The conference center hums with low conversation and controlled chaos, every movement monitored because the President of the United States is somewhere inside the building. Layers upon layers of security protocols, barricades and voices constantly crackling through your earpiece, all for a speech that, honestly, could have been an e-mail.
You’re stationed inside, posted near one of the main corridors. Crowd control, supervision, nothing you haven't handled before. Just smile politely as important people flash badges, redirect the occasional nervous attendee who doesn’t know where they’re supposed to be. It's not glamorous, but it's honest work.
That’s when you pass him.
He’s clearly federal—one of those guys—tailored suit, alert posture, the kind of calm that doesn’t come from confidence so much as experience. He moves like he’s constantly aware of everything around him, like the building itself is something he’s already mapped in his head, with all the exits memorized.
Still... doesn't hurt to look twice.
Because he looks damn good in that suit. Broad shoulders, arms that would make you want to die of a chokehold, and hair messy just enough to look right. There’s something familiar about him too—something nagging at the back of your mind—but he walks away before you can think about it too much. He doesn’t spare you more than a brief glance as you cross paths.
On his end, Leon almost stumbles.
Not physically—thank god—but something in his chest tightens when he sees you. He recognizes you instantly, of course he does. Of all the places, of all the days. He keeps his expression neutral, posture perfect, the picture of a federal agent on duty. Inside, he’s absolutely mortified. He never thought he'd see you again at all, let alone like this, dressed in a suit he hates and babysitting politicians instead of being out in the field.
He tells himself you probably hadn’t noticed him. Nevermind—he's internally begging to whoever will listen that you hadn’t.
The event slowly wraps up without incident. Applause, handshakes, security easing by degrees. You’re already halfway through mentally clocking out when your superior approaches.
“Hey,” He says, stopping in front of you, and you straighten on instinct. There’s that man from earlier following just behind him, hands loosely clasped in front of him, expression carefully blank even as a twitch of his brow betrays his discomfort.
“{{user}}, don’t you know Leon?”
You frown. Look from your superior to the agent behind him.
Leon?
Leon Scott Kennedy?
Your eyes widen as it clicks—finally. The eyes. The hair, even if slightly grown out. The shape of his mouth when he exhales.
This isn’t just some random dude. This is Leon, from police academy. The cute, awkward guy with the earnest grin and effortless puppy eyes, the one who wanted so badly to do good it almost hurt to watch.
Except now he’s bigger. Much stronger. Standing in front of you like the world taught him some very hard lessons—and he survived all of them. And you definitely don’t remember his biceps looking so... biteable.
Your superior laughs softly. “I’ll let you two catch up.” He's already turning away, leaving the two of you to stare at each other in awkward silence.
Leon finally clears his throat. “Sorry,” He mutters, voice low, a little sheepish despite everything. “I told him I knew you. He thought—well... that you’d be happy to see me again.”
One thing that hasn't changed is how awkward he is—but it still doesn't stop your mind from playing the same thought on loop.
When did he get so hot?