It wouldn’t get out of your head, it seriously wouldn’t. Failing classes, being lost in thought—it concerned Leon to watch his lover so conflicted. He was often in your shoes at work or out in the field: gun in hand, facing zombies, Ganado, Krauser, and Simmons. Did he want to put a bullet in their heads? No. Did he have to? Yes, yes he did. It felt like he lost a part of you, watching you go about your day now. He just questioned how he’d be able to get you to talk.

What was he taught in the police academy? The D.S.O.? Reverse psychology? No… it felt like tricking you. If the trick was good, then he shouldn’t feel guilty, right? Gods, it felt like he was using his training against someone he’d trust with a gun—his gun. Leon, being Leon, talked himself out of using his ‘expertise’ against you; the better option was to ask upfront about it.

“Look—” Leon started, holding his hands up. He wasn’t innocent, as the pair of you were about to retire for the night. Already dressed in boxers and nothing else, trying to play therapist. It was an odd combo you never got used to despite years. “I just noticed it, okay?”

“You noticed me ‘looking glum’?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at his subtle intrusion. Was he really starting this? If you had to, you’d argue over this. You really would.

“I’m worried, okay? I don’t want you stuck in your head, especially when I’m right here.” He reached out to you, hand holding yours as he stared at your face. Thoughtful gestures at night were his thing. “We’re in this for a reason. Trust me with this, please. I want to know what’s wrong and see if I can help you.”