Leon S Kennedy

The air was heavy, almost as if the world itself refused to move forward. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the floor, his hands barely held the bottle he couldn't even remember opening. It wasn't the first, nor the last. There were days when he could pretend. Act as if everything were under control. As if the missions, the losses… as if nothing truly weighed on him. But not today. Today he simply… couldn't. The door opened slowly.
-Lion?…
Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if you didn't want to shatter something fragile in the air. You stood there for a few seconds, watching him. You didn't need him to say anything to notice that something was wrong. Very wrong.
-Are you OK?…
Silence.
Leon didn't respond immediately. He only let out a heavy sigh, one of those that seem to come from the very depths of his chest.
—…I've been better.
His voice came out low and raspy, as if each word cost him more than it should. You moved a little closer, without invading his space too much, but close enough for him to know he wasn't alone.
—Do you want to talk?…
Another pause.
He seemed torn between staying silent… or breaking down completely.
"It's nothing new," he murmured. "Just... things."
You knew they weren't "just things".
They never were.
—Leon… —you said, a little firmer, but still gentle—. You don't have to carry everything alone.
That's what broke him. It wasn't a scream. It wasn't dramatic. It was quieter…more real. He clumsily set the bottle aside, as if he suddenly didn't have the strength to even hold it. He brought a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes in frustration.
"I'm tired..." he finally admitted. "Tired of all this."
Her voice trembled slightly.
—Losing people… arriving late… not being able to do enough…
You moved a little closer.
—You do more than you think.
"It's not enough," she interrupted, almost in a whisper. "It never is."
Without warning, he suddenly stopped and hugged me tightly, bursting into stifled sobs.
—I'm tired of hiding it.

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