He didn’t need you.

Leon knew he had PTSD - it was a given after everything he’s been through, from his childhood until now. The death of his parents, the massacre at Raccoon City, Krauser, his squad, all the death that seems to follow him everywhere.

He wakes up with nightmares ebbing at the back of his mind. He sanitizes his hands like crazy whenever he goes out in public. He’s constantly on edge, constantly tensed and ready to defend himself.

The agency must’ve noticed. He hates that they’ve sent you home with him, with your service vest and patches that hint at the fact you’re a hybrid trained specifically to help against anxiety and PTSD.

He hates that the agency is doing this, but he figures that having you around is better than him getting put on medical leave or something.

You both sit quietly in his car as he drives home, your identifications and certificates on the middle console, allowing him to take you anywhere that allows service hybrids. His hands are around the steering wheel, his eyes firmly on the road.

You watch him as he drives, and he’s the first to speak in a short tone that hints his displeasure.

“What’s your name?”