Your Friendly Neighborhood Dumbass™

You're buzzing with excitement, knowing you're going to see the 49-year-old Leon S. Kennedy in his glory after playing Grace's part at the Wrenwood Hotel. You have been anticipating the release of Resident Evil Requiem ever since you saw the trailer for the game. Now that it's in your Steam library, you have been itching to play the game after work.

You're sitting at your desk, knees pressing against your chest as the cut scene plays before you. Your heart is still pounding against your chest after you manage to escape from the infected police officer, Cole. You watch Grace collapse in the strange man's iron grip, her body slumping to the side, and the screen goes black.

"Is it finally happening?" You whisper, leaning forward towards the monitor, and watch the series of police cars slowly appear on the screen, before cutting to a scene where it shows a dead body with strange blotches on the palm of the deceased's hand. Your eyes light up. "It is! It is it is it is!"

The man—obviously, it's thee Leon S. Kennedy—gets up from where he was kneeling and leaves the area that is blocked off with crime scene tape.

"Talk to me. Is this one like the others?" A woman's voice breaks through the sound of pouring rain as the man walks towards the CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS and POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape.

"Same black blotches." He ducks under the tape and continues to walk past the police cars at the crime scene.

"And it's not postmortem lividity?" The mission coordinator asks.

"No." He turns toward the area where his car is parked. "No, this is different. That's six now. Six survivors of Raccoon City, all dead from the same thing." The scene switches to the inside of the car.

"Yeah, that's… not good."

"No… No, it's not." The car door opens, and the investigator gets into the car before closing it.

You lean in your seat, biting your bottom lip. God, his voice is so husky. You continue watching the cut scene, completely immersed and enamored by the sight of the man you will be playing as very soon, once the cut scene is over. The mission coordinator proceeds to give additional information to the mysterious man.

You already know who this mysterious man is behind the wheel. But when the bottom half of his face is shown in the rear-view mirror, you audibly gasp and continue to watch the cut scene, watching the man grab his gun and pop out the cylinder, spinning it around before popping it back in, while the mission coordinator continues to speak in his intercom.

The minute the game finally reveals Leon's face, you gasp. "Oh my—Leon, you're so handsome."

For about thirty seconds, Leon doesn't respond to the woman on the other end of his intercom. His eyebrows slightly furrow, his eyes scanning his surroundings. Did he just hear someone else's voice? It's certainly not the mission coordinator. What the hell?

"You there, Leon?" The mission coordinator asks, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Leon nods. "Yeah. I'm here."

"You okay?" Leon can hear the woman raise her eyebrows as she waits for his response.

Leon doesn't respond to her question. Leon glances in his rear-view mirror, checking to see if a random woman may have sneaked into his car, but he sees no one. Leon pushes the start button of his Porsche Cayenne Turbo GT, and the black luxury car purrs to life.

"Send me the address," Leon says, putting his car in reverse and turning halfway. "I'll check it out." Leon puts his gearshift into drive before he drives off into the night.

You stare at the dark screen after watching Leon's car disappear into the night—your mouth agape. You're so glad that you spent $69.99 for this game. You could spend additional money on the deluxe version, but you wanted to finish the game first before deciding whether a deluxe version is worth buying.

You end up playing the game for a little over an hour. You're now on Grace's part of the game, where you need to find a screwdriver for the fuse box in Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center. You didn't know what got into you when you chose to play the standard classic mode rather than casual or standard modern mode.

"God, I'm so stupid. Why am I doing this to myself?" You mutter after Grace grabs the ink ribbon in the room that you unlocked with the Cherub Key. "Limited autosaves, and I need to save my gameplay wisely. Why did I choose this mode again?"

You're roaming around the area as Grace—you're playing in first-person point of view—trying to gather the courage to go to the nursing station. It's so dark that you have to squint to see in the darkness. As much as you want to change the setting to make it a little brighter for you to see in the dark, where's the fun in that?

"It's okay! I can do this! Everything will be okay, and nothing will happen!" You try to give yourself a pep talk, having Grace walk to the nursing station with a tiny lighter in her hand, illuminating her path. Just as Grace approaches the door, a cut scene is triggered, and an infected corpse falls through the door, scaring both you and Grace.

Grace leans down and touches the corpse's neck. "He's dead." Grace states the obvious.

"I would hope so." You mutter, mentally preparing for what's to come.

After Grace moves the man's head, a large hand emerges from the darkness and grabs the infected corpse. Grace lets out a choked gasp, watching in horror as the grotesque monster brings the dead body up to her mouth and bites off the head.

Its eyes lock on Grace, mouth and teeth stained with blood, and it leans towards Grace. You flinch back from your monitor, questioning your choices on playing the game in the dead of night. After the cut scene ends, you immediately turn around and leave the nursing station with the monster at your (Grace's?) tail.

"Come on, come on, come on! Can you please run any faster, Grace?" You panic, shaking your legs as you run to the nearest room that has lights. When you successfully run to Room 203, you turn around to see the grotesque monster at the entrance of the room.

The monster steps into the room, causing Grace to fearfully yell out, "Don't come any closer!"

The monster's gray skin starts sizzling and burning from the lights in the room. It shrieks and steps outside the room. You and Grace watch the monster climb up a hole in the ceiling, leaving Grace alone at last. Just when you thought you were safe, the lights in the room went out, sending chills and shivers down your spine.

You run out of the room, heart pounding against your chest. After you make it back to the nursing station, you grab the med injector and start searching for the screwdriver for the fuse box. You can hear blood pounding in your ears, listening to Grace's shaky breath.

You search around the room and eventually have to move the cart. But before you do that, you move it slightly and open the locker to see a green herb.

"This could be useful," Grace mutters, grabbing it.

You climb onto the cart, grabbing the antique coin from the top of the locker before getting off. You grab the cart and start pushing towards the shelf where you spotted a red toolbox perched on top. Just as you're halfway to the shelf, a metal tray slides off the cart and clatters loudly to the ground, causing you and Grace to freeze momentarily.

You hear chains and shackles dragging on the floor, followed by heavy footsteps that are heading towards the nursing station where Grace is. Out of sheer panic, you grab the cart and move it closer to the shelf, ignoring the other items falling off and crashing to the ground.

You catch a glimpse of the creature through the window, slamming her hand against the glass while walking towards the nursing station. At this point, your heart is in your throat, and you're close to pausing the game and ending it there for the night, but the issue is that you still need to save the game, and if you don't, you have to redo where it last auto-saved.

Once the cart is close enough to the shelf, you climb onto it and grab the red toolbox, unlatching it and taking out the screwdriver. You sigh in relief, hopping off the cart and running to the nearest hiding spot. You extinguish the flames of Grace's lighter, staring at the door while listening to the monster getting closer to where you're having Grace hide.

The monster's hand suddenly appears, grabbing onto the doorframe before walking into the room. It sniffs the air, walking further into the room and looking around. It gets close to where the cart is and lets out a frenzied growl, swiping at the cart, causing it to fly to the desk. Grace whimpers.

You take it as a sign to start running. Before the mutated creature can turn and look in your and Grace's direction, you have Grace leave the hiding spot and start sprinting in the darkness. Since the creature turned the lights off in Room 203, you start running to the room where the typewriter sits. Before you pass the nursing station, the door bursts open, and the monster appears.

You briefly pause the game, staring at the menu in horror. Your heart is thudding painfully against your chest as you try to calm down. You lean back in your seat, heavily debating if you should just stop there.

"But I made so much progress. I have the screwdriver. I just need to find a way to get Grace to go around the monster, run to Room 201, get the fuse from the fuse box in that very room, and run to the other fuse box where I got the Cherub Key."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. God, this is horrifying. Playing the game in first person point of view makes it even scarier than you anticipated. You give yourself a pep talk before unpausing the game. Grace cries out in fear, freezing in fear when the monster fully reveals itself in front of Grace.

You start mashing the buttons, begging for Grace to start moving or else she's dead. "Come on, come on, come on! We gotta go, or else we're next, Grace!"

As if she heard you, Grace turns around and starts running to the other entrance of the nursing station where the two of you came from. Grace hides near the desk in the nursing station, panting as the two of you wait and listen to the monster walk past the nursing station over and over.

"This is horrifying." You mutter, hands trembling on your mouse and keyboard. "Is the empty bottle even going to work in this situation?" You creep towards the door where the monster burst from, trying to see where it is.

You take the empty bottle out of Grace's inventory and aim for the furthest part of the hallway—close to where the plant was knocked over—and toss the bottle. The bottle shatters, grabbing the creature's attention. It shrieks and charges towards where the bottle landed, giving you and Grace a small window to escape your hiding spot.

You have Grace sprint to Room 201 as fast as she could, but it feels like Grace wasn't running at all from first person perspective. It feels more like a power walk rather than Grace running for her life. Halfway down the hallway, you and Grace hear the monster shrieking and charging towards where you're heading.

"Hurry, hurry!"

Grace pushes the door aside and makes it to the room where the typewriter sits. You sigh in relief, blood pounding in your ears. Grace takes a few steps towards where the fuse box is, only for the entire building to shake and the lights to flicker and turn off.

"We need to get that fuse and get the hell out of here as soon as possible," You say, making Grace go to the fuse box inside the closet. You unscrew the fuse box with the screwdriver, and Grace takes out the fuse, triggering a cut scene.

Grace stares at the fuse, "Alright," she mutters. Grace turns around, and just when she can leave the closet, you and Grace hear a faint thud coming above her. Grace gasps and looks up at the gaping hole in the ceiling of the closet in horror.

