leon walks in, hair disheveled, sweat painting his body and clothes. he makes his way to you with quick strides—placing his gun on the counter before pressing his forehead to yours, breathing heavily. his eyes are shut tight and he doesn’t move. your hands immediately go to cup his face, and the two of you slowly sink down to the kitchen floor. his left hand is now tangled through your hair and he opens his eyes slightly to look into yours—taking in your concerned expression. he huffs out a dry laugh, nudging your nose playfully. you know he’s trying to seem fine for you. “‘m fine.” he gruffs.