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cw: depression, spiraling, self-loathing thoughts.

El método R.I.C.E: reposo, hielo, compresión, y elevación. 

In English: rest, ice, compression, and elevation—those were the orders given by the doctor who treated her leg. 

She repeats them in her head over and over again, but every moment or so, they get jumbled and nonsensical as sleep starts to take its hold on her.

With her head leaning against the ivory wall of the waiting room, Nora’s eyelids grow heavy as she battles slumber in her seat once again. She has fallen asleep at least six times since arriving at the hospital, and it's getting harder to resist dreamland with every passing minute.

After telling the nurses they were in a car accident, she and Luis were admitted for treatment for their injuries. Thankfully, an X-ray confirmed none of her bones were broken by the beartrap, though she did sprain her leg. For the Spaniard, however, his forearm got fissured on the radius. He later told Nora it was due to Krauser shoving him against a wall so hard he saw new colors. God, she is relieved the bastard is dead.

As she continues waiting for Luis to be discharged, his friend, Iván—who picked them up from the backwoods where Ada abandoned them—keeps her company in the meantime. He’s not much of a talker, and Nora is grateful for the silence and lack of questioning. She already had Luis lie on her behalf when she was asked for an ID by the intake nurse, saying she's his clueless American cousin. She found the lie was quite fitting. 

Looking down at her swollen, bandaged leg, she sighs and places a hand on her injured shoulder that thankfully no longer hurts too bad after that fire arrow. Her body has been pushed to the limit, of that she is sure, and as she waits in the hospital of the port city of Santander, she simply feels grateful to be alive.

After what feels like forever, the stubbled man comes out with a tired smile and a cast on his arm. His jacket is slung over his shoulder, only a tank top covering his torso post treatment. He walks over, readjusting the strap that keeps his plastered limb suspended.

“This thing's gonna drive me crazy with itching, I already know it.”

Nora chuckles, eyeing the hardened off-white bandages with sympathy. “How long do you have to keep it on?”

“Five weeks! Can you believe that, cariño?”

“Ni voy a preguntar que te paso,”** Iván comments from his seat, to which Luis just answers with a dismissive wave before turning back to the woman.

“Ready to go?”

“Oh, are you going to be billed later?” 

Luis makes an exaggerated gasp, then puts on the saddest expression he can muster. “Ay, mi pequeña Nora… We don't have to worry about that. Free healthcare, remember?” he laughs, then holds out a hand for her to take.

** “I'm not even going to ask what happened to you.”

“Welcome to my humble abode… Ah, please don't mind the mess—I haven't been here in a while.”

The lights are flicked on and Nora gets a view of Luis’s apartment. Beige tiles cover the floor throughout, an open plan with a small kitchen, and a couch facing the box TV propped on a console. On the back wall, rows of books line a floor to ceiling shelf rack, along with neatly stacked cassettes and VHS tapes at the bottom. Next to them, a silver boombox sits with thick CD binders placed beside it. The shelves and their contents are all covered in a thin layer of dust, just like everything else around from being neglected for a long while.

The place looks like a time capsule. Like something straight out of the old home videos Nora’s mother kept from when the girl was just a toddler. But of course, she knows not to react to the outdated technology with the fascination of a time traveler, and instead settles on thanking Luis for his hospitality.

An hour later, she steps out of the bathroom after a warm shower, a towel wrapped around her damp hair and fresh bandages on her shoulder and ankle. 

She’s dressed in a borrowed black pyjama set from Luis that fits tight on her wide hips and lower stomach, so she keeps nervously readjusting the top for coverage as she comes to stand in the kitchen. The apartment is no longer dark thanks to the shutters being lifted, now brightened by the gloomy light from the autumn sky.

“I found some food in the freezer—croquetas de pollo,” the Spaniard shakes a red box branded ‘La Cocinera’ from behind the counter. “You must be starving. I know I am.”

“Yeah, I am too,” she smiles in gratitude.

They both sit at the small table in the corner, the mood oddly domestic as the man serves them plates and glasses of water.

“You’re not vegetarian, are you?” He chuckles as he takes a bite of the crispy chicken and cheese ball.

“No,” Nora shakes her head, stabbing the food with a fork. “I just don't really eat pork.”

Luis quirks an eyebrow. “Religion?”

“More like culture and habits,” she pauses, contemplating the question. “I don't know, my mom never cared much about religious stuff, and my dad, well… He was never around anyway.”

Her face morphs into discomfort, feeling stupid for bringing up her pitiful little backstory out of nowhere. She hates coming off as the resident sad girl whose father never loved her enough to stay, no matter how true it is.

