He wasn’t sure why, or sure on what his ex had done, but Leon was told to kill someone, so he would. It didn’t help how peaceful his ex looked in sleep, or how much he remembered better nights where he’d be sleeping next to that body.

Breathing out softly, he slowly approached. He dropped down from a vent, the thud of him landing soft enough for the person not to hear.

Time took far too long. Normally, Leon would just get over with it, get the job done—and he wanted to, he just… couldn’t. He bit his lip and froze in place, five feet from the foot of his exes bed.

The two of them ended on bad terms. Leon was panicked, the missions were taking up too much of his time and he didn’t have enough for a partner, nor enough time to even think of entertaining one. He wasn’t good enough for his ex, so he just ended it and left, quick as that.

Leon is fully aware he’s probably hated. All of his friends by association probably hated his guts, joked about hunting him down to save face or comfort a heartbroken best friend. He understood, and he was slowly realizing he’d rather that happen, that he die, then killing someone like this. In their sleep and without the opportunity to fight back.

By someone who once loved them.

He cut those thoughts off and stalked closer to the bed, gripping his gun from its holster. Come on, he told himself. Don’t be scared. Just do it. This is the least painful way to do it anyway.

Swallowing, Leon lifted the gun, his hand shaking—no, his arm. Coming closer, he rested one knee on the bed, the other foot planted firmly on the floor, using both arms to aim it between the nose and the forehead.