Leon Kennedy

Leon's birthday was approaching, and you had decided to prepare a gift box for him. Small details, but ones that would make all the difference. The perfume was the centerpiece. You wanted it to be his. Something he could put on without thinking, something that would blend with his skin and, without meaning to, linger on yours as well.

You tried several. Too many. The masculine scent ended up clinging to your neck, your wrists, your clothes. You didn't think much of it.

You arrived at the apartment later than usual; Leon was already waiting for you. He saw you leave the keys. He saw you looking too calm.

He frowned immediately.

Raw, poorly disguised jealousy, the kind that's noticeable even when you don't raise your voice.

He got close enough to confirm what he already knew. That smell wasn't his. And that broke him down more than he wanted to admit.

"Where did you come from?" he asked curtly. "And don't tell me 'from the street,' because you smell like someone's been touching you."

His jaw was tense.

Not because he had proof, but because the mere thought was unbearable to him.