gabs

Even knowing that, even being one of the few who had survived the incident, Leon's hands still hadn't stopped shaking. He had been sitting in that cheap hotel room for hours now, trying to process everything that had happened since the previous night.

Of course, he still hadn't slept, because closing his eyes meant allowing the horrors to consume his mind. It meant being tortured, with not even the slightest chance to rest. It meant reliving the trauma and feeling trapped, with no way to escape that nightmare.

He avoided looking at himself in the mirror; he hadn't recognized himself over the past few hours, and seeing his own reflection filled him with a strange sense of disgust. The only thing keeping him grounded was the persistent throbbing of the wound in his shoulder, which had become noticeably more irritated over the last few hours. Leon took a deep breath, his trembling hand reaching toward the bandages wrapped around his body, hesitating at the last second. No, he wasn't okay.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you asked as you stepped out of the bathroom after a long, relaxing shower.

"Nothing... I was just thinking," Leon replied, his gaze still distant and unfocused.

"Mind if I take a look at that?" You pointed toward his shoulder.

"Yeah, please." He gave a small nod.

You approached him slowly, trying not to startle him. Leon remained seated on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his body hunched forward, giving the impression that he looked and felt heavier than usual. The warm yellow glow of the bedside lamp cast deep shadows beneath his eyes, revealing an exhaustion that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

It was a different kind of fatigue, something deeper, the kind that settles into every part of you and turns even the simplest actions into conscious effort. When your fingers carefully touched the bandage on his shoulder, he stiffened for a brief moment, not because of the physical pain, but from surprise. It was as if his body still interpreted any unexpected touch as an imminent threat, even when it wasn't.

The dressing needed to be changed. That much was undeniable. The wound was inflamed, its edges red and irritated, though it was still clean. You began working in silence, soaking the gauze in antiseptic while Leon kept his eyes fixed on some random spot on the wall. He looked focused, but he wasn't really seeing anything. His mind remained trapped within the dark hallways of the RPD, the sirens of abandoned police cruisers, and the echoes of gunfire aimed at the creatures.

All it took was the scent of rubbing alcohol filling the air for a memory to rise from the depths of his mind. The smell reminded him of hospitals. Hospitals reminded him of blood. Blood reminded him of Raccoon City. It was a short chain of associations, all tied to the horrors Leon had endured over the past several hours. And that small chain alone was enough to make him tremble from head to toe.

You noticed the moment his breathing changed. It became shallower, uneven, almost completely silent. It was as if his brain had simply forgotten the natural rhythm of inhaling and exhaling. His fingers gripped the bedsheet without him realizing it, his knuckles turning white from the force. Leon seemed absent, even though his body was still there.

There was an enormous distance between the man sitting in front of you and the one who, only a few hours earlier, had believed his first day as a police officer would mark the beginning of a completely different life. The boy who had driven into Raccoon City still existed somewhere, but he seemed buried beneath countless images that his mind insisted on rearranging every second, never finding an order that made any sense.

"Does it hurt?" you asked quietly.

He took a few seconds to answer.

"Not much."

But you both knew he wasn't talking about his shoulder.

There were moments when Leon felt as though his mind was operating at different speeds. One part of him remained constantly alert, cataloging every sound in the room, every creak of the wood, every car passing outside. Another part seemed to sink into a dense fog where even thinking required an overwhelming amount of effort. Sometimes he'd forget simple words in the middle of a sentence. Other times he'd stare at a glass of water for several seconds before remembering that he had meant to drink it. His body had left Raccoon City. His nervous system hadn't.

Sleeping had become an exhausting negotiation. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt an irrational fear of dreaming. Not because the dreams were necessarily horrifying, but because they were far too convincing. In some of them, he was still walking through the police station's hallways, hearing footsteps behind him. In others, he was running without knowing exactly what he was running from, only that he had to keep running. And then there were the ones that were even worse precisely because they seemed so ordinary.

The worst of them all was reliving the moment Marvin had saved his life just after Elliot had been torn in half by zombies, and realizing that he would have become just another victim among so many others. Watching Marvin turn while Leon desperately tried to save them both was unbearable; deep down, he felt he had failed Marvin too. Then he'd wake up gasping for air, unable to understand where he was for a few seconds, instinctively reaching for his gun before realizing there was no danger at all.

And then he'd find himself staring at the beige walls of the cheap hotel room he was staying in.

And at you, asleep in the bed beside his.

That was what frightened him the most. Not the monsters. But how easily his body still believed it was back there.

You carefully removed the old bandage and began applying a fresh one. Leon watched your movements in silence, perhaps because they were predictable. There was comfort in small routines, whether it was simply folding a piece of gauze, cutting a strip of tape, or gently pressing a clean bandage against his skin a fresh bandage gently against his skin. After hours in which every minute had meant improvising just to survive, even the simplest gesture seemed to restore the smallest sense of control. Even so, his shoulders remained tense. The tightness in his jaw betrayed the constant effort it took to maintain even the slightest appearance of calm. He was drowning.

"You can talk to me," you said suddenly, simply watching him.

He frowned.

"Talk about what?" Leon asked, sounding slightly confused.

