning on tripping today."

He sighs. "Why does that worry me even more?"

Last night, you finally admitted that you have feelings for Leon despite begging yourself this entire time not to. The dull and sharp feeling of both pleasure and pain sits in your chest; just like you didn't recognize yourself in the mirror, this doesn't feel like yourself, either. You're uncertain and hesitant. Unconfident and anxious. The secret you've been keeping weighs somehow even heavier on your shoulders, and with every second that passes, you get more and more worried that telling him will end your friendship.

You think about Leon over top of you, pressing his head against your shoulder.

'Friendship' …

Do friends do that?

Deep in your heart, there was a feeling that if you tried to kiss Leon yesterday night, he might've let you.

But…

Leon thinks you're a guy.

He's mentioned having girlfriends before. He doesn't seem affectionate with George or Wes…

What if he doesn't like women?

What if Leon… likes Shi?

You shake your head. The mere thought is almost enough to shatter you.

You need to tell Leon the truth. You have to tell him the truth.

"We're going to split you all into three groups," Marvin says over the chatter of the recruits. "When I call your name please stand by your assigned instructor. We'll start with Redfield…"

"It'd be nice if we were in the same group," Leon says.

"Still worried?" you ask.

He smiles. "Just wanna spend time with you."

"Oh." You blink dumbly. Has he always been like this? "Y-yeah, that'd be—"

"Shi Thead," Marvin calls your name. When you lock eyes with him, he tilts his head towards Chris, mouthing the word 'scoot'.

You start walking over, jutting your thumb behind yourself. "I guess I'm gonna make like a baby and head out."

Leon screws up his face. "Good thing we're at a police station because you should be arrested for using that."

"It was pretty bad, huh?"

"Terrible, actually," he laughs—

"Thead," Marvin repeats.

"Going!" You jog to Chris' side, waving goodbye, grin plastered on your face, and—

What the hell was that?!

You want to pull your hair out, or scream, or hide—preferably under the largest rock in Raccoon City. The stuttering? The bad joke? Is this what it's like to like someone?

"Nice," Chris says when you stand beside him. "What was it? Make like a baby and—"

You shoot him a glare. "Shut up."

His mouth opens in amused shock.

"Sorry." You quickly fix your posture. "Shut up, sir."

Chris' loud laughter interrupts Marvin this time. The receptionist glances at you with wide eyes and the passing cops look as if they've seen a unicorn.

"You're in rare form today." He tucks his bulletin board under his arm. "Was I too rough last time?"

You briefly think back to the sparring session earlier this week. Chris wiped the floor with your face so hard that the gym was sparkling afterward.

"I got in a few good jabs," you huff.

"You did." He nods. "I have to admit, I poached you to be in my group today."

"Why? You woke up this morning and thought, you know what'd be fun?"

"While teasing you is fun, that's not the reason why." Chris waves more recruits over. "There's someone I want to introduce you to."

Finally, Marvin calls Leon for Valentine's group. It seems all your friends have ended up with Jill; Leon catches your gaze and makes an apologetic face as he joins George, Kevin, Elran, and Meyers.

Wes, hilariously enough, has wound up with Marvin.

Perhaps being away from Leon is good. You're distracted. You're totally not looking for his group every chance that you get or anything—

Chris' clipboard taps the top of your head. "Pay attention," he scolds.

You rub the site of impact. "Yes, sir."

Chris is surprisingly well-informed about the precinct. He explains each area in detail, providing just enough history and background so that no one starts yawning. It isn't until the lunch break that he pulls you aside to meet this mystery person.

You arrive at a door labeled 'S.T.A.R.S. Office'. Inside, you're immediately greeted by blue; the walls have been painted in the same bright navy as the RPD. It's a little messy with the various boxes of stuff strewn around, but the wooden desks make neat rows. You can tell which desk belongs to Chris—a brown jacket matching Claire's hangs off the back of his chair.

"Barry," Chris calls. "This is the other coffee fiend."

A burly, older man with a red-tinted beard looks up from his desk. He takes one glance at you and then breaks out into a smile. "You must be Thead. I've heard a lot about you."

"You have?" You raise a brow at Chris.

"Don't worry, kiddo." Barry laughs. "All good things."

Chris leans against Barry's desk. "Barry's S.T.A.R.S.'s weapon and coffee specialist. He's the one who makes 'Burton's Beans'."

Barry blushes. "Come on now. I thought only Brad called it that—"

"I may or may not have gotten the entire precinct hooked on the name." A man in a yellow vest says. He holds his hand out to you. "Nice to meet you, Thead. I'm Brad. Chris has told us all about you."

You shake his hand and raise both brows at Chris. "So I've heard."

"Brad is S.T.A.R.S.'s pilot and computer expert," Chris introduces. "He's also somewhat trained in chemical hazards."

"Somewhat?" Brad scoffs. "I turn my back on you for one second and you're making chloramine gas in the washroom."

"That was once. "

"Once is enough."

"So." Barry gestures for you to take a seat across from him. "You're the reason Chris is ordering double the beans, hm? I'm glad you're enjoying them. It's a little hobby of mine that makes the house smell good."

"'Enjoy' is putting it lightly." You sit. "Pretty sure your coffee is the only thing that's gotten me through Chris' training."

"It's funny you mention that—would you like to hear a story? When Chris and I were in the air force—"

"Hold on," Chris interrupts. "What are you about to tell Thead?"

Barry chuckles to himself. "Oh, just a story from when you were 19."

"I gotta hear this." Brad pulls a chair closer.

Chris frowns. "I didn't bring Thead here so that you could all gang up on me—"

"C'mon!" You laugh. "Please?"

He gives you a hard stare that falters quickly. "... Which story is it?"

Barry ends up telling you what he affectionately titles 'Banana vs. G-Force'. It involves a G-Force simulator and Chris saying the magic words 'I can handle it'.

"Of course we started betting on whether or not the kid would pull through," Barry explains.

"I didn't know that part." Chris crosses his arms. "What did you bet?"

"Against," Barry answers without hesitation. "And it's a good thing I did."

"He passed out?" You ask.

"Oh yeah." Barry nods. "That's not the best part, though. We opened the hatch and asked the kid how he was. See, the G-Force can make you feel a little loopy after; weird answers for a minute or so aren't unusual. And—"

Chris lets out a loud sigh.

"And he"—Barry starts cracking up—"we asked Chris his name and he kept insisting his name was"—Barry's cheeks turn red—"he kept calling himself—"

"What?" Brad's standing now. "Don't leave us hanging!"

"He"—Barry can barely speak through the laughter—"was insisting so seriously that his name was—"

"Christopher Bananafield," Chris finishes dryly.

You and Brad lose it right alongside Barry, slapping desks and each other. You're laughing so hard you don't hear the door open.

"Something funny?" A low voice drawls.

You glance up through tears; there's a tall, handsome man with slicked-back blonde hair. Strangely, he's wearing sunglasses indoors.

Barry smiles warmly at him. "Just telling Brad and one of the recruits here about Banana vs. G-Force."

"Ah." The man tilts his chin up. "Bananafield."

Chris sighs louder. "Alright, moving on. Thead, this is Captain Albert Wesker; S.T.A.R.S.'s leader."

Wesker gives you a curt nod. "Reports by the end of the day," is all he says before walking into his office.

Brad leans in close to whisper. "Don't worry, captain's always like that." He glances at Chris. "He's even scarier when you don't hand in reports on time, though."

"Shit," Chris mutters under his breath. "Completely forgot about it…"

"There's still 20 minutes left for lunch," you offer. "You could finish it before the tour continues?"

"That's a good idea."

"I've been known to have those occasionally."

Brad rests an arm on Barry's shoulder. "They're more like friends than student and teacher, huh?"

"Didn't they ever tell you Jealousy is unbecoming?" Barry knocks Brad's arm off.

You agree to meet Chris back in the main lobby and you say your goodbyes to Barry and Brad. When you walk past Wesker's office on your way out, you catch a glimpse of icy blue eyes behind sunglasses.

Unlike Barry and Brad's warm and friendly demeanors, Wesker feels cold. The way he holds himself is both elegant and calculating. And those eyes…

They're almost terrifying in a way, interrogating without the use of words. He looks up from his papers and meets your gaze; a chill runs down your spine that disappears the moment he looks back down.

It appears your group hasn't quite reformed yet; you don't spot any academy uniforms standing in the main hall.

You decide to be the first one, loitering around, simply taking in the architecture.

Honestly, you just don't want to sit in the waiting room. There are too many bad memories on those benches; when you're not with Chris or Leon, when you're not listening to the banter of your friends—when you're completely alone—those memories feel like too much to handle.

Standing here, the memories seem to flood your mind anyway, albeit a little duller and blunter than before.

If…

If you did finish the program… if you became a cop…

Would seeing that waiting room and this police desk ever get any easier?

