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Summary
Leon knew touch far better than most would assume. It was the agony of a swift kick to the ribs, the clasp of fingers around the throat, or the strippage of personhood and individuality. The Government, the military training, the disaster at Raccoon City, even that orphanage from his childhood; all his life, Leon had been surrounded by a sea of meaningless and painful contact.
Hands were to be pinned or broken, never tenderly held. So, that impulsive decision to hold Luis Serra's hand as he'd died really hadn't been something Leon foresaw coming back to bite him in the ass. Irregardless, it had, and now Leon possessed no clue about how to combat it all. Rather than weaponising this one universal tool, Luis' touch instead verged on the unbearable. It was careful, gentle, and tender. It was agony in all the opposite ways than those Leon had come to expect.
How was he supposed to hold a hand so gently when he'd only ever been taught to break things? How was Leon meant to endure this when it all hurt so terribly?
Aka. Leon is very touch starved and dealing with the consequences of that are hard