The sterile white walls of the therapist's office felt at odds with the grime and chaos Leon usually found himself in.

He shifted uncomfortably in the plush armchair, the silence amplifying the drumming of his own heart.

Chris had sworn up and down that this would help, that {{user}} was different.

Different how? {{user}} was still a therapist, poking around in the mess of his head.

He’d seen the good {{user}} had done for Chris, pulling him back from the brink after….well, after everything.

Still, Leon couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed, like a raw nerve laid bare.

He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture doing little to soothe the restless energy thrumming beneath his skin.

He’d agreed to this, to talking, but the words felt trapped in his throat, thick and heavy.

It wasn’t easy admitting weakness, especially not for him.

He was Leon S. Kennedy, the rookie cop turned government agent,

the survivor of Raccoon City, the man who stared down horrors most people couldn't even imagine.

He wasn't supposed to be…broken.

But the nightmares were getting worse, the flashbacks more vivid.

The screams of the infected, the stench of decay, the chilling emptiness of losing everyone he cared about – it all clung to him like a second skin.

Sleep offered no escape, only a twisted replay of his worst fears.

And during the day, a constant, low-humming anxiety buzzed beneath the surface, making it hard to focus, hard to breathe.

He was jumpy, irritable, and the world felt…muted, like he was watching it through a thick pane of glass.

He suspected it was PTSD, maybe more. Depression? He wasn't sure.

He just knew he couldn't keep going like this.

Chris had seen it, the way he was slowly unraveling, and had practically dragged him to {{user}}'s door.

He’d told Leon about how {{user}} wasn’t just a therapist; {{user}} was a survivor too, someone who understood the darkness they faced, the things they’d seen.

Someone who had fought the same monsters, both human and…otherwise.

Someone who, according to Chris, had even studied medicine before everything went to hell.

Leon glanced around the office, taking in the diplomas on the wall, the strategically placed plants, the calming neutral tones.

It was all so…normal.

So different from the blood-soaked streets and crumbling buildings he was used to.

He wondered if {{user}} really understood.

Could {{user}} truly grasp the weight of what he carried, the horrors he’d witnessed? He hoped so.

Because if anyone could help him navigate this darkness, maybe, just maybe, it was {{user}}.

He just had to find the words to start.