It's already a little easier, you guess, glancing at the front doors. A year ago, you couldn't even bear to look at them—

The front doors suddenly slam open.

A woman runs inside so frantically that she slips on the marble floors in front of you. Posters spill from her hands, fluttering down like snow.

She doesn't pick herself up. She grabs at your boots, claws at your legs desperately. Wrinkles crease the corners of her eyes and tear-stained cheeks—she's a mirror of the past.

"My baby," she whimpers, "please help me find her—"

A cop pushes you out of the way. "Ma'am, we've told you. Your daughter has run away— "

"No!" she shrieks. Her hands shake as she pulls a crinkled letter from her pocket. "This is not her writing! Why aren't you looking?! Why did you give up?!"

Your mouth is dry as you look down at the missing posters.

They're of a young woman.

"Chief Irons has volunteered to look into this case personally," the cop reassures. "Since she is over the age of 18, we cannot legally force her to come back—"

"She didn't run away—she was kidnapped!"

"Ma'am—"

The woman chokes out a broken sob. It sounds like she's drowning in her own grief. "Why? Why don't you care…?"

"Move." Chris comes rushing down the stairs. He runs to the woman's side and helps her stand.

The cop scoffs. "With all due respect Redfield, this isn't your jurisdiction—"

"And this is me telling you that I don't give a damn." Chris starts walking the woman away. "I said move!"

You think you hear the other cop shuffle to the side. You think you hear the woman's weeping and Chris' reassurance. You fall to your knees and start collecting the posters, shoving them into a pile with hands that don't feel like your own.

Useless.

Useless.

Useless…!

When that woman grabbed you, you just froze. Why didn't you comfort her? Why didn't you attempt to help?!

A missing young woman. A letter saying she left home. Chief Irons personally taking the case.

"What happened to your friend was unfortunate. Are you sure she didn't just run away? Girls that age having fights with their family isn't uncommon, you know, " Irons had said.

The poster in your hand crumples.

This girl—Annie Hernandez—looks nothing like the others.

And all of a sudden, the evidence you have feels like nothing, too.

How...

How many more victims are there?

Chris slams his fists down against the table. The bang is loud and it echoes Wesker's office well.

"What are you saying?!" He slams his hands down again. "Why can't we help her?!"

Wesker doesn't flinch. He calmly takes off his sunglasses and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "There's nothing we can do for Mrs. Hernandez, Redfield."

"When was the last time Irons handled a case? Does he even remember how?" Chris seethes. Even he knows his temper is completely off the handle.

Wesker's aloof attitude only makes him angrier. "Are you questioning why the chief of police is in his position?"

"Maybe I should start."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Chris pushes off Wesker's desk.

If this is connected to Thead's case like Chris thinks it is, then that mom is about to go missing. Her phone number's about to be disconnected. The puzzle pieces in his hands are a ticking time bomb and Wesker's telling him that he has to watch it explode on Irons' orders.

"Why are you so worked up, Redfield?" Wesker asks. "You don't believe that the daughter has run off?"

"No," Chris says through gritted teeth.

Wesker mulls that over, lacing his fingers together. "Interesting. Care to elaborate?"

"No," Chris repeats firmly.

Wesker lets out a deep hum; it doesn't sound as disappointed as Chris thought it would. "I'll see what I can do, Redfield. In the meanwhile, I suggest you finish your report."

Chris doesn't tell Wesker to fuck his report.

He thinks it, though.

He thinks it as he turns on his heel and storms out towards the room he left Mrs. Hernandez in.

Chris is halfway there when he starts to run. Worry begins to set in—

And rightfully so.

By the time he arrives, she's already gone.

The clock strikes 23:07; the black phone on Wesker's desk rings.

Only one person knows this number. Only one person ever calls. Only ever at 23:07.

"There was another," Wesker answers the phone.

"I know."

Wesker chuckles at his friend's unimpressed tone. "You'll be pleased to find that this one caused quite the commotion."

"Irons is getting out of hand, Albert. I can only do so much on my end."

"What do you propose, then?" he asks, leafing through Redfield's unfinished report.

"I say we get rid of Irons. You could easily take over his position."

"That's flattering of you to say."

"How should we do this, though? Make him 'disappear'? Just like those families?"

"No."

"You have something else in mind?"

Wesker drops Chris' report.

A grin curves his lips.

"I do."

Chapter 11: Smile For Me

Notes:

Warning: Disturbing Details/Imagery

Chapter Text

You lay in bed, thinking about today.

That woman's cries were a familiar brand of desperate, her staggered breaths a familiar plead. You think about the way she grabbed you; how those posters showered down slowly, rocking gently back and forth through the air.

You think about the way you did nothing.

It makes you angry.

Angry at Irons. At yourself.

You thought you were getting stronger. You thought you were moving forward—still, you did nothing except stare.

You're ashamed…

Clouds obscuring the moon unravel, spilling that same golden light as before into your room. You cover your eyes with your arm.

You think about the way you looked up afterward, finding your friends at the top of the precinct stairs. They each wore worried expressions, unable to say anything but still trying to offer support.

Leon rolls over asleep in his bed, letting out an uncharacteristic groan.

He had looked so concerned all night. You should talk to him tomorrow. He'll want to know about 'Annie Hernandez'; about what she means for the investigation.

And…

He'll want to know if you're okay.

You glance over at him. His brows are furrowed even in sleep.

There's no denying that today hurt. You're angry and ashamed. But...

You grip your blankets, knuckles growing tight.

Is it okay that this doesn't hurt nearly as badly as you thought it would?

That woman, that sight… they were a mirror of your past, yet you don't feel the guilt you're so used to wallowing in. The optimism you felt going into fall is still burning in your heart like a fire; you're surrounded by support—support that you would do anything to protect.

Maybe...

Maybe you really are moving forward, if only a little.

You shift your arm, bathing yourself in the golden light of the autumn moon.

The moon looks so beautiful up there in that inky black sky.

"Did you hear about what happened yesterday?"

"—there was a lady who—"

"—she fell and—"

"—a missing girl?"

"—someone saw—"

"—Shi Thead—"

"—he stood there doing nothing— "

Kevin slams his hands down on his desk and the echo is loud enough to silence the class.

"So nosy…" Meyers glares at the recruits shrinking back.

"Fucking assholes." Geroge gestures to look away. "Why don't ya mind your own business!"

You smile sympathetically. "Thanks, but it's okay. Just ignore them—"

"What?!" Elran shakes his head. "They're talkin' out of their asses. Anyone would have froze in that situation!"

"I probably would have even thrown up!" Wes adds.

You gaze at the clock. "Seriously just ignore them. " You grab your things. "As long as you guys know the truth, then I don't care what anyone else says—"

Georges make some sort of sobbing noise. "Y-you mean it?"

"I think Shi just said he loves us." Wes clutches his chest.

Meyers peers closer at Kevin. "Are you crying?"

"It's dusty in here," Kevin mutters.

A few months ago, you would've never imagined yourself laughing at a time like this—but you laugh hard, little tears bubbling up in the corners of your eyes.

"Yes, I mean it," you say, waving goodbye. "I'll see you after lunch—"

You turn on your heel and run face-first into Leon.

He catches you in his arms and smiles at you pressed against his chest.

"Hi," he says.

You immediately remember before—the sight of Leon overtop of you, the feeling of his skin beneath your touch.

"Hi," you reply.

"Hi," Kevin sighs. "Weren't you going out for lunch?"

You slowly glance over to find everyone staring.

"Right. Yes. Going." You nod awkwardly, sidestepping out of Leon's arms. "See you later?"

"Sure." Leon's smile grows even warmer.

You take off down the hall, cheeks hot and red.

Leon watches as Shi walks away. The way she looked just now…

Her cheeks were so pink, eyes wide and bright. Not the same pale and saddened expression from yesterday.

Wes grins and pulls up a chair. "Come take a seat, lover boy. We need to have a chat."

"... Why?" Leon cautiously sits.

"Emergency meeting," George says, huddling everyone close together. "We need to cheer up Shi."

"We do?" Kevin rolls his eyes. "He seemed fine—ouch!"

Elran elbows Kevin in the ribs. "We were all useless yesterday! Besides, you're the one who came up with the idea."

"There's a Japanese term for people like Ryman." Meyers crosses his arms. "It was Tsundere, I believe. Acting cold but secretly having a heart of gold—"

"S-shut up!" Kevin blushes.

"What did you guys have in mind?" Leon asks.

"Listen close," George begins. "We'll start by luring Shi somewhere…"

"'Somewhere'…?" Wes repeats. "That would be…?"

"Look, I, uh, hadn't gotten that far okay!?"

"Let's just lure Shi into a cemetery, then? Or a grass field full of thistles and deer shit—"

"I know the perfect place," Leon speaks up.

The group turns to look at him.

Leon smiles. "Leave luring Shi to me."

You knock on the door.

A gruff 'come in' answers.

