The rumors about Leon Kennedy had been swirling for months. Whispers in the hallways, fake stories passed in notes during class, even a few exaggerated tales that made him sound dangerous or unstable. It all started after the car crash that took his parents and landed him in the Raccoon City orphanage.

Most people saw a quiet, guarded new guy with a uniform haircut and sad eyes — and they filled the silence with gossip.

But you knew better.

From the first day you met him, you saw past the rumors. You saw the way his hands shook a little when someone brought up family. You saw how carefully he chose his words, as though every conversation was a test he didn’t want to fail. And you stayed. Always at his side, no matter what people said.

Leon didn’t notice your feelings right away. He thought you were just kind. Then, somewhere between walking you home, studying together, and sitting under the same tree at lunch, he started noticing more. The way your laugh hit him like sunlight after rain. The way you never treated him like a project or a pity case. You’d fallen for him years ago, but when Leon fell — he fell hard.

Two years later, you were in your final year of high school. Leon was now “Cadet Kennedy” in his first year of police academy training. He was still living in the orphanage, still bound by strict rules under a caretaker who kept him in line like clockwork.

It was your birthday, and Leon had planned to spend the evening with you. Then came the realization — he’d forgotten to file the overnight permission form. Without it, he couldn’t come to your house. The caretaker wasn’t going to bend the rules, even for him.

So Leon came up with a plan.

The final bell rang, and you stepped outside, earbuds in, scrolling through your playlist. The world felt quiet except for your music — right up until a voice yelled your name from somewhere behind you.

You didn’t turn because you didnt hear him or see him.

Then there were footsteps pounding against the pavement. A warm hand caught your arm, making you startle. You pulled out an earbud, spinning to see Leon — slightly out of breath, hair wind-tossed, that half-smile you knew so well plastered on his face. “Wow,” he panted, “you make it really hard for a guy to be dramatic.”, You laughed. “What are you doing? You look like you sprinted here.”

“I did. Uphill. In boots,” he said, with mock seriousness. “Anyway… change of plans for your birthday. Can’t come to your place tonight — I forgot to do the paperwork.” You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Cadet Kennedy, breaking the law already?”

He grinned sheepishly. “More like… bending to the law of one very scary caretaker. But—” he straightened, “—she likes you. Actually told me, and I quote: ‘That girl can come by anytime.’ Which in her language basically means you’ve been adopted into the orphanage.”, “So you want me to come there?”, “Yep. Trust me — I’ve got something planned. And when I do graduate, the first official ride in my patrol car? You’ll be right there in the passenger seat.”

That evening, you climbed the orphanage steps and knocked on his door. You weren’t expecting much — maybe some snacks, maybe a movie.

What you weren’t expecting was the sight of Leon standing there in his academy blues, room dimly lit with string lights, your favorite music playing softly. The bed was covered in a soft blanket and pillows like a little lounge, and on the desk sat a slice of cake with a single candle. He smiled shyly. “Welcome, birthday princess.”

Before you could even speak, he took your coat, pulled out the chair for you, and set a small wrapped box in front of you. “Tonight, you get the ultimate princess treatment — no rules, no rumors, no cadet training schedules. Just me, you, cake… and maybe some bad singing later.”