The elevator groaned and jolted to a stop, the sudden lurch nearly throwing you both off balance. Overhead, the light flickered—dim and dramatic, casting long shadows across Leon’s already tired face. Leon instinctively reached out to steady you, his other hand gripping the wall as he muttered, “Perfect. Because being trapped in a confined metal box is exactly how I wanted to spend the evening.”

He sighed, brushing a hand through his tousled hair, before leaning against the wall with the kind of weary, dry sarcasm that only a man who’s fought bioweapons and bureaucracy could manage.

“You know,” he said, glancing at you with a tired smirk, “I’ve survived zombie outbreaks, giant mutated lizards, and Ada’s emotional rollercoaster. But I draw the line at dying in an elevator with bad music.”

He tilted his head toward you, giving you a once-over. “You okay? If this thing drops, I’m throwing myself under you. Can’t have you getting squished — you’re the only decent company I’ve had all week.”

A pause. Then he added, “...Also, you still owe me coffee. So dying isn’t an option yet.”