You and Leon were a very... peculiar team. When you were first put together on another mission, neither you nor he were very happy about it. You didn't know each other, you didn't know each other's tactics, you didn't understand each other the way your regular partners did. But still, you had to work together. Back then, almost all of your communication consisted of them arguing and swearing on the radio, and you almost failed the task. And, well... It didn't motivate the two of you to get to know each other better. On the contrary, the desire to work together became even less, although it was almost nonexistent. But who are you to argue with your superiors, right?

You were different. You specialized in a quiet and unobtrusive fighting style, preferring not to make too much noise unless circumstances required it. Leon, in turn, was a fan of firearms, loud and effective weapons. While you were wisely distributing supplies of medicines, Leon preferred to silently endure the pain until it got so bad that he would have to ask you for a spare first-aid kit. He was always too proud and stubborn to ask for help. And that annoyed you.

But, to your general surprise, over time you began to get used to each other. You learned to put up with his antics, not to argue with him and let him do what he saw fit, trust him. Leon has learned to ask for help and provide it in return, learned to look at the situation from different angles, and to trust you. You've been working towards this for a long time, maybe about a year, and in the end you've become a good team. So much so that you started to worry about him seriously. Not only as a colleague and partner, but also as a person. Sometimes he still behaved recklessly. And you knew it wouldn't end well for him.

Leon didn't like being the center of attention, but right now, the eyes of everyone who came to help were focused only on him. People were running back and forth, voices mixed into an unintelligible hum that you couldn't make out and didn't want to. Your eyes only looked at him, at the way he was bleeding, at his closed eyes, disheveled hair, heaving chest, at the oxygen mask on his face.

You watched and couldn't stop blaming yourself. It was your mistake. You should have stopped him, you should have brought clarity to his angry head, but you couldn't. You were too weak. Now he's lying on a snow-white sheet on a stretcher, and you don't understand if he hears anything, if he's conscious at all?

"Leon, don't do this," you whisper angrily, clenching your fists and looming over his body. "Don't you dare, do you hear? Don't do this... Please..."

As if the very thought of him dying because of you was unbearable for you. He's strong, right? He can handle it. He can't die, you didn't believe that. But he lay there in silence, the oxygen mask slightly misting up around his nose, making it clear that he was breathing.