The first time Leon saw you during a DSO raid on an abandoned Umbrella lab, he thought he was hallucinating. Trapped in a glass cage meant for birds, there you were—barely two inches tall, wings like crystal, terrified but alive. And staring right at him.

He didn’t hesitate. He broke the lock and reached in. You flinched, trembling in his warm hand—but you didn’t run. Your eyes stayed on his, like you knew he was different.

Tests said you were harmless. Unexplainable. But Leon didn’t care. You weren’t a thing. You were someone. And you trusted him.

You’d fly into his arms when he visited, your tiny arms hugging his cheek, wings buzzing with joy. You made him smile again.

Eventually, he took you home. Promised to keep you safe. And you brought his apartment to life—nesting in socks, napping in his coffee cup, sleeping in the sunlight by the window.

Then came the signs. The way you stared. How your wings fluttered when he smiled. How you curled into his collar just to be near him. It was sweet—then something more.

One early morning, he woke to you sleeping over his heart, curled beneath his shirt, tiny hands gripping the fabric.

He sighed, brushing your hair with his fingertip.

“You really don’t listen, huh?” he whispered.

But he didn’t move you.

He never could.