“Ah, I see…” Luis offers a kind smile, then, sensing the awkwardness, quickly changes topics. “Well, you better eat up while it's warm. It’s not too bad for frozen food—promise.”

Nora is thankful for his understanding, and gladly eats the kindly prepared meal with a fluttering heart.

“Do you like your pillows soft or hard?” Luis asks from his bedroom, leaving Nora sitting on the sofa.

“Uh… Either is fine,” she chuckles.

“Don't laugh, it's an honest question!”

“I didn't say it wasn't!”

A moment later he appears with two pillows hugged against his body with his non-plastared arm. “I’m trying to be a good host here.”

Nora snickers again, thanking him for his efforts. She tests each cushion he brought with a press of her hand before settling on the firmer option.

“See? You do have a preference,” he remarks. 

Luis watches her make herself comfortable, though there is an evident shyness in her demeanor from impromptu sleeping at a stranger's home. He’s happy he was able to gain her trust in such little time, but it also makes him worried. He knows she must not have much support if he is her best option.

Questions swirl in his mind about her story, how she ended up on a camping trip with a mysterious friend who she never mentioned again. He’s beginning to doubt her statements more and more, but he knows that now is not the time to ask questions. Not when they're both on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.

With a final smile, he gestures towards his bedroom door. “I’ll be right there, so if you need something just knock, eh?”

“Okay. Thanks again, Luis. For everything.”

“Ah, don’t mention it,” he waves a hand, then turns to leave with a yawn. “Buenas noches, guapa… Or should I say buenas tardes since it’s still afternoon? Ah, either way—sweet dreams!”

Smiling at his antics, Nora sighs as she covers herself with the blanket. “Dulces sueños,” she murmurs.

The door clicks shut, and she hears the unmistakable sound of the lock turning. It doesn't surprise her—she is a stranger after all, but she can't help but feel her heart tighten as the weight of the entire situation settles down on her again. Like a heavy boulder on her chest, she is reminded once more of how stuck she is in a hopeless state. At least Luis’s help gives her something to hold onto for now.

Reaching into her pyjama pocket, she pulls out the set of house keys with the chibi keychain that almost exposed her secret in front of Ashley. Holding it in her palm, she examines the object with renewed interest. She remembers ordering it online after finding it particularly cute—something her boyfriend later mocked her for because she was 'spending money on useless shit’ per his opinion. Of course, his collection of sneakers did not get the same judgement. His purchases were always justifiable.

Tightening her grasp on the keychain, she exhales sharply from her nose, before standing up and making her way to the window. From there, she watches the street of comings and goings, people living their lives without the worries of world traveling and video game spawning.

Sliding the screen open, Nora feels the cool breeze hit her skin as she rests the hand clutching the keychain on the sill. If she aims far enough, it might land on the road that's two floors below and hopefully get run over by a speeding car—a good way to get rid of it.

After all, this one item might expose everything to Luis, and then she will be truly alone when he also hates her like the man whose belt marked her ass does. She can still feel his lashes whenever she sits, the dull soreness making itself known every time just to serve as a reminder of what was done to her.

When she had checked earlier in the bathroom, she saw the red welts that were starting to form into bruises. Those marks, along with the keyring in her hand, are some of the only pieces of evidence of her past. Of the truth. One will heal with time, and the other will be discarded to never be seen again. That is how she survives this world.

Her arm reels back, ready to throw the keys and land them on the road, or a manhole, or even on some poor old ladies head. No matter, she must throw them. She must get rid of the object tethering her back to her reality.

Except, she can't.

Throwing it away feels like a cowering move in a place that has shown her nothing but pain. She was punished for knowing the truth, and by getting rid of the keychain, as small and trivial as it might be, she's ridding herself of any proof that she's not insane.

Lowering her arm back down, she peers at the smiling drawing of Luis, his tiny figure smirking playfully. Then, she turns it, and it's Leon’s grumpy face that comes into view. So small. So insignificant. Just like he made her feel bent over his lap.

With a sigh, she shoves the item back in her pocket, already thinking of an adequate hiding spot for it, before she reaches for the window crank dangling on the wall. She twists it, cringing at the loud noise it makes as the roller shutters lower with every bout of effort from her arms. It reminds her of her vacations to France when she was a kid. The sound used to always wake her from deep slumber when her grandmother, mamie, would let the sunlight in at the crack dawn.

The living room plunges into darkness, and when she approaches the couch, she yanks one of the bottom cushions upwards then scrabbles for the zipper of its cover. Sliding it open, she drops the keys there between the layers of fabric, then closes it again with a hiss. Unless Luis plans on doing any spring cleaning, this should be a fine place to keep it.