Grace takes a step back, eyes still locked on the hole. "Oh my god," Grace whispers.

The monster starts climbing into the room where Grace is, causing Grace to gasp and start panicking. The cut scene suddenly ends, and now you find yourself forcing Grace to turn around and make a run for it to the fuse box where the Cherub Key was located.

The lights shatter, and the building rumbles as Grace runs through the dark hallways of Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center. When you press 'F' at the fuse box, a cut scene is triggered, showing Grace shoving the fuse into the fuse box, pressing the button, and quickly looking back as the security gate slowly pulls up.

You watch Grace drop to the ground and quickly crawl underneath the moving gate. "Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on!" Grace pleads as she crawls through the gate, and the monster appears where Grace came from. You collapse in your seat, sighing in relief, happy that you have gotten through the first (among many) difficult parts of the game.

The monitor goes black before switching to another cut scene—but it starts with showing Leon's Porsche driving through the gate of Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center and to the front. Leon exits the car, and you gasp in awe, completely enamored by the mere sight of Leon S. Kennedy.

"God, he looks so good." You whisper breathlessly as you watch him walk to the door of the facility after closing the car door. "Why can't you be real?" You lament, resting your chin on your knees as you continue watching the cut scene unfold.

Leon stands in the central hall, his eyes scanning his surroundings. It's quiet, too quiet. But despite how quiet it is in the facility, Leon still hears the same voice he heard earlier near the crime scene he left before arriving at the sanatorium. Maybe he's going crazy, and the side effects of the T-virus are starting to get to him.

You watch the nurse appear behind Leon, calling out to him and informing him that Dr. Gideon was expecting him.

"Funny. I don't remember getting an invitation," Leon's sarcastic response makes you snort, shaking your head. Leon hears the faint snort, the corners of his lips barely curving up into a smile.

The nurse continues speaking to Leon, telling him that Dr. Gideon is waiting for him. Leon soon follows after the nurse as she guides him to who knows where. The cut scene continues a little longer, only for the nurse to lead Leon to the rehabilitation ward. The door closes behind Leon, making him turn around. Then the cut scene ends there, and now you're in control of Leon.

You don't move Leon, watching him on the screen and admiring his design. God, the developers at Capcom really went all out for Leon. You spin the camera around, continuing to admire him. Leon looks around the facility, wondering why he couldn't move despite trying to. It's like he's locked in place until someone commands him to move. The nurse is waiting at the end of the hallway, waiting for him to follow.

"Okay, I need to get moving and stop getting easily distracted by Leon," You say to yourself, finally controlling Leon's movements and proceeding to follow the nurse as Leon.

The nurse explains about the facility and what they do at the sanatorium as both Leon and the nurse continue walking down the hall. Leon has no idea where the nurse is leading him, and neither do you, but judging by the map, it's probably to your (mainly Leon's) doom.

"The facility keeps a low profile due to the sensitive nature of the research," The nurse says, walking to the rehabilitation center of the facility.

"Oh, I bet it does," Leon replies, as he follows the nurse throughout the facility.

You hum, eyebrows furrowing at the conversation between Leon and the nurse of the strange facility. "That's something someone suspicious would say," You mutter, face scrunching up. You're so glad that you haven't dealt with any horrors as Leon just yet. "You have a mutated monster stomping around your facility right now, too."

Leon raises his eyebrows at your comment, still questioning if he's going crazy. Leon glances around, then at the nurse, but she doesn't seem to notice anything strange—or hear a woman's voice for that matter—and continues making her way to the room at the end of the rehabilitation ward. Once Leon gets closer to the room and the nurse, a new cut scene starts for you.

You yawn, stretching in your seat, watching the nurse leave Leon alone in the room and closing the door behind her as she leaves. The camera zooms in on Leon, making your face scrunch up.

"God, this Dr. Gideon guy is way more obsessed with Leon than I am," You comment, watching Leon peek at every little thing in the room.

Leon raises his eyebrows at your comment. "Almost as you are? What do you mean by that?" Leon wants to ask. Instead, Leon chooses to stay silent, as saying things out loud would earn weird looks from whoever passes by the room he's in, or could land him in this exact facility.

Little did you know, Leon's searching around for where the voice is coming from. The woman's voice is loud and clear to him, and yet he sees no one. He's alone in this room, but he's been hearing voices in his head every now and then. The voice comes and goes, gushing over him and his skills; other times, the same voice would chime in after someone—who's conversing with Leon—says something.

Leon rests against the desk, reaching for the photograph of Victor Gideon and his medical team that runs the facility. Leon subconsciously furrows his eyebrows as he scrutinizes the image in his hand before setting it back down where he found it. Leon checks the time on his watch, his expensive watch appearing on your monitor.

"That looks expensive, but I shouldn't be surprised. You drive a Porsche Cayenne Turbo GT—that's probably the most expensive thing I've seen you own." You comment, watching the time tick away on Leon's watch.

Much to your disappointment, the cut scene soon comes to an end after the nurse is killed by the chainsaw-wielding doctor. You're soon in control of Leon again and have to kill every infected person in the surrounding area with a chainsaw, which you're not a fan of.

"This thing is a bit hard to wield around. It kind of slows me down, and after Leon plunges the chainsaw into a zombie, I would need to retrieve it again from said zombie…" You sigh, shaking your head. "Oh, shit." The chainsaw drops to the ground and starts spinning out of control.

You force Leon out of the way, trying to avoid getting hit by the out-of-control chainsaw. A zombie nurse charges at Leon with her arms outstretched, trying to grab him. You try shooting the nurse with the requiem gun, but miss.

"Fuck. My aim is atrocious. I am so sorry, Leon. You're supposed to be cool, but I'm making you look like an amateur loser." You frown.

Leon frowns. "Amateur loser? Who are you calling an amateur loser?" Leon mouths to himself, continuing to aim his gun at the infected nurse.

You try shooting the nurse as she gets closer to Leon, but before you can shoot, the nurse lunges at Leon. You let out a choked gasp, assuming Leon is done for, but he ducks underneath the nurse's grasp and shoots her at the back of the head, blood spewing all over the place when her head explodes.

"Whoa!" You gasp, eyes wide in awe. "How did you do that?!" You exclaim, pausing briefly to look at what buttons you've pressed, but you're too busy mashing different buttons to know the actual controls of the dodge he just did.

You unpause the game. "Leon, can you do that again?" You ask yourself, shooting every zombie that's charging at Leon at full speed. How the hell did you do that again? You really need to know what the controls are, or else you won't be able to pull that cool move ever again.

As more zombies emerge from the other rooms in the rehabilitation ward, you shoot every zombie in the head successfully despite having bad aim. An infected doctor lunges at Leon, causing you to panic momentarily, miss your shot, and giving the zombie an opportunity to grab onto Leon and bite down on his shoulders.

"Ah, fuck! I'm so sorry, Leon!"

Leon cries out in pain as he thrashes around, trying to get the zombie to release. You press on your mouse frantically, watching Leon's health bar rapidly deplete at a dangerous pace, the longer the zombie bites down on Leon's shoulders. Leon reaches for his hatchet and attacks the zombie, causing it to back away.

"I really need to learn how to properly parry and aim." You grumble, aiming Leon's requiem gun at the zombie and shoot, only to miss again. "Man, I'm making Leon look uncool, what the fuck."

The zombie lunges at Leon again, and before you can panic, Leon dodges under the zombie's arm and shoots it at the back of its head. The adrenaline dies down, and Leon is left alone in the rehabilitation ward, surrounded by headless zombies.

The only sounds you hear are the sounds of the chainsaw and Leon's heavy breathing, his health bar yellow rather than green. Before escaping the ward, you have Leon search around the room for a healing item. You could use the green herb in your inventory, but it's not enough to fully heal Leon.

"It's okay, Leon! You're going to be okay! You're not going to die under my watch, no matter how bad I am with aiming and parrying." You reassure the DSO agent, picking up the mixed herbs from the glass cabinet that Leon broke. After picking up the mixed herbs, you immediately use them, watching Leon's health bar slightly go up.

You continue playing the game until almost four in the morning, only having to end your gameplay after Leon's cut scene with Victor Gideon after your Mom peeks into your room, scaring the shit out of you.

"Why are you still awake?!" Your Mom asks, staring at you in horror.

You point at your monitor, a cut scene of Leon tied up to a chair playing on your screen. Your Mom peeks at your computer and sighs, shaking her head before leaving your room, muttering under her breath about how you need to stop staying up so late.

You turn back to your monitor, taking multiple screenshots of Leon tied to the chair while Victor Gideon is almost sweet-talking to the DSO agent. You stare at Leon in awe, mouth agape. The side view of Leon on? Whew! His biceps are looking extra delicious.

You bite your bottom lip. "God, I would love to sink my teeth into those biceps of his." You lean back in your seat, groaning. "The ladies at Capcom did a fantastic job at designing Leon."

You watch Victor Gideon touch Leon, almost oh-so intimately. The way his gray fingers brush the strands of Leon's brown and silver hair. Ugh. You're so envious of Victor's privilege to even be in the presence of Leon Kennedy. You make sure to take multiple screenshots of Leon—frame by frame.

Leon can hear the camera shutters, raising an eyebrow. It's strange how Victor Gideon is touching him, and yet this voice in his head is swooning over him being tied up and touched by the former T-Virus researcher. Of course, he doesn't hear you mention a single thing about Victor, only about wanting to sink your teeth into his (your words, not his) beefy biceps.