Chris looks… tired, to put it lightly. Dark circles sit under his eyes; his stubble is the longest you've ever seen it. His hands are buried in his hair and he doesn't look up from his notebook when he sighs "Thead."

You drop your books and take a seat. "How'd you know it was me?"

"As if I wouldn't know by now." Chris lets go of his hair and holds his chin in his palm. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." You mirror his pose. "Maybe you should use the panda cup today."

You haven't seen Chris since he took away that woman. From the way his brows seem to be permanently furrowed, you can guess that dealing with the situation hasn't been easy. As that cop had said, Irons already offered to take over the case personally.

There was so many witnesses, though…

"What's that look for?" Chris slides your coffee over.

You cradle the warm mug in your hands. "Is 'Annie Hernandez' in the RPD database?"

You're unsure what to expect when you ask—but Chris' eyes widen when you do. His Adam's apple bobs as he fills his own mug. "She is," he answers. "Except a single entry saying 'she ran away from home' doesn't help much."

"I don't think she ran away," you say honestly.

Chris meets your gaze. "Me either."

Coffee swirls around slowly in your cup. You take a long, bitter swig.

This needs to end soon—it has to.

But what happens to 'Shi Thead' when it does?

"Has a girl ever snuck into the academy?" you ask.

Chris chokes on his coffee and spits it all over his desk.

"Why"—he clears his throat—"would you be wondering about that?"

"Just curious." You grab some tissues and help clean. "They would make her leave, right?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"It depends," Chris explains. "How's she doing in class? Does she have talent and potential? Who knows her identity? Would she be willing to complete the program?"

"Oh." You dab at his papers.

He nods to the notebook in your hands. "Hey—what do you think when you see those numbers?"

You look down; 030101 020201 0200010 030010 0200101 020200 020200 0200001' is scrawled across the page. "What is this?"

"A puzzle."

You laugh. "And you're asking what I think?"

"Stop selling yourself short," Chris scolds. "I know you've been purposely slacking in class."

Your mouth drops open.

He tosses you a pen. "So get to work, slacker."

You gasp offendedly, catching the pen and slowly shutting your mouth. "Well…" You look at the numbers again. "At first glance, it sort of reminds me of binary."

"Binary?"

"You know, with the 1's and the 0's…"

"1's and 0's. Not 3's and 2's."

"Okay, hear me out." You start scribbling. "What if we expanded these? '3' equals '111', and '2' equals '11'?"

Chris watches as you begin to write out a new code. "Doing that accomplishes… what exactly?"

When you're finished you're left with 01110101 01101101 01100010 0111010 01100101 01101100 01101100 01100001.

"Look!" You point, excitement building. "They're all 8 digits now! That's gotta stand for something, right?"

"Maybe." Chris shrugs. "What, though?"

You set the pen down. "If this really was binary, the code could be a pattern—1's are on and 0's are off—or it could be a sequence of numbers—"

"What about a word or a name?"

"I think you can convert binary to letters using… uh… A-something…"

"ASCII?"

"That's the one!" You rise from your seat. "If we go to the computer lab we can—"

Chris opens the bottom-most drawer of his desk, rummages, and then tosses a laptop in front of you.

"Ooo." Your eyes sparkle.

Dust plumes when Chris cracks the laptop open. He tosses you the power and ethernet cables; you eagerly connect them and then stand behind his chair. The laptop comes to life with a familiar RPD logo.

"What am I searching for?" Chris opens the internet explorer.

You lean closer to the screen. "Try binary to letter converter."

He clicks on the first link that pops up and it's a porn ad that he closes with inhuman speed. The second link is more successful, but it only allows for 8 digits at a time.

Chris types in the first piece of the code.

011101010.

U.

"Whoah!" You grab his shoulder. "It actually worked!"

"Thead." Chris smiles at you. "You might just be a genius."

01101101.

M.

"U-M… Hmm …" you ponder. "What's this puzzle for anyways?"

"Fun." Chris types in the next set of numbers.

01100010.

B.

"U-M-B." You fold your arms over your chest. "Umb… umbilical cord? No that's too long. Umber? No that's too short…"

Chris stops typing. "Shouldn't you be getting to class?"

"Seriously?" You cock your hip. "You're the instructor next period. Shouldn't you be getting to class?"

"Good point." He shuts the laptop.

"Wait, we're not finishing it?!"

"Gotta get to class, remember?"

The phone on Chris' desk begins to ring.

You stop and stare with awe. "Wow. I thought that was a prop this entire time…"

Chris shoots you a glare, grabs your arms, and turns you toward the door. "Redfield speaking," he answers the call.

"Just a sec." You push past him and quickly down the rest of your coffee.

"What about that?" Chris holds the phone between his ear and shoulder. He starts throwing paper clips at you. "Right now?"

"I'm going! I'm going!" You grab your things and mouth 'see you' before leaving.

It's just too bad you didn't get to finish that puzzle.

"Are you hard of hearing today, Redfield?" Wesker says flatly. "Be at my office in 30 minutes to discuss Mrs. Hernandez's case. Do not make me regret my decision."

There's a click and then a dial tone, but Chris is too stunned to be mad. He's spent the past 24 hours ripping out his own hair—why did he leave Mrs. Hernandez alone? Why wasn't he faster? Smarter? Suddenly now Wesker's calling and…

Chris looks back to the code sitting on his desk. He's had it for nearly a month and Thead solved it in 5 minutes.

An eight-string number. Strings six and seven repeat. The first three strings spell out U-M-B.

"Umbrella," Chris mutters, shrugging on his jacket.

Claire had mentioned Umbrella before: Thead had found a letter from Umbrella in Chief Irons' vest pocket and Kennedy had seen a man with an Umbrella pin at the Orphanage—

Chris stops to sigh.

How in the hell did Kennedy get looped into this? The kid seems so straight-laced, yet he helped Thead sneak into an orphanage—

Chris sighs again, louder this time.

How in the hell did they sneak into an orphanage in the first place?

Marvin walks past just as Chris pockets his keys. "Where do you think you're going?" he frowns. "The next class is yours."

"I know." Chris grins. "Cover for me?"

"What?"

"Duty calls." Chris swipes his wallet off his desk.

Marvin's frown deepens. "Are you being serious right now—"

"I'll bring you back one of those fancy sandwiches you like so much and we'll call it even." Chris heads for the door. He pats Marvin's shoulder on the way out. "Sound good?"

Marvin sighs after a long pause. "Fine. But you'd better get extra bacon and—"

"Extra aioli—you got it." Chris starts jogging down the hall.

The sky is gray and the icy wind sends a chill down Chris' spine when he steps outside. Thankfully his jeep brings a familiar, comforting warmth; the quiet rumble of the engine calms his nerves if even only a little.

Is it really possible that Umbrella was the one who canceled those phone numbers? Why would Irons have backing from a huge pharmaceutical company like that? Why would they be associated with him at all?

Could the word 'Umbrella ' be a mere coincidence?

Chris shakes his head.

No. Not with Thead's evidence.

The precinct tenses when Chris steps in. There are a few stiff hello's and nods as he makes his way to the S.T.A.R.S. office.

He briefly thinks about the look on Thead's face yesterday—that shock, that fear— hands awkwardly shoving posters into a pile. She seemed fine this morning, but how could she be?

Chris clenches his jaw.

… he hates this 'pretending'.

He should be able to talk about this with Thead. He should be able to comfort her—

Chris' hand pauses on the door handle.

Comfort her?

That would definitely be considered fraternization.

"Chris?" Jill puts down her book when the door opens. "I thought you had class today—"

"Covered it," he answers, taking a sharp left into Wesker's office.

Inside is stuffy and warm; clean and sterile. Chris has been in here so many times, yet he's always amazed by the sheer lack of personality. Wesker has never hinted towards family or friends; never worn a color that didn't belong to the RPD or S.T.A.R.S..

As usual, Wesker doesn't glance up from his desk at Chris' arrival. "Close the door and sit," he simply demands.

And unlike usual, Chris obeys.

"Despite your behavior yesterday," Wesker begins, "I found myself looking into a few cases from the past."

He pushes forward a map of Raccoon City.

"What are the red circles for?" Chris takes a closer look.

Wesker laces his fingers, wringing together the leather of his gloves. "They are the last known locations for the disappearances you're interested in."

"What?" Chris jolts out of his seat. "How—"

"Don't ask questions," Wesker interrupts. "I'm sure you can understand that my hands are tied."

Chris slumps back down.

There are 10 red circles. 10 missing girls…

How did no one ever notice?

Because of Umbrella?

He thinks about informing Wesker of the possible ties, but there's something strange about the map that stops him.

"Do what you will with that information." Wesker waves Chris away. "I have other things to attend to."

"Are you sure these are all of them?" Chris slowly stands.

"Leave," Wesker reiterates bluntly.

Chris refrains from asking anything further. He neatly folds the map, slips it into his pocket, and makes his exit.

