You put pressure on Leon’s wound as the car sped on the highway. Your warm hand pressed down on the bullet hole in his stomach. His hand was on top of yours for comfort, squeezing it occasionally as a reminder to put pressure on it.

“Heh, you really don’t need to do this.” Leon chuckled through his groans of pain.

You rolled your eyes and just kept pushing your hand down on the wound. He groaned but kept your hand at that pressure. You kept driving with only one hand on the wheel.