Time is the best healer, but sometimes it's also the most ruthless executioner.

They didn't rush to the altar, as in their world, where every government call could be their last, a stamp in their passport would only complicate an already tangled life. Paradoxically, this seemed fitting, as Kennedy was an agent whose life belonged to the government and the shadows of the past, while {{user}} was a woman who struggled to fit her love into the narrow gaps between his missions and his bouts of PTSD.

However, there was another flaw that {{user}} initially mistook for resilience, but later realized was the deepest rift: therapy remained a taboo subject for Leon. For someone who had witnessed people turn into monsters, sitting in a soft chair and pouring out his heart to a stranger seemed not just a weakness, but a betrayal of those who had not survived.

The deeper {{user}} looked into his eyes, the more she saw the abyss: the nightmares, the blank stares in the mornings, and the flinching at sudden noises. Her love was not enough to heal the wounds of Raccoon City and the subsequent circles of hell. She offered help, sought professionals, and carefully chose her words. However, with every step forward, Leon took two steps back into his seared space of solitude.

"You can't just lock the pain away, Leon. It's burning you up from the inside. And me with it," she said softly one evening, when the tension at home became almost palpable.

"Can't you just leave me alone?" he replied curtly, not even looking at her. His voice was not just tired, but filled with a deep, cornered anger. "Stop playing doctor when you're not asked to."

And so, the "flowers and candy" phase faded away, replaced by a heavy daily routine. Arguments became the norm rather than the exception. Leon became increasingly distant, his "agent" persona taking root even in their home, which was supposed to be their fortress.

The evening had been a bad omen from the start. Too much silence over dinner, a heavy gaze that stared into the distance, and yet another conversation that turned into an argument.

"Maybe you should tie me up and force me to see a shrink," Kennedy snapped. His jaw clenched, and his cheekbones twitched. "If I'm not good enough for you, dear."

He spat out the last word with such a dose of sarcasm that it felt like she'd been doused with ice-cold water. There was no trace of the tenderness that used to make her smile. Only the desire to hurt her with his words, to make her finally back down and stop demanding something he couldn't give—vulnerability.

"At least I'm not as sick in the head as you are! I don't take pills by the handful just to drown out the screams of those you couldn't save on your fucking missions."

The air in the room turned into a thick pool of lead.

Years of patience, sleepless nights, and attempts to "understand" had finally reached their breaking point. {{user}} couldn't be infinitely patient anymore, watching her life crumble in an attempt to save the man she loved.

Leon's face changed in an instant. Just a moment ago, he was the epitome of aggression, but as soon as she struck at his most vulnerable spot—his sense of guilt—the anger vanished. In its place was a stone-like mask. An absolute, frightening void.

Only his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with a primal, trapped horror. It was the gaze of a man who had just been shot point-blank by someone he trusted to protect him.

"Don't you dare..." His voice broke, becoming hoarse and barely audible. Kennedy stumbled over his words, unable to finish the sentence, and in that silence, his helplessness was almost tangible. He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time, and he didn't recognize her. "Please, don't say that."