A rush of cool air washes over him when he opens the door; the scent of Jill's lunch reminds him he still needs to grab Marvin a sandwich.

"You coming to the bar tonight?" Jill sets down her salad and takes a sip of water. "I know how much you love karaoke."

"Tempting," Chris scoffs.

It's strange that there isn't a red circle near any of the sewer entrances on Wesker's map.

That would mean either Claire lied about where Thead found Katie's body or Wesker's information is wrong—and neither of those options seem likely.

Claire would gain nothing by lying and Wesker…

He isn't the type of person to do something without a definite reason.

"Well?" Jill asks.

"I've got some plans." Chris shrugs. "I'm sad I'll miss you singing 'Don't Stop Believin'' for the billionth time, though."

"Jackass. I see you singing along every damn time," Jill laughs.

Chris says goodbye and heads for his Jeep.

He needs to have a chat with Claire.

Hopefully, he can finally convince Claire to let him have a chat with Thead, too.

"Alright, that's all for today." Marvin steps away from the board. "Everybody have a great weekend, stay out of trouble, all that jazz—how does Redfield usually end these?"

"He usually tells us to 'fuck off," someone shouts and the entire class erupts with laughter.

Books close, papers shuffle, and chairs scrape against the floor. You let out a yawn and slowly begin packing your things.

It's weird that Chris wasn't in class. He sounded shocked on the phone—is everything alright?

"See ya later 'gater." Wes hurries out.

"In a while crocodile!" George follows closely behind.

Meyers silently waves. Elran shoots you some finger guns.

Kevin stops at your desk. "A surgeon and a caretaker are saying goodbye. The surgeon says 'take care' and the caretaker says 'cut it out.'"

You stare blankly at him.

"... bye." He rushes off.

"Wha"—you blink once and then twice—"what just happened?"

Leon tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"That parade of goodbyes—and then Kevin—"

"Aren't they always like that?"

You squint toward the door. " I mean… I guess."

"Anyways..." Leon leans against your desk. "You're free after this, right?"

The room's already cleared out; even Marvin is long gone.

You stand and slip your books under your arm. "I was going to work out, why?"

"'Cause I'm about to take you hostage."

" Huh?"

"I said—"

Leon grabs you by the tie; you gasp when he gently pulls.

"—that I'm taking you hostage," he grins.

There are a lot of things you would've done as the hostage of Leon Kennedy.

But you definitely should have expected he would only demand a nice walk.

Leon leads you uphill through the quiet back streets of Raccoon City. The fancier houses are here, with their tall fences and well-manicured lawns. Between the tall boxy hedges and fall-colored trees, it's hard to see the city you know is below.

"When are you gonna tell me where we're going?" You ask.

Leon scoffs. "You're pretty nosy for a hostage."

"Kidnapping is a serious felony offense, I'll have you know."

"Really? You'd better arrest me then, Officer."

You huff, kicking a pebble up the pavement. When it tumbles down, you focus on Leon's broad back instead. He's wearing a blue bomber jacket; it reminds you of the one you lent Katie before she died.

"Yesterday," you start, "that woman and those posters… they were for another missing girl."

Leon glances at you.

"Irons personally took on the case again," you continue. "So I can only guess she's another victim; except…"

You recall the way Annie Hernandez looked on the posters.

"She looked nothing like Katie or the two others we know about." You frown. "This whole time I'd gone off an assumption that he targeted young adult women with blonde hair."

Leon quietly mulls that over. "I can't imagine how you must feel right now..."

"Not great," you say truthfully. "But I'm okay now—"

Leon stops. You bump into him.

"Thank you for telling me," he says. "I wanted so badly to ask about it, but even more than that, I wanted to wait until you were ready."

You swallow thickly as Leon grabs your hand.

"Are you really okay, though?" he asks.

Shadows of leaves gently ghost across Leon's face; little pockets of sunshine illuminate the pink tinting his cheeks. His eyebrows furrow pleadingly—desperate, almost.

God.

You like him so much.

"I've been trying so hard to be strong, yet I—I froze," you answer honestly.

You think about that woman—the way she grabbed you, the falling posters—how you can barely remember what she looked like because all you could see was yourself.

"At that moment, I felt just as young and weak as the day I found Katie's body. I was scared that after all this time, I hadn't changed. But—"

You screw your eyes shut and think about the golden moon, the fire burning in your chest.

"I know that's not true."

When you open your eyes, Leon's watching you carefully—fondly.

"Here at the academy—thinking about a future next to you—I feel…"

You smile from the bottom of your heart.

"I feel… Okay."

Leon mimics your smile, letting out a breathless chuckle. He holds up your hand, sliding his palm against yours until your fingers slot together. "You're amazing. You know that?"

Seeing his hand hold yours outside the shell of dorm room five makes you imagine a future where Leon calls your real name, where he knows who you are.

You blush. "It's thanks to you always supporting me."

"No, Shi, you're so much stronger than you think." Leon continues up the hill, pulling you next to him. "You don't need me. But, I—"

"You're wrong," you blurt out, stepping into the setting sun. "I need you—you're…!"

Past the trees, fences, and hedges, at the top of the hill is Raccoon City. Sun pours over the small neighborhoods, the tall buildings, and into the crevasses between them. From here, you can see Em's diner. You can see Raccoon University, the orphanage, the academy—

And you see Leon. He's here, standing in front of it all—even more beautiful than the cityscape, the sky, or the sun.

"You're everything to me," you finish.

You're so grateful he was the one next to you during the fitness exam. You're so grateful he was the one standing in dorm room five.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and throat. Your heartbeat grows painful, palms sweaty.

"The secret I mentioned before." You squeeze his hand tightly. "I need to tell you—I—"

Leon pulls you into a hug and presses your mouth against his chest.

"Not here," he says—

"Surprise!"

You let out a loud startled croak when George and Wes jump out of the bushes; Leon just barely stops you from accidentally throwing them to the ground.

"Whoops." Elran apologetically walks out of the same bush after. "Sorry to, uh, ruin the moment."

"Perhaps we should have waited an extra five minutes?" Meyers follows. He walks over and ties a flower chain around your wrist. "I made this while we were waiting—"

"Yeah, real cute, now give me a hand," Kevin groans. "This cooler is heavy."

You watch as Wes sets down a picnic blanket on the grass by the overlook. Kevin takes out sandwiches from the cooler and Meyer starts pouring soup from a thermos into cups.

"What" —your voice breaks—"what are you guys doing here?"

"Operation 'Cheer up Shi'." George sits down on the blanket and pats the spot next to him.

You gingerly sit, eyes feeling dangerously warm.

"We felt like jerks for not being able to help yesterday." Elran rubs the back of his neck. "Hope you're not too mad—"

"Mad?" you sniffle.

"Uh-oh…"

"How could I be mad?" you sniffle harder, tears rolling down your cheeks. "How can I be mad when I have such amazing friends?"

Everyone looks like they've completely short-circuited at the sight of you crying. Leon bunches up his sleeve and gently presses it against the corner of your eyes.

"What. The. Fuck," Kevin starts sniffling too.

"Ah, Kevin's crying again," Meyers comments.

"Ha ha, what a loser." Wes hides his face. "Who would be crying at a time like this?"

"Ah, Wes is crying too."

Together you all laugh as the sun slowly dips below the horizon.

According to Leon, the guys asked to borrow the cafeteria kitchen to pack food. Kevin didn't know which you'd like, so he made a variety. George made sure to pack a deck of cards for some poker, and of course, Wes forgot to bring the poker chips.

George reveals his hand and drags the makeshift potato-poker-chips closer. "Read em' and weep boys."

"Son-of-a—!" Wes frowns. "You cheated! Pocket aces twice in a row?!"

"What can I say? Lady luck is on my—Hey!"

Wes starts shoveling the chips into his mouth. Kevin tries to stop George from climbing over the cards to tackle Wes; Meyers and Elran shelter the food from Wes' flying crumbs.

Leon leans in close during the commotion. "What you were about to say earlier…" he whispers next to your ear, "promise you'll tell me tonight when we get back?"

You nod shyly. "I promise—"

"Those two are in cahoots over here!" Wes shouts.

Leon laughs. "Stop trying to divert the attention."

"Yeah!" George points—and then a few aces fall out of his sleeve.

You think about the happiest moments of your life:

Katie turning on the lights in the basement. Bumping heads with Claire. Seeing Leon in your dorm room. Sharing coffee with Chris.

You think about being on the top of this hill, surrounded by friends—chip crumbs and cards flying everywhere.

Leon smiles at you. The others haven't noticed that you're holding hands behind your backs.

You're so happy that for once, you don't feel the fear and guilt that always seems to accompany it.

You're so happy that even though you're going to tell Leon the truth tonight, you truly believe everything will be okay.

"Leon," you say seriously. "I'm not a man, nor do I identify as one. I'm a wo—ugh—"

You frown at the reflection in the mirror.

