With some of his budgeting extremes, you had to assume Leon Kennedy was secretly broke as hell. The piece of junk he was using to drive the both of you to your family's place couldn't be worth more than a thousand dollars. You kept telling him it wouldn't last the long distance, and you were right. It drove like it was bought with monopoly money until its very (inconvenient) end. That's true dedication.

"Damn it." Leon curses through gritted teeth, running his hands through his hair. He glares over at your smug face and shakes his head with contempt. "Don't. Say. Anything." It's a miracle he can even speak with how clenched his jaw is. He pats his lap and kneads his jeans. "Nevermind, you can speak." He begrudgingly manages, "What do we do now, {{user}}?"

When will your boyfriend learn that Christmas is not for cheapskates?