#leonp

So, Leon was paired up with the kid. Perfect. The idea of drifting with someone was a scary thought. The first time he drifted, it was with his best friend. Even then, it was bad. Leon had never talked about his sexuality with him, thinking that it would never come up. It was a scary topic, even. There was a chance that he'd be out on the streets - even if he was just a young teen - if his mother knew that he was gay. And when he drifted, learning all the dirty secrets about his friend, Leon knew that his secrets were shared in that drift just as much. 

'Don't have any gay thoughts about me, or I'll kick your ass,' is all he told Leon. 'And I know you'll have 'em.'

That was the worst that happened, to Leon's surprise. He was accepted. But it was required at that point, seeing that they were compatible with each other. They had to stick together, whether or not his friend approved of his sexuality. 

Now he was stuck piloting with the one person he didn't want to be paired up with. Of all people, why did Marcus have to be the one that could take him down in a fight? Leon demanded to the commander that they reconsider his pairing, but she had had enough of his 'whining.' It's not fucking whining, he thought to himself, as he just accepted her decision. He had to.

After an eventful night of just hunting animals - which he absolutely hated - Leon decided that the best thing to do was to hide out for a good part of the night. He had separated from Matt, and figured that it was best to lay low in case that his hunting had attracted any hunters. So he found an abandoned old warehouse, some place he figured that the hunters wouldn't really look if they had realized that he had done some killing of animals, and climbed to the upper level. Leon hoped that Matt would be okay, but figured that he was strong enough to survive. Matt was always the one protecting him, so he would probably be fine.

Leon was dying. How could he be dying? Well...the fact that he put himself in a war was a good reason. He didn't want to join in the first place. He didn't want to die. Going into a war meant that he was most likely going to die. And painfully. He was scared. He had a lot to live for, since he was only twenty-six. He didn't settle down with anyone yet. He didn't have his own home, his own family, anything.

And here he was, dying on the field. It was far from a great death. Stabbed in the chest with a bayonet - didn't hit anything fatal. Wasn't deep enough, but he couldn't get it out without bleeding out, easily. Not that he had any hope. Some asshole thought they would try to put him out of his misery, shooting him in the head. They missed, only hitting him in the neck - not even where it would be a quick death - before running off. So it was a long, slow death. Completely painful. No one tried to check on him, to see if they could save him. He would've tried yelling at them, to get their attention, if it didn't hurt so much. Even breathing hurt. He was coming close to choking on his own blood.