"Yo, Leon. I'm a female—no."

"Leon, I have been lying to you, I'm actually a girl—goddamnit."

"Bro, guess what? I have a vagina!"

No. No. No!

You aggressively splash water onto your face.

There's probably still half an hour before Leon comes back.

30 minutes…

30 minutes before the truth comes out.

You had returned before everyone else; they refused to let you clean. So you've been spending your time doing… this.

You can't help but be nervous.

What if everything changes? What if Leon really does like 'Shi', the male?

Still, you can't keep lying anymore.

For Leon's sake. For yours.

A memory you'd nearly forgotten comes to mind: you had broken a vase and were too scared to tell Katie's mom. Like now, you practiced in the washroom until Katie found you.

'Be honest. Be sincere—and just apologize,' she said.

You grip the edge of the sink and take a deep, steadying breath.

You think about the feeling of Leon's hand, the feeling of his hugs. You think about his smile, his voice. Those stupid jokes, his kind personality. You think about his past and how you wish you could help heal it all.

Even if this all goes south, maybe one day you could be friends again…

Your throat grows tight, eyes warm.

But whatever the future holds, it has to start here, with the truth.

Be honest. Be sincere. And just apologize.

"Leon, I—"

There's a knock on the door.

"Hello?" you call.

Did one of the guys end up getting drunk again?

It wouldn't be the first time; George and Wes are notorious for showing up wasted. They affectionately refer to you as 'dad' and Leon as 'mom'.

"Those lovable dumbasses… Gonna have to tell them the truth of these days, too." You shake your head and open the door.

Leon's stomach feels like it's twisting into a billion knots by the time he arrives back at the academy.

It's happening. Shi's finally going to tell him the truth.

Could she feel his hand shaking when he held hers? Could she hear the nervousness in his voice?

Leon didn't mention it, but that was the neighborhood he grew up in. The overlook they ate at was a place he found himself in often; he would sneak out his window, climb down the tree, and just sit on the grass, staring up at the sky.

That was the first time he had ever taken someone there—and he didn't expect it would make him feel like this—

Childish. Excited. Hopeful.

Like he doesn't mind the past so much anymore—because it's what allows him to be here now.

"Shi?" Leon opens the door, heart thudding nosily in his chest.

No one answers.

He flicks on the lamp—or, at least he tries to—the lamp seems to be unplugged.

"Shi?" Leon calls out again, using the light switch on the wall this time.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and when they do, he finds the room to be completely empty.

He spots the sweater Shi wore to the picnic hanging off the back of her chair, though. He spots the note on top of her desk after.

'Redfield needed to talk with me about my essay.'

- Shi'

"Redfield?" Leon questions aloud.

That's strange… Shi always calls him Chris.

An uneasy feeling replaces the excitement in his chest. He walks over to the lamp, follows the cord down, plugs it back in—

And then that's when Leon sees it.

His unease deepens into dread.

Why is Meyer's flower chain in the trash?

Leon remembers the way Shi kept cradling it, kept making sure it hadn't fallen or broke—yet, now the chain is in pieces in the trash.

The stems look torn… the flowers crushed…

Something's off.

Something's wrong.

Maybe he's overreacting. Maybe he's just anxious because of that note at the orphanage.

Leon turns around and heads straight for Chris' office.

He opens the door and—

The blood drains from his face.

Chris is here…?

Chris is walking next to Claire down the dormitory hall, but Shi's nowhere in sight.

"Oh." Claire smiles when she notices him. "It's Leon—"

"Where's Shi?" Leon interrupts.

The desperation on his face must be bad; both Claire and Chris immediately look concerned.

"We were just coming to visit," Claire explains slowly. "Is everything alright?"

"I think something's wrong." Leon's hands shake when he gives them the note—he needs to calm down, he needs to get it together. "I found this on Shi's desk."

Chris glances it over. "Redfield?" he questions similarly. "I haven't seen or spoken with Thead since lunch."

"We were together about 45 minutes ago; we promised to meet up again tonight," Leon continues. "When I got back Shi was gone and our room seemed off— "

"This writing…" Claire squints at the note. "This seems 'off' too."

"What do you mean?" Chris asks.

"For starters… it isn't hers."

Leon looks at Chris. Chris looks at Leon.

"We all know," Claire snaps. "But that's not what's important right now."

She takes the note from Chris' hands and traces the writing.

"I took a psych class with Shi. We had to examine each other's writing: this has no slant, the 's' s are totally wrong."

Chris frowns. "How confident are you?"

"Extremely. I'd bet my life that Shi didn't write this note."

A thought comes to Leon's mind; he thinks about Em's diner.

'There was a resignation letter for Jessica Hornby,' Shi said. 'Her last name was spelled wrong and the date was suspiciously close to the diary's last entry.'

'You think it was forged?' Leon asked.

'Almost definitely.'

His eyes go wide.

Claire notices. "What? Did you remember something?"

"Irons." Leon's Adam's apple bobs. " He forged that other girl's resignation letter too, didn't he?"

Dread deepens into terror.

A silence takes over the hall that makes it hard to breathe.

Chris' lips press into a thin line, the muscles of his jaw working.

"Rally anyone you can trust completely." He pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket; it unravels into a map with red circles. "We can't rely on the precinct. We have to find her ourselves."

Fists form at Leon's side.

'Shi, you're so much stronger than you think,' Leon had said. 'You don't need me. But, I—'

I need you.

When you wake up, you don't recognize where you are.

The observation lamp overhead flickers a dim, dull light; you can just barely make out the water-stained ceiling and the dirt-stained brick of the walls. Upon closer look, a deep, brownish red soaks the grout between them—

And…

You take in a sharp breath.

There's something—someone—standing in front of you, hidden under a sheet—

"You're awake."

You startle at the noise, arms and legs pressing into cold metal. You frantically glance over; you're bound to a table by metal restraints.

"The chloroform I used on you is quite potent: I'm impressed you're able to move—"

You try to scream; your tongue feels too heavy.

"Or maybe you're not so impressive after all."

Footsteps approach.

They're boisterous,

clumsy.

"But even if you could scream…"

A heavyset man fashioned in a well-tailored suit and red silk tie walks into the light.

"It's not like anyone can hear you."

You've thought long and hard about how to confront the Chief of Police, Brian Irons.

You've considered blackmail, extortion. At one point, you thought you could kill him if you had to.

Yet now that he's in front of you—

Your mind is completely blank.

"I thought I recognized you that day with the coffee," Irons chuckles. "To think you were under my nose this entire time…"

He drags his fingers along the grooves of the wood, stopping next to the body-shaped sheet across from you.

"You were going for my vest, weren't you?"

Irons reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bundle of teal-tinted blonde hair.

"You were looking for this, weren't you?"

You choke out a gasp.

This is a nightmare—this has to be a nightmare—

You were just with Leon on the hill! Why can't you remember anything…!

"Oh, I know you saw it in my office," he continues. "Even a blind man could've seen the fear on your face. The anger."

He stuffs the hair back into his vest.

"But I remember you long before you visited my office, Shi Thead. In fact, I remember when you were adopted; it was impossible to forget that smile on your face, the pure happiness coming from an orphan who even Umbrella wouldn't accept…"

Irons touches the fabric of the sheet.

"Do you want to know why I killed your sister?"

Tears prickle the corners of your eyes.

"It's because of that jacket of hers—I thought she was you."

Irons rips down the sheet and you see—

Katie.

Except…

There are strange lumps under her face.

Her skin… it's too glossy and gray. Cheeks bunch unnaturally from the overly wide smile on her lips, and her eyes—

There's only nothingness behind them.

"I've always loved taxidermy, but do you know what animals lack?" Irons asks.

A scream bubbles up in your chest despite how heavy your tongue feels.

"It's emotion," he answers. "The happiness I saw on your face that day—I knew I wanted to preserve it for forever…"

You thrash uselessly against the restraints.

"Katie couldn't express that same happiness, though—none of them could."

Irons whispers your real name.

Even you don't recognize the noises coming from your throat anymore.

"Now." He holds up a scalpel. "Go ahead and smile for me."

Chapter 12: Want

Notes:

Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos and for your patience over the past two months! 3

Warning: More Disturbing Details/Imagery

And lastly: Wesker's Map

Chapter Text

It is not 23:07 when Wesker uses the black phone on his desk.

Birkin picks up regardless. His voice is laced with skepticism, "Since when do you make the calls?"

"I assure you it's not about to become a habit," Wesker responds dryly.

"I'm assuming you have news about our little problem, then?"

"Yes. Depending on how it plays out, you might not have to worry about disposing of Irons body after all."

Birkin pauses for a long moment. "You baited Irons into a trap, didn't you?"

"You know I've always appreciated how quick you are to understand."

"Having someone catch Irons in the act forces him out of the picture…" Birkin begins to laugh. "We sure could use your big brain back in the lab."