"Well... about what happened." You gave him a gentle smile, still watching him carefully.

Leon let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it.

"I don't even know how to answer that."

The response came so naturally that it seemed to surprise even him. For the first time since they had survived the incident, he admitted, albeit indirectly, that his memory was already beginning to fail him. Not because he had forgotten what had happened, but because everything seemed compressed into a single block of time that was impossible to organize.

The events blurred together until they became one. The deaths blended into each other. There were faces he remembered with painful clarity, and entire moments that vanished like pages torn from a book. His mind tried to protect him by erasing details, while his body did exactly the opposite, preserving every sensation of fear with an intensity that bordered on cruelty.

"I still hear things," he confessed after a long silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Sometimes I think I hear someone knocking on the door... or a helicopter... or those... those groans."

He closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"I know they're not here. I know. But it feels like my body wants to react before I can even think."

You finished replacing the bandage and gently held his arm for a few seconds without saying anything. There were no words capable of fixing any of it. No sentence could erase the images he would carry for the rest of his life. Nothing would ever change the night of September 30th.

Leon lowered his head, breathing slowly, trying to come to terms with the weight of everything that had happened now that the adrenaline had finally left his body and all he could feel was the throbbing pain radiating from his shoulder. For the first time since it had all ended, Leon allowed the silence to remain unfilled by excuses or automatic reassurances that he was fine, because it was painfully obvious that he wasn't. Maybe it would take a long time before he felt okay again. Or maybe he would never be exactly who he had been before. And there was an almost unbearable sadness in accepting that surviving didn't always mean walking away unscathed, whether physically or psychologically.

The night terrors were impossible to control, and the following morning, you weren't surprised to find Leon already awake, staring blankly at the wall. The dark circles beneath his eyes were deeper and darker than before, a clear sign that he had slept far less than he needed to. If he had managed to sleep at all. That was when you noticed his shoulder once again stained with fresh blood.

The first signs were unmistakable: tiny beads of sweat rolled quietly down his forehead despite the coolness of the room, and faint tremors caused his body to shiver every so often. Leon insisted it was just exhaustion, but his body was slowly proving him wrong. Infections rarely waited until someone was ready to face them.

"You're running a fever," you observed, your voice laced with concern.

He shook his head almost immediately, not even bothering to look up.

"I'm not."

You reached out and placed the back of your hand against his forehead. Just as you expected, it was warm.

"Leon..." you sighed.

He let out a weary breath, utterly exhausted by everything.

"It's nothing," he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible.

It was strange to think that someone who had faced unimaginable creatures, explosions, and hallways overrun by the dead could be so afraid of admitting that he wasn't okay. Deep down, you knew it was because taking care of his own body meant acknowledging that it still held some value. And that was exactly what Leon had been struggling with ever since he left Raccoon City behind.

As you carefully removed the bandage, you noticed that he kept his gaze lowered, completely still, accepting every movement you made with an unsettling passivity. He didn't complain when the cotton brushed against his irritated skin, nor did he even flinch when the antiseptic stung the wound. He had almost come to accept that any pain was insignificant compared to everything else he had endured.

You gently cleaned away the discharge beginning to form around the injury. Leon watched your hands work in silence until his voice finally emerged, so quietly it almost disappeared between one breath and the next.

"Do you think I did enough?" Leon asked hesitantly.

You paused for a moment, thoughtful.

"What do you mean?"

"There." He finally looked at you, searching your face for any trace of reassurance you could possibly give him.

That single word was enough for you to understand everything without either of you having to state the obvious. In the end, mentally, he was still there. Leon kept staring down at his lap, his hands clasped together so tightly that his fingers trembled ever so slightly. Then he took a deep breath, trying to hold on to what little control he still had.

"I keep trying to remember their faces." His voice was hoarse. "Every time I close my eyes, I remember Marvin telling me not to hesitate... Officer Elliot screaming for help... a cop I didn't even really know... people pounding on doors... running..." He drew in another breath, but the air didn't seem to fill his lungs properly. "And I left."

You opened your mouth to respond, but Leon continued before your words had the chance to reach him.

"I know I couldn't save everyone."

Silence.

"I know," he repeated, his eyes welling up once again.

Another moment of silence.

"But that doesn't change the fact that they died." Leon suddenly choked on a sob.

For a moment, just a brief moment, you didn't know what to say. There was no way to comfort him. There were no beautiful words or comforting gestures that could undo everything he had lived through. Leon still didn't know how or when you had found him, but now every passing second felt like another reason to be grateful that you were there with him, refusing to let him drown.

It took nearly forty minutes before he finally calmed down completely, his sobs fading into quiet sniffles. Once you were certain he had settled, you silently asked for permission to continue cleaning his wound, and he granted it with a small nod. You resumed tending to the injury, noticing the way he subtly clenched his jaw. The fever had made his skin sensitive, his muscles stiff, and small tremors traveled through his arms beyond his control.

"Leon..." you whispered, looking at him with tenderness and care.

He smiled faintly, but it was a smile weighed down by exhaustion, by the emotional and psychological toll he was carrying.

"It's funny..." he murmured. "I spent years wanting to become a cop."

