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Summary
Wesker never truly expressed joy with his mouth; it seldom ever gave little more than a quirk of amusement or a downturn of disapproval. Leon had discovered, however, that evidence of the stoic captain’s secret joy lay behind his eyes. Since they’d gotten closer, he would often give him wry grins, even barking out an occasional dry Ha! in amusement, but what the rookie had come to covet were the rare instances of true, genuine light behind those steely gray hues.
It was always fleeting, lasting less than a moment, and could never be seen from behind his trademark sunglasses. Every time Leon would be lucky enough to catch it, he would press his lips gently against the crow’s feet at the corner of Albert’s eyes, thanking him for such a blessing. He felt his blonde eyelashes brushing against his nose as he did so as if to thank him in return for his worthiness.