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Leon Kennedy is a man of simple tastes. He accumulates sketches and Polaroid photos in a box in the attic. He likes small apartments and his cup of coffee - sugar-free - every morning before checking emails.
However, Leon Kennedy is a very different man from the 21-year-old police officer who arrived late on the first day of work. Leon acknowledges that the worst part of living a life as an agent of the American government is this: he has an excellent memory for everything, good and bad. A monotonous grayscale, with growls of creatures whose shapes once belonged to ordinary people, covers most of them. He is a hero. Leon Kennedy is a veteran in the war against bioterrorism. He rescued the daughter of the President of the United States and became the best agent in the entire DSO. He found a glory he didn't seek. Something many desire in life, and that was a standard too high for that Raccoon City cop to imagine - and his standards were pretty high back then.
But this was not the life he desired. He desires and enjoys a simple life.
Leon is not a hypocrite: he prefers a peaceful death, lying in his bed, rather than being consumed by the undead. He is aging and needs something to lean on, a place to rest, to enjoy the pleasures of a simple life.
Fix what was broken. Leon knew he would have taken a checkmate just for desiring you.
Find a thread of hope. Undo the ashes that covered your life and give way to a palette of colors as beautiful as the dawn in spring.
All thanks to you.
Leon met you in one of the darkest moments of his life. How, he thought, can the world become a better place when so many horrible things have happened?
But you destroyed every barrier he built over the years, causing delirium with the thought of hurting himself or even losing the lovely sound he made when the characters in his favorite book got together. Leon knew he had taken a checkmate just for desiring you.
He was younger, and so were you. He remembers your eyes, large and doe-like, full of endless curiosity. He also remembers your smile, the shy way your palm covered your lips when you laughed. Leon never imagined himself a nostalgic man, but your presence adorned most of his favorite memories.
Leon remembers as perfectly how you two became friends easily, long before entangling into his apartment with your tacky coffee cups. Every night spent in a training gym, your company preventing him from walking out the door and surrendering to bottles of whiskey and cheap beer. Your jokes and sarcastic comments that he would have found irritating, but the desire to suppress a smile often found its way one way or another.
"Stop frowning before you break your face.''
"It would be so sad, and you'd cry for depriving yourself of this beautiful face.''
"Oh, screw off," he says.
And then the subtle compliments began - compliments about your hair that could be mistaken for insults, anonymous wildflowers left on your bedside table, the gentle touch on your forearm when you started to fidget with your fingers, a habit he soon understood as a sign of anxiety.
Gradually, you also turned to his touches - and began to seek them out. You held his hand under the table during meetings, always bought two cups of coffee on the way to the DSO, and sat together in the morning to review paperwork, your distraction with toe-tapping boots hidden beneath the table.
Leon was completely in love with you. He already knew he loved you even before the incident in China.
A frustrated sigh left his lips as Leon inspected your face more closely, trying to hide his concern with the head wound and the now-dried blood that marked a trail from the hairline to the chin.
"I'll kill him. I'll hurt whoever hurts you," he promised, his fingers brushing against her chin.
Two weeks after that mission, Leon invited you to wander the streets away from the center of New York. As they walked in slow steps, the city buzzed with activity.
The sky had a perfect shade of blue-green, filled with thin and shiny clouds, and Leon couldn't help but tilt his chin back, admiring its fluffy composition as they hovered in the sky. Some children passed by them, running after each other with short, quick steps, and their laughter spread through the crowd, blending with the low hum of conversation among friends and the cheerful chant of store owners.
Vendors were shouting, advertising their products, trying to lure people into buying from them, and it took a lot of Leon to contain a woman who wanted to devour everything at any moment. You turned your head from side to side, up and down, trying to process every tiny detail of the area. Your heart raced in your chest, and your heart-shaped lips were smiling. Oh, did this store owner just move to that area? Great! You promise to be his most loyal customer.
To your left, an elderly woman with brown hair was selling second-hand cauldrons. Then, in front of her, was a cart overflowing with hundreds of thick books with new and colorful hardcovers. You leaned forward, gray eyes examining the dozens of covers, looking for something that stands out in the crowd. Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your forehead furrowed in concentration. His eye twitches. Leon bites his lip to suppress a smile and reaches for the stack, pulling out a book and passing it to you.
Leon bought four books for you that day.
The hours passed quickly, unlike what they usually do when waiting. You drank too much and danced all night.
Leon thanked all the lucky stars for that night.
Because when you smiled over your shoulder, Leon felt completely sober. Your lips touch in a chaste kiss of just a second. And he holds your hands close to his heart. His tongue traces your lower lips, brushing the edge of your teeth before merging with yours. It was gentle, as he could say all the things he kept hidden in his heart.
Well, and now here he is: Leon Kennedy, the war hero, at 67 in his small and simple apartment.
His hair was gray, shoulders slouched, but he never seemed happier. He woke up early that morning, poured his coffee into his cup with tacky letters "for the best dad in the world," while checking the messages left on the answering machine.
"Hey, Dad, how are you? I'm leaving campus now and should be home by late afternoon. Can't wait to get there, I miss you. Love you."
Leon smiled.
He also couldn't wait to see his boy again. The blue eyes - his blue eyes - and infectious smile that had long filled that apartment.
Leon Kennedy loved his son in a way he never imagined possible. It was as if this love was enough to kill him.
Oh, he had a beautiful life.
And he was looking forward to savoring every last minute of it with him.