Nora settles back on the couch once the cushion is put back in place, and, as she pulls the blanket, she can already tell she will be sleeping for a long, long time before her body regains strength.

After drifting off at nearly 3 p.m., Nora expected to wake in the middle of the night in a serious case of a messed up sleep schedule. She underestimated her exhaustion, however, because when she finally flutters her eyelids open, the clock on the shelf reads 10:17 a.m.

Almost nineteen hours of sleep. It was not the most peaceful of slumbers, her rest fractured by nightmares she can’t remember anymore, yet still, she couldn't believe it. Then again, the most brutal night of her life happened right after she had come back already exhausted from work. Not to mention her injuries and emotional distress. 

As she sits up, rubbing her eyes sleepily, she hears the bathroom door open with Luis stepping out as quietly as he can. When he notices she's awake, however, he smiles softly.

“Buenos días, cariño… Slept well?”

“Morning,” she murmurs timidly, feeling suddenly self-conscious about her bed hair and puffy face. “Yeah, I did.”

“Now that you’re up, we can go get some breakfast, eh? I need to buy some groceries anyway.” 

“Alright, thank you,” she smiles as she stands to enter the bathroom.

A moment later, she's standing at the sink, watching her reflection in the small mirror. Swollen eye bags, a faint graze along her jaw, and a constant look of dread in her pupils—it feels dissonant. She can recognize her face, and yet standing in a parallel universe still feels like a dream.

Before going to sleep, she had hoped that maybe she would wake up back home, that maybe rest was all she needed to fix everything. But of course, she was wrong. Yet again, her hope gets crushed a little more with every passing hour where she has no idea what to do.

A knock at the door calls her attention, and she creaks it open to find Luis holding what looks like a folded tracksuit. 

“No puedes salir en pijama,”** he snorts.

** “You can't go out in pyjamas.”

The streets of Santander are somewhat quiet on what Luis dubs a ‘boring Tuesday morning’. His building is located in the city center, with shops and restaurants lining the roads and people walking with determined steps to reach their destinations. 

When Nora left her world, the month had been November, and during her visit at the hospital, she came to learn the time in this place is set exactly twenty years earlier.

If her calculations are correct through the fog of long sleep and inter-universal travel, it should be November 16th 2004. The thought is only confirmed by the dated cars, the older style of clothes, and the overwhelming lack of smartphones everywhere.

It's still odd to her, and she's not sure she will ever get used to the fact she plainly time traveled, but for now, she walks beside the Spaniard along the streets of the port city with a calm breath. Thankfully, the weather is not too cold for the outfit Luis has lent her. She feels ridiculous, of course, tracksuits of this style aren't something she's used to wearing, but it beats dressing in her ruined frog t-shirt with a torn sleeve and stains of God knows what.

“Real Racing Club?” She reads the logo on the right breast of the navy, green, and white jacket. The round symbol has a waving flag in the middle, with a royal crown at the top.

“Racing de Santander, it's the local football club,” Luis grins when he shoots her a glance. “Or I guess you would call it soccer.”

“Ah, so you're a sports fan,” she concludes as they cross a narrow park that splits the boulevard into two one way streets.

“I just like the local team. That jacket is a bit old, though. I bought it in 97’ when I came back home after I had left for a while...”

His expression turns suddenly solemn, and Nora has an inkling on the reason, but she stays quiet as she has come to wisely learn. 

Luis’s story is a tragic one, that she knows. Though she does not remember all of the details, she recalls he lost his grandfather as a kid, and then left to pursue research in biology. That must be when Umbrella hired him, where his remarkably prodigious knowledge was used to create bioweapons, including the infamous Nemesis.

He later came back when he no longer wanted to contribute to the company’s unethical work, only to then find his village under the influence of Los Illuminados.

“Well, it's a snazzy jacket,” Nora smiles in an effort to lift his mood.

He chuckles, nodding in approval, “the colors look good on you.”

Breakfast at a cafetería consisted of Spanish tortilla and sobao pasiego—a sponge cake that pairs well with coffee. After that, the pair went to Lupa, a grocery store only three blocks away from Luis’s building. Nora understands more and more the lack of need for a car—everything is close by.

“So, you said you don't have a phone, right?” the man inquires in the middle of picking oranges.

Despite his kind, easygoing demeanor, Nora knows he has many questions he wants to inevitably ask. It's only fair to wonder why she never attempted to phone a relative, or make any attempt to contact anyone at all.