You remained silent, allowing him to continue. Whatever he was about to say, you knew it mattered.

"I thought I'd be helping people."

Your throat tightened as he let out a quiet laugh, utterly devoid of humor.

"On my first day..." His eyes finally met yours, red from exhaustion and something far more difficult to put into words. "On my first day, I watched an entire city be consumed by a virus and swallowed by chaos."

You finished changing the bandage and noticed that he was trembling more than before. This time, it wasn't just because of his emotional state. His fever was beginning to climb, slowing his breathing and leaving a faint flush across his face. Even sitting upright, Leon looked as though he was spending an unbearable amount of energy just to stay awake and keep functioning.

"Lie down." You gently guided him back toward the bed, adjusting the pillows and blankets.

"I'm fine," he muttered, trying to pull away from your touch.

"You can barely sit up," you replied, insisting that he lie down.

Leon opened his mouth to argue, but the dizziness came first. He raised a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing slowly. When he tried to stand, his legs gave out almost immediately. You caught him before he could lose his balance, and for a brief moment, Leon looked embarrassed.

"Sorry," he murmured, his eyes slowly drifting shut.

You frowned.

"What for?"

He didn't answer right away, and he wasn't going to.

You helped him lie down gently. The fever caused his eyes to lose focus every now and then, and simply resting his head against the pillow drew a heavy sigh from him. His muscles finally relaxed a little, but only because they were too exhausted to remain on alert.

You carefully ran your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, brushing a few strands away from his forehead, and realized that, for the first time since the two of you had escaped, Leon wasn't trying to hide how exhausted he truly was. His eyes remained closed, but his breathing stayed uneven, and even as the fever slowly pulled him into sleep, his fingers continued to twitch against the bedsheet, as though some part of him was still holding a gun that was no longer there.

You took a slow breath, knowing this was only the beginning of a long road he would have to walk. It wouldn't be easy. The path wouldn't be straight or gentle. It would be filled with fear, hesitation, and uncertainty. You couldn't predict the future, and you knew that. But tomorrow would come, and the two of you could try again.

He had only recently returned from a particularly unpleasant mission in Pittsburgh. After a viral outbreak spread through a hospital and turned several victims into zombies, Leon was convinced that life still hadn't run out of ways to surprise him.

For a government agent like him, having a normal day was extremely rare.

He had barely wrapped up the Pittsburgh case when he was called in to deal with a situation at the White House. From his perspective, it was always one crisis after another. The world never seemed capable of enjoying a single moment of peace, and if that was the case, neither would he.

This time, however, Leon hadn't expected the crisis to be caused by someone within the government itself. On one hand, it was good to see Claire again, even if they often found themselves on opposite sides when it came to bioweapons and the secrets the government preferred to keep buried. Leon often reflected on those matters because, deep down, he felt that what he was doing was protecting the people he cared about.

The truth could be cruel, but not everyone needed to carry the weight of it all the time.

When he finally arrived home, he was greeted by the familiar emptiness of his apartment. It wasn't anything new, but it was starting to feel exhausting and repetitive. The silence was expected by now, serving as a constant reminder of everything he knew he would probably never have.

Even so, he found himself sitting on the couch with an expensive glass of whiskey, his tie loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and the television playing the same shows he always watched. It was his way of keeping his mind occupied, distracting himself from the feeling that had been quietly growing in his chest with each passing day.

The next morning, Leon decided he needed to clear his head. He desperately needed a break from the crushing weight that seemed permanently settled on his shoulders. Caught in the endless cycle of violence that defined his daily life, he rarely had time to go out, have fun, or simply enjoy himself. There was something almost ironic about realizing that his entire life had been devoted to protecting people who didn't even know his name—or that he existed at all.

Lost in his own thoughts, Leon noticed a boy who couldn't have been older than seven happily playing on the playground. The kid's ball suddenly rolled toward the street, and if Leon hadn't sprinted after him and pulled him back just as a car drove by, the morning could have ended very differently.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" you rushed toward the boy, visibly shaken as you immediately checked him over.

"Yeah, Mom. The man didn't let me get hurt," Jason said, pointing at the stranger.

"Thank you. I don't even know what to say." You looked at the man, who seemed far calmer than anyone should have been in that situation. "It happened so fast. I barely had time to react."

"It's okay." Leon offered a polite smile. "That was a close one, huh?"

"JayJay, what do we say when someone helps us?" you asked, turning back to your son.

"Thank you, sir," the boy said with a bright smile.

"You don't have to thank me." Leon shook his head. "But I think you're going to need a new ball—and maybe be a little more careful at the playground next time."

"Definitely." You nodded quickly in agreement.

"Are you okay?" Leon noticed the slight tremble in your hands. It was obvious that you were still shaken.

"I will be. Don't worry. It was just a scare," you replied with a gentle smile, grateful for his concern.

Leon let out a short breath, relieved to hear that. Jason already seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident and was once again clutching the ball against his chest while staring at the playground with an obvious desire to return to playing.

"Kids are quick to move on," Leon commented, watching the boy.

"I wish I had that ability sometimes," you replied with a nervous laugh.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence. Jason was already distracted again, pointing at the slide and enthusiastically telling some story about a superhero that apparently only he knew.