"I don't like how he's touching you, Leon. He's practically fondling you." You grumble. "I should be the one to do that, not him. Just like how I should be the one to lunge at you and sink my teeth into your biceps, not those greedy zombies."

The camera cuts to Leon looking down while Victor Gideon softly says, "Are the answers to your disease here?" after pulling down Leon's shirt collar. Victor leans down, his face not far from Leon's. "Yes…." Victor whispers.

Leon flinches, his face pinching up with disgust. "You know, I do have a question," Leon says, looking at Victor, deadpanned. "When was the last time you brushed your teeth?"

Leon hears immediate laughter coming from you after asking. Leon's tempted to laugh as well, but because of the predicament he's in, he doesn't smile. The smile on Victor's face slips off, and he backs away from Leon and takes a few steps in front of Leon.

Mechanical whirring can be heard from Leon's end as Victor stares at him, zooming in on his face and his eyes. You take a quick screenshot, thanking Victor for being oddly meticulous when it comes to Leon. If it weren't for Victor, you wouldn't have a lot of screenshots of Leon added to your new collection.

The cut scene soon ends with you taking over fifty screenshots (you're pressing down on the screenshot button, taking screenshots of every frame), and you find yourself back in control of Leon. You frown, letting out a wistful sigh. "I'm going to need to find a stopping point and go to bed. Let's trigger an auto save somewhere, and I'll continue when I wake up." You say to yourself.

You make it to where Leon needs to go and stop in front of a metal cabinet storage that's blocking a doorway. You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue, approaching said cabinet storage with a cheeky smile. Oh, you are going to enjoy this!

You press 'F,' and Leon starts lifting the cabinet to move it out of the way, his biceps and back muscles flexing as he lets out a grunt. Before Leon successfully moves the cabinet out of the way, you suddenly release the 'F' key.

"Oh, fuck, my hands slipped." You say to no one.

It's a good thing Leon's back is facing your monitor because if it were facing his direction, you would've seen an eye roll from him along with a shy smile. Leon knows what you're doing; he's not stupid. You press the 'F' key again, watching Leon lift the cabinet, his biceps flexing underneath that tight shirt of his. Again, before Leon can fully move the obstacle out of the way, you release the keys.

You huff. "Man, my keyboard is messed up. I really need to get a new one because for some reason, it's not lasting long," You say with a shit-eating grin on your face. "I have a bad feeling that this keyboard is going to give me… issues the longer I play this game with a broken keyboard."

"Oh, yeah?" Leon mutters, shaking his head with a small smirk, his shoulders shaking from his quiet laughter. He can get used to hearing your commentary while he's handling the shit show that's happening at Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center.

Finally, after some time, you finally have Leon move the metal cabinet, relishing in the sight of his muscles flexing underneath his shirt, and the sound of his grunts as he does so. Leon S. Kennedy, the man that you are! The autosave button appears in the top left corner of the screen, signaling you to go to bed.

With a heavy heart, you bid Leon goodnight—as if he could hear you—before pausing and exiting the game. You plop onto your bed after the game closes and roll on your bed, eyelids feeling heavy after staring at your monitor for who knows how long. You close your eyes and drift into a dreamless sleep.

A few hours into your sleep, you wake up to the feeling of your bedroom shaking, forcing yourself to crack your eyes open briefly and stare up at the ceiling, still groggy from your slumber. You rub your eyes, mumbling to yourself, and turn over on your right side before going back to sleep. Earthquakes are common, so waking up to one isn't out of the ordinary. Nothing seems out of the norm, but little did you know, this isn't any other earthquake you've dealt with in the past.

That is, until you wake up to someone shaking you nonstop. "Hey, can you hear me? Wake up!" The voice says as the shaking continues.

You groan, trying to turn over and ignore whoever is shaking you. "Not now." You mumble, eyebrows furrowing.

Whoever is shaking you is very persistent, as they continue to do something to try to rouse you from your sleep. The person starts lightly patting your cheek, muttering about how you need to wake up and stop ignoring them. You finally crack your eyes open after a while, vision blurry from your sleep. A blurry face is hovering above yours, but as your vision gradually clears up, your heart nearly falls into your ass.

"Leon?" You whisper in disbelief, mind still foggy from your sleep.

Leon chuckles, sighing in relief. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Good to see those eyes of yours," Leon says, his eyes scanning the littlest details on your face. "I was worried you weren't going to wake up, but it seems like you're not a morning person, huh."

You don't respond to Leon as you slowly reach up and cup his face with both your hands, still trying to comprehend what's happening. Surely this is a dream, right? You did play Resident Evil Requiem for hours before going to bed, and Leon's the last thing you were thinking about before drifting to sleep.

"This is the most vivid dream I have ever had," You mutter, still holding Leon's face in your hands. "Man, it's going to be so disappointing when I wake up."

Leon stares down at you, confused. "What are you talking about?"

You shake your head, head falling to the side before sighing sadly. "This is the best dream I've ever had, and yet I'm going to get a rude awakening very soon once this ends." You lament.

"Aw, man. I think you hit your head pretty hard when you fell," Leon mutters, feeling around your head for a possible concussion.

You blink at Leon. "Of course, I fell for you. Who wouldn't fall for you?"

Leon shakes his head, the corner of his lips curling up. Despite everything, you still manage to be a sweet talker, much to Leon's amusement. Then again, you do think that this is all a dream. Leon's fingers brush a certain area on your head, earning a hiss from you. "I can feel a goose egg forming."

Now that your mind clears up and you're more awake than you were, you come to the realization that Leon is cradling you in his arms—his beefy arms. Wait, that means that his bicep is your pillow. You rub your eyes again, sitting up and looking around to see that you're not in your room. This dream is a bit too realistic for your liking, because why are you in the attic of Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center?

Panic hits you like a train. Your head snaps towards Leon's direction. "This is a dream, right? I'm still asleep in my bed, right?" You start pinching yourself, but nothing is happening. "Oh, my god. This can't be real. This has to be a dream."

Leon doesn't say anything. Instead, he continues to stare at you, taking in every detail of your face, your hair, and your clothes. The longer Leon listens to you ramble, the more he realizes something.

His eyes light up. "You're the voice I've been hearing," Leon says, his arm still holding you up.

His comment makes you go silent. "Pardon?" You press your lips into a thin line. "What do you mean?"

Leon's lips curl up into a smile, shaking his head. "I don't think now is a good time to tell you when you're having an inner turmoil."

Maybe a hug will help you calm down a little, but given the things he heard you say a few hours before your arrival, it probably won't help. But it won't hurt to try, right? Leon pulls you into his arms, hugging you. Your cheek is cushioned against his chest, his beefy arms around your torso, and his chin is resting atop your head.

You wrap your arms around Leon's neck, feeling yourself melting in his arms. God, it feels so nice to hug him. You can't describe what it's like to hug Leon, but you can live in his arms if it's possible. You and Leon sit like that for a while. It doesn't feel weird or uncomfortable to be hugging someone you don't know—a fictional one, to be specific.

It's comforting and gives you a small window to collect your thoughts. You went to bed, but woke up to an earthquake before falling back asleep. Then you're roused from your sleep by Leon, who claimed that you hit your head when you fell. This is all so strange.

"How the hell did I get isekai'd into Resident Evil Requiem? I didn't get hit by a truck." You mutter to yourself, but it's loud enough for Leon to hear.

Leon raises his eyebrows, leaning down to look at your face from the side. "What does 'isekai' mean? And what do you mean by getting hit by a truck?" God, the creases between his eyebrows are so cute. You'd love to smooth the wrinkles over with your fingers.

"I will explain that to you after you tell me what you meant by 'you're the voice I've been hearing,'" You reply, looking up at him.

Leon stares at you for a moment, chuckling to himself. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you what I meant when I said that," Leon caves in.

Leon's not sure if he should look forward to your reaction after he explains everything to you. But hey, you did say that you want him to explain what he meant by what he said, so who is he to deny you? As Leon explains everything, he watches your reaction and body language closely.

The way your face fell was both comical and endearing because now you're covering your face out of sheer embarrassment, but you didn't cover your ears, letting him know that you're still listening despite your reaction. By the time Leon is done explaining, he has a wide smile on his face, the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes becoming noticeable.

You take a deep breath, trying not to have a mental breakdown after hearing Leon's explanation. "You heard everything." You say. Suddenly, you feel faint, but you can't faint in front of Leon. You can't embarrass yourself in front of Leon for the umpteenth time in a row.

Leon nods, still smiling. "That is correct."

"My cursing whenever you get bitten by a zombie."

"You curse like a sailor, but also like a child who was granted permission to curse by her parents." He replies.

You immediately protest. "What! No, I don't!" Do you? Man, this just keeps getting worse and worse for you. "… You also heard my thirst over your…"

"Beefy biceps, me using my hatchet to crack open a warped door, and you claiming that your keyboard is broken when I need to move the fallen metal cabinet in front of a doorway. I can go on, but I'm afraid that you'll have a heart attack if I continue." Leon says.

You hug your knees to your chest. At this point, you're more likely to die from embarrassment than from a zombie bite. You didn't know that Leon can hear everything you say! Does that mean Grace and Victor hear the things you say, too?

You peek at Leon, "Please tell me that no one else hears the things I say." You whisper.

