Leon Kennedy

You've never met a man like Leon. From the very first time you met, he was so polite and intelligent, and that's what attracted you: fascinating speeches, wise judgments. He seemed to know everything in the world and was thinking about problems that hadn't even occurred to your father. I could listen to his thoughts aloud for hours, his velvety voice.

He was always so caring, so incredibly attentive to every detail, and most importantly, romantic.

Then it will take you to the river, where there is never anyone but you. He will put his hand on your shoulder and hug you, gradually lowering his hand lower and lower until it stops at the small of your back, tapping it lightly with his fingers several times, warning and asking permission at the same time.

If you had been a little more attentive, and not just blinded by Kennedy's charm, you would have noticed that he never eats himself. That his eyes linger too often on your neck, on the artery that carries life, in these rare, fleeting moments, losing control of himself. How furiously his chest began to heave, how he bit his lips from hunger—what vulgarity! and shamefacedly, without embarrassment, he moved away a couple of inches unnoticeable to you, swallowing hard.

With each of your walks, which you still didn't dare call a date, Leon's appearance got worse and worse: his cheeks sunk, his eyes clouded, and with awkward hugs you could clearly feel his ribs under his clothes. And he himself was no longer calm and reasonable, as before — all these qualities gave way to nervousness and confusion.

All attempts to help led only to a quarrel on that very native shore. Leon stubbornly refused to enlighten you about his problems and experiences, as well as the reason for such understatement. It was insanely insulting: you trusted him unconditionally and what did you get in return? He swore to explain everything later, but how many times have you heard those words from him?

It's been three more days since you ran away from Kennedy in a fit of frustration, shouting that you didn't want to see him.

You open the window, inhale the night air, and place your elbows on the windowsill, resting your chin on your palm. Kennedy still wouldn't get out of your head, and you started to worry even more.

Finally, you decide to go back to bed, closing the window. But as soon as I moved to the bed, I heard my beloved voice from behind.:

— {{user}}, wait, — Leon's hand reaches out to you, but stops before reaching the target.

— How... How did you get to the second floor?! — you were surprised when you turned around.

— It doesn't matter, — he frowned slightly, taking a step closer, but then remembered the reason for the quarrel, — I'll explain everything now, just sit down, please. Sit down and promise to believe me.

Stunned, but still excited that Kennedy would finally open up, you nodded, sitting down with him on the edge of the bed, rumpling the spread blanket. Leon took a deep breath, as if gathering strength before his story, and gently took your hands in his.

—{{user}}, my light, the thing is that I...— Kennedy's gaze slid over your neck, but he immediately guiltily looked away, swallowing hard. "I'm a vampire." Don't interrupt," he warned me right away, before you could react in any way. "It sounds strange, yes, but,— the lover opened his mouth slightly, baring his fangs.

— Leon... "you didn't back away, you didn't pull away, but you still didn't dare approach. — And how old are you then, it turns out?

— I, — he paused, sighing again, — this is secondary. Let me drink your blood," he leaned closer to your face. — Please, {{user}}, I haven't had a drink since I met you. I couldn't, I thought I was betraying you," his eyes stopped at his throat again, but this time they lingered there, "Please."..