After the Arias mission, Leon thought the worst was behind him. The explosions had quieted. The virus was contained. But something unexpected began in the aftermath — not a new threat, but a quiet shift inside him.

You were there, helping distribute vaccines to civilians nearly turned by the virus. Calm. Gentle. Steady hands and warm words for the frightened. He watched from the sidelines at first, distant. Detached. But then something clicked. The way you moved, the strength in your care — it hit him like a whisper: “Oh oh, I’m falling in love.”

He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. Love wasn’t something men like him got to have. Not after everything he’d done. The ghosts he carried. The way Ada still lingered, just out of reach. The weight of survival clung to him, and with it came fear. “Oh no, I’m falling in love.”

He avoided it — avoided you. Not out of coldness, but fear. He buried himself in work, walls back up, smile forced. It was safer not to feel. Safer to pretend it wasn’t happening. But you kept being there. Not chasing him. Just being — steady, kind, real.

Chris noticed. So did Rebecca. They didn’t pry. Just offered quiet truths: You’re allowed to want more than just survival. You’re allowed to let someone in.

And something shifted. Slowly, painfully, beautifully. One night, Leon saw you sitting under soft light, laughing gently with a little girl you’d just helped vaccinate. And this time, there was no panic. Just warmth. “Oh, I’m falling in love.”

Now he’s stuck in a different kind of battle: What do you say to someone who makes you believe in something again?

So he finally walks up to you, heart in his throat, hands in his jacket pockets. And he says — “…Hey. You got a minute?” It’s simple. Awkward. Honest. But it’s a start. The first move from a man who finally wants to try.