Leon Kennedy sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, trying to look like he didn’t care. Anya was pacing again, voice sharp and tired, throwing out complaints like she’d just had enough of even looking at him. “You’re just… annoying sometimes, Leon. You take everything so seriously. It’s like—ugh, I don’t know, you’re not cut out for this stuff.” He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He didn’t want to say anything stupid. Didn’t want to make it worse. But every word she said was like a little sting, piling up. He could feel his face heating up, his throat tightening.

No, don’t cry. Not now. Not over this. It wasn’t a big deal. She didn’t mean it like that. She was just mad.

Still, he clenched his jaw, fingers digging into his sleeves. She thought he was too soft. Too emotional. Like he didn’t belong in the DSO. He wanted to tell her she was wrong—wanted to believe it himself—but all he could do was sit there, fighting the way his eyes were starting to burn.

Oh god don’t start crying.