“No phone… I, um, don't really have anyone to call even if I did have one,” she replies quietly, her voice laced with shame. “And I understand if my stay is causing you trouble, I can leave anytime you want of course—”

“That’s not why I’m asking, cariño,” Luis cuts her off with a sigh. 

Letting go of the produce in his hand, he readjusts the jacket he’s wearing half draped over his shoulder, forced to keep his plastered left arm out of the sleeve. He then meets her eyes with an intense look she has never seen on him before.

“I want to help you, I really do. But for that to happen I need to know the truth.” He pauses, looking around for any watchful eyes, before leaning closer to whisper. “You’re here illegally… Aren’t you?”

Her eyes widen at the blunt question, unsure of how to answer. “I… um…”

At hearing her stammered response, Luis pats her shoulder reassuringly. “You never mentioned looking for your passport even once—it had me thinking.”

“Yeah, sorry…” She takes a moment to think of a valid reason that isn't world travel, before settling on a semi plausible explanation. “I have some trouble with, um, the law… I just can't really go anywhere right now. Home is not an option.”

She pauses, eyeing his reaction, but he gives her none, his dark eyes calculating as her words sink in. So, she continues.

“But I can promise you one thing: no one will come look for me—I swear it,” she asserts firmly. “As long as I don't cause problems, I pretty much don't exist on any official records.”

She does not exist at all, she thinks to herself bitterly.

Waiting for his response with a held breath, she worries he might ask further questions or chastise her for being an alleged criminal. But his response is anything but.

“Vale, gracias por decírmelo,” he nods, his brown eyes warm as they bore into hers. “We’ll keep you out of trouble until we find a solution, then. ¿De acuerdo?”

Nora beams despite herself, her heart feeling full from the man’s kind support. “Okay, thank you... Like seriously.”

His expression morphs from concerned to something lighter as he attempts to lift her mood, his easygoing nature taking over again.

“You know, cariño, you and I have more in common than you'd think. There's a reason I told the nurse we're cousins—mis abuelos emigraron de Argelia,”** he smiles, giving her shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “In other words, I’m North African too on my mother’s side. Pretty neat, eh?”

“That’s so cool!” she gasps in excitement before chuckling, “maybe we really are cousins?”

“Maybe,” Luis laughs.

** “My grandparents immigrated from Algeria.”

Over the next couple of days, Nora and Luis fall into an easy routine. With both of them sporting injured limbs, they help each other as much as they can with chores around the apartment, especially her as she does her best to not burden him with her stay. 

He also takes her out for short walks to familiarize herself with the neighborhood whenever possible. He even takes her shopping for clothes at a local mercadillo, picking up a couple of sweaters, a pair of jeans, and a parka appropriate for cold weather. 

“Ese color te sienta bien,” the Spaniard nods as she tries on the coat. “How’s the fit?”

“It's good! And yeah, I like the color too,” she smiles as she smooths a hand over the burgundy fabric. “It's not too expensive, is it?”

“Nothing is too expensive at the flea market, guapa. Don't worry about it.”

“If there's anything I can do to pay you back, like doing more cooking or cleaning, please let me know.”

Luis huffs, a puff of condensation leaving his lips as his warm breath meets the cold air. “How many times have I told you? You’re doing more than enough by making dinner every night. It's already much better than when I was alone.”

“Yeah, but… you’re jobless now.”

He chokes on a laugh, placing a palm on his chest in mock offense. “Dios mio, Nora, that was harsh.”

She giggles, zipping up the parka while he pulls out his wallet to pay the vendor. “Sorry,” she teases, “I’m just saying it how it is.”

“Vale, vale… I’m starting the job hunt soon anyway,” he grumbles, muttering a small ‘gracias’ to the seller before ushering Nora to move along.

“Really?” her eyes widen in joyful surprise. “Luis, that's great! I mean, it's also scary as shit—trust me, I’d know—but it's exciting!”

He turns to look at her, a sad smile etching his face. “I know, I’ll just have to find something a lot more… modest, let's say. No big labs to conduct innovative research. At least not for a while.”

“Yeah, you would want to remain under the radar,” she nods in understanding. “I’m sorry you don't get to do what you're passionate about anymore, but I believe in you. You’re a prodigy, you’ll definitely figure it out eventually.”

He arches an eyebrow, an unreadable expression painting his features. “Prodigy?”

Nora curses herself for saying too much, but keeps her voice steady when she answers with a smile.

“Well, you are one to me.”

Luis chuckles, his posture seemingly relaxing as he nudges her elbow with his. “I think you might be a little biased, but you know what? I’ll take the compliment.”

Early morning comes and paints the 2000 year-old city in streaks of pinkish gold. The light filters through the open shutters in the Spaniard’s apartment, the smell of coffee filling the air.

