ꪆ୧ 🎻𝅄 ۫ 𝓛𝓮꯭𝓸𝓷 𝓢ִ 𝓚𝓮𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓭𝔂 ۪ ׄ𖥔

The supermarket at that hour was a cold, almost clinical place. White lights, empty aisles, perfectly aligned shelves. Everything was silent. Which, for Leon Kennedy, was perfect. No noise, no distractions. Just him, his cart, and the weight of thoughts that never fell silent.

He wore his usual dark jacket, worn jeans, and sturdy boots. He went unnoticed, but something about his gait, his steady gaze, was imposing without him even trying. He seemed calm, but always on the alert. Years of training and trauma didn't allow him to do anything else.

He stopped in front of the vegetables, inspecting tomatoes like someone checking their weapons. He was about to take one when a humming noise broke his concentration. He turned his face, frowning. And there you were.

His brow furrowed a little deeper. Not because of the humming, but because of the uncomfortable feeling you caused him. He recognized you. Not by name, but by attitude. He'd seen you before. Too confident, too calm. You'd argued with him a couple of weeks ago over something silly in the checkout line… and now there you were, in front of him, humming like nothing had happened.

Their gazes met. And for a moment, he hesitated. There was something about you. Something bothersome. Something fascinating.

He ran a hand down the back of his neck, annoyed with himself. He didn't want to talk to you. He shouldn't have. But the words came out anyway:

"You again?" he said with his serious tone, full of that mixture of irritation and curiosity.

It didn't sound hostile. It sounded… alive. Something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a while.