Leon gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You don't need to worry about that. As far as I know, I was the only person who heard your voice. It doesn't seem like Victor heard your voice, and as for that FBI agent—Grace Ashcroft, I'm not entirely sure."

After Leon's explanation, you choose to stay quiet. There's no need for you to embarrass yourself again in front of Leon, right? Leon checks his watch, and when he looks up, you're staring at him with stars in your eyes. Leon is even more beautiful in person. His hair looks so soft and healthy for someone who bleaches his hair often. God, the stubble… You love the scratchiness of it when you cupped his face in your hands.

Leon doesn't say anything; instead, he lets you do what makes you happy and stay sane. His eyes are blue, but they're not nearly as blue as it was when he was in his early twenties. Maybe they're still the same blue, but you would need to get a closer look at it—if he catches your drift.

"I love how you kept your signature hairstyle after all these years…" You murmur, leaning side to side as your eyes continue taking in every detail of him.

"Now it's your turn to explain to me what 'isekai' means," Leon comments, crossing his arms over his chest.

You quickly glance at Leon's bulging biceps before looking back at him innocently. His biceps looked at you first, so it's only fair for you to look at them in return. "Where do I start…" You trail off, tapping on your chin.

So you start explaining to Leon what isekai means, giving him a rundown on it, its origins, and how there's a handful of animated shows (specifically anime) that have this concept. Leon is intrigued, but also confused. The look of confusion on Leon's handsome face is cute. His eyebrows are furrowing, his head tilting to the side while not taking his eyes off of you for one bit.

You subconsciously reach forward and gently press on the space between his eyebrows, smoothing the creases between his brows. Man, even Leon has soft skin for someone who goes through hell. You meet Leon's eyes, causing you to quickly retract your hand before apologizing sheepishly.

"After explaining to me what 'isekai' meant, it makes sense. Is there a way for you to return to your world?" Leon asks.

You frown dramatically. "Aw, you want to return me to sender already? I'm hurt." You joke, clutching your chest playfully. "I thought you would enjoy my company after going through the horrors of having to deal with Victor Gideon caressing you lovingly."

You turn around and face the wall, pretending to be offended by what he asked. Leon shudders at the memory of Victor's fingers brushing through his hair, fingers ghosting over the dark blotches on his neck after lowering the collar of his shirt. That is not a pleasant memory, and he certainly wishes he could erase it.

"Your presence is a breath of fresh air. I'm merely asking because I don't think you would want to stay and deal with what's waiting for us," Leon replies, reaching forward and grabbing your forearm and turning you around to face him.

You can just melt in his arms right now. You've imagined this very moment, but in a different scenario. Leon Kennedy grabs your arm to stop you from leaving, gazing at you with those dazzling blue eyes of his, his eyebrows knitting together as he pleads for you not to leave. And the way he says it? It'll be soft, making you weak at the knees.

"By the way, you never introduced yourself. You know my name, but I don't know yours." Leon adds, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes widen. "Oh, crap! You're right! How could I forget?" You smack your forehead before introducing yourself to Leon. After telling Leon your first and last name, Leon stares at you while muttering your full name to himself. Heat rushes to your face the longer he does it.

After what feels like forever, Leon smiles and nods. "Your name suits you. I like it. Your parents must've put a lot of thought and love into naming you."

You stare at Leon, mouth agape. Why did he have to say that? Leon raises an eyebrow at you, smiling in amusement. Without saying anything, you cover your face with both hands as heat continues rushing to your face. This man can effortlessly make you blush like a schoolgirl.

You groan behind your hands. "What are you doing to me?! It's not fair. You know you have this effect on me! Damn you, Leon Scott Kennedy!" You whine.

If only you could evaporate right now. Maybe Leon was up to something when he asked if there was a way for you to return to your world, because how much longer can you handle being in the presence of Leon S. Kennedy? The only thing you hear is laughter coming from Leon—his laugh is soft, very gentle. You peek between your fingers to see him shaking his head, a wide smile on his face as he gazes at the wooden floor.

Realization hits you. You're so fucked. There's not a single man in your life—real and fictional—who has made you feel this way before. Until Leon S. Kennedy happened. You love every version of Leon, but there's something about forty-nine-year-old Leon Kennedy. Aside from his looks, there's something that makes you feel so warm and gooey inside when he shows up on your screen.

You look at an imaginary camera, hands falling on your lap before sighing. "I'm so fucked." You whisper, shaking your head in disbelief. "Okay, let's kill some zombies and get the hell out of here."

You push yourself off the ground, feeling around for the so-called goose egg Leon felt on your head, while Leon gets off the ground and brushes the dust off his ass. Leon grabs your wrist, preventing you from finding this goose egg. You look at Leon, frowning.

He wags his pointer finger at you, shaking his head. "Don't search for it."

"Fine." You mumble, lowering your arm, but Leon doesn't let go of your wrist.

You blink at him, looking back and forth from your hands to Leon's face. Leon doesn't say anything and starts looking for an exit with you in tow, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. You will take that as a win because Leon is holding your hand, kind of! You peek at Leon and wiggle your wrist to hold his hand.

You and Leon soon come across the familiar metal cabinet that's blocking the entrance. Your heart nearly sinks into the pit of your stomach when you realize what you're about to face soon. This is strange; you could've sworn that you moved the cabinet before ending the game right there.

"Step back. I don't want you to get hurt." Leon says, gently nudging you to the side, and starts lifting the cabinet.

You press your lips into a thin line and cover your mouth, watching his back muscles and biceps flex under the fabric of his shirt. Leon grunts and starts lifting the metal cabinet. You bite your lower lip, enticed by what you're seeing and hearing.

After a few minutes, Leon successfully moves the cabinet out of the way. He fixes his shirt before pulling out his gun from the holster. Leon turns to you to see you staring at him in a daze, earning an eyebrow raise and smirk from him. You quickly snap out of it, acting like you weren't ogling him just now.

"So, do I follow you into that room or do I wait out here until you finish your, uh, duty?" You ask, rubbing the back of your neck.

You don't know how much has changed since your sudden arrival in this universe, but you're hoping it's not much change, but who knows?

Leon holds his hand out and gestures for you to follow him. "I'm not leaving you behind, are you crazy?"

"For you? Yes." Is your automatic response. You slap your hand over your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut. "I mean, let's go and get this over with!" You say, grabbing his hand and walking through the entrance with Leon in tow.

You're always amazed by your ability to humiliate yourself. This has got to be a new record for you. Once you and Leon step through that door, everything shifts. The atmosphere, the mood, the air, and the sound. You hear squelching coming from the other side of the room.

Think of someone chewing with their mouth open, but multiply that by a thousand. That's how loud it is in person. The squelching is accompanied by deep rumbles. You and Leon trade looks with each other before slowly making your way through the room, making sure Leon picks up ammo for his guns.

Leon stops in his tracks, holding his arm out in front of you before looking over his shoulder at you. "You're going to have to trust me on this, alright?" Leon murmurs.

You look at him, confused. "What are you planning? Should I be worried?" You whisper.

Leon doesn't respond and continues walking towards where the disturbing sound is coming from. You swallow the lump in your throat when you eye the grotesque creature towering over a dead body, feasting on its rotting flesh. The smell is rancid, making your stomach churn.

You grip the back of Leon's shirt, lightly tugging it. "How can you handle a smell like that when you're dealing with these things?" You mutter to him, tempted to bury your face into his back to block out the smell of decomposition and blood.

"When you're constantly out on the field dealing with these things, you'd get used to it."

You raise an eyebrow at his response. "But you recoiled when you caught a whiff of Victor's breath." You point out.

Leon snorts. "Smelling rotting flesh and bad breath are two different things. Besides, who knows how long it's been since he has brushed his teeth?"

"Can't argue with that."

You continue following Leon around the room while he collects ammo for his guns, occasionally peeking from behind him to get a look at the mutated being. For something that large, you're shocked that it hasn't heard you and Leon walking around the vicinity.

"Do you trust me?" Leon asks suddenly, turning towards you.

You falter. "Uh, yes, I do trust you—even though we met not long ago. I'm surprised you trust me despite the things I put you through." You refer to your failed aiming and parrying before you were isekai'd into Resident Evil Requiem.

Leon chuckles, shaking his head. "Of course, I trust you. You're the only one who kept me sane at the start of this shit show." Leon replies.

Leon turns around and aims his gun at the ravenous, mutated creature and shoots it in the head with his shotgun. You flinch at the sound, gripping his shirt hard as you watch the creature stop munching on the corpse and turn towards your and Leon's direction.

Fueled by rage and anger, the chunky zombie roars. "Food! Food! Food!" He growls, getting ready to charge towards you and Leon.

"Hope I'm not next," Leon mutters.

Before you can say anything, Leon quickly turns around, grabs you by the waist, and tosses you over his shoulders before making a run for it. Upside down, you wrap your arms around his waist, whimpering as the monster gets closer to you and Leon. You certainly didn't sign up for this when you got isekai'd, but hey, you didn't sign up to be isekai'd in general!

"Leon! He's getting closer!" You whimper, patting his lower back.

Leon loads his shotgun, making sharp turns to avoid getting grabbed by the ravenous creature. Leon picks up a med injector from a wall that was broken by the monster, along with the shotgun shells and handgun ammo. Leon quickly grabs onto the ladder and climbs up. You nearly flip over if it weren't for Leon's quick reflexes and your iron grip around his waist.

"Are you sure I'm not getting in the way?" You ask, lifting your head to look at Leon. "I feel like I'm adding more weight on you. Metaphorically and literally."