"I thought you wanted me as the Chief of Police," Wesker reminds him.

"That's right. Want to run the Orphanage while you're at it? We still need that place."

Wesker watches Valentine from the window of his office. She receives a call that sends her sprinting out the door.

"Stay by the phone tonight." Wesker grins. "It's begun."

All the clocks on the wall seem to taunt Claire as they continue to turn. The ticking is loud, grating. Every second that passes makes her feel ill. She keeps staring and staring and staring at the goddamn map, trying to draw connections—beginning to worry that there aren't any.

"Jill's on her way," Chris shouts, jogging back from the phone down the hall.

"There's nothing in Building A." Kevin and Elran return.

George arrives at the same time. "No sign of Shi in building B, either."

"C's empty," Wes yells across the training field.

Meyers finishes checking the last dorm. "Building D as well."

Claire finally tears her gaze away from the map; she glances at the out-of-breath recruits quickly making their way over to the makeshift command center set up in building D's lobby. They all look so worried—so eager to help.

Shi's circle has expanded so much since she started coming here, Claire thinks. When her eyes start to get a little misty, she tries to shelve the thought.

"Surveillance footage of the gate shows Chief Irons heading East." Marvin taps the keyboard of his laptop, footage replaying over and over. "That should at least give us a start—"

"It's not enough." Chris frowns. "What's the time stamp read?"

"20:42."

"Fuck."

An hour has already passed.

"Gotta be something here…" Leon mumbles. He stands next to Claire at the map, wearing the same grim expression as her.

Claire's pretty sure that they're all in the middle of blaming themselves: no one expected Irons would kidnap Shi. No one expected he would take her straight from the dorms.

The fact that Irons had a note with Shi's real name on it was a warning. How could Claire let Shi convince her it wasn't anything serious!?

Claire grits her teeth, clenches her fists.

First, it was her parents. Then it was Katie.

… is she really about to lose Shi too?

Her face must betray how bad she feels; Leon places a firm hand on Claire's shoulder. "We're gonna find her," he whispers quietly.

No one other than Chris and Leon knows about Shi's gender yet. There hadn't been enough time to explain—didn't feel like the right time to explain. 20 minutes have passed since Shi went missing and all of it has been spent searching and staring at this stupid goddamn fucking map.

Claire wouldn't have told them anyway.

Shi has to tell them herself. When she returns, safe and sound.

"We will find her." Claire nods—and then she stares at the stupid goddamn fucking map again.

There are 10 red circles: one on Ivy Street, French Street, Good Street, Warren Street, Fox Street, Central Street, Front Street, the Cider District, Raccoon Theater, and one last circle around Victory Street, Wallace Street, and Yaya Street.

There are no red circles anywhere along the Circular River or sewage entrances.

Front Street and Fox Street seem to be outliers while a majority of the circles cluster together on the east side of town. Katie's body was found at the River Pier sewer entrance, and although the circles seem to surround it, the pier itself isn't included.

"I can't believe this," George voices aloud. He sits with his head hanging low, pulling at his hair. "Chief Irons kidnapped Shi? Why?"

"If Irons is corrupt, there's no telling who else is," Elran mutters.

Claire notices Kevin clearing his throat and uncharacteristically wringing together his hands. He seems so different from the 'Kevin' who spilled juice all over Shi.

Chris notices it too. "Something wrong, Ryman?"

"Besides this whole situation?" Kevin looks up uncomfortably. "I don't know. Maybe. I think… I think I might've seen something last night but I'm not sure it's relevant…"

"All information is relevant when you have nothing," Chris says encouragingly.

Kevin considers that. He rubs his arm timidly. "Last night, I was studying in building A, around 2 am—"

"What?" Marvin cocks his head. "I made sure everyone was gone before I locked the doors at 11."

"I was trying to leave," Kevin continues. "Chief Irons' office light was still on, so I hid in the first-aid room. Through the window on the door, I saw a man in a black suit in Irons' office."

Claire's eyes go wide.

"He handed Chief Irons a letter. Irons read it and then he looked… angry. Furious. The man left and Irons stormed out." Kevin sits down next to George, eyebrows drawn up in guilt. "I thought—no—I knew it was weird. What if I had said something? Would Shi still be here—"

"Kev," Wes interrupts. "He's our chief of police. How could you have ever known?"

"Drucker's right," Marvin says. "As recruits, it's expected you should fully trust Chief Irons. Even if you had told us, we wouldn't have been able to do anything."

Kevin is silent for a moment. After a deep, shaky breath, he softly pushes Wes away. "I told you not to call me Kev."

"There's my boy." Wes smiles like a light amidst the darkness.

It warms Claire for a brief, fleeting moment.

"Man in a black suit…" Leon mulls. His Adam's apple bobs. "Claire, you don't think…?"

"You're talking about the man from the Orphanage, aren't you?" She presses her lips into a thin line. "We can't just assume everyone in a black suit is from Umbrella—"

"Hold on—orphanage?" Elran squints. "Raccoon City has an orphanage?"

George sighs tiredly. "Of course it does, you dumbass. It's Raccoon City, not Raccoon Village."

"I don't see it on the map, though."

"That's because it's unmarked," Meyers explains. "The orphanage used to be a residential house. On these older maps, it simply appears as a building."

Meyers points at the map. Claire follows his finger as it lands next to the pier—

And then she gasps loudly—loud enough that it shudders the shoulders of the men around her.

Claire's witnessed too much death and tragedy already. With her parents and Katie, she couldn't do anything except offer comfort, but this time—

If there's any chance for Claire to make this right —no matter how small—she has to take it.

She won't be useless again. Never again.

"The orphanage," Claire says breathlessly, "it's at the center of all the circles…!"

Leon unlocked the door to Irons' office and you both hurried inside.

"Stinks in here," Leon wheezed, shutting the door behind himself. "Smells like that one shop downtown."

"Oh, yeah, I totally know which store you're talking about." You began searching Irons' desk. "That place with all the taxidermied raccoons—what was it called again?"

Katie's taxidermied corpse stares down at you, surrounded by the mounted heads of animals hanging on the wall. The smell—that sickening smell—is overwhelming here, mixed with the scents of rust and blood and rot.

"Do you know the steps of taxidermy?" Irons asks.

Light from the overhead lamp glints against his scalpel. What little hair he has is disheveled. His normally pressed grey and tailored suit is wrinkled, rumpled, and damp.

He doesn't wait for a response. "Traditionally, the first step would be to put you under or kill you…"

Hundreds of beady, lifeless eyes watch you squirm under the restraints. They reflect your image with perfect clarity; you can see how desperate you look. How scared. Terrified.

Irons grins. "Don't you think that's boring, though?"

Your jacket sits heavily on Katie's shoulders. She didn't have to go through this, right?

Did she die quickly? Did Irons even have the chance to tell her it was all your fault?

Her lumpy, pink-painted lips have stitches going through them. Katie couldn't answer even if she was still alive.

"I've waited for so long to see you here, in this room, under my scalpel…" Irons draws closer.

You struggle harder. You kick your legs so wildly that they bruise and cut against the metal. Blood trickles down your legs, your left shoe goes flying off.

"I'll begin by cutting an incision." Irons makes eye contact. "You see, the skin sits like a glove over top muscle…"

His breath is hot on your face and it makes you feel like you're going retch, like you're going to throw up and choke on it. You look away—anywhere other than him—but your gaze just lands on Katie again.

She was the older sister you always wanted: kind, gentle, and supportive. She also had a spunky side to her, too: determined to live her life and have fun, to get what she wanted no matter how hard she would have to work.

You don't see that same fire in her eyes, in the glass orbs replacing what once used to sparkle.

Instead, you see something else.

"I did belly incisions with all the other girls," Irons explains. "This time I think I'll try cutting up the legs, like with squirrels—"

You see that without your shoe, the restraint looks a little loose. You begin shimmying your leg, and the blood from your ankle acts as a lubricant. Katie's eyes are starting to show you hope.

"I'll slip your legs out of your skin," Irons laughs. "I'll pull your skin over your body like a wetsuit—"

You were never one to give up.

Not in the basement of the orphanage, not when Katie died or when her parents left you behind. Not when you saw her hair in Irons' pocket.

You persevered in the darkness. Looked for posters until your fingers bled. Picked yourself up in the rain, disguised yourself as a man for months.

Katie would be so disappointed if you gave up now.

Your leg pops free from the metal cuff—

And you kick Irons in the face.

A nauseating crack echoes throughout the small room, followed shortly by Irons' gasp of pain. He stumbles back into a shelf and the jars housed there fall down with him.

Chris' hands are tight against the wheel. Windshield wipers push away the rain, and thick, grey clouds hide all evidence of the golden fall moon. The closer he gets to the orphanage, the worse the storm outside grows.

How fitting, he thinks.

"Redfield, come in," Marvin's voice crackles over the radio.

Chris responds, holding the wheel with one hand. "I'm here."