He stands before the hallway mirror, readjusting his tie for the umpteenth time, the sling of his arm cast digging into the fabric of his button up.

“Esta escayola es ridícula,”** he mutters under his breath as he eyes his plastered limb in annoyance. “It ruins every outfit!”

“You look fine. Stop worrying about it, you look handsome, I promise!” Nora reassures from behind the kitchen counter.

She woke up purposely early to make him breakfast as a gesture of support for the start of his job search. With printed copies of his resume, he says he will try to contact local labs and some old acquaintances in hopes for an opportunity.

“Handsome…” he grumbles, running a hand through his wavy hair before a playful smirk paints his features. “I guess I still don't look too bad, eh?”

She giggles, gesturing for him to come sit at the table. “Vamos, papi, food is ready.”

“Papi?” he laughs in surprise. “A week in Spain and you're already talking like a native.”

“Well, with all the pet names you have for me, I think it's my turn to give you one too.”

Settling in his chair, Luis eyes her in fondness, feeling a warm sensation bloom in his heart. “I’m not complaining, guapa,” he smiles, happily picking up his butter knife to dig in.

As they eat, he makes sure to compliment the food, even if it's just simple Spanish tostadas. Still, he appreciates her efforts, especially as he witnessed how much she tries to give back for his hosting.

It hasn't escaped his attention the way she seems to be mentally struggling, though. Many times, Nora sits in the bathroom for longer than necessary, then comes out with red rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. Despite the smile she offers him while pretending to be okay, he knows—he can see the look of despair in her gaze.

Luis is all too familiar with faking being alright, his previous job positions having left him ridden with guilt and depression that he does not like to show. He doesn’t believe someone like him deserves to be sympathized with after the suffering his creations undoubtedly caused and will continue to generate. 

Nonetheless, Nora’s company has brought him joy over the past days, and he’s feeling himself growing more attached by the second. But, he focuses on keeping his feelings platonic—he won't take advantage of a girl who is at his total mercy.

“Alright, off I go now,” he sighs once his plate is emptied. 

She watches him stand, a look of nervousness in his eyes no matter how much he tries to hide it. “Hey,” she puts on a determined face. “You’re gonna kick ass, okay? ¡Tú puedes!”***

Luis laughs, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Gracias, cariño. Te veo luego. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Ah, right, that will be so hard between eating countless bowls of cereal and watching Los Serranos,” she playfully rolls her eyes.

The stubbled man shakes his with a chuckle, shooting one last glance her way before stepping out the door. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

** “This cast is ridiculous.”

*** "You can do it!"

Just as planned, Nora spends her day in front of Spanish TV, switching channels with a bored expression, her legs elevated on the armrest. She misses watching whatever she wants on YouTube or streaming platforms, but she's grateful for the company the black box provides nonetheless.

It’s hard without Luis sitting beside her to tell her a joke or teach her about Cantabria’s long history. He always tries to keep her mind off things, and she knows he can tell that she's not doing the best, mentally speaking. 

Her depression feels like it's at its worst. Every morning that she wakes up still in this foreign world causes a lump to form in her throat. She fears she is slowly losing her hold on her origins with everyday that goes by without a change. 

She's not even sure what she is supposed to do to go back. After all, all she did to spawn here was play her favorite game. She did not use a world-travel machine, nor did she recite some kind of magical incantation. No, she simply held her controller and found herself falling from the sky and right on top of Leon Kennedy.

Leon, his name reverberates in her skull. His face, his voice, and his eyes haunt her thoughts every single day. There is not an hour that goes by when she does not think of him, of what he did to her, and what it did to her broken heart. 

Nora always had difficulty loving herself. She, like many children of nasty divorce, blamed herself for being the cause of her parents’ separation. Especially when her mother keeps repeating that her father used to be a good man—at some point before her earliest memories, apparently. 

As a child, all that meant to her was that her dad regretted her birth and that he decided to leave, abandoning her and her broken mom to fend for themselves. It was not easy, in a foreign country with no near relatives, and even more so with her mother’s own mental struggles that often rendered her impossible to live with.

As a result, insecurity has become a second nature for Nora. She doubts every one of her moves, unsure whether she's too much or not enough. Her grades suffered, which earned her her mother’s disapproval, but the latter never stepped in to help either. It was only years later that the girl figured out her ADHD was probably what made everyday tasks so much harder for her compared to her peers.

Still, no matter her general depressive tendencies and intense low self-esteem, she has never reached a point where she has felt as bad about herself as she currently feels. But then again, she should not have expected better.