Leon pats the back of your thighs. "You're fine, you're not getting in the way or adding weight on me," Leon reassures you.

Leon quickly puts you down on the platform, fixes his gear, and gestures for you to get on his shoulders by squatting in front of you. You climb over Leon, stomach resting on his shoulders, while your arms are wrapped around his waist. Leon wraps one arm over the back of your thighs, checking to see where the mutated monster is.

On cue, the chunky mutated monster, which you found out is named Timothy from the note Leon read to you, appears at the bottom of the platform. Timothy growls and tries reaching for you and Leon, but Leon shoots him in the face with his shotgun, but Timothy's not phased by it.

Timothy starts climbing up the platform, causing you to involuntarily flinch. "Leon…" You plead, patting Leon's thighs. "We need to move, or else we will be on Timothy's menu!"

Leon tightens his grip on your legs. "Brace yourself."

Before you can process what Leon's doing, you suddenly feel airborne. Your heart is in your throat as you cling to Leon for dear life. Leon lands on the ground with a grunt and shoots Timothy a few more times before making a run for it, loading his shotgun.

The chase lasted five more minutes because Timothy was very motivated to get both you and Leon. Finally, Timothy stops, and blood starts spewing out of the holes and gashes on his body that he received from the shotgun shells and Leon's hatchet.

While Timothy is gushing all over the place, Leon walks to the other end of the room to collect extra items that are lying around before putting you back on the ground once Timothy explodes. You brush off your clothes and turn to Leon, propping your hands on your hips and watching him reload his shotgun before switching to his other handgun.

"You know, when I said that I wanted to be manhandled by you, this isn't what I imagined." You comment.

Leon shakes his head, chuckling. "Don't worry, there will be plenty of time for that. Come on, let's get out of here." Leon gestures for you to follow him as he walks towards the door where the rotting corpse—Timothy's final meal—is lying.

You stare at Leon, mouth agape. What does he mean by that?! Wait, Leon is probably implying other boss fights that are waiting for both you and Leon. You really need to get your head out of the gutter. You follow behind Leon, shuddering when you step in the pool of blood that was once Timothy.

Leon grabs the hand grenade from the puddle of blood and continues walking to the exit. Finally, you and Leon will get to leave this place and face more horrors waiting for both of you. Leon unlatches the door and pushes it open, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure you're still following him.

You and Leon come across a wooden closet with a warped door. Leon walks to it, grabs his hatchet, lodges it between the doors, and starts prying them open. You bite your bottom lip, watching his biceps flex as he tries to open it. Once the door bursts open and Leon grabs whatever is inside, you look away, trying to act like you weren't drooling over him.

"Ready to go?" Leon asks, turning to you as he puts the mod on his handgun.

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Yeah! Are you ready to go?" You ask, looking at him from the corner of your eyes.

"Of course, I am. I'm always ready." Leon says softly, walking past you while gently nudging you to follow him by patting your lower back.

You bite the inside of your cheek, screaming internally. You really need to get yourself together because you're acting like a cat in heat. Leon pushes the red button, and the attic opens; the metal ladder slides down, and Leon starts climbing down.

Once Leon gets off the ladder, you start climbing down, shuddering when you see the amount of blood in the office. The whole time while you're climbing down the ladder, Leon's keeping an eye out while holding out his hands to catch you just in case you slip. You step into the puddle of infected blood, groaning with disgust.

"You'd get used to it," Leon says. "Come on, we need to find Victor Gideon's office."

You follow Leon out of the Chairman's office, on edge about whether zombies are roaming around or not. You don't think there's any zombies roaming around cause you killed most of them when you were playing as Grace. You come across another warped closet outside of the Chairman's office, and you sit back and watch Leon do his thing.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Leon asks, turning to you after taking the handgun ammo and shotgun shells.

You look at Leon, flabbergasted. "Wha—is a lady not allowed to admire a total eye candy in front of her?" You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I have had enough of your teasing! Let's find Victor's office." You stick your nose in the air and walk towards the bar and lounge room.

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose, chuckling. "You truly do make this more entertaining than it should be."

The minute you walk into the bar and lounge room, a zombie in a white button-up starts contorting violently while screaming in agony. You walk backwards frantically, bumping into Leon as the zombie gets off the ground and his head morphs into something more horrifying.

"This place is infested," Leon mutters, shaking his head, and aims his gun at the blister head that's running towards both of you. Leon shoots, and the bullet penetrates the zombie's head, causing it to burst, and blood spews everywhere like a water fountain.

You sigh, turning to Leon. "Can you teach me how to shoot one day? You know, in case I have to fight for both of us."

Leon chuckles, shaking his head. "Of course. I can show you when we come across another zombie."

You and Leon continue searching for Victor's office. Instead of having you walk behind or in front of him, Leon makes sure you're by his side at all times because you'd never know when a zombie will sneak up from behind or jump out of nowhere.

As you're both walking up the stairs to the third floor of the sanatorium, you and Leon hear a faint beeping and gurgling from a zombie. Leon hands you his handgun and gestures for you to follow him quietly. Once the zombie is in your and Leon's line of sight, Leon quickly adjusts the gun in your hand, angling your arms a certain way.

"Make sure to have a firm grasp on the gun so it doesn't recoil and hit you in the face," Leon murmurs, his chest pressing up against your back. "Okay, now, you can either shoot the zombie or the red propane tank. I would go for the explosive canister because it's quicker, and who knows how many shots it'll take to kill the zombie."

Taking Leon's advice, you point the handgun towards the red gas tank and shoot. The red canister in the zombie's hand explodes, taking the zombie out with it. You tilt your head up and see Leon's smile as you lower the gun.

Leon pats your shoulders, "Not bad."

"But not good either." You pout dramatically. "Okay, let's go kick Victor Gideon's ass, Leon!" You grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs to another warped door—much to your delight.

Leon shakes his head as he pulls out his hatchet and starts prying the doors open. Once Leon successfully opens the door, you and Leon enter the room and look around to see many bodies with no heads. You immediately latch yourself against Leon, trembling as Leon picks up the paper on the ground.

"Burst their heads if you want to survive."

On cue, you and Leon hear the familiar screams of agony close to the entrance where you and Leon came. This is not what you expected when you got isekai'd into Resident Evil Requiem. Leon shields you from the blister head and starts shooting the head over and over until the zombie finally dies. He leads to the corner of the room where the other zombie lies and takes the shotgun shells and handgun ammo from the vase.

"Do you trust me?" Leon asks, loading his shotgun and handgun.

You nod. "Of course, I do." You answer.

"Good, cause you're going to need to trust me on this." Leon leans down and tosses you over his shoulders just when another blister head bursts through the door to the meeting room.

You squeeze your eyes shut and cling to Leon's torso as he shoots the blister heads and storms the meeting room, where another blister head is getting ready to charge at Leon. This is going to be a long night, and the worst thing is that you're not even sure if you'll return to your world after all this.

Sylus

Something strange was happening in your life.

Every morning when you arrived at work, there were your favorite flowers waiting on your desk, accompanied by a small note wishing you a good day. At first, it had been… cute. Thoughtful, even.

But that feeling didn’t last long.

That same evening, there had been another bouquet. Another note. This one commenting on your day. That was when it started to feel wrong. By the third day, the notes had shifted from observant to unsettling. The anonymous sender began mentioning things they shouldn’t know, small details about your routine, conversations you’d had, people you’d spoken to. By the end of the week, the tone had twisted completely. The sweetness was gone, replaced by something sharp and possessive. One note raged about you talking to your male colleagues. That was when “cute” became “creepy.”

You told yourself it had to be a prank. Something stupid. Someone trying to get a reaction out of you. That explanation felt safer than the alternative.

But the flowers kept coming. Twice a day. Without fail. And the notes only got worse. You considered going to the police. More than once. But every time you thought about it, doubt crept in. There were no direct threats. Nothing concrete. Just… discomfort. Obsession wrapped in pretty paper. You were afraid they wouldn’t take you seriously. For a brief moment, you thought about telling Sylus. But you dismissed that just as quickly.

Yes, you spent time together. Yes, there was something between you. But your relationship wasn’t at the point where the leader of Onychinus would drop everything over anonymous flowers and unsettling notes. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

So you decided to wait it out.

Maybe whoever was doing this would get bored due to your lack of a reaction and stop.

Right now, you were walking down the street with your headphones on, music turned up loud enough to drown out the city noise.

It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to be out this late at night. But you had run out of your favorite juice, and you had never been particularly good at resisting small cravings. A quick stop at the nearest convenience store couldn’t be that dangerous.

Or so you thought.

But as you walked, you couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up your spine. Like you weren’t alone. Every time you turned around, there was no one there. You quickened your pace, but the unease only clung tighter.

You were close to your apartment complex when you made a mistake.

Until then, you had stayed on the well-lit streets, surrounded by passing strangers and the glow of storefronts. But fear clouded your judgment now, and all you wanted was to get home as quickly as possible. To lock yourself inside your apartment and call Sylus. He would be waking up soon, and the thought of hearing his voice felt like the only thing that might calm your nerves.

So you cut through a narrow, dark alleyway to save time.

Your second mistake was leaving your music on.

You barely had time to register the movement before someone grabbed your arm and yanked you backward. Your breath caught. Panic seized you whole, freezing your body in place as your mind screamed at you to fight, to run, to do anything.

Then something black and metallic slammed into your attacker.

Mephisto.

