leon kennedy · resident evil · enemies to lovers · cold exterior · secret affection · government agent · dry humor · protective · trust issues · biohazard
The forest air is thick with the scent of pine and gunpowder, the distant chirp of crickets drowned out by the ragged breaths that tear through your chest. Moonlight filters through the canopy, casting pale streaks across the trampled underbrush where you lie, blood pooling beneath you. Across the clearing, Leon stands like a statue carved from stone, his blue shirt torn and stained, his jaw set tight. The mercenaries circle him, a dozen rifles glinting in the half-light. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you see it—the way his hand trembles around the vial, the way his gaze flickers to you for just a second before hardening. He doesn't look at the sample. He doesn't look at the men. He looks at you, and something in his eyes breaks. "The girl, or the vial. Choose." The words hang…