How unlikable must someone be to drive a person like Leon Kennedy to brutalize them? He must have found her so annoying with her incessant talking and clumsiness, it was only a matter of time before he showed his true feelings towards her. He hates her, naturally, just like her father, and her boyfriend, and that boy, Max from seventh grade, who said he’d rather kiss her prettier friend during Spin The Bottle.

Men have never liked her, women barely tolerate her, and she is certain every person she meets eventually comes to despise her when they get to know her well enough. 

Annoying, stupid, cringey, too much, and so unbelievably ugly. That is what Leon saw. That is what everyone eventually sees, even the kind ones like Luis. Leon was just the one to figure it out quickly enough, and the things she said to him were the last straw to punish her for being so… her.

Tears bead at her eyelashes yet again as she tries and fails to ward off the evil thoughts swirling in her mind. Logically, she knows she did not do anything that truly warranted that kind of violence, and that he is in fact at fault. But depression does not function with logic, it simply feeds on her complexes, traumas, and makes them cut deeper, gnawing at her insides until she's left hollow.

She turns off the TV, suddenly feeling overstimulated from its chatter. Out of nowhere, everything feels like it's too much on her skin. The feel of the cheap leggings and tshirt Luis bought her from the grocery store, the brand new cotton panties that dig into her hip because he could not find her size, the bandage on her ankle that she has had to maintain for over a week. It all serves to make her nauseous, like her own body is caving in on itself.

Standing up abruptly, she yanks off her bandages, letting them fall in ribbons on the floor without a care, before she strides to the bathroom with a shaky breath. There, she pulls down her pants and underwear, chucking the latter into the laundry hamper with force, and sighing in relief when the sensory nightmare ends. 

Lastly, she steps back into her leggings commando—fuck it, it beats elastic indents on her ass—then reaches to turn on the faucet. A splash of water to the face, and her pounding heart begins to calm, the coolness relaxing her fraying emotions.

Only once she has repeatedly inhaled and exhaled deeply that she finally leaves the bathroom, the ball in her throat having somewhat subsided. She’s proud of herself for not completely breaking down—something she has done many times whenever Luis is not looking. No, she can learn to get a hold of herself. That evil voice in her head will not get the best of her, even if all she wants to do is fall limp on the floor like a stringless puppet.

Her bare feet thump on the cold tile as she steps into the hallway with a deep breath, ready to start dinner preparations for her host who must be returning soon as it’s already late afternoon. She can already envision his smile at the sight of his favorite meal waiting on the counter, and the image soothes her further.

On her way to the kitchen, her eyes dart to the tall mirror in the corner, and every cell in her body suddenly gets jolted in electricity like a lightning strike has befallen her from the skies.

There, in the reflection, familiar blue eyes watch her intensely from the shadows of the apartment, and when she slowly turns with a choked breath, limbs trembling in fear, she sees him.

He’s standing there, at the end of the hallway, with dark undereyes and balled fists, his jaw locked and his chest heaving. He does not try to hide, or look away. Instead, he holds her gaze, a single word falling from his lips that feels like the suction of a vacuum swallowing all air from her lungs.

“Nora,” Leon murmurs.

Next chapter coming soon.

funfact: luis and carlos's face models are both of north african descent and it pleases me greatly ✨

AND I'M STILL NOT OVER THAT FANART

----

"What the fuck."

It seemed like you were in a mansion. Opulent ceilings, fancy decorations, all that jazz. Yep, just casually, in this mansion. Great.

Why were you in this mansion, you may ask? You would love to know! Because as far as you knew, you were chilling in bed, about to go to sleep, and now you're in this freaky mansion with distant groans that were really starting to scare you.

"Where am I?" You mumble, staring at your hands as if they belonged to an alien. They might as well of, because they were not your hands. These hands were calloused, littered with scars that spoke of a lifetime of violence. You experimentally clenched one of them, it responded.

Despite these hands not being yours, they certainly acted like they were, responding to your panic and shaking alongside you, as you stumbled forward into a nearby bathroom.

It was not a great bathroom. The lights were mostly dead and is that.. Yep. A dead body lied on the ground, empty eyes staring into your soul. A circle of blood surrounded her. You tried to step around it.

Oh. A distant part of you thought, looking upwards. I'm in the women's bathroom.

You looked up, making eye contact with the person in the mirror, with this stranger that could never be you.

And I'm a man.

----

You were not proud of the monumental freakout you proceeded to have. Honestly, you were just thankful you didn't need to use any of the nearby toilets. You could only pretend to have not seen a bathtub full of blood once before it shreds your blissful ignorance. As long as you don't look at it again, it's not there, that's what you decided.

