The bar had that comforting low lighting that people who loved to brood gravitated toward. The room was heady and thick with the aroma of depression and lost causes. A small group of friends were at the billiards tables, cheering each other on even as they sunk the eight ball too soon. Most of the tables were full, and rowdy sports fans were yelling either at the various television screens or at each other. Someone was doing a horrifying rendition of Shania karaoke. This was the place where Leon found himself going when he needed to forget for a while, and he was becoming a regular alarmingly fast.

The glass clinked as he set it down on the chipped wood counter, tapping down so the bartender knew he wanted another. Paulie came around, her dark purple-painted lips quirked up as she took down his preferred whiskey and poured the amber liquor. "You know, Leon," she said casually. She'd been in here almost every time he had been. Always in the same checkered apron and her dyed black hair up in pigtails. She continued to hand our beers and liquors as she worked nearby him, but paused to lean on the counter when she got a moment. "I used to have this old girlfriend, Samantha. She wasn't too bad at first, you know? Had a drink here and there, a couple times a week. But then her dad died, and she really went off the deep end."

Leon raised an eyebrow at her, peering through his fringe to try and figure out what her point was.

"Anyway, she went to these meetings, totally off the books. They helped her out. She got her life back together."

"Oh yeah?" Leon asked dryly. "She sober now?"

"Nah," Paulie waved her hand dismissively. "I mean, she was, for like seven months. Then she went to jail for a DUI 'cuz she hit some kid on his bike. But the program was really good. I could hook you up with their number if you want!"

"No thanks," said Leon gruffly. He raised his glass to his lips, taking a long drag and emptying it in one swallow. He placed the glass down again, made eye contact with the gothic woman. "One more, please."

The dim light above flickered for a second, casting brief shadows across Paulie's face as she gave him a long, assessing look. Her eyes were dark, almost like she could see through the act, the walls Leon had built up over time. She didn't say anything for a beat, just poured his drink with a quiet precision.

"You don't have to drink yourself numb every night, you know," she said, sliding the glass toward him, her voice softer now.

Leon scoffed, the edge of his lips curling up in a humorless grin. "And you don't have to act like you care."

Paulie chuckled, wiping down the counter before leaning in closer, her breath warm against the cold glass. "Maybe I just like to see people make better choices. Or maybe I just like the drama."

He considered her for a moment, a strange pull in his chest. "You think it's that easy, huh? Just walk away from everything?"

Her gaze didn't waver. "I think it's about finding the ultimate reason to stay."

Leon swallowed hard, his fingers curling around the glass as if it could anchor him. His mind drifted briefly to the weight he was carrying, the things he couldn't shake. "Maybe I don't want to find it."

Paulie gave a nonchalant shrug, but her eyes softened. "That's a choice, too."

The sounds of the bar, the clatter of pool balls, and the ridiculous karaoke began to fade away as he stared at the amber liquid in his glass. Could he make a different choice? He didn't regret what he'd done, but it sure as hell made him lonely.

A shoulder knocked into his, and Leon curled his lip into an aggressive expression, turning to see who'd knocked into him. His face slackened, and he leaned back with his arm thrown over the bar as he took in Claire's unamused expression. Her brother, Chris, was standing beside her. Both of them were in casual wear. Leon's snarl turned into a blank look as he took them in.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Redfield's," Leon said, his voice husky from the alcohol.

Claire rolled her eyes, settling down on the bench beside him as Chris took up a protective position behind her. "You're drunk, Leon," Claire said matter of factly.

Leon simply turned back to his glass and picked it up again. "Yup. And you're still mad I didn't give you that chip."

"That chip could have exposed all of those evil things our government was doing!"

"Claire, that's enough," Chris intervened.

Claire's eyes flicked up at her brother, a silent challenge in them, but she didn't argue. She folded her arms across her chest, her body language rigid. "Fine," she muttered, glancing back at Leon with a mix of frustration and something else he couldn't quite read. "But you can't seriously tell me you don't feel a little guilty about that."

Leon snorted, swirling the drink in his glass, his fingers tracing the rim absently. "Guilty? For not playing into Jason's hands and doing exactly what he wanted me to do? No, Claire, I don't feel guilty."

Claire's jaw tightened, and she shot Leon a look that could've cut glass. "You know what? You're right. You never do feel guilty. You just hide behind that stubborn act of yours like it's a suit of armor."

