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At 21 he’s gushing about the force, how much he wants to help people and make change. His eyes are bright and he smiles easily, though you never fail to make him nervous. He can’t bring himself to ask you out no matter how much he wants to, so when all hell breaks loose he regrets it. He imagines you back home watching the news, knowing he’s in the thick of it and it breaks his heart. As if he’s the one who hurt you, rather than circumstance.
When Leon gets back, something in him is broken. You ask him about how he’s been sleeping and he shrugs it off, even though his dark circles have never been worse. He’s still your Leon, sweet and good-natured, but the scars he’s acquired will never fade.
Over the next few years, his experience and training pushes his feelings further and further down. With each person who dies, no matter how many people he saves, his resolve hardens. You’re able to see him every once in a while, and he cracks jokes and tries to pull focus from his grim job, but he’s different. Not just in strange ways, though. It’s hard to hide your blush when his biceps strain the seams of his t-shirts, or when his hand finds the small of your back. But he always goes, always has someone else to save.
At 27, Leon is more confident in his abilities than ever before. He moves with more power and conviction almost, and it certainly doesn’t help that massive crush you’ve developed on him over the years. Every time you express worry for a mission he tries to lighten the mood, but he knows you care about him too much for that to work. You hug him before he leaves to save Ashley, begging him to come back alive. You know he can’t promise that, but he does.
And he really does. He comes back and you hold him in your arms, finally. Leon doesn’t tell you the too-gory details, the things that would only bring you further distress. You see right through his sugar-coating though, and push him to be honest about it. He trusts you more than most but it’s agonizing, just the idea that he could be opening himself up to further pain. And it takes years, after you’ve slipped into a pattern of closeness that most friends don’t have.
Leon finally takes you on that first date. It happens after you’ve already kissed and (innocently) stayed over a few times, but he feels it’s the right way to do things. He’s a perfect gentleman, besides getting a stain on his shirt at the restaurant and having to recruit you in the family bathroom to help him get it out. After a few minutes of trying not to stare at him shirtless while you clean the stubborn spot, it’s clear you’re both done with dinner.
Your first time with him is so gentle, so soft and sweet. He mostly whispers to you, reassuring you at every moment and checking in. You fall asleep in his bed and he holds you close, always struggling to sleep since Raccoon City, but it’s not so bad with you there. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and closes his eyes, happy and content for the first time in a while.
After literal years of him taking only the bare minimum of time off, you convince him to go on vacation with you. He packs Hawaiian shirts and an awful pair of swim shorts he got years ago, practically giddy with excitement. His boyish charm shines through when you sit on lounge chairs by the water and he gives you a lazy grin. You read something fluffy while he naps under the sun, insisting he “doesn’t burn” after you tell him to wear sunscreen. When he wakes up, he sheepishly asks you to help him rub the lotion onto his pink-tinged skin.
Each day when you get back to the hotel room, he flops dramatically onto the bed and asks you to order room service. You remind him you ate only a couple hours ago, but you’re on vacation and he’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him so, of course, you give in. The two of you sit in bed eating pancakes for second dinner and watch American Idol, your head drifting to his shoulder while his arm keeps you close to his side.
That summer, you notice how his hair gets slightly bleached after weeks under the sun. His locks grow lighter and lighter through august, until he’s practically a natural blond. You realize it’s always been that way, you simply had never had the time with him to notice the shift. With his head in your lap, you weave a few flowers into a dainty braid of his hair, so it hangs down the side of his face. He laughs and thinks he looks ridiculous but kisses you anyway, warmth blooming in your chests in the company of one other.
You propose to him at home in bed one night just before falling asleep. You’ve been together for 8 years and just can’t help it anymore. Leon doesn’t hear you the first time and you laugh, then repeat yourself. He doesn’t even respond, just pulls your face to his and the kiss answers your question loud and clear. You wed in the spring with only a few friends and family present, and Leon is more nervous to see you than he has ever been for a life-threatening mission. It’s beautiful and quiet and so joyful, and the image of him at the alter is one you swear never to forget.
Marriage doesn’t fall into place immediately for you. His work hours are ridiculous, and having to pack up and leave at a moments notice is bound to put strain on your relationship. But you both build a life and love he never thought could be possible. He calls you on missions and gives you the most information he can, and when he gets home you’re there to help him recover.
One day, you ask him if he’d ever want to have kids. You’d been visiting family together and noticed how sweet and good he was with the little ones, so it put the thought in your head. It’s an emotional conversation, Leon doesn’t want another person, especially a child, to be in harms way because of his job. You’ve had scares before, phone calls and strange people following you around the store. He can’t bear the idea of all that happening while trying to raise a kid.
So instead, you get a dog. You make a date of going to the shelter and seeing the sweet pups, and one catches your eye. She’s a pit bull terrier, incredibly smart, and Leon takes up the mantle of training her. At night, the two of you often sit on the couch with the dog sprawled between you, belly up and happily accepting scratches and pats. She’s Leon’s baby, though he wouldn’t admit it. He even lets her sleep in the bed sometimes, after explaining that “it won’t be a long-term thing, okay? She needs her own space and boundaries are important, but one time won’t hurt.” After a couple years of this, she sleeps in your bed every night, snuggled up next to him.
When Leon comes back from a particularly secretive mission, you know something’s wrong immediately. His posture is worse than usual, which is saying something, and he won’t disclose much about what happened to him. When the black veins appear on his neck though, he finally relents. T-virus, progressing to stage 3. Sherry has it too he says, head in his hands. You tell him there must be a cure, and that if anyone can find it, he will. But nothing you say truly changes the mentality of a dead-man-walking he’s adopted.
At 49, Leon leaves for his mission with a newfound vigor you haven’t seen in months. He tells you not to worry per usual, but kisses you goodbye longer than ever before.
It’s agony waiting for him. No calls, no texts, he must be in-action 24/7, you think. But when he’s back on the doorstep, you gently hug him and are surprised to find strong arms holding you back. You stand there in the doorway and cup his face, brushing a few tears from his cheeks. He so rarely cries and has only done so in your company, sometimes to cheesy romcoms or dog movies.
You ask him if he found a cure, and he just nods, unable to hold back the grin now splitting across his face. He’s home, finally. He’s chopping vegetables in the kitchen, hugging you from behind and making a dumb pun about pasta. Free of black veins, free of the cloud over his head. That night in bed, he tells you he wants to retire. Maybe in a few years, maybe he’ll just move to desk work or fewer missions. But he doesn’t want to do this forever, not when he has you to come home to every night, not when it hurts you so much when he leaves. You’re his everything, and he is yours.