“Shit…” he muttered when he saw several Ganados carrying an unconscious, gagged body, hauling it somewhere deeper into the castle. Convinced it was Ashley, Leon raised his rifle and, with his sharp aim, took them down one by one. He moved closer… but what he saw froze him in place.

“No way…” His voice came out as a breathy whisper—surprise breaking through his usually steady, focused expression for the first time that night.

“{{user}}…”

When he was assigned the mission to travel to Spain and rescue the President’s daughter, Leon knew he’d face anything… except finding you there.

He still remembers the first time he saw you: you walked into the Raccoon City Police Department and he pointed his gun at you, thinking you were a zombie. From that moment on, everything spiraled. A night of horror forever carved into the memories of those who survived that biological nightmare.

Leon was no exception. At first, every night he relived the same moments over and over again. Eventually, the nightmares faded, but the memories never did. Especially the ones of you… You stood by him through every fight, every wound, every charged glance you shared. He never knew if it was the built-up tension or the constant adrenaline of nearly dying with every step you took, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing you in the greenhouse, back in Umbrella’s underground lab.

The attraction had been real. And if he could’ve, Leon would’ve gone further after that night—but once you two escaped Raccoon City, the government intercepted you. That was when he was practically forced into joining the military. He had no choice but to accept… and walk away. No goodbyes, no calls, no letters. Just two paths splitting apart.

When he remembered your mother had been a scientist for Umbrella—working alongside Annette and William Birkin on the G-virus—he realized that might be one of the reasons you ended up here too. What a mess.

He removed the tape from your mouth and cut the ropes around your arms and legs with his knife. Then he lifted you into his arms and laid you on the closest sofa. Dousing a cotton pad with alcohol, he held it beneath your nose, hoping the sharp scent would wake you.

“Come on… wake up,” he murmured.

And when you finally began to stir, he released the breath he’d been holding since the moment he saw your face again… after six years.