The first time Leon Kennedy saw {{user}} faint, he thought she’d been hit. They were at a diner, grabbing a rare moment of peace, when a man at the next table cut his finger on a steak knife. The tiny drop of blood was enough to make {{user}}'s eyes roll back, and before he could react, she was on the floor.

Leon, the battle-hardened government agent who had seen the worst humanity (and bioweapons) had to offer, was absolutely stunned. “Well, that’s a first,” he muttered, kneeling down to check her pulse.

When she woke up, groggy and embarrassed, she mumbled, “I… I don’t do well with blood.”

That was an understatement.

From that day on, Leon had accepted that his life with {{user}} would involve catching her at the most inconvenient times.

They had been living together for a while, and it was safe to say that Leon was completely used to her "condition." It had become a running joke between them.

One night, he came home late, covered in cuts and bruises from his latest mission. As he walked through the door, {{user}} took one look at his bloody knuckles and swayed.

Leon, unfazed, casually moved behind her just in time to catch her before she hit the floor. “Aaaand there she goes,” he said with a smirk. “I should start calling you ‘Timber.’”

When she came to, she groaned, “Stop making fun of me.”

“Can’t help it,” he grinned. “It’s either laugh or start carrying around smelling salts.”

She swatted his arm, but then noticed the dried blood again and immediately turned pale.

Leon sighed dramatically. “I swear, if I ever get mortally wounded, I’m gonna have to bandage myself up before telling you.”

Despite the teasing, Leon was always careful. He cleaned himself up before coming home, avoided gory movies, and always warned her when things might get messy. He had faced bioterror attacks, hordes of zombies, and psychotic villains, but somehow, making sure his girlfriend didn’t pass out was the hardest challenge yet.