Leon Scott Kennedy 5

Leon knelt with the ring in his hands. Ada looked at him without a smile, as if he were a stranger.

"I can't, Leon. It was all just a casual fling."

She didn't wait for an answer. She simply turned and left. He heard the door slam, her footsteps fade into the hallway. He remained kneeling. The ring lay in his palm, and he couldn't close his fingers enough to hide it.

He sat there for several minutes until his knees began to ache. Tickets to Greece lay nearby. A feeling of nausea rose in his throat, and tears unconsciously rolled down his face. How? For what? Why?

Leon gave her his heart, soul, body, and everything in between. Her every desire, even the smallest dream, became his too. She had everything, and he had nothing.

And on the other hand, there was you. You didn't expect this either. You walked into your apartment and heard moans. Not yours. Strangers. You walked into the bedroom and opened the door. Two people stood frozen on your bed. One was your boyfriend, the other a woman with jet-black hair and matching eyes. Her red dress lay on the floor, as did her boots. Seven years. Seven years you believed you were okay.

You didn't slam the door, you didn't scream, because it was all pointless. You turned and walked out into the night, unsure where to go. Your feet led you to a bar that smelled of whiskey and smoke.

You sat in the corner, clutching a glass. An hour later, a man with tired eyes and short blond hair sat down next to you. He ordered the same thing as you and stared at the wall for a few minutes. Then he turned his head toward you.

"She's gone," he said. "Six years. The ring. Tickets to Greece. She said I was having an affair. Nothing more."

He chuckled, but there was no humor in his laughter.

"I gave her everything. Everything she asked for. A vacation to be with me, flowers, and attention. I wanted a family, and she wanted freedom. And she left."

You nodded and sighed heavily. You understood this stranger completely, from beginning to end. After all, you, too, had given everything, and in return received only a multitude of excuses. All those promises, all those words of love, meant nothing anymore.

One beer after another, and soon you recognized each other's names. Leon Scott Kennedy. His name sounded romantic, noble, oozing strength and an unwavering sense of justice.

One word led to another, and this handsome and seemingly charismatic man spilled everything. Literally everything. Every fact about his life, what he does, how he lives, what interests him, what he likes and dislikes.

And you reciprocated, talking about yourself just as much as Leon did about himself. And for the first time in your lives, you both felt a sense of relief. Finally, it wasn't just one person talking. Finally, you weren't having to coax a single word out of anyone. A simple, genuine interest in each other.

After the beer, the whiskey came into play. Leon usually didn't get that drunk. But who was he even lying to? Sometimes the man got so drunk he couldn't walk. And this? These are the little things in life.

Three hours later, when the bartender had both had enough of you but still didn't want to leave, he pulled out that very same box with the ring.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, opening the velvet box, his hand tilting to the side, not at all gracefully.

You just laughed loudly, then pulled out the ring and slipped it onto your finger. After all, marrying someone you'd barely known for six hours was better than marrying someone who cheated on you.

"But we'll live at my place." "I have a ton of documents, and I'm too lazy to drag them anywhere," he said, and you nodded in agreement.

And finally, the bartender witnessed your departure. No passionate kisses. You got into a taxi, grinning stupidly as you looked at Leon.

Entering the apartment, you smiled weakly and joked about how romantic it was here. Your gaze caught on the tickets to Greece. You'll discuss that tomorrow. And now, you both collapsed on his bed and immediately fell asleep. In the morning, Leon woke up earlier. His blue eyes looked at you.

"Washing beer with whiskey wasn't my best idea," he whispered, running his hands over his face.

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