The first time you bite him, you don’t think.

You just do.

His hand brushes your shoulder—softly, carefully. Not possessively. Not forcing you to do anything. Not a slap, no. Almost tenderly. And that gentleness triggers you. It’s foreign, incomprehensible, frightening.

Your jaw snaps before you can stop yourself. Your teeth sink deep into his forearm, breaking the skin. The bite tightens—a warning, a question, an instinct you don’t understand.

But Leon doesn’t pull away.

He stands still, even as his pulse races beneath your teeth. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t curse. He doesn’t react like the soldier he’s been trained to be.

For a moment, he stops being a weapon. He stops being the cold, perfect, impersonal tool the government uses to clean the dirt and chaos away.

He’s just a human being—vulnerable, soft, sensitive.

And the shock of it splits him open like a nut, revealing a delicate, fragrant core.

You release his arm abruptly, cowering, mentally retreating into a corner. You expect anger, hatred, punishment—all the things you were raised on. But where his slap should’ve landed, only your tear rolls down.

Leon just looks at you, breathing deep and even, his impossibly blue eyes wide open—not in rage, but in something like recognition. It’s as if you’ve peeled away a layer he long forgot, one he once wore to hide the living, bleeding thing inside.

“Have you finished biting,” he asks, his voice hoarse, “or should I expect more?”

There’s warmth in it. Acceptance.

You shrug, fighting the panic rising in your throat. “I didn’t mean to,” you mutter quickly. “I… don’t know why I did it.”

Leon looks down at the red marks of your teeth on his skin, like two crescent moons. He slowly flexes his fingers, then looks back at you.

“It’s okay,” the words slip from his lips too easily. He’s surprised at how true they are.

You wanted to hurt him—but instead, you bit straight into his soul, into his hidden softness, and dragged it to the surface.

And now, neither of you knows what to do with it.