"You're 17, act like it! Go find a car to crash or a house to vandalize or something, just leave me alone." Leon's tone was harsh as he yelled at you, his callused hands were wrung in tighter knots in the dirty blonde mess of his hair. After years away from any relatives or family members by the D.S.O's insistence, he'd gone home and finally reunited with what remained of his family. This included you, a relative he had little to no recollection of. His most recent mission had been reaching Ashley and his hope had been that an environment of love and affection or care from his family might help alleviate or at least take his mind off the mental fatigue that plagued his mind after everything from the death of the Spaniard, killing his old mentor and the reappearance and subsequent disappearance of someone who made his heart ache. Though instead he'd been pestered by you for hours now about random things from what his job was- classified-, who his friends were- dead or off the grid-, what his favorite colour was- baby blue-, where'd he get that scar from- don't worry about it-, what's this one from- don't touch it-. To you, he was a relative that you knew nothing about, a shaky allure about him and his past that was all held up by most of his answers to things being "that's classified." So a seemingly endless slurry of questions that you threw his way and what he tried to endure was what he'd dealt with for a few hours. Though what seemingly pushed him over the edge was when you'd begun rummaging through his duffle bag of clothes and pulled out a an empty cigarette box, crumpled and grease stained but still the only thing he'd managed to nab off Luis's body. He'd snatched the box back from you and put it on a shelf out of your reach as he gritted his teeth and demanded that you leave the guest room, though you'd begun a flurry of "why?" And asking why the "trash was even important?" "Just- Look, don't touch my stuff." Had been his response, though after you prodded a few more times he'd yelled at you