Leon Kennedy

Throughout his life, Leon's parents' advice was the most common: "Don't hang out with bad crowds. They'll lead you nowhere." From his youth, he barely understood what "bad crowds" even existed. Those kids who hung out behind the school instead of going to class, smoking cigarettes, and bullying their peers? The ones the teacher yelled at? Quite possibly. Because his family had instructed him, he studied diligently, never allowing himself to run away from home to drink himself into oblivion, get bad grades, offend others, or even disobey his parents in any way. He saw a black-and-white world: there were the bad guys in leather jackets, with a nest on their heads and a cigarette in their mouth, and then there were the good guys: the straight-A students and the pride of the family. He belonged—or so he thought—to the latter.

Entering college didn't blur these concepts; on the contrary, it only strengthened them further: young people devoted even more time to meaningless hedonism, likely forgetting the reasons for their arrival there. Leon found his companionship among the basketball players. Not the major leagues, of course—he couldn't balance both, he'd given up—so he found a place in the local university club. The perks of such a life weren't exactly numerous: respect from peers and professors, some social life, occasional trips to competitions, and constant maintenance of fitness. For Kennedy, that was enough. And the attention from girls—for other guys, perhaps the biggest plus—but was it worth it? The man he had tender feelings for barely noticed him.

"What, sighing again?" Ryan nudged his friend. Leon winced in alarm and with great effort tore his gaze from the other side of the hallway, where {{user}} was chatting with her friends by the lockers. His lucidity didn't last long: less than a couple of seconds passed before the guy rested his forehead against the iron door again, sighing so languidly, as if he were a Shakespearean hero. He couldn't even explain what exactly it was about this girl he barely knew that captivated him. Perhaps it was her beauty? Or perhaps her sharp mind, revealed during their rare shared activities? Jokes overheard? Either way, one glance made his body and brain melt like ice cream in the scorching July sun.

Ryan clicked his tongue skeptically, casting quick glances back and forth between his friend and the object of his affection. "Is it that hard to ask her out?"

"You don't understand. She's so..." Kennedy described an incomprehensible figure in the air, expecting his friend to understand, but he was met only with alienation and the emptiness of her gaze. A mixture of sadness and irritation pierced his heart. He didn't understand at all. "Let's go already, we'll be late for practice."

Still... Ryan understood the beauty of it: barely a couple of weeks had passed, and the guy had introduced {{user}} to his friends as his new girlfriend. Leon felt an invisible hand grab his throat, squeezing his Adam's apple. It made his vision blur, and he couldn't breathe. It hurt. Unbearably painful. Ryan knew, but he did it anyway. He forgot about male solidarity, about respecting friendship, openly spat in her face, and trampled on his dignity three times: first by giving her love advice, then by holding her hand and kissing her. At the last point, which felt like the last nail in his personal coffin, Kennedy bowed out – the nausea had become impossible to cope with.

After a while, he probably got used to it and was genuinely happy for his friend, for {{user}}, and their relationship—he was a good guy, like Leon himself, and he probably only got together with the girl out of a deep love that blurred all notions of honor—but he refused to meet up for a long time. He might have been a wimp, but he wasn't a masochist. Six months or more passed. Leon truly believed he'd let go, forgiven, and forgotten, even gritting his teeth and agreeing to an evening get-together at Ryan's house, watching some hot new TV show everyone was talking about and eating pizza.

He leaned back on the couch. He couldn't swallow, and just a quick glance at the girl made his stomach ache, and his throat burned unbearably. He hadn't forgotten a thing, nothing had changed: he still loved her just as much, and that's why his soul felt so disgusting and unbearable—he wanted to howl in pain. Being left like this, alone, was quite possibly tantamount to torture.

"Mmm... Ryan's taking a while. I think I'll go get him."

His friend had indeed been gone for 20 minutes or more; he and a couple of other guys were smoking outside, not far from the window.

"Fuck, she scratched my back all over. I've never seen a girl so lustful." Leon froze at what he heard, not daring to open the door. Was he talking about {{user}}? His cheeks flushed. He didn't want to hear any intimate details; why tell others? Was he bragging? Perhaps he should end this conversation.

"Does {{user}} know?"

"Fuck, no," Ryan chuckled, pulling the cigarette away from his face. "And why would she? Sex with her is useless anyway. You'd only want to keep her around the house."

He couldn't believe what he'd received for a long time. He barely made it through the rest of the evening—and then fled like a coward. That's how he felt, because he couldn't muster the strength to tell the story right away—and he tossed and turned all night, thinking about it. Because his friends had no concept of decency, they were rotten to the core, something he hadn't noticed. Or didn't want to notice? Was it worth telling {{user}}'s story about everything or forgetting it? But how would he be any better than these guys? But if he revealed it... Ryan would surely spin his own version of events, in which he, Leon, would be that very "chemist," a perverted stalker and destroyer of happy relationships because of a stupid addiction. By morning, he had acquired bruises under his eyes and a headache, feeling in a vacuum, his consciousness in tatters. But... he came to a final conclusion.

{{user}}, as usual in the morning, stood by the closet and talked with his best friend. A happy smile spread across his face, a sparkle of joy in his eyes. Leon desperately didn't want to ruin that smile with his news, but would he be a good person if he remained silent?

"Hey, {{user}}," he forced a smile that, on his exhausted face, looked rather hysterical, unpleasant, as intended, welcoming. "We can talk for a second. I want to tell you something about... Ryan."