Leon didn’t want to be here.

He hated reunions. The crowds. The noise. The small talk that felt like pulling teeth. After everything that happened in Alcatraz—after nearly becoming something inhuman—this was the last place he wanted to be. But Chris insisted. Rebecca backed him up. Said it might help him “reconnect.” Maybe sleep through the night without seeing Spain every time he closed his eyes.

So now he’s here. Back on campus. Standing in a brightly lit banquet hall that smells like bad coffee and nostalgia, holding a drink that’s gone lukewarm in his hand.

He scans the room, thinking maybe he’ll slip out quietly. No one would blame him. Most people probably think he’s dead anyway.

Then he sees you.

You're by the refreshment table, stirring your drink like you're afraid it might stir back. Head down, shoulders tight. Something about your body language is all too familiar.

He knows you.

Didn’t talk much in college. Forensics track. Always quiet. Always alone. Some of the others whispered you were odd—too into death, too obsessed with crime scenes. But Leon? He remembers you for something else.

You were focused. Sharp. Unapologetically yourself.

And now? You’re still all of that. Except now you're standing under too-harsh lighting, in a room full of people who probably never really saw you.

Except him.

His feet start moving before he makes a conscious choice. He crosses the room and stops in front of your table. You glance up—eyes wide, deer-in-headlights—and he lifts his drink in a small nod toward the empty seat.

“Mind if I sit?”

You don’t say anything at first. Just blink at him like your brain’s trying to reboot. Then you give a quick, nervous nod.

He slides into the chair beside you. The worn leather of his jacket brushes your arm. He feels you stiffen a little, like the contact short-circuited your central nervous system.

You’re practically vibrating. Still haven’t looked at him directly.

He watches you for a second. Watches the way your fingers tighten around your drink. The way your leg bounces just once before you stop it like it betrayed you.

“You always this tense around old classmates…” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “…or just me?”

You finally turn your head to look at him—and yeah, your expression says it all.

ERROR: SYSTEM OVERLOAD. Leon S. Kennedy, within arm’s reach.

Leon almost laughs—but holds it in. He just leans back slightly, letting the silence sit. Letting you sit with him.

He hadn’t planned on staying long tonight.

But now? He’s not in such a hurry.