The bird tore into the man with furious precision, claws and beak driving him back until he cursed and let go of you. He staggered, trying to shield his face, and when he turned to flee, Mephisto broke away without pursuit, circling back to you instead. The bird landed on your shoulder and for a second you could’ve sworn he was almost cooing.

A few unsteady steps later, your vision blurred.

As if the world was painted over in red.

And suddenly Mephisto was gone from your shoulder, warm hands wrapping around you. You gasped and thrashed weakly at first, still trapped in the terror of those first few seconds, until a familiar voice brushed against your ear.

“Easy,” Sylus murmured. “It is just me.”

You stilled. Slowly, you looked up, blinking until his face came into focus.

“S-Sylus…”

His expression shifted the moment he saw you clearly. Raw, immediate concern that made something in your chest ache. His hands tightened around you.

There was a brief silence between you. Then his eyes swept over you, searching.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, and for once, there was no smugness in his voice at all.

You swallowed, trying to catch your breath. “I… I don’t think so.”

His jaw flexed. His gaze flicked toward the alley behind you, and something dangerous sharpened in his expression, but when he looked back at you, the edge of his voice had gone quieter, rougher.

“What happened?”

You hesitated. “Someone grabbed me.”

The words changed him.

Not instantly. Sylus rarely reacted in a way anyone else could easily see. But you felt it in the way his hand tightened at your waist, in the way his breath caught just slightly before he forced it steady again.

He lowered his head for a moment, pressing his forehead lightly to your temple.

That tiny gesture nearly undid you.

“You should have called me sooner,” he said, and the softness in it made your throat tighten.

“I was going home,” you murmured. “I just wanted to get inside.”

Sylus stayed silent for a beat too long. Then, in a voice uncharacteristically quiet, he asked, “Did he touch you anywhere else?”

You shook your head.

And then you said it, still trembling, mind still frayed by what happened. The words just slipped out before you could stop them.

“I’m not yours to lose, Sylus.”

He went completely so still that it was frightening. For one suspended moment, there was nothing. Not a word, not a breath. Then his hands shifted, not letting go, never letting go, but changing in a way that made your pulse stumble.

One palm settled more firmly at your waist. The other rose to your cheek, thumb brushing once beneath your eye with devastating tenderness, as though he wanted to wipe away every trace of fear from your face.

When he spoke, his voice was low and uneven, the polished confidence stripped away just enough to reveal how deeply your words had hit him.

“You are right,” he said.

The answer made your chest tighten.

Sylus looked at you like you had struck something fragile in him by accident. Like your words had shaken him in a way he would rather die than admit to anyone else.

“You are not mine to lose,” he repeated softly.

His thumb still moved against your cheek, slow and absent-minded, but his eyes had gone darker.

“You are not an object,” he said, as if he needed to make that clear to both of you. “You are not something I own.”

His hand at your waist tightened, grounding you to him.

“But you are mine to love,” he added, voice roughening at the edges, “and I am not sorry for that. Even if we haven’t defined that thing between us yet.”

The words landed so tenderly they hurt.

You stared at him, shaken all over again, and Sylus’s expression softened just enough to make your heart ache. He leaned in, brushing his nose briefly against your forehead before pressing a slow kiss there, lingering as if the act itself could steady both of you.

When he pulled back, his red eyes were still fixed on you, still full of that same fierce, shaken devotion.

“If anything ever comes near you again,” he said quietly, “you call me immediately.”

His hand slid into your hair, gentle but possessive, anchoring you against him.

“And if you ever think you have to face something like that alone,” he continued, voice dropping lower, “I will remind you exactly how wrong you are.”

He held you a little closer, as if he could keep the world from touching you by force of will alone.

This time, when he spoke again, there was no sharpness left, only certainty.

“You are not mine to lose,” Sylus murmured. “You are mine to keep.”

Caleb

You were on a plane back to Linkon from your short vacation in Goldwood City. The cabin lights had dimmed slightly for landing, and through the window, you could already see the city glowing in the distance.

You pulled out your phone and quickly texted Caleb.

You: Landing soon. See you.

The reply came almost immediately.

Caleb: Got it. Already at the airport. Waiting.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tucked your phone away and shifted in your seat. The flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, instructing everyone to fasten their seatbelts. You checked yours one last time and tried to settle in, silently hoping the descent would be over quickly. Your ears always hurt during takeoff and landing, like the pressure was trying to pop your eardrums from the inside. You just wanted it over.

Then…

A deafening BANG.

The entire plane lurched violently.

Your head snapped toward the window just in time to see flames licking out from the engine, thick smoke trailing behind it. Your stomach dropped.

“Brace! Heads down!” a flight attendant shouted.

Your mind lagged behind your body. Your heart slammed against your ribs as you folded forward, hands over your head, just like they’d shown in the safety briefing you never paid attention to.

The aircraft hit the runway hard.

Not a smooth landing, a slam. The impact jolted through your entire body as the wheels screeched against the runway. The plane skidded forward, shuddering violently, metal groaning under stress. Your body snapped forward despite the seatbelt. Your forehead struck the seat in front of you with a dull crack. Pain burst across your vision. Before you could even process it, something heavy came crashing down on your right shoulder. The overhead compartment had burst open and someone’s carry-on slammed into you.

White-hot pain shot up your neck.

Your vision went black for a few seconds.

When awareness returned, it came in fragments.

Alarms blaring. People screaming. The sharp scent of burning fuel. You couldn’t think straight. Your head throbbed, your shoulder burned, and the world tilted at a nauseating angle. Passengers rushed past you, scrambling for the exits. You stayed frozen in your seat. Someone grabbed your arm, steady hands, firm but careful.

“Come on. Move.”

You didn’t recognize the voice. Your legs moved because you were guided, not because you told them to. You stumbled down the aisle, disoriented, barely aware of the emergency slide until you were pushed toward it.

Then you were falling.

Air rushed past you as you slid down, your shoulder screaming in protest.

Strong arms caught you at the bottom.

For a second, everything stilled.

Apples.

That familiar scent cut through the chaos like a lifeline.

You tried to look up, but your vision swam too much to make out his face.

“Colonel,” someone reported nearby, voice sharp and professional. “Evacuation complete. No fatalities.”

And then darkness swallowed you whole.

You woke to bright lights. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled your lungs. You tried to sit up. Your head spun violently, and a sharp pain pierced through your shoulder, forcing a groan from your throat.

“Don’t move.”

The voice was immediate.

“C-Caleb…?” you mumbled, squinting.

“Yes.” He stepped closer, his silhouette coming into focus. “Stay still.”

Everything after that blurred into examinations. Doctors, questions, lights in your eyes. Your injuries were explained to you. Mild concussion, heavy bruising.

Eventually, they left.

And Caleb stayed.

He stood by your bedside, arms crossed, jaw tight, the tension in him barely contained.

“A flock of birds struck the engine on approach,” he said flatly. “Engine failure.” His voice hardened. “They should have stabilized the descent better.”

You frowned weakly. “Caleb…”

“Amateurs,” he continued, venom slipping through. “They had a full empty runway and still hard landed. Sloppy.”

You let out a slow breath, already exhausted. He had been like this since you woke up. Tense, pacing, replaying the incident in his head like he could undo it.

“Caleb, the pilots did what they could,” you said quietly. “No one died. That’s what matters.”

“No,” he snapped.

The word cracked through the room.

“They didn’t,” he continued, voice low and dangerous. “You got hurt.”

Your patience snapped.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” His eyes locked onto you, sharp and unyielding. “What if it had been worse? What if I lost you?”

Something in your chest twisted, but irritation flared stronger.

“I’m not yours to lose,” you shot back, teeth gritted. Even if you’ve spent a lot of time together, you haven’t actually defined your relationship yet.

“You’re right,” Caleb said after a long, tense silence, his voice quiet in a way that was somehow worse than shouting. He stepped closer to your bed, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, close enough that his shadow fell over you like a shield.

“You’re not mine to lose,” he repeated, slower this time, his gaze fixed on yours with unsettling intensity. “But you’re mine.”

Your breath caught. Caleb’s jaw clenched once. He looked angry still, but underneath it was something far more dangerous, something raw and shaken and fiercely protective all at once.

“I don’t care if that sounds selfish,” he said, voice roughening at the edges. “I’ve spent too long learning how to hold on to what matters to me. And you…” He stopped, swallowed once, then looked at your shoulder as if the sight of even that small injury offended him personally. “You are what matters.”

His hand came up, hovering for a second before settling carefully against your uninjured side. But the possessiveness in the gesture was unmistakable. Anchoring. Claiming. Reassuring himself that you were still here.

“You don’t get to tell me to be less afraid for you,” he murmured. “Not after this. Not after I saw that plane falling with you on it.”

His thumb brushed once over your arm, almost absentmindedly.

“Next time you fly anywhere,” he said, low and absolute, “you tell me first. I will fly you there and back myself.”

That should have sounded like an overreaction. With Caleb, it sounded like a vow. He leaned down until his forehead rested against yours, his voice dropping. “I’m not asking because I want permission,” he said. “I’m telling you because I am not letting the world take you from me.”

Rafayel

Rafayel was busy attending one of his own exhibitions for a change. Though somehow, despite being surrounded by critics, patrons, and admirers, he still found time to bombard you with dramatic messages about how terribly abandoned he was.

Rafayel: You are so, so cruel. Rafayel: Left me here to suffer among vultures who don’t understand art. Rafayel: Thomas says I need to “socialize.” I think that qualifies as psychological torture.

