A mission is the reason why Leon and you are stranded in the middle of nowhere. Injured, starving, and freezing.

At least you found an old barely standing cabin to spend the night in.

There’s a mattress, barely usable. You motion towards it. “You take it.”

Leon raises a brow. “You’re the one that got stabbed.”

“So did you.”

“Worry about your own bleeding first.”

“You’re worse off.”

You both end up on the floor anyway—backs to the wall, sitting close enough that your shoulders touch.

Not because either of you wants to. Because neither of you wants to admit how cold it really is.