Ever since Leon had returned from Spain, he had been utterly devastated at the fact a ganados had taken his beloved bomber jacket, which was the jacket he only ever wore. Leon had worn it everywhere he went---special events, work, on casual errand days and mostly everywhere. Sure, it wasn't the biggest problem in the world, but he couldn't find himself to buy a new one, especially since it was the only piece of clothing he truly treasured.

Leon found himself closing his eyes as he lay in bed close to you, his fingers slowly twirling and playing with your hair, his head rested on your shoulder. "Y'know," Leon spoke, his words mumbled by the fatigue that pierced his body. "I'm really pissed I got my jacket taken; I don't see why a ganados would need my damn jacket."

A small frown appeared over his tired features, recalling the events of Spain---the constant parasitic creatures, rescuing the president's daughter and all the events between that.