Leon leaned back against the bar, letting the burn of the whiskey settle in his gut. "Armor? Yeah, maybe. Better than feeling everything all the time, though."

Chris, who'd been standing off to the side, shifted uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to intervene, but Claire beat him to it. "You think you're the only one who's been hurt, Leon? You think you're the only one who's had to deal with shit? You don't get to throw away everything we've worked for just because it's hard."

Leon's fingers curled around his glass, and for a moment, he was tempted to throw it back, but he paused. Hard. That word—he knew it too well. It had become his constant companion. Every step, every decision felt like trudging through mud with his legs tied together. But to admit that, to say it out loud…"Try losing the woman you love sometime...three times."

Claire's eyes softened, her hand landing softly on his, forcing him to set the glass down so he could relax under her touch. "Rose is doing fine," she assured him.

Leon's shoulder sagged, and suddenly he felt so tired. "I don't want to talk about Rose."

Claire didn't pull away. She just let her hand rest there, steady, like she was trying to anchor him in the moment, keep him from floating away.

Leon finally pulled his hand back. His fingers scraped against the rough wood of the bar, then settled into a fist. "I don't even know how to say it," he muttered, his voice low, like he was speaking to himself more than to her. "But every time I close my eyes… I see her. I see all of them. Every version of her."

Claire's brow furrowed, her expression thoughtful but guarded. She knew the pain he was talking about, even if she didn't understand it completely. But she'd seen enough of him—enough of his walls, his silence, his sharp edges—to know this wasn't something he just pulled out of nowhere.

"You can't carry that forever, Leon," she said quietly. "You can't carry every mistake and every loss like it's your fault."

He shook his head, staring into the half-empty glass in front of him, his voice low and rough. "But I was the one who couldn't protect her. I should've—" He cut himself off, his throat tightening.

Claire leaned in, her eyes softening. She wanted to say something—anything—to fix this. To remind him that it wasn't all his fault, that sometimes things just happened, that people were too broken to save. But she knew he wouldn't hear it. Leon wasn't the kind of man who believed in second chances. Not when it came to himself.

"She did it for me," Leon said heavily. "She allowed herself to be locked up, trusting me to get her out again. To keep them from turning her into some kind of science project. And I couldn't do either one."

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," Chris said, forcing himself back into the conversation. Claire sent her brother a warning glare, but both men ignored it. Leon was staring heatedly at Chris now, his fist clenching with the anticipation of starting a fight.

"Chris, he's drunk. It's not the time," Claire said.

"He needs to know," Chris pressed. "Umbrella took her. Slaughtered everyone in their way." He threw down a folder, gruesome photos slipping between the blue sleeves. Leon had to stop from expressing his dislike for Ronald, who was a security guard that had made Rose's life hell while down there. It was fitting that his corpse was riddled with bullet holes. He hadn't known who she'd called-hadn't wanted to know- but he had deduced that it was someone on the wrong side of humanity. His first suspect had been Ada.

"And that's not all," Chris continued. "They destroyed her blood samples. Every last one of them."

"So what?" Leon scoffed, flagging Paulie over again.

Chris reached forward, picking up Leon's glass and slamming it down, rim on the wood. "So, she was infected with the same virus Wesker is. We could have made a cure!"

"She didn't want scientists running anything on her," Leon countered.

Chris let out an exasperated laugh, sharp and bitter. "Do you know how selfish that sounds?"

Leon shrugged, not at all interested. He was keen to keep on doing what he was doing, hailing Paulie over more insistently. "Lemme get a beer," he called.

Claire sighed, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface as she glanced at Chris, knowing he was treading into dangerous territory. "Leon," she said softly, attempting to bring him back to the conversation, "you can't just drown your pain in alcohol."

He shot her a look, a mixture of anger and hurt. "What do you want me to do, Claire? Sit here and relive everything that went wrong? I don't need a lecture right now." His voice cracked slightly under the weight of his emotions, and it both pained and angered Claire.

"You're right. You don't need a lecture," Chris said, tone sharp as he leaned forward, fixing Leon with a fierce glare. "But you do need to face the truth. Rose is gone, Leon. We can't bring her back, but we can fight against the darkness that took her from us. You're not alone in this. We can figure out how to stop Umbrella together."

Leon scoffed, loudly, and dismissive. "Gone? I doubt it. Her and Ada both," he paused, shaking his head. Man, he certainly had a type. "She'll be back."

