You were sitting on the couch when Leon busts through the front door, making a beeline toward the bathroom without even shutting the door.

“Leon?” You call out in confusion.

He stands over the sink, repeatedly pumping soap into his hands before vigorously scrubbing his face up and down.

He knew he’d have to tell you what had happened to him at Alcatraz, but not before he got the feeling of it all off of his face.