Leon found himself smiling.

"He's quite a character."

"Is that a polite way of saying he keeps me busy?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Maybe a little."

The answer drew a genuine laugh from you, the first one since the scare. Leon noticed that the trembling in your hands had finally started to fade.

"Well... anyway, thank you. Really." Your gaze returned to him. "I don't even like thinking about what could have happened."

"But it didn't happen. That's what matters."

There was something strangely comforting about the way he said it. No dramatics. No turning the situation into something bigger than it needed to be.

Jason suddenly tugged at the hem of your shirt.

"Mom, can I go back and play?"

You looked at your son for a few seconds before letting out a defeated sigh.

"You can. But stay away from the street."

"I promise!"

The boy took off running before he had even finished the sentence.

"That promise lasted exactly half a second," Leon observed.

"You're already figuring out how he works."

The two of you watched Jason for a few moments. The park was busy, the morning sun illuminated the playground equipment, and little by little, the lingering feeling of panic began to fade away.

"Sorry, I never asked your name," you said, realizing that neither of you had properly introduced yourselves.

"Leon."

"Nice to meet you, Leon." You smiled shyly.

"Likewise."

You offered your hand out of courtesy, and Leon shook it briefly. It was a simple gesture.

After the incident at the park, Leon disappeared for a few weeks because of work. That was practically routine for him and nothing out of the ordinary, but for some reason, he kept thinking back to the day he met you.

Not that he was building expectations or anything, but Leon thought it would be nice to see you again, even if he wasn't entirely sure what to make of that feeling. Maybe you didn't even remember him anymore—the stranger who had saved your son's life. Then again, he hadn't noticed a wedding ring on your finger. That could mean a lot of things, or absolutely nothing at all.

Three weeks later, Leon was at the grocery store near his apartment, picking up a few essentials, when someone accidentally knocked a can off a shelf nearby. He crouched down to pick it up, and when he stood again, he found himself face-to-face with Jason.

"Didn't lose your ball this time, huh?" Leon laughed, handing the can to the boy.

"Nope. My mom bought me a new one," he replied politely. "But she also says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Well, she's right." Leon nodded, amused by the situation before spotting you approaching.

"Jason... didn't I tell you not to run off?" you said with a sigh, sounding mildly exasperated. Then you noticed Leon. "Oh, hi, Leon. What a coincidence!"

You let out a small laugh, clearly not quite believing the coincidence yourself.

"I swear I'm trying to teach him not to take off running everywhere."

"She says that about twenty times a day," Jason informed Leon with an indifferent shrug.

"Because you make me repeat it twenty times a day." You rolled your eyes at your son.

"Fair enough," Leon admitted, trying not to laugh.

Jason seemed satisfied with his contribution to the conversation before becoming distracted by a nearby shelf that was obviously much more interesting than two adults talking.

"So..." you turned your attention back to Leon. "How have you been?"

"Good. And you guys?"

"Surviving."

The answer came with a tired smile that made Leon wonder just how many nights of sleep a seven-year-old was capable of destroying.

"That sounded oddly specific."

"You have no idea."

For the first time since meeting each other, the conversation felt completely natural. There was no near-accident hanging over the interaction and no lingering tension from a stressful situation. It was easy, uncomplicated, and comfortable.

Strange, perhaps, but not unpleasant.

"Do you shop here often?" you asked, making conversation.

"Almost every week." Leon shrugged. "Or whenever I'm actually home, anyway."

"Then I guess we live relatively close to each other."

Leon had already realized that before responding. Considering it was the closest grocery store in the neighborhood, it made sense.

"Probably."

For some reason, the realization pleased him more than it should have.

The conversation was gently interrupted when Jason reappeared in the middle of the aisle carrying a cereal box that looked nearly as big as he was.

"Mom, can we get this one?"

You glanced at the box.

"No."

"Why?" Jason gave you the most convincing lost-puppy look he could manage.

"Because that's basically sugar with a little bit of cereal mixed in."

"But it tastes good."

"Exactly."

Leon let out a quiet laugh as he watched the negotiation unfold. Jason immediately pointed at him, a mischievous grin spreading across his tooth-gapped smile.

"See? The guy agrees with me."

"Don't put words in my mouth, buddy."

"Traitor."

The boy's indignation was so genuine that you ended up laughing too. Jason crossed his arms over his chest, clutching the cereal box as if he were protecting a treasure that was about to be stolen. The pout that appeared on his face earned another chuckle from Leon.

"I'm going to remember this."

"Are you really?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I am."

"You forget where you leave your sneakers."

"That's different," Jason shot back, still pouting.

"How?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

Jason opened his mouth to answer but quickly closed it again, clearly unable to find an explanation that supported his logic.

"Because it is."

Leon had to look away for a moment to hide his smile.

"Solid argument."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Oh."

You shook your head, far too used to that kind of conversation to be surprised anymore. With a resigned sigh, you took the cereal box from the boy's hands and placed it back on the shelf. Jason followed the movement with the same expression someone might wear while watching a tragedy unfold in slow motion.

"My cereal..." Jason began in a whiny voice.

"You'll survive."

"You don't know that," he argued again, a little stubbornly.