Unfortunately, what you couldn't ignore was a buzzing in one of your ears, a feminine voice suddenly speaking through them.

"Leon? Are you alright? You haven't checked in, and it's been a while. Is there a problem?" The new voice sounded kind, and while that was reassuring this whole situation was far too outlandish to calm you down. Maybe she'd be able to help you?

"Uhm.." You spoke instinctively, only to be startled into silence by the shock of hearing a voice so unlike your own speaking instead. You tried to shake off your suprise and continued.

"Hey. So um, this Leon guy, I am... not exactly him. I'm someone else." Well, you can't say you didn't try.

"What? Leon, what are you talking about?" There was concern in the woman's voice, maybe she worried that you were concussed or something, though you can't imagine that a man as built as you were currently ever getting a head injury.

"Are you okay?" She continued. "The virus shouldn't be having any effects like this, do you know what's going on?"

"No?" You tried. "No I have no idea what is going on. I was in bed, about to go to sleep, and now I am in what I can only view as literal hell with some very weird groaning going on and a dead woman at my feet. I am not doing well, and I would like to go home, right now actually." Your response gradually progressed into feverent ramblings, the panic starting to eat away at you again. You couldn't handle this.

There proceeding silence was so potent you felt like it would eat you alive. You clutched at the sink below you, but that only reminded you that your hands weren't even yours and you had to let go.

"Fuck..." You muttered.

"There's no way.." The woman responded. "Are you... Could you be Leon's soulmate? This late..?"

"Maybe?" You responded, voice feeling tight in your throat. Everything was wrong right now, and you just wanted to be right.

"I- look, this is going to be a lot to ask, but. Have you ever had any combat training?"

"Nope."

"Any stealth training?"

"Never."

"Used a gun?"

"This is the first time in my life I've even seen one in person."

"What about an axe?"

"Nah."

"Oh dear." She muttered, before a brief pause. Eventually she came back to you though.

"I hate to do this to you but, could you have a look at Leon's- sorry, your neck?"

You decided to look, considering there was not much else you were willing to do. You spotted horrible black marks, seeping through the skin there, and leading throughout the rest of your, uh, his body?

"What the hell is that." You asked, more of a demand than a question.

"That is our problem. It's this virus every survivor of Raccoon City is now facing. It's killing us, and it's only a matter of time before it kills Leon too." You blinked, surprised. You didn't even know Raccoon City had survivors. So you got your soulmate swap right before his death? The world sure is cruel...

"So why are we here then..?" You muttered.

"Because this is our only hope. We have reason to believe that this man has knowledge about the virus that we don't. It's our last shot."

You were not liking where this is going.

But she continued anyways. "Leon is investigating right now, we have no one else. Maybe you could find a safe space and wait for the switch to end but.. to be honest, I'm not sure if Leon has that kind of time. He's.. in the terminal stage."

"So.. so what, explore this creepy mansion in hopes of finding a cure? With what I'm seeing I feel like I'd die way more I find anything!" You cry out, feeling the injustices of the world weighing on your back. Why, oh why did you have to be soulmates with a fucking madman.

"Look, Leon is trained, the body you are in is trained. I have no doubt that you can get through this, you just have to try. Hey, what's your name?"

You gave your name, reluctance coating your tongue. You hated this.

"I'm Sherry. It's nice to be working together. I'll follow along with cameras when I can okay, you can do this."

"..." You didn't respond. You didn't feel like you could.

You slowly trudged out, feeling the walls narrow in on you. You felt like crying.

----

Okay you were definitely not the only person that had been here.

The rooms were littered with corpses, zombies dead a second time due to bullet wounds or knife stabs. You didn't look too long, and you didn't need to, it was certainly a sight.

You had found one zombie alive, but it didn't seem to see you, only responding slightly when you walked a little too loudly.

So you tried your best to ignore all the bodies, carefully stepping around them when you could, and inspecting any interesting looking bits of paper. You had found nothing on this mysterious neck virus.

You had however, found a corpse that was spontaneously erupting.

"Wha... Sherry...?" You began, limbs beginning to tremble. "What's happening?"

"Oh." Was the response. It was not very reassuring. "It seems like they're mutating."

"What. What does that mean." You stumble backwards, pulling out your- Leon's axe from your back and holding it up in front of you like a shield.

The body grows a red, bulbous head. Its pulsing. It notices you, grating out an ear piercing screech.

"Hey. Hey!" A voice calls out in your ear. It's your voice? At least you think it could be, but you're extremely distracted right now.

"Close your eyes." It calls. "Now."

"What?" You mutter.

