No strings attached / Leon s. Kennedy

Chapter 8

Leon

I step into Amber’s apartment, the door clicking shut behind me, and immediately I regret agreeing to come inside. The remnants of the whiskey still buzz through my system, not enough to cloud my judgment, but enough to make everything feel a little too loose. I shouldn’t be here, not after the night I’ve had—especially after running into Ada earlier.

Ada. Her name alone brings up emotions I’ve tried to bury. The way she plays with my head, shows up and disappears like a ghost. She was dead for years, or so I thought. Then she reappears, tangling herself back into my life, only to vanish again when I least expect it.

Every time she resurfaces, it’s like ripping open an old wound that never quite heals. It pisses me off, if I’m being honest—how she still has that kind of control over me. She knows it too, which makes it worse.

And now, here I am, standing in Amber’s apartment, trying to shake off the leftover frustration from that encounter with Ada. It baffles me how Ada manages to dig her claws in every time, leaving me on edge, even when I know better. But now, in this moment, I’m here, with Amber, and I have to remind myself to focus.

Amber, though... she’s in her own world, still clearly tipsy, rambling about something as she tosses her bag onto a nearby chair. I look around, taking in the small, lived-in space, trying to ground myself. It’s cozy, a far cry from the sterile environments I’m used to, and there’s a weird sense of normalcy to it that throws me off. I need to get out of my head.

“Make yourself at home,” she mumbles, her words slurred slightly as she heads toward the kitchen. I lean against the wall, crossing my arms, watching her with a mix of amusement and unease.

Amber stumbles back from the kitchen with two beers in hand, a sloppy grin on her face. Seriously? More alcohol? I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. The last thing she needs right now is another drink. She’s already tipsy, if not outright drunk. I don’t like her, that much is true, but I’m not about to sit back and let her drown herself in booze, either.

“Amber,” I start, holding up my hand as she tries to hand me one of the bottles. “I don’t think you need any more. You’ve had enough.”

She rolls her eyes, waving me off with a dismissive gesture. “I’m fine. Just one more. It’s nothing.”

I frown, still standing against the wall, not moving to take the bottle. “I’m serious. You keep drinking like this, you’re going to end up with alcohol poisoning.”

Her eyes narrow, defiance sparking in them. “I said I’m fine, Leon,” she insists, shoving the bottle toward me. “Just take it. It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

For a second, I consider snatching the bottle out of her hand, but I hold back. She’s already on edge, and the last thing I need is to escalate things. Besides, part of me knows it’s pointless—she’s stubborn as hell, and there’s no way I’m going to talk her out of it when she’s in this state.

Honestly, I almost left her in the bar earlier. I saw her there, surrounded by drinks, and part of me wanted to just walk out and leave her to deal with her own mess. Her being alone and drunk in a bar? It wasn’t my problem how she got home, not really. But my damn morals got in the way. I couldn’t let her stumble out of there on her own and possibly pass out in the street.

So, here I am, trying to talk sense into someone who’s had one too many. Not exactly how I pictured my night ending.

She takes a swig from the bottle, ignoring my warning entirely, and I just stand there, watching her. She’s going to feel like hell tomorrow, but she’s not going to listen, not tonight.