"I'm pretty sure."

"Pretty?"

"Ninety-nine percent."

Jason seemed to consider that information for a few seconds before accepting defeat. As the boy wandered a few steps ahead, distracted by other colorful products on the shelves, a brief silence settled between you and Leon.

It wasn't uncomfortable.

In fact, it was the kind of silence that naturally appeared when two people realized they were enjoying each other's company.

"Sorry about that." You discreetly gestured toward Jason. "He's a force of nature."

"I'd already noticed," Leon replied calmly and politely.

"He wasn't always like this." You took a deep breath, watching the boy, who was completely absorbed by the shelves.

That caught Leon's attention.

"No?"

You watched your son for a moment. Jason was trying to figure out which package of cookies looked the most interesting, completely oblivious to the conversation.

"When his father left, he got really quiet for a while." Your voice softened. "I thought he'd lost that spark all kids usually have."

Leon didn't respond immediately. He simply followed your gaze toward the boy and considered his words for a moment, perhaps thinking about the best way to respond without sounding rude or intrusive.

"But he got it back," he observed.

A small smile appeared on your lips.

"He did."

For some reason, seeing that smile made something tighten in Leon's chest. Maybe it was because he knew exactly how valuable it was to smile again after life had tried to take that away from you. And for a brief moment, Leon simply decided he should take a chance.

"I know this might sound a little sudden, but..." He looked at you with a hint of hesitation. "Would you maybe like to grab a coffee sometime?"

The question seemed to catch you off guard.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The grocery store remained busy around you, people pushing full carts, children begging their parents for candy, and the distant sound of cash registers ringing up purchases, but your attention was completely focused on Leon. Maybe because you genuinely hadn't expected that.

Not because he was unpleasant, or because the idea hadn't crossed your mind at some point, but because Leon seemed like the kind of man who thought carefully before acting. The type who considered every possibility before taking a step forward. And yet there he was, clearly a little uncertain, waiting for an answer.

A smile slowly appeared on your lips.

"You know that sounds a lot like a date."

Leon let out a quiet laugh through his nose, glancing away for a second.

"I think that was the idea," he replied shyly.

That made you laugh too.

It was strange how natural the conversation felt. You had only met twice, but there wasn't that awkward feeling of talking to someone you barely knew. Maybe because your first interaction had happened during such an intense moment. Maybe because Leon carried a sense of calm that was almost impossible to ignore.

You studied him for a few seconds. The relaxed posture, the reserved demeanor, the way he seemed to genuinely pay attention to everything around him. There was something about him that inspired trust, even if you couldn't quite explain why.

"I'd love to."

As composed as your answer sounded, you still noticed the small wave of relief that crossed his face. It was quick. So quick that someone else might not have noticed.

But you did.

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

"Really."

"Great."

Leon nodded once, almost to himself, as though he were processing the fact that it had actually worked.

"You seem surprised."

"Maybe a little."

"Should I be offended?"

"No." He smiled. "I just thought the chances of you saying no were higher."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

The question seemed to make him think for a moment.

"Because you're a single mom who just met a random guy at the grocery store."

The honesty was so unexpected that you couldn't help laughing.

"Fair point."

"I try to be realistic."

"Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Realistic." You crossed your arms over your chest as you looked at him with obvious amusement. "You already had a few advantages."

"Oh, yeah?"

"You saved my son from getting hit by a car."

"That helps."

"It helps a lot." You nodded lightly.

A smile appeared on Leon's lips. Not one of those polite smiles he seemed to wear so often, but a genuine smile capable of completely softening his features.

Before either of you could continue, Jason came running back down the aisle with two packs of cookies in his arms and the kind of energy that clearly belonged to a child who had not yet learned the meaning of the word calm.

"Mom, look!" Jason called for your attention.

You immediately sighed.

"What is it now?"

"These are on sale."

"Jay, sweetheart, you don't even know what 'on sale' means." You looked at him with genuine surprise.

"It means you buy more." The little boy shrugged, completely unfazed by your response.

Leon had to look away to hide his laugh. You, on the other hand, looked like you were reconsidering every life choice that had led you to that moment.

"Who taught you that?"

"You did." He answered as though it were obvious where he had learned the word.

"I definitely did not teach you that."

"I'm pretty sure you did." Jason shook his head.

The boy flashed a proud smile, completely convinced by his own answer. Leon watched the exchange between the two of you in silence for a few moments. There was something incredibly simple about the scene. Something ordinary. And maybe that was exactly why it felt so pleasant.

For years, his life had been made up of chases, missions, violence, and goodbyes. He had grown accustomed to the idea that his existence would never be normal.

But there, in that grocery store aisle, watching a mother argue with her son about cookies while trying not to laugh, normality seemed surprisingly appealing.

And far more appealing than it probably should have been.

When you looked up again and caught him watching the scene, Leon had the strange feeling that maybe he was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Here, this is my number. You can call me about that coffee," you said, handing him your phone number.

With that, you finished your shopping and left, allowing Leon to do what he had originally come to do without any more childish distractions. He remained standing in the aisle for several moments, simply reflecting and processing everything that had happened. In a way, he found himself genuinely looking forward to the coffee.

