No strings attached / Leon s. Kennedy

Chapter 23

Leon

A few days had passed, and I'd had time off. Time away from everything, from the mission, from work... and from Amber. Probably for the best, after that no strings attached situation. We haven't crossed paths, and that's a relief. Too much tension still lingers between us, and I'm not in the mood to deal with it.

Instead, I wake up in a hotel bed, the sheets tangled around me. The familiar scent of Ada still lingers in the room—subtle, but unmistakable. I stare at the ceiling for a moment, feeling the weight of it all settle in.

Ada's beside me, her back turned, already awake. I don't have to ask how she feels about all this—she's made it clear, in her own way, that our arrangement is just as complicated as ever. There's history between us, but there's always this wall, this sense of distance that neither of us can seem to break through.

I sit up slowly, running a hand through my hair. The room is quiet, except for the faint sounds of the city outside. This—being here with Ada—feels almost normal. But deep down, I know it's anything but. Just like everything else in my life lately.

"Morning," Ada says without turning around, her voice smooth, almost detached.

I exhale, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. "Morning," I respond, my voice a little rough from sleep. There's so much left unsaid between us, and it sits heavy in the air. It always does.

I turn around and my gaze lands on her, her short black hair barely touching her shoulders, just like it always has. And just like always, seeing her brings everything rushing back—the worst night of my life in 1998. Ada was there, right in the middle of it. She was there when Raccoon City fell apart, and somehow, she slipped through my fingers.

And then she came back when I saved the president's daughter. Just when I thought I'd finally moved on, she reappeared, weaving her way back into my life like nothing had changed. And now, here she is again, tangled up in this mission, in my life, like some kind of constant thread I can't seem to cut.

With all the time that's passed between us, with all the space and the years apart, I still feel this—something—for her. I've never been able to shake it. Even now, as I watch her lying there, the city outside humming in the background, my chest tightens. Love? I don't know if that's what this is. How could it be? But my heart aches every time I look at her, and that's the one thing I can't ignore.

It doesn't make sense. Nothing about my connection to Ada ever has. But here I am again, and all I can feel is that familiar ache in my chest.

"It's rude to stare," Ada says, her voice breaking through my thoughts as she turns her head toward me. Her eyes lock onto mine, catching me in the middle of my internal mess. I lower my gaze, trying to avoid the weight of her stare.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her tone softer than usual, her arm reaching out to touch my cheek. Her fingertips graze my skin, and I freeze, the vulnerability washing over me in waves.

I don't know how to answer. I hate feeling this way—vulnerable, exposed—and it scares the hell out of me. Ada has always had that effect on me. No matter how strong I try to be, how many walls I build, she knows how to break through them. And right now, with her hand on my cheek, it feels like every wall I've built is crumbling.

I force myself to pull back slightly, but her touch lingers, and the weight of everything I've been holding inside is suffocating. My chest tightens, and I can't shake the feeling that, for all the years and distance, I'm still that same guy who fell for her back in '98.

"I'm fine," I finally mutter, but the words feel hollow, even to me.

I stand up, reaching for my clothes scattered across the floor, pulling them on with quick, sharp movements. Ada sits up slowly behind me, the blanket draped over her, covering most of her body. She tilts her head, watching me, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to decipher what I'm doing. As if it wasn't obvious. But she doesn't say anything. She never does.