#frommars

His daughter lifted her palm dramatically. "Got a boo-boo."

He took her hand in his much larger one, carefully inspecting it. A tiny, nearly invisible scrape. Hardly anything at all.

Still, he nodded seriously, as if evaluating one of his experiments at Umbrella's labs. "This is a grave injury."

She sniffled. "Will I be okay?"

"I'm not sure," he said, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. "We may need... a bandage."

Her eyes widened. "A big one?"

"The biggest," he confirmed.

Wesker stood, moving to retrieve the first aid kit--though when he returned, he selected the smallest, least necessary bandage he could find. Carefully, he peeled it open and placed it over her scrape with all the precision of a surgeon.

His daughter watched in awe. "Wow."

He smiled softly. "There. As good as new."

She tested her hand, flexing her fingers dramatically before nodding. "I think it's working."

"I am a doctor," he reminded her, pushing up his sunglasses in mock importance. "I know these things."

She giggled. "You're the best doctor."

The words did something strange to his chest. He had been called many things--brilliant, ruthless, unmatched in his field-- but never that. Never the best in a way that wasn't laced with calculation or fear.

Just admiration.

Just love.

He exhaled, ruffling her hair before standing. "Try not to injure yourself again," he said, voice light. "I don't want to have to put you in critical care."

She gasped. "What's that?"

"It involves eating all your vegetables."

"Noooo!"

Wesker smiled as she clutched her bandaged hand protectively.

Her helmet--pink, much to his dismay--sat slightly crooked on her head, and her expression was set in pure focus.

"You're overthinking it," Wesker remarked, stepping closer. "I have to think about it," she huffed, glancing back at him. "What if I fall?"

"You will."

She gasped. "Daddy!"

He smirked. "It's statistical certainty."

She pouted, crossing her arms. "That's not very nice."

"It's realistic."

She huffed again, but her grip on the handlebars tightened. "But I don't wanna fall."

He knelt beside her, his tone losing its usual sharpness. "That's why I am here."

Her little eyes flickered up at him, filled with uncertainty.

Wesker placed a steady hand on the back of her seat. "You'll fall. You'll get back up. And then, eventually... you won't fall at all."

She swallowed, nodding slowly. "Okay."

He straightened, keeping a firm grip on the bike. "Pedal."

She hesitated, then did as she was told. The bike wobbled slightly, but Wesker's strong hands kept her steady.

"You're holding on, right?" she asked, her voice tight with nerves.

"Hm."

She pedaled faster, and he moved with her, jogging slightly as she gained momentum. Her balance was shaky, but she was determined, her little legs working hard to keep going.

Then, without a word, Wesker released his grip.

She didn't notice at first.

Then--

"Daddy, you're not holding on!"

"You don't need me to."

Her eyes widened as she realized--she was doing it. She was riding on her own.

"I'M DOING IT!" she squealed, excitement overtaking her fear.

Wesker smiled, watching as she made it a few more feet--before veering slightly to the right and toppling over into the grass.

Silence.

Then, a tiny groan.

He approached, standing over her. "What did I say?"

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the sky. "That I'd fall."

"And?"

She sighed dramatically. "And I gotta get back up."

He extended a hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She dusted off her scraped knee with mild annoyance, but there were no tears, no protests.

Just determination.

She looked up at him, setting her little shoulders squarely.

"Again."

A slow smile pulled at his lips.

"Good girl."

And so, they tried again.

And again.

And again.

What he didn't expect was to fall in love along the way.

He met her by accident--literally.

One evening, after a grueling obstacle course session, Leon dragged his tired body across campus, heading towards his dorm. He wasn't paying attention when he rounded a corner, and before he could react, he collided with someone.

A blur of movement. A gasp.

And then--grace.

Somehow, instead of toppling over, the girl he bumped into spun on her toes, adjusting her weight effortlessly. Leon, on the other hand, stumbled back awkwardly, his academy reflexes failing him.

She blinked at him, and he found himself staring at the most striking brown eyes he had ever seen. Her hair was pulled into a bun, a few loose strands framing her delicate face. She wore a simple hoodie and leggings, but something about her posture was impossibly elegant.

"You okay?" she asked, tilting her head.

Leon blinked. "Uh... yeah. Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going?"

She smiled--soft, amused. "Clearly."

That was how he met Hana Vasquez, a ballet student at a nearby conservatory. They kept running into each other after that, at the campus café, in the library, even at the park where he went for morning runs.

He learned she had been dancing since she was five, that she practiced for hours every day, and that her dream was to join a prestigious ballet company. In return, she learned that Leon wanted to be a cop to help people, that he had a habit of falling asleep on his textbooks, and that despite his serious nature, he had a dorky sense of humor.

Their worlds couldn't have been more different--police drills and criminal law versus pirouettes and pliés--but somehow they fit.

One night, after a particularly rough training session, Leon found himself at the dance studio where she practiced. The door was slightly open, music drifting through the hall. He peeked inside and saw her moving like she was weightless, each motion fluid, effortless.

He must've made a noise because she turned, catching him in the doorway.

"Leon?"

He scratched the back of his neck sheepish. "Didn't mean to interrupt. I just--"

She smiled, walking over to him. "You look exhausted."

"I feel exhausted."

She studied him for a moment, then held out her hand. "Dance with me."

Leon let out a short laugh. "Oh, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Come on, future cop. You do all that intense training--this should be easy."

With a dramatic sigh, he gave in, taking her hand. She guided him through the simplest of steps, laughing every time he fumbled. He was stiff, awkward, completely out of his element, but he didn't care. Because the way she smiled at him, the way her fingers laced through his--it made every clumsy step worth it.

And when he finally got it right, she beamed. "See? Not bad."

He grinned, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with dancing. "Maybe I just had a good teacher."

That was the moment he knew--he was falling for her. Hard.