The weeks passed far more quickly than he would have liked to admit.

Between missions, meetings, protocols, and the endless bureaucracy that came with his job, Leon began to worry that you might be upset about his sudden disappearance. Not that it was anyone's fault, but sometimes his work could be incredibly unpredictable. Deep down, he truly wanted this. He wanted the chance to get to know someone and see where it might lead.

So, gathering a bit of courage, Leon dialed the number you had given him that day at the grocery store, hoping you would answer and somehow forgive him for disappearing. When the call connected, it felt as though all the air had left his lungs.

"Hey, it's me, Leon..." he began, his voice slightly shaky, almost imperceptibly so. "I know I've been gone, but I can explain. Well, if you're still willing to have that coffee with me, anyway."

"Hey, Leon. Are you okay? Your voice sounds a little... strange," you replied, immediately noticing the hesitation.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It's just... work stuff." He let out a heavy sigh. "Anyway, I wanted to see if you're still up for that coffee."

"Yes, of course! Today?" you answered with a hint of enthusiasm.

"Sure. The one near the park?" Leon suggested with a smile, even though you couldn't see it.

"That sounds like a great idea. See you in thirty minutes? Jason is spending the night at his cousin's house." You leaned against the kitchen counter, biting your lower lip.

"Yeah, that works. See you in thirty." Leon smiled again.

Leon let out a slow breath as soon as the call ended, still holding the phone to his ear for a second longer than necessary, processing what had just happened. He walked past one corner of the kitchen counter, glanced at the bottles left there, and for the first time in weeks, didn't feel that familiar urge to immediately put everything back in order.

It wasn't a big deal. Just coffee. That was all. But something inside him had instantly turned something simple into something important the moment he realized that not only did you still want to see him, but you also seemed genuinely excited about the idea.

Half an hour later, they were at the café near the park, a small place with dark brick walls and large windows, iron tables on the sidewalk, and a discreet bell that chimed when Leon stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, baked pastries, and cinnamon filled the air in a welcoming way, creating the perfect atmosphere for a first date.

Leon glanced around quickly before spotting you sitting by the window, and for a second he simply stood there without realizing it. You looked different from the way you had at the grocery store. Not dramatically so, but enough for him to notice: your shoulders seemed less tense, your face softer, the same gentle mannerisms still there, only now without the stress of keeping track of a child running through aisles and shelves. When you looked up and saw him, the smile that appeared on your face was immediate, simple, and so natural that it settled somewhere in the middle of his chest, spreading a pleasant warmth through him.

"You came," you said lightly, almost teasingly, as if there was still a hint of surprise behind the words.

Leon lowered his gaze briefly, a small smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"I said I would." Leon shrugged, sounding calmer and more relaxed.

"I know." You rested your elbow on the table and studied his face with subtle attention, nothing invasive.

The coffee arrived quickly; two simple cups, steam rising in thin lines that dissolved into the air before reaching the dark wooden ceiling. Leon wrapped both hands around his cup, not because he was cold, but out of habit, as if the warmth helped organize his thoughts. You stirred your drink with a small spoon, watching the liquid swirl slowly before looking back up at him.

"So," you said, resting your chin lightly against your hand, "were the work problems really that bad?"

Leon let out a breath that sounded halfway between a laugh and exhaustion. He took a moment before answering, choosing his words carefully because he didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want to suddenly unload the weight of a life that had honestly been weighing on him for far too long.

"They were just... complicated. More complicated than I expected." Leon replied, his eyes fixed on the steaming coffee.

You simply nodded slowly, accepting the answer without pressing for more, and that made more of a difference than he could ever explain out loud. That was when he realized there was no expectation behind the question, only harmless curiosity.

"So you didn't disappear because you changed your mind," you commented almost casually, though there was a spark of amusement in your eyes.

Leon raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider the accusation for a second.

"Not exactly."

"Hmm." You narrowed your eyes on purpose, playing up the seriousness of the question.

And Leon realized he was starting to enjoy that little game between the two of you far more than he probably should. The way your conversations always seemed to carry a certain lightness without ever feeling forced or intrusive.

It was easy.

Comfortable.

"I was afraid you'd think I'd thrown your number away," he admitted at last, the honesty coming much more easily than he expected.

You blinked in surprise and then laughed, a quiet laugh accompanied by a slight tilt of your head and a brightness in your expression.

"Seriously? You actually thought I'd think that?"

"It wouldn't be the first time someone interpreted silence as disinterest." He hesitated for a brief moment, a trace of insecurity slipping through.

Your expression softened for a moment, and you absentmindedly stirred your spoon without looking at him, considering what that might mean. When you spoke again, your voice was softer, though still light.

"I have a son, Leon. My schedule isn't exactly organized. If I don't reply right away, it's usually because I'm trying to handle some kind of domestic catastrophe."

That earned a short, genuine laugh from him, and the sound fit perfectly into the cozy atmosphere of the café, blending with the clinking of dishes and the faint rustle of someone turning a page near the counter.

"So I was forgiven because your life is chaotic?" he ventured, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

"It was a combination of factors," you replied, trying to sound far more serious than the situation deserved, and the two of you ended up smiling at the same time.

