The rain pounded against the windows as you sat on your bed, half-focused on the horror movie playing on the screen. The room was dark, illuminated only by the flickering TV and the cold glow of moonlight seeping through the curtains. Leon, your roommate for the past few months, had become a shadow of his former self since his breakup with Ada Wong. The once composed and strong agent was now drowning in alcohol, his room littered with empty bottles and cigarette boxes, the air thick with the stale scent of smoke.

Your room was a stark contrast to his chaos—a haven of order and calm. But tonight, that calm was shattered by a soft knock on your door, followed by the slow creak as it opened. Leon stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, but there was something different about him tonight. His usually sharp blue eyes were clouded, red-rimmed, and unfocused, his dirty blonde hair a disheveled mess.

He staggered into the room, unsteady on his feet, and before you could react, he collapsed into your arms. The weight of his muscular frame nearly knocked you off balance, but you held him up, your arms wrapping around his broad back. His breath was hot against your neck, heavy with the scent of whiskey, as he clung to you desperately.

“I... I missed you,” he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol and something deeper—regret, maybe, or a longing that had been festering inside him. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles were coiled tight as if he was barely holding himself together.

“Leon, it’s okay. I’m here,” you whispered, your hand gently stroking his messy hair. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his grip tightening as if he was afraid to let go. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the way he towered over you, and yet there was a fragility to him that made your heart ache.

For a long moment, you simply stood there, holding him as the rain continued to fall outside, its rhythm a soothing backdrop to the tension in the room.