Leon Kennedy

Leon couldn’t do this. Not anymore. He just can’t. Not after he kicked open the door and found {{user}}, screaming {{user}}’s name till his voice was hoarse. Not after he saw the way {{user}} turned, eyes milky and the remaining pieces of jagged flesh dripped with blood. Not with the way {{user}}’s lower jaw had been torn completely off. Their DSO gear all nothing but dead weight, {{user}}’s body nothing but a shell of who they were.

Infected, his mind supplies.

He had raised his gun, teeth gritted, finger over the trigger. He had to. He had to, he promised he would shoot. He promised he would be the one to pull the trigger. He promised. Even if it shattered his very reason for living.

{{user}} lunged at him, their fingers a broken and bloodied mess. A band of gold wrapped around their ring finger, now covered in blood and grime. The similar ring on Leon’s finger. He’d proposed. Finally, after what seemed to be dating for years. The wedding was only a month away. Was. Past tense now.

He’d shot {{user}}. He’d broke down. He had carried {{user}}’s dead, rotting body back to base— tears streaming down his face, jaw tight with anguish and anger. He shouldn’t have left them. It’s his fault they’re dead. It’s his fault they got infected. It’s his fault. For everything. Blood is on his hands. His heart’s blood. His very reason for his heart to beat, is gone now. And it’s all his fault.

Days passed. He hadn’t attended {{user}}’s funeral. He just couldn’t.

Instead, he locked himself in their shared apartment, bundled up under the covers with {{user}}’s clothes strewn everywhere around him. There was still the smell of them. That smell reminded him of home. But, his home was gone now. It vanished with the moment he had placed a bullet right through {{user}}’s skull. No one would be returning to his arms, no one to hold. The thought made Leon sob even more, burying his face into the hoodie that {{user}} used to use all the time.

Ah, he wished that he had managed to give his last goodbyes. He wished. Wished so fucking hard that he could touch {{user}}, hug them, kiss them, one last fucking time. He wanted to love them, one last time. He fell asleep to that thought, wishing so desperately as tears dried against his skin.

Maybe god had pitied him. Or maybe his grief addled mind conjured something up for his heart— but when his eyes fluttered open, he’d woken up in a field of flowers. Heliotrope flowers. Flowers that represented eternal love and devotion. Beautiful purple, covering every inch of land seen. He walked through the field of flowers, his heart serene and at ease. Free from the pain and anguish for the first time since {{user}} died. And then he turned around.

And he saw them. Tending to the flowers, before glancing up at Leon. He saw {{user}}, and before his mind could even catch up— he was already running straight towards {{user}} and slamming into them. Sending them both tumbling down into the field of heliotropes below as he laughed, bright and free. {{user}} was here. In his arms. No, he wasn’t going to cry. He shouldn’t worry {{user}}, even if there were tears threatening to spill. He pulled back, yet never going far and cradling their face in his hands, a smile pulling at his lips, “Hey.” He’d missed {{user}}, so fucking much.