"Valentine's arrived. The recruits are going to stay while Valentine and I meet you at the orphanage." Marvin hesitates for a moment. "Are you sure it's smart to take your sister and Kennedy with you? Chief Irons should be assumed armed and dangerous."

"We can hear you." Claire rolls her eyes.

"That's the point," Marvin retorts.

Chris wondered the same thing himself. But he knows it's safer this way—safer to have Claire and Kennedy both under his protection and in his sight.

Kennedy deftly tightens the bulletproof vest underneath his jacket. "With all due respect sir, I'm going to save Shi whether someone drives me there or not."

"Yeah," Chris sighs. "I know."

The looming tower of the orphanage comes into sight, stained glass dull and bland without the sun. The air force-trained numbness is wearing off and what's happened is finally starting to sink in. Chris has barely had time to process the reality of Thead being kidnapped or the worry that's been clenching his jaw.

He hasn't felt this way since—

Chris' throat grows tight.

He hasn't felt like this since his parents died.

Chris was only 16 then. Claire was small enough to drag out of the crash, but the metal pinning his parents was too heavy. He could only watch as the car lit up in flames and listen as their screams eventually died out.

A little while ago, Thead asked Chris how to be strong. If Chris had answered, he would have told her that to be 'strong' means having the strength to lift the metal that pinned his parents that day.

At 16 years old, Chris was not strong.

At 25, he is.

'Shi Thead' whittled her way into his small world; she became someone Chris cared greatly for—as a friend, as a…

It doesn't really matter what else, he reminds himself.

What does matter is that right here and right now, he can still save her.

"What if I was wrong?" Claire whispers aloud. "What if those circles, the man in the suit—everything—what if it was all a complete coincidence—"

"It wasn't." Chris pulls up the street.

Parked outside of the orphanage, underneath the dim light of a streetlamp is unmistakably, undeniably Irons' car.

The Umbrella letter, the man with the Umbrella pin, the missing police records, the missing families, and the phones disconnected with the same code—Umbrella's code—

None of it is a coincidence.

So why would a huge pharmaceutical company like Umbrella support Chief Irons?

And why did Albert Wesker lead Chris toward finding Irons instead of arresting the chief himself?

Chris brings the Jeep to a stop. The custom Samurai Edge sitting in his holster feels especially cold and heavy.

He's never asked for much—never had the chance to ask for much.

But tonight, Chris asks—he pleads—for anyone listening:

Please.

Please let me be strong enough.

You don't know much about the chemicals used in taxidermy.

You can only guess that what's dripping down Irons' face is some sort of strong acid. His skin instantly blisters at the contact. It sizzles. Burns.

He screams in agony, fumbling his way over to a door—which you now realize is one of two—and reveals a washroom. A sink begins to run and Irons hysterically splashes water onto the wound.

This is it. This is your chance—

Your only chance.

You tug at the restraints again. Your arms and legs are tired and sore—every move is sloppy and weak. You try to focus on your breathing first; get it under control, just like Chris taught you. And then you calmly get to work on your next move: getting the fuck out.

You start by properly examining the restraints: they look almost antique—medieval in style—with clasps shaped in the likeness of fleur-de-lis.

Despite the situation, you still manage to smirk. These restraints are just like everything Irons owns: beautiful and inefficient.

The sound of running water is all too close as you use your foot to nudge at the clasp on the other ankle. After a bit of maneuvering, it opens.

"You fucking bitch—!" Irons groans and gasps from the washroom. "You'll fucking wish I'd gutted you from the legs when I'm through with you!"

The cuffs around your wrists have metal pins locking the clasps in place. Luckily the table is longer than it is wide; you slide yourself up, gracing your arms with enough slack to bite at one of the pins with your teeth. It tastes like rust and dirt, but the pin pulls free and so does your hand. You waste no time unlatching the other side.

Angry red and gashed skin pulses at the freedom; you swing your legs over the side of the table, jump down to run for that second door and—

Your knees are still too weak to support your weight.

You fall to the floor.

Irons' medical cart crashes alongside you. Scalpels, scissors, clamps, and tweezers skid across the ground, loud enough to hear clearly over the sound of running water.

"I don't know whether to congratulate you," Irons mutters, voice low as he turns off the tap. "Or if I should cut off your fingers and sew them back on."

He slowly turns around, and under the hanging light of the washroom, you can see just how much damage you've done.

Exposed flesh and crimson-colored blisters cover the entire left side of his face. The corners of his lips and eyelids droop—the whole left eye appears pale and warped.

You can smell the burning of his skin as he approaches. Blood and pus drip with each heavy step he takes.

"I should dump acid on you…" he threatens.

You try to stand and fall again.

"... but I really don't want to ruin that beautiful face of yours…"

You drag yourself to the door and reach for the handle. If you could just get out, away from this smell, from the blood on the walls, from him, you could—

The handle doesn't turn.

You slump against the door, defeated.

Irons holds up a ring of keys. He smiles, the holes in his cheek gaping open.

"You're mine."

A week ago, Leon had snuck into the library to research some questions on the computers.

He was surprised that the results included a blog featuring 'Mama Raccoon's help column'; after all, the last time he read their advice, he questioned—and accepted—his sexuality.

It took nearly half an hour of scrolling the forum to find the answer he was looking for. There, on the glowing screen of the monitor, was the same question he had been asking himself:

'How do you know when you're in love?'

Love.

To Leon, 'love' was such a powerful word. It's something he has always craved to have and has always craved to give.

He'd been thinking about it a lot: how do you know what you feel is love? When is it too soon to say? What's the difference between love, like, and infatuation?

Leon had always spent his life on the other side of this equation: does that person really love me? How could they love me so quickly? Is it even 'love'?

'How do you know when you're in love?' He focused back on the forum.

'Mama Raccoon here! Coo, coo!—'

"Ugh," he sighed but kept reading.

'How do you know when you're in love? That's a tricky question—and I'm afraid you won't like my answer.

Love is not something so easily defined. It is ever-changing with many forms and languages; it ebbs and flows, yet sometimes, it remains the same. If you were to ask a hundred different people their definitions of 'love', you would surely receive a hundred different answers.

When you love someone, you will know. You will feel it when you look at them, when they talk, when they simply just exist besides you. You will know because there is no other way to describe it—that happiness, that fondness.

Don't look to others for the answer to this question; look only inside yourself, inside your heart.

So tell me, are you in love?'

The library felt especially quiet by the time he finished reading. There was only the gentle hum of the computer and the soft thudding in his chest.

If Leon had to define love when he was younger, he might've said love is 'warm and fuzzy'.

Now, he found himself thinking about 'want' again: the want to hold, cherish, and protect. The want to hear about his special someone's day, to hear their stories, their complaints, and about what made them smile. Wanting to be held, cherished, and protected. Wanting to talk about his day, tell his stories, give his complaints, and laugh about what made him smile.

Leon didn't know that he was the type who fell hard and fast. He didn't know if he was the type who could love at all. Yet…

He wanted.

He wanted everything. To give everything.

And then not even a week later, Shi said she needed him.

Shi called Leon her 'everything', too.

Rain pours down, soaking Leon the instant he steps outside of Chris' Jeep. He can barely see through the thick droplets hanging from his eyelashes, but even through the obscured vision, he can see that the orphanage is more threatening in the dark. It appears as a tall, imposing tower, casting shadows even in the black of night.

Shi's in there, Leon thinks. Please be in there, he begs.

He hasn't stopped feeling sick ever since seeing Meyer's bracelet in the trash. It feels like his stomach's dissolving itself, like his throat won't stop closing in. If anything happens to Shi, he… he—

No.

Leon has to believe that Shi wouldn't go down without a fight—that she's holding on and giving hell.

He has to believe she'll get the chance to finish what she tried to say earlier.

He has to…

"Ready?" Chris clasps Leon's shoulder.

Chris is wearing an expression that Leon's never seen on him before. Worry and unease on a usually confident face make Leon feel both better and worse.

"Can anyone ever be ready for something like this?" Leon asks.

Claire jumps out of the jeep. She immediately points out the muddy footsteps leading away from Irons' car. "That son of a bitch," she sneers. "He is here!"

"No," Chris answers honestly. He unholsters his gun and takes point. "Stay behind me."

The open courtyard gate swings freely in the storm. Squeaky hinges groan as Chris pushes the gate aside; the orphanage's front door has been left open, too.

"I knew you should have given us guns," Claire mutters.

Chris ignores her, following the muddy prints trailing to the door.

"Parking outside, visible tracks, leaving doors open…" she hesitates. "Do you think it's a trap?"

"Or maybe he was just desperate," Leon suggests.

Rain-soaked rug squishes audibly beneath Chris' boots. No one is there to greet them at the reception. Not Cassy, not security. Everything is shrouded in the blackness of night; not a single light remains on, not a single voice can be heard.

"Strange it's so quiet," Claire whispers. "I don't hear any kids at all."