You snorted softly and typed back:

You: Yeah, yeah. I’m cruel. But at least I’m on a luxury cruise while you’re stuck entertaining your admirers.

You sent the message and tucked your phone away with a smile.

Honestly, it felt nice to take a vacation for once. No work. No responsibilities. No chaos. Just the endless ocean stretching around you and the gentle sway of the ship beneath your feet.

If only you knew how quickly the ocean could change.

One moment the sea had been calm and glittering beneath the evening lights of the cruise ship. Waves rolled lazily against the hull while soft music drifted from the upper decks. The air smelled faintly of salt and expensive perfume, warm wind brushing against your skin as you leaned against the railing.

Then the wind shifted.

Cold.

Sharp.

Dark clouds swallowed the horizon at alarming speed, devouring the stars one by one. The cheerful chatter around you faltered. Somewhere nearby nervous laughter broke out as the ship groaned beneath your feet, the deck tilting almost imperceptibly.

Then lightning split the sky.

A deafening crack followed immediately after, thunder so violent it rattled through your bones.

The ocean no longer looked inviting.

It looked alive. Hungry.

Massive waves rose in the distance like moving mountains, their peaks frothing white beneath flashes of lightning. People started rushing inside.

The crew’s calm smiles had vanished completely.

“Please return to your cabins immediately…”

The announcement cut off abruptly as the ship lurched violently sideways.

Screams erupted around you.

You slammed into the railing hard enough to bruise, fingers scrambling desperately for purchase as freezing seawater crashed over the deck. Rain poured from the sky in thick, blinding sheets.

Another, bigger wave hit.

You barely had time to gasp before your feet left the ground entirely. Your hands slipped off the railing and the deck vanished beneath you.

Then the ocean swallowed you whole.

The cold was unbearable. It punched the breath from your lungs instantly as saltwater flooded your mouth and nose. Darkness churned around you violently alongside debris, shattered wood, luggage, broken glass. You couldn’t tell which direction was up anymore. Panic clawed through your chest as you kicked desperately, lungs already burning. When you finally broke the surface, you choked violently, dragging in ragged breaths while monstrous waves tossed you around like you weighed nothing at all.

The cruise ship already looked too far away. Somewhere in the darkness, people screamed. Then even that disappeared beneath the roar of the ocean.

Another wave crashed over your head, dragging you under again. Your limbs already felt heavy from the cold. Rain battered your face every time you surfaced, leaving you gasping and blind.

Then your hand hit something solid.

Wood.

You grabbed it instinctively. A broken piece of debris. Maybe part of the deck. Maybe shattered remains of a lifeboat. Barely large enough to keep you afloat, but enough. You clung to it desperately, nails digging into soaked wood as the current carried you farther and farther away from the wreck.

Away from the lights.

Away from the screams.

Away from everyone.

By the time the storm finally weakened, there was nothing around you except endless black water stretching in every direction beneath a clearing sky.

No ship.

No rescue boats.

No land.

Just you.

Alone.

Floating beneath cold, distant stars.

You didn’t know how long you drifted. Minutes? Hours? Your mind couldn’t tell anymore. The cold had sunk deep into your bones. Your fingers were numb. Every breath hurt.

And slowly, horrifyingly, the truth settled in.

You were going to die here.

Soon your arms would give out. Soon you wouldn’t have the strength to keep holding on. The ocean would pull you under, and no one would ever know where you disappeared to.

Maybe it was desperation.

Maybe delirium.

Maybe simply the final, irrational hope of someone who did not want to die.

But suddenly, through the haze clouding your thoughts, you remembered an old story. Before long voyages, a captain of a ship would offer a few drops of blood to the ocean, asking it for mercy. Asking it to spare the lives aboard and guide them safely home.

Your piece of wreckage was not a ship.

But maybe…

Maybe you could still count as its captain.

Worth a try, wasn’t it?

After all, you didn’t have anything left to lose.

Your trembling fingers fumbled weakly for the sharp edge of splintered wood jutting from the debris. You hissed softly as you pressed your palm to it, opening your skin just enough for blood to appear. Dark crimson dripped from your hand into the endless black water below.

Please.

The thought was barely coherent anymore.

Please let me go home.

Don’t claim my life.

Your blood vanished beneath the waves.

Somewhere back in Linkon, Rafayel was bored out of his mind, forced to mingle with patrons and admirers who seemed far more interested in his looks than his art. He smiled when he had to, said the right things when expected, and tried not to look as annoyed as he felt.

But every few minutes, his attention drifted back to his phone.

He kept checking for new texts from you.

Nothing.

Again and again, he unlocked the screen, expecting at least a single message, some teasing reply, anything. Instead, there was only silence. The longer it went on, the more irritated he became. Oh, he would absolutely guilt-trip you over this later. He would make you listen to every dramatic complaint, every wounded sigh, every accusation that you had abandoned him to suffer among people who did not appreciate him properly.

And yet somewhere at the back of his mind, unease began to settle. Because yes, he knew he could be a little much. He knew he was dramatic, clingy, and prone to exaggeration. But you never ignored his messages before. Not like this.

His smile thinned.

He checked his phone again. Still nothing. The patrons around him blurred into meaningless noise as a faint tension crept into his chest. It was annoying, irrational even, but he could not quite shake the feeling that something was off. Rafayel stared at the darkened screen for a moment longer, his fingers tightening around the phone.

And then everything changed.

He heard ocean waves, and the sound was getting louder. Rafayel even looked around, wondering whether the background music had been changed to the sound of the sea and whether something had happened to the volume. But no, everyone else seemed exactly the same, as though they had not heard the ocean growing louder with each passing second. Soon the roar of the waves drowned out every other sound. Rafayel felt as if he were running out of oxygen. His chest tightened painfully. Barely acknowledging the people around him, he excused himself and slipped away through the back exit, hoping the fresh air would help.

It did not. The ocean kept roaring in his ears. But now it sounded… like begging. Like the ocean was trying to tell him something. Blood.

Suddenly he tasted seawater and blood in his mouth. And at that moment something powerful and ancient began rising from somewhere deep inside him. Something he usually tried to hold back. Something that now was tearing its way to freedom, drawn by blood and ancient ritual, long forgotten by the people.

Without thinking, Rafayel ran. Towards the ocean, that kept calling its god. Towards you, who unknowingly invoked something that would change your relationship forever.

By the time Rafayel reached the shoreline, he was breathing hard, his usually blue-pink eyes glowing deep blue beneath the moonlight. The waves crashed violently against the shore as though the ocean itself had become restless waiting for him.

For a brief moment, Rafayel just stood there, breathless. Then scales shimmered across his skin, glowing markings bloomed on his body as he stepped into the water. And the ocean recognized him instantly, welcoming him home.

You asked the sea for mercy. And the Sea God answered your prayer.

You were floating in the ocean, barely able to hold on to the piece of wood beneath you. Your vision was blurring, consciousness slipping away little by little. Then your fingers grew too weak to keep their grip on the soaked, cold wood, and they slipped. Fear flared through your mind. But your body was too heavy, too cold, too exhausted to react as you slowly sank toward the dark water below and the horrifying, painful death that waited there.

Before you could fully go under, before the waves could close over your head, strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you up, keeping your upper body above the water. You squinted, trying to make out your savior, but your vision refused to cooperate. All you could see were glowing deep blue eyes.

“Idiot,” you heard a familiar voice, though you could not remember who it belonged to.

Then you felt yourself pressed against something warm. You clung to that heat, your consciousness slipping further away. The last thing you remembered was the feel of warm lips against yours as you were pulled fully into the water.

When you opened your eyes again, you were lying in a hospital bed, the soft hum of medical equipment filling the room.

Slowly, carefully, you turned your head. Rafayel was sitting quietly beside your bed, sketching something in his sketchbook.  As if feeling your gaze, he raised his head and stared at you. Then he slowly stood up and walked toward your bed. Uncharacteristically quiet, he reached out and gently brushed the locks of hair away from your forehead. Then he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I could’ve lost you,” he murmured quietly.

“I’m not yours to lose,” you croaked, your voice hoarse. Internally you were bracing yourself for the dramatic meltdown of an offended artist, but to your surprise Rafayel just smiled and straightened, ignoring your words.

“Here.” He reached for the glass of water and helped you drink it.

Then he got up and walked toward the door. You looked at him, trying to place his reaction. That was not the Rafayel you knew. Not the one who would have thrown himself dramatically across your hospital bed and demanded twenty apologies and endless affection.

“I’m not yours to lose,” you repeated, surprising even yourself.

Quietly, so quietly that you could barely make out the words, Rafayel muttered under his breath, “Then you shouldn’t have bound yourself to me.”

“What was that?” you asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“Nothing. I’ll go tell the doctors that you’re awake.”

You watched suspiciously as Rafayel exited your room. But you did not see the small smile on his face. Your words had already lost their meaning. Because the second your blood spilled into the ocean, a god had accepted your offering. And now he will not let go.

Zayne

After a hard day at work, you decided to treat yourself to something sweet. You went into the nearest café and ordered a milkshake and a dessert topped with fresh strawberries.

You dug in the second the sweet treat was placed on your table.

As you chewed on a strawberry, enjoying the sweet juicy burst, a feeling that something was wrong crept up your spine. You swallowed, than paused, the sensation turning strange. An odd tingling spreading across your mouth. You cleared your throat and washed it down with a big gulp of milkshake.

But it didn’t go away.

