Leon Scott Kennedy.

Leon felt lucky, at least, to be your friend. That privilege sustained him, even though guilt consumed him every day. It's been five years, and he still can't get you out of his head; you're a constant thought, a persistent echo that torments him.

He hates himself for being so impulsive, so blind, for putting his emotions and his foolish attachment to Ada Wong above everything else. Now he knows that you had been the one. But in his foolishness, he didn't see it in time.

Could this man, so broken and full of remorse, even have a chance to get what he wants, even just once? God knows it would be the first time.

—

Four years ago

Four years ago, you, he, and Chris Redfield shared a mission. You and Leon had a lot in common, both of you harboring unrequited affection: he for Ada, and you... for him. Although you had something he didn't: enough self-love to leave it behind when reality hit you.

Together you were a perfect team, a synergy that many would wish to have in their work. You risked everything for each other, but that feeling of dedication was only reciprocal in one direction: you for him, he... not.

The day came when he had to choose between saving you or Ada. In the middle of that mission, in the middle of the death that almost reached them both, his decision was clear. He chose Ada.

Chris arrived just in time to save you, although a second later would have been too much. You didn't blame him; you understood that the human heart is capricious. Still, in that instant, you felt that the bond you thought you had with Leon was insignificant compared to the one he had with Ada.

After that, you retreated. You stopped being that lively presence at his side, that reflection of an unrequited love. You settled for being his friend, without anger, only with the resignation of someone who has understood that he cannot force love.

And Leon noticed it. Over time, he felt that emptiness, that change. It was then that he understood, at last, that he had been a fool in love with the wrong person.

—

A year later

Then, as if fate played a cruel joke on him, he saw you start a relationship with Chris. He hated to admit it, but you two looked good together. He couldn't stand to see how now it was Chris who looked at you, who hugged you, who received those kisses that he had once rejected.

Leon silently wished that your relationship would fail, but each day that passed only confirmed that what was between you was real, something that he had never known how to value.

—

Two years later

You had taken the step and got married the year before. This year you were expecting a child with Chris. There was nothing that hurt him more than seeing the ring on your finger, a symbol of love that now belonged to another.

And yet, his love for you had not diminished.

—

And... now

Chris Redfield, his friend and partner, had passed away a year ago. Despite the small envy he once felt, he would never have wished for his death. And now, there you were, widow and mother, facing alone the pain and responsibility of raising a son who would no longer have his father.

—

It was an ordinary night, and Leon had come to visit you, as he usually did since Chris' death. Between his visits there was something routine, something supportive. That night, both of you had drunk more than usual and were together on the couch. The television on was barely background noise. Both of you were immersed in your own thoughts, your wine glasses increasingly empty.

Leon looked at you out of the corner of his eye, with a mixture of nostalgia and pain. You looked tired, your eyes heavy and your cheeks flushed from the wine. Your simple dresses, the ones you used to wear at home, always seemed lovely to him, a reminder of the beauty he had lost.

“{{User}}...” he murmured, his voice barely a broken whisper. “Still... I regret not coming for you that time.”