She's right—Leon can't hear the giggles or cries of children, no little footsteps racing across the floor. The orphanage would seem abandoned if not for the fresh prints leading towards Irons' office.

Chris continues despite the eerie silence. Books have been knocked off of the ledges of the hall and the carpet is dirtied with the same mud. He stops in front of the dark wood door at the end. "This it?"

"Should be." Claire nods. "At least that's what Shi said the last time we were here."

Chris tries the door without hesitation.

It's unsurprisingly unlocked.

Just as Shi had described before, shelves are the first thing Leon sees. Shelves and shelves of miscellaneous bottles, all giving off the same chemical scent as Irons himself. Further inside is full of the same grand furniture as the precinct. Scattered papers sit on the table in the middle of the room, while some papers sit in piles on the floor.

"Are you kidding me?" Chris growls. "Where the hell did they go?"

Leon follows Chris' line of sight down and—"huh?"

The muddy footprints… they just suddenly disappear.

"That—" Claire opens and closes her mouth. "No. No. That's bullshit. There's gotta be some kind of secret entrance or—"

"Spread out and search everything," Chris commands.

Everyone urgently needs Shi to somehow be in this room—every single drawer is opened, every single nook explored. With what they know about Irons' abilities, a hidden passage doesn't seem as ridiculous as it sounds.

But the orphanage is their only lead. If they can't find it, or if Shi isn't really here, then…

Chris shuffles through the mess on the table. He separates a torn piece of paper from the rest.

"That anything important?" Claire rummages in Irons' desk.

"It's a letter dated yesterday." Chris begins to read aloud, "As usual, 1M and 1F are to be delivered on the 1st of each month. As stated in our previous letter, these demands must be met to ensure our continued partnership."

"1M and 1F?" Leon searches the shelf.

"That being said, please keep in mind that after October 15th, we will no longer support your personal endeavors. A representative will meet you in person to discuss this in further detail—" Chris frowns. "The rest is missing."

The drawer Claire's working on doesn't open; she kicks at it with her foot. "What the hell does any of that mean?"

Leon shoves all the blankets off the shelf. "Wait—isn't October 15th tomorrow?"

"It is," Chris considers the question.

"And you said the letter was dated yesterday?"

"I did."

Gears turn in Leon's head. "Maybe I'm reading too much into this... but it sounds like whoever wrote that letter gave Irons one last chance."

Chris catches on quickly. "A deadline for one last 'personal endeavor'…?"

"Kidnapping women, you mean," Claire interjects, equally as quick.

Leon finds the small panel that was hidden beneath the sheets. "Would explain motive." He opens it to reveal a button. "And the desperation."

"If Irons has the power to make Umbrella support him, who would have the power to make Irons desperate?" Chris asks.

"I think we've got it backward," Claire says, holding up the other half of the ripped letter. "Irons isn't the one with power."

Leon presses the button at the same time he takes in the sight of the distinct red and white logo of Umbrella on the paper. A mechanism whirs beneath him, and he jumps out of the way just in time for a hatch to pop open.

Chris walks over cautiously. "What the…"

"Fuck?" Claire finishes.

Leon stares down the hatch; it's a concrete manhole with a metal ladder leading down. The smell of chlorine and ammonia waft up. This must be where the footprints disappeared.

"Does this connect to the sewers?" Claire's voice echoes throughout the hole.

Chris prepares to climb down. "Smells like it."

Boots sound loudly against the bars. Slowly, concrete transitions into brick, and the loft, plush interior of Irons' office is replaced by oil barrels and trash bags.

"Fucking creepy," Claire comments, reaching the bottom.

Stark white lights do little to illuminate the unkempt tunnel. Rats skitter around the ground, tails disappearing behind cracks in the wall.

"Sewers explain how Katie's body was moved without anyone seeing," Chris says, morbidly. "Makes body disposal easy as well."

A small flight of stairs takes them to a fenced area, pipe systems dangling from the exposed ceiling.

"If we're right about everything, then the man Kevin saw really did belong to Umbrella." Claire shakes her head. "I just don't get it. Why in the world would they want to have a partnership with a serial killer?"

"I've been asking myself the same thing." Chris tightens his grip around his pistol. "Judging from that letter, he's supplying Umbrella with something that they need."

Claire barks out a sarcastic laugh. "What could he possibly offer a huge company like that? Donuts and coffee? Cops for human testing? Children?"

Both Chris and Leon stop in their tracks.

She panics. "That was sarcasm—bad sarcasm. Umbrella wouldn't run pharmaceutical tests on cops or children."

Leon can't bring himself to agree.

"Umbrella wouldn't," Claire repeats. "Right?"

"... We'd better hope 1M and 1F stand for 1 medium roast and 1 frosted donut." Leon continues down the path.

"C-come on!" she grabs his arm. "You don't really think that—"

There's a loud, metallic thud in the distance.

Leon stands up straight, cold suddenly coursing through his veins. "What was that?"

Chris flicks the safety off of his pistol. "Come on!" he runs towards the noise. "Hurry!"

The concrete floor is cool and hard beneath you. The wall against your back is frigid and unyielding.

Katie's eyes show no hope as Irons walks closer. He steps overtop the fallen instruments, that horrible smell still wafting from his face.

"There's nowhere left to run," he whispers.

And he's right. There isn't.

"They told me it had to be tonight," Irons confesses. "That tonight was the last time they'd clean up my mess."

"Who?" You muster the courage to ask.

Irons chuckles. "You haven't asked about how I stuffed your sister's body full of clay and cotton or where the other women are, but you want to know who's really pulling the strings?"

You swallow thickly and repeat. "Who?"

"The same company that runs all of Raccoon City," he answers and points down in front of him. "Now be a good girl and—"

You spit on his shoe.

Irons face turns as red as his chemical burns. He grits his teeth angrily, and then he reaches for your neck.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die.

But it's not really your life flashing by—it's the happiest memories that come to mind, like your brain's feeble attempt to make death more comforting.

Strangely… your last memories aren't of Katie.

They're of the past few months: laughing with Wes, George, Elran, and Meyers. Claire screaming 'diarrhea' and the horrific sound of her bird calls. Saving Kevin from the rat and sharing coffee in the mornings with Chris.

They're memories of Leon: seeing him standing there in that dorm room. Training together. Studying together. When he handed you hot coffee. When he pinned you in the hallway.

You remember your first hug in that claustrophobic closet and then looking at the stars.

You remember how drunk you both were and that you blotted away Leon's tears after he confided in you.

You remember the heat of a beautiful summer sunset and how good it felt to cry in his arms.

Every moment spent with Leon comes rushing to you; the comforting warmth of his skin, the soothing rumble of his voice. Those horrible jokes and those deep blue eyes.

The future has always felt scary. Too blinding, too bright. Too many different ways to fuck it up and ruin everything again.

But you finally understand what you want to do with yours:

You want to continue the program. You want to graduate alongside your friends.

You want to tell Leon the truth—you want to hold him, kiss him, treasure him the way he should be.

For the first time in your life, your future is in front of you, within your grasp.

All you need to do…

Is reach out and grab it.

You lunge for the scalpel on the ground. Irons intercepts and kicks you hard in the ribs; you wheeze and cough and continue to reach—

Until Irons steps on your hand.

You let out a piercing scream, fingers breaking beneath the heel of his shoe. He presses down like he's snuffing out a cigarette, and then he grabs you roughly by the throat when he thinks there's nothing left to break.

"Give up," Irons hisses through his teeth.

"Never." You jam your hand into the melted flesh of his cheek.

The noise Irons makes doesn't sound human; he gargles and shrieks and throws you against the wall.

"I… will… fucking kill you!" Irons slurs, grabbing the scalpel.

He doesn't care about your smile or keeping your skin intact anymore—he swings like a madman. The sharp blade only grazes your brow, but it cuts through your shirt, it carves down your chest until it gets stuck in the binder. Blood begins to run into your eyes and all you can see is red.

"I won't miss this time," Irons breathes.

He swings again. You brace yourself. And then—

The door breaks open.

Gunshots fire. It's intense and deafening and Irons collapses to the floor. Even through all the red, you can still see the red pooling underneath him.

Three people storm in. One of them stands over top of Irons, gun pointed down. "Don't you fucking move!"

"Oh my god, Chris," a girl gasps. "Shi's hurt—there's blood everywhere—"

The last person runs towards you. They take off their jacket and use it to stop the bleeding on your chest. "Hang in there, we're gonna get you help. You're going to be okay, everything's going to be okay—"

Your vision grows too blurry and hazy to see, yet you recognize the feeling of this person's warmth. You recognize the soothing rumble of his voice.

Once more, you reach out and try to grab your future.

This time, it leans into your touch.

"I'm a woman," you finally blurt out the truth.

Leon chuckles softly in surprise. "Yeah," he says, voice breaking as he gathers you into his arms. "I still love you anyway."