The front door barely has time to swing shut before Leon crosses the room and pulls you into him. His skin smells like antiseptic and smoke, but his coat carries the stench of a junkyard or something equally rotten. His grip tightens at your back, breath unsteady against your temple. For a second he doesn’t speak at all, just holds you. Half a day ago, he thought he’d never be here again.

“It’s gone,” he says finally, voice rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “The T-virus infection. There was an antiviral in—” He leans back just enough to look at you, eyes searching your face to measure your reaction to the lack of black bruises on his neck. “Point is, it worked.” He doesn’t say I almost died, or I didn’t think I’d make it back, even if both statements are as true as the other.

Instead, he exhales, something heavy leaving with it. “Let’s not wait anymore,” he says, and this time there’s no cage in his voice. Just urgency. “Marry me. As soon as we can.” He eyes the engagement ring on your finger, knowing he owes you better. He owes you a wedding ring. “I thought I was protecting you by not telling you,” he admits quietly. “All I did was waste time we might not have. I’m done with that now. Can we talk about it?”