The date had been pleasant. Leon still wasn't entirely sure about revealing the true nature of his work, but something told him that this was only the beginning.

Slowly, he started fitting into your routine in a gentle, natural way. Friday night dinners became a regular thing, and he always made a point of keeping Jason entertained. The boy was like a miniature walking tornado. There were outings with all three of you, quieter moments with just the two of you, and countless little details that proved he had become a constant presence in your life.

That was, of course, until the night Leon showed up at your apartment late in the evening, completely injured and exhausted.

The sight of him was terrifying.

"Leon, what the hell happened?" you asked as you hurried him inside.

"Remember when I said my job was a little complicated?" he grunted in pain as he collapsed onto the couch. "Well... sometimes this happens."

"What are you, exactly? A pimp? Do you work for the mafia?" you asked, completely overwhelmed by every horrible possibility running through your head.

"No, not even close." He let out a weak laugh, immediately followed by another pained groan. "I work for the government. A division that investigates bioterrorism."

"A secret agent, seriously?" you replied, not believing him.

"I'm serious." Leon sighed, showing you his identification badge. "I wish it were a joke, but... I've been doing this since Raccoon City."

"Oh God... you were there?" Your voice was filled with surprise.

His silence spoke volumes. It wasn't really your business, but you knew about the incident and what had happened to the city; the destruction and all the deaths caused by the outbreak. Whatever had happened to him there must have been traumatic, and that was more than a little obvious.

"Come on, let's take care of this," you whispered gently, guiding him toward the bathroom.

You had already realized just how sensitive Leon could be. Even if he didn't show it, you'd noticed it long ago, probably because you were a single parent. Raising a child had taught you things that no adult ever could.

One of his biggest insecurities was clearly the scars covering his body. Every one of them came from some intense story, some trauma he carried in silence, and each served as a reminder of all the terrible things he had been forced to endure. One in particular stood out: the bullet scar on his shoulder.

Naturally, you never pressured him to talk about any of it. You always respected his boundaries, and that was something Leon valued deeply; when the voices in his head became too loud, your affection was often enough to quiet them again.

The bathroom was lit only by the warm yellow light above the mirror, casting a soft glow across the pale tiles. The apartment remained quiet except for the sound of running water from the sink as you soaked a clean towel.

Leon sat on the closed toilet lid, his elbows resting on his knees. His posture made it obvious how tired he was.

Exhausted, actually.

He watched you open the first-aid kit without saying a word, and maybe it was because he didn't have the energy to argue. Or maybe, deep down, he liked being taken care of more than he cared to admit.

"Lift your arm." You approached him slowly.

"Are you giving me orders now?" Leon smiled faintly.

"Lift your arm, Kennedy." You repeated calmly, sounding slightly more stern than usual.

He let out a theatrical sigh.

"Yes, ma'am."

Even injured, he still found the energy to be irritating in that way that only he could manage. You fought back a smile.

When you pulled back the sleeve of his shirt, the expression on your face changed immediately. The injury looked worse up close. Much worse.

A deep cut ran along part of his arm, surrounded by dark bruises that would undoubtedly look even worse by morning. Leon noticed your reaction.

"It’s been worse," he commented, trying to downplay it.

"That doesn't help at all," you shot back while cleaning the area around the cut and bruises.

"I'm just trying to reassure you," Leon replied, still sounding calm.

"You showed up at my apartment bleeding."

"Fair point."

You shook your head with a long sigh. Sometimes it was impossible to tell whether he made those jokes to lighten the mood or to hide how badly he was hurt.

Probably both.

Carefully, you began cleaning the wound, and Leon immediately clenched his jaw. It was an almost imperceptible movement, but you noticed. Because you always noticed when something was wrong with him.

It was one of the many skills you'd acquired while raising Jason on your own.

The towel brushed against the injured skin once more, and Leon slowly exhaled through his nose, focusing on anything other than the persistent sting of pain.

"That hurts," he stated.

"I noticed."

"I didn't complain."

"You made that face." You smiled faintly, a hint of teasing in your voice.

"What face?" he asked, feigning surprise.

"The face you make when something hurts." You pointed out gently, already knowing it was something obvious after spending so much time getting to know him.

"I don't have a specific face," Leon replied, trying—and failing miserably—to defend himself.

"You do."

"I don't."

He insisted stubbornly, sounding exactly like Jason whenever he was trying to avoid getting in trouble.

"You do."

Leon looked away.

By that point, it was typical. He would argue about something ridiculous only to give up a few seconds later. For several minutes, the only sounds in the room were the rustle of bandages being organized and the soft patter of rain drifting through the slightly open kitchen window, making the night feel oddly normal.

When you finally finished bandaging him up, you took a step back and examined your work.

"There."

Leon looked at his arm and then at you. He smiled again, testing the mobility of the limb before declaring playfully:

"You completely missed an opportunity to charge for that."

"I'm making a note of it for next time." You shrugged, tossing the blood-stained gauze into the trash.

"There's a next time?" Leon teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Considering your track record?" you teased back, handing him a towel and a change of clothes in case he wanted a shower.

He let out a tired laugh.