"Now!"

So you close them. Not being able to see the monster in front of you was almost worse, honestly, but if this was how you were going to die, so be it.

"Raise your left hand." The voice demanded. "And wait for my signal. When I say, swing down."

You did, waiting for the executioner's call.

"Wait, wait. NOW!" It exclaimed.

You swung down, hearing an awful squelch of firm metal hitting flesh. A warm, sickening liquid coated your face. When you opened your eyes, the creature in front of you was dead.

You felt tears well up. You shook.

"Well done." Your voice called. "It's as Sherry thought. You have my training, but not the mental ability to use it. When you remove your ability to make judgement calls, the only thing you have left to use is my training."

"I.. really do not want to do the rest of this nightmare blind." You trembled. "I'm sorry... If you're my soulmate, can you come back here now... Please? I can't do this... I really, really can't."

"I would've if I could." Leon? Responds. "It was tough enough getting through to Sherry already with just your phone."

"Please..."

"Here, breath with me." Leon walks you through a few grounding techniques. It barely helps.

"I don't understand how you can do this. It's a complete utter nightmare. There's... There's blood all over me, this body is completely unfamiliar, my voice is weird, I walk differently, there's some kind of terminal condition apparently!" You hug yourself. It's all you have. But even that is strange, longer limbs wrapping around a much bulkier body than you're used to.

He sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect to be linked to a civilian. Missions like these are the norm for my life."

"I didn't expect to be soulmated to an agent either." You reply, voice dull after all your previous panic.

"When this is over, I promise, you will never have to worry again. I promised to myself ages ago I would never make my soulbond go through what I did. I mean it." Leon's determination is clear to hear, although in the cadence of your own voice it provides a strange effect. You don't take him too seriously.

To be honest, you aren't expecting him to live.

You blink, and you're at home.

There is a phone in your hand. It's your phone, it's displaying the live feed of a camera, focusing on Leon.

Your ID is on your bed nearby. Everything else seems undisturbed.

The man on the camera produces a whetstone, scraping it one handedly on his axe.

He speaks. "Sherry." He calls out. "Cut the live feed, they don't need to see anything more. It's too much already."

Your phone cuts to home screen.

You are left alone.

----

You enjoy a week of peace. Enjoy is a strong word though. And actually, so is peace.

You suffer a week of nightmares. That's much more accurate.

Your soulmate is a man borne of survival, coated in scars that speak of countless tales that you can't even imagine. He is a man you cannot fathom even existing.

And yet, he is bound to you.

You don't want him to be. The brief period of your swap had been the worst hours of your life. The fact that soulmates only ever swap once is your salvation. You never wanted to do it again.

He doesn't contact you. You don't know if he survived. From what you knew, it's very likely he died. You were just thankful you didn't get him killed, or worse, die as him. It's happened before to people.

You sighed, turning to look out your window.

There is a Porsche. Outside your house. Why?

A man steps out. He is wearing black, no trace of weapons at all. And yet, you feel a shiver go down your spine.

You feel in danger.

You watch him walk up to your door and knock.

You don't move.

He sighs, and reaches into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a key, pushes it into your door. You hear your door unlock.

"Hey!" His voice calls out. You slowly stumble over to the stairs, making eye contact with him.

"I'm here to get you. It's time to get going."

You stare at him. "Where?" You ask.

"You've seen too much. You can't live a normal life anymore, no one would allow it. I've tried. So, you're getting the next best alternative."

He walks up the stairs, firm, confident steps as he strides up to you.

"You'll be staying with me." His hand locks around your wrist, and he pulls, taking you with him as he pulls you out of your house.

"What? I can't just live with you! And what about my life, my things!" You screech, clawing at the hand that feels like an iron bar. It doesn't budge.

"Everything's been arranged." He responds, completely ignoring your struggles. He opens the side door of his porsche, pushing you in. It locks behind you, an ominous click that sends a shiver down your spine.

He opens his own door in the front, sitting in the driver's seat and starting up the car. "Anything important from your house will be taken separately to our house, and your family has been informed that you are going into witness protection."

"Witness protection?" You shout, yanking at the unmoving car doors. "I- seriously I just met you, I can't go with you!"

Leon sighs. He pulls down the glove box revealing a syringe.

"We are currently doing this the easy way." He informs you, his stare burns into you, freezing you down to the bone. "You know what I'm capable of. Do you want the hard way?"

You remain silent.

"I meant what I said. I'm never going to allow my soulmate to experience the pains that the world showed me. I'm protecting you. Even if you never understand that, I'm never going to stop either." His eyes narrow, memories clouding his gaze.