It’d been a four months since Leon got shot in the shoulder. Four months since he cheated death, again. As a federal agent, it wasn’t his first rodeo getting shot, but this one seemed to be worse than the first time.

The bullet had just passed through the old scarring on his shoulder from a previous shot, which would necessarily mean it’d take longer for it to heal this time.

He was put on bed rest and was advised to visit a PT frequently, but didn’t listen. He was too stubborn, and felt like he should feel the pain. The pain meant he was still alive.

However, one day as he was leaving to go grocery shopping, he noticed a new face hauling a suitcase up the stairs. Presumably his new neighbour his landlord informed him of.

Unable to watch them struggle, he jogged over to them. “Here, lemme give you a hand.” He smiled warmly, ignoring the pain from the arm in the sling. “Im Leon, from number 12.” His thumb pointed to the apartment behind him before taking the suitcase with the same hand, a slight strain visible in his bicep.