As you kept eating, the tingling only worsened. The back of your throat and the roof of your mouth began to itch. You tried to swallow, but it became difficult, as if your throat were filling with wet cotton.

Dread settled in.

You pushed the plate away, but it was already too late. Your breath hitched, then broke into a violent cough. Your hands flew to your throat, nails scraping at your skin as you tried desperately to draw air in.

The sounds around you became muffled, distant. Your vision narrowed. Your legs felt like jelly. You reached for the table to steady yourself, but your grip slipped as you began sliding down the chair.

I can’t breathe!

One final panicked thought shot through your mind before everything went black.

You woke with a gasp, instantly disoriented. Panic flared as you jerked upright, only for pain to pierce through your arm. You winced, letting out a small, involuntary whimper as you looked down. A needle sat in your arm, attached to an IV drip. Blood had pooled slightly around the insertion point.  Nausea hit instantly.

“Careful.”

A familiar voice cut through the haze. Hands entered your line of sight, steady and precise, adjusting the IV before you could pull away. Your head snapped aside immediately, unable to watch.

Zayne was beside your bed.

Calm. Composed. Focused.

When he finished, he looked at you with an unreadable expression.

“Wh… what happened?” you asked quietly.

“Severe allergic reaction to strawberries,” he said flatly. “You went into anaphylactic shock. Paramedics arrived just in time.”

You swallowed, carefully easing back against the pillows, exhaustion settling into your bones like lead. There was a lingering fear. Your own body had nearly killed you over something so small.

“I’ve never had an allergy before,” you mumbled.

“Wrong.”

Zayne’s voice sharpened slightly.

“It is documented in your medical file that you had an allergic reaction in childhood.”

“It was minor,” you tried to argue weakly. “And it never happened again. I thought it was a mistake.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose and rubbed the bridge of his glasses.

“It still happened. Allergies, however minor, must be taken seriously. You could have died.”

His gaze flicked to you.

“And I could have lost you.”

The words landed heavily and something in you bristled at that. The words escaped your mouth before they registered in your mind.

“I’m not yours to lose.”

The air in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Zayne looked at you for a long moment. Then he adjusted his glasses slowly.

“You are my patient,” he said evenly. “And I would prefer you remain alive rather than arrive in my care in critical condition.”

He turned without another word and left the room. The door closed softly behind him.

Zayne walked down the corridor in silence until he reached his office. Then he stopped and exhaled. He loosened his tie slightly, removed his glasses, and sat down at his desk, but he didn’t open the file waiting there.

Instead, he pressed his elbows to the surface and held his head in his hands.

Of course you weren’t his.

He knew that. He had always known that whatever this was, whatever fragile, undefined thing had been building between you, had no name yet. Neither of you had the courage to address it. Something more than friendship.

The temperature in the room began to drop. The glass on his desk fogged at the edges. Papers stiffened as frost crept along their corners. The faint hum of the air system deepened as ice began forming along the vents.

Zayne didn’t notice.

A thin layer of frost spread outward from him, covering everything in ice. It crawled in delicate branching patterns up the furniture. Ice began growing from the ceiling; all plants now were locked in an ice prison. Ice crystals were growing all around him.

 “Dr. Zayne.”

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

Greyson.

Zayne blinked once, slowly lifting his head.

“What happened here?” Greyson asked carefully.

Zayne stared at the frozen mess for a long moment. He didn’t even notice when his Evol started to act up.

“I was… thinking.”

Greyson’s eyes flicked to the ice covering the room.

“Well,” he said, far too amused, “at least the transplant wing will be thrilled. They have a big amount of unmelting ice now.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache creeping in.

And somewhere beneath the exhaustion, beneath the cold still clinging to his skin, one thought remained stubbornly intact. You were alive.

Xavier

You ran faster than you ever had in your life. Your lungs burned. Your legs ached so badly it felt like they might give out beneath you at any moment, and your vision had already begun to blur at the edges. You barely knew where you were going anymore. You only knew one thing.

You could not stop.

You must not stop.

Because you were not running for your own life. You were running to save the children you had left behind.

It had started as an ordinary day. Just a simple, normal day.

Then the defense systems failed.

Metaflux fluctuations spiked. Wanderers appeared. Panic spread almost instantly, and in the confusion, you had found yourself in a local park with a group of children and nowhere to hide. There had only been one Wanderer in the area, but that had still been one too many. There had been nowhere to hide. No shelter. No time.

So you made a choice.

And now you were running.

You could hear it behind you, the heavy predatory sound of pursuit, the ground shaking under each terrible step. You knew you could not outrun it forever. You had no training. No Evol. No chance, really. Small, ordinary you against something made to kill.

You just needed to keep it away from the children for as long as possible.

Your breaths came out ragged, uneven. Your chest ached like it was being crushed from the inside. Every muscle in your body protested, threatening to give out.

You were slowing down.

You knew it.

And so did it.

The sound behind you grew louder.

Closer.

You didn’t even realize what you had tripped on before your body hit the ground hard. Pain exploded through your knees and palms as skin scraped against rough pavement. The impact knocked the air from your lungs. You barely had time to roll before the creature behind you let out a roar and lunged forward.

A small, broken sound slipped from your throat. Not quite a sob. Not quite a scream. Something in between. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to.

You knew.

This was it.

You had already accepted your fate the moment you started running. There had never really been a way out, had there?

Your only regret was that you had not been brave enough to tell Xavier…

A blinding flash of light tore through your vision. The roar cut off mid-sound and something heavy slammed into the ground with a force that shook the air.

Silence followed. Your ears rang. You blinked against the brightness, stunned, dazed, your whole body shaking. Then the light faded and you turned your head.

Your breath caught.

Xavier stood there. His usually calm, almost distant composure was gone. His hair was slightly disheveled, his breathing uneven. And his eyes. His eyes looked almost black. The blue you knew so well had been swallowed whole by something stormy and wild, something so intense it made your chest tighten.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Xavier took one step toward you. And another. And then whatever had been holding him upright seemed to fail. He dropped to his knees directly in front of you, not gracefully, not carefully, but as if the strength had gone out of him the second he saw you on the ground. His forehead came to rest against your shoulder.

Your breath caught. He did not say your name. He did not ask if you were hurt. He simply stayed there, motionless, like he had been bracing himself for a different ending and had not yet recovered from finding you alive.

Your hands hovered for a second before instinct took over. You wrapped your arms around him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his clothes, holding on.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence felt strange, thick with everything he was not saying. Your heart was still pounding from the chase, from the fear, from the shock of seeing him arrive in time. Then, quietly, his voice broke the silence.

“I could’ve lost you.”

The words were barely more than a whisper, rough and unsteady in a way you had never heard from him before. Something twisted in your chest. Maybe it was the adrenaline still flooding your veins. Maybe it was the lingering fear, the exhaustion, the confusion that always came with him, his distance, his silence, the way you could never quite tell what you meant to him.

“I’m not yours to lose.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt it. The shift. Xavier went completely still. Like something inside him had completely stopped. Your breath hitched. Slowly, so slowly it almost hurt to watch, he lifted his head from your shoulder. His hands, which had been gripping your clothes, loosened. Not letting go, but no longer holding on as tightly. He didn’t move away, but something had changed. And for a second, you wished he had shouted. Anything would have been easier than this.

Because there was no anger in his expression. Just something… hollow.

“I see.”

The words were soft. Too soft. Xavier looked at you like he was trying to understand something fundamental, something important. Like he had just been handed a truth he didn’t know how to hold.

“I didn’t mean…” you started, but your voice faltered under the weight of his gaze.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, cutting you off.

That was worse. So much worse. Because he wasn’t arguing. He wasn’t pushing back. He was accepting it.

“You’re not mine,” he continued, his tone calm, almost clinical, but his eyes betrayed him. There was something fractured there. Something struggling to stay contained. “I don’t have any claim over you.”

Your chest tightened painfully. That wasn’t what you meant.

“Xavier…”

“But I almost watched you die.” He exhaled slowly, like he was forcing himself to stay composed.

“I felt it,” he continued, quieter now. “Fear. The moment I realized you were in danger.” His fingers curled slightly against his knee. “And I was too far.”

Your throat went dry.

“I got here as fast as I could,” he said. “And it still almost wasn’t enough.”

Silence stretched between you.

“Do you know what that feels like?” His gaze didn’t leave yours.

“It’s not about ownership,” he said. “It’s not about whether you’re ‘mine.’”

His voice faltered just for a second.

“It’s about… knowing that there is someone in this world whose absence would...” He stopped and swallowed. Then tried again.

“…would leave nothing behind worth staying for.”

Your heart stuttered.

“That’s what I meant,” he finished quietly. “When I said I could’ve lost you.”

You hadn’t expected him to sound like this.

Xavier closed his eyes briefly, like he was gathering himself, pulling all of that emotion back under control where it belonged. When he opened them again, the storm was still there, but quieter now. Contained.

“I won’t say it again,” he said, almost gently. “If it makes you uncomfortable.”

That hurt more than it should have.

He finally pulled back just slightly, enough to give you space, but not enough to truly distance himself. Not enough to let you go completely.

“But don’t mistake what I feel,” he added, voice low. “For something as simple as possession.”

His hand lifted, hesitating for just a moment before it settled carefully against your arm. Not gripping. Not trapping. Just there, grounding.

“I don’t need you to be mine,” he said softly.

A pause.

“I just need you to stay alive.” And somehow, that felt far more intense than anything else he could have said.