And that was exactly how the three of you became a real family.

It hadn't happened all at once. There wasn't a defining conversation, a formal request, or some overly dramatic moment where everyone suddenly realized what they were becoming. The truth was much simpler. It happened little by little, growing and taking root. In the phone calls during trips. In the messages sent at impossible hours. In the weekends spent together. In the small empty spaces Leon gradually filled until one day nobody could imagine life without him there.

The calls had started shortly after he realized how restless you became whenever he had to leave for a mission. He never went into details. He never said exactly where he was going or what he was doing. Sometimes the phone would ring in the middle of the night, and all you would hear was his tired voice on the other end of the line.

"Just calling to let you know I'm okay."

Other times it was a short message saying his flight had been delayed or that he would be home in a few days. It wasn't much, but it meant everything. Over time, you came to understand that this was his way of taking care of you. Leon had never been particularly good with feelings. He grew up in a world where vulnerability was an unattainable luxury and where attachment often ended in loss. Even so, he tried in his own way. Those small phone calls eventually became as important a part of your routine as anything else.

Jason, meanwhile, didn't take long to develop an almost immediate admiration for him. Maybe because children saw things adults tended to overcomplicate, but Jason didn't see the federal agent, the survivor of Raccoon City, or the man carrying physical and emotional scars that were difficult to count. He only saw Leon. The guy who showed up to baseball games even after spending days traveling. The guy who helped with math homework at the kitchen table while pretending to understand far more of the subject than he actually did. The guy who bought ice cream after losses and celebrated victories as though they were championship finals.

You started noticing it during an ordinary afternoon at one of the school games. Leon had returned from a trip that very morning. He still looked tired. The dark circles under his eyes were more noticeable, and his movements carried that weight you had already learned to recognize after particularly difficult missions. Even so, there he was, sitting in the bleachers with a cup of coffee in his hand, watching every play with complete attention. When Jason hit a particularly good ball, the first person he looked for in the crowd was Leon. And when he found him, he flashed such a huge smile that it practically lit up the entire field. Leon answered with a thumbs-up, looking proud in a way that made your heart tighten.

That was the moment you realized things had gone far beyond friendship because Leon looked for Jason in the crowd too. He organized his schedule around the boy's commitments. He remembered important dates, school meetings, and presentations. He worried when Jason got sick.

He cared.

Several weeks later, on a particularly quiet Saturday night, you found the two of them asleep on the living room couch. The television was still on at a low volume, playing some cartoon neither of them had finished watching. Jason was practically sprawled across Leon, using his arm as a pillow with absolutely no regard for the circulation of the poor victim. Leon looked uncomfortable, twisted into an awkward position, and would probably wake up complaining about back pain. Even so, his arm remained securely wrapped around the boy, keeping him safe even in his sleep.

You stood there watching the scene for a few seconds.

For the first time in a very long while, everything felt complete. It didn't have to be perfect, because life itself wasn't. The missions still existed, just as the goodbyes did. There was still the fear that Leon might not come home one day.

But there was this, too.

The calm that came after a terrible storm. The certainty that safety could exist.

That comfort could be found in simplicity.

Later that night, after Jason was asleep in his room and the apartment had finally fallen silent, you and Leon remained in the living room sharing a mug of tea while rain tapped softly against the windows. The room was illuminated only by the lamps scattered throughout the space, creating a cozy atmosphere that made the rest of the world feel far away.

Leon was watching the rain slide down the glass when he spoke.

"Jason called me Dad today."

You immediately turned your head toward him. The surprise appeared before you could hide it, and all Leon did was let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh.

"It was an accident. He was talking to a friend, and it just happened," he added before taking a sip of tea.

For a few seconds, he stared down into his mug, completely thoughtful and quiet. When he spoke again, much of the lightness had left his voice.

"I didn't correct him," he whispered. "I didn't tell him he couldn't."

Your heart tightened. There was something in that tone you knew very well. Fear. The same fear that appeared every time something good entered his life.

"Did that bother you?" you asked softly.

Leon took a while to answer. His eyes remained fixed on the warm liquid inside the mug as he considered the question, trying to understand exactly how it made him feel.

"No."

The answer was honest.

"Actually... it was probably one of the best things that's ever happened to me."

The silence that followed was heavy with meanings that didn't need to be spoken aloud because both of you already understood everything hidden behind that sentence.

It was about loneliness. About loss. About the people he hadn't been able to save. About the ghosts that still followed him on difficult nights.

You knew Leon had spent most of his life surviving. Always running. Always fighting. Always carrying responsibilities that no one should have to carry alone.

And now, for the first time, he had found something different. Something he didn't have to earn. Something he didn't have to protect alone.

A family.

You reached across the couch and took his hand. Leon lowered his gaze to your intertwined fingers before looking back at you. And in that moment, there was such sincere vulnerability in his eyes that it almost hurt.

Neither of you said anything else, but you didn't need to, because some things were simply too big to explain. So you remained there, side by side, listening to the rain falling outside while the apartment stayed warm and peaceful around you.

And for the first time in many years, Leon allowed himself to believe that maybe he had finally found what he had been searching for since Raccoon City.

A place to come back to.

A place where he was loved.