Rose watched from the shadows as a jeep pulled up outside of Leon's apartment building. Her eyes immediately spotted Leon as he was hauled out of the vehicle. He was heavy on his feet, sluggish, and leaned heavily on the burly man who'd driven him home. She stayed quiet, and out of sight, the wind sending the faint smell of alcohol to her nose, and she suddenly felt so bad that she wanted to throw up in the bushes.

This was her fault.

She wanted to run. To escape. But she couldn't. She couldn't tear herself away, not when she had to see him—see this—see what she had done.

It had been months since she last saw Leon, since she was alive in any sense that made sense to her, and every day since had been a blur. The woman she used to be, the one who could fight, who could laugh, who could walk into a room with purpose, seemed so far away now. In her place was someone broken—someone lost. Someone who had made a choice, and now was forced to live with the consequences.

The man who had taken care of her, the one who'd protected her, wasn't the same anymore. And it was all her fault.

Rose's throat tightened as she watched Leon struggle to hold himself together. She hadn't meant for any of this to happen. She hadn't meant to drag him into this mess. She had tried so hard to protect him from the fallout of Umbrella's machinations, tried so hard to keep him from seeing how far she'd fallen—how broken she had become.

But she had failed him.

Her stomach churned as the guilt washed over her in waves. She was the one who had pulled him into the chaos. She was the one who had brought the nightmare into his life. She had been selfish, stupid enough to think that maybe he could fix what was broken inside her. Instead, all she had done was break him, too.

This is your fault, she thought again, the words like a mantra, hammering at her from every angle. She had made him carry the weight of her mistakes, and now she could see how much it had cost him. The man who once fought for justice, who once believed in saving the world, had been chipped away by this damned war. By the things they'd both been forced to endure.

She wanted to call out to him. To rush over, throw her arms around him, and apologize. To beg for his forgiveness. But she knew it was pointless. It was too late for that. He had moved on, hadn't he? Or at least, he was trying to.

As the man helped Leon up the stairs, Rose stayed where she was, frozen, hidden in the shadows of the night. Her body felt numb, her hands shaking as she gripped the rough bark of the tree behind her, trying to ground herself. It was like watching a ghost walk away from her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Rose wondered if maybe she deserved to watch him disappear.

Leon had never deserved any of this. He deserved someone who could stand by him without dragging him into hell. He deserved someone whole, someone who hadn't been shattered into pieces by monsters—both literal and human.

This is my fault echoed in her head again. She remembered the last time she'd been scared of approaching him. After she'd chosen Ada over him. She'd stayed away for two whole years and it had been miserable for them both. She remembered the guilt.

I'll find you again.

They'd both said that line a few times, and so far they had both kept that promise. She knew that if she walked away tonight, she'd have to answer to that decision later. And somehow...it felt cowardly to do that again.

Was it cowardice? Or was it selfish to want to go in that apartment right now?

The thought of walking away—again—twisted something deep in her gut. She couldn't do it again. Not after everything. She'd spent so much time convincing herself that leaving him was the right thing, but she couldn't keep doing this. Couldn't keep running away from the one person who understood the scars she bore. Who, despite everything, still seemed to care about her.

But then there was the selfishness. Wasn't it selfish to want to crawl back into his life when all she'd done was cause him pain?

It's not about what you want, Rose. The voice in her head was sharp, no-nonsense. It's about what he needs. Do you really think he needs this? Do you think he needs another round of your mistakes?

She clenched her jaw, a wave of frustration hitting her hard. It felt like no matter how much time passed, she was always stuck in the same loop: unsure, insecure, paralyzed by indecision.

But in the pit of her stomach, she knew one thing for sure.

He's still in there. He still needs you. And you need him, too.

The wind rustled through the leaves above her, carrying the faint scent of rain and the distant hum of city life. Everything felt impossibly quiet, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for her to make the next move.

Was it selfish? Or was it just love?

She took a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs, steadying her shaking hands. She had stayed away for so long, convinced that she was doing the right thing. But she couldn't keep pretending she didn't care. She couldn't keep pretending she was strong enough to stay away anymore.

With a sudden, decisive motion, Rose pushed herself up from her crouch, her body tense as she moved toward the apartment building's entrance. Every step felt like a weight, like the ground beneath her feet was pulling her back, trying to keep her from making this choice. But the thing was, she was already here. Already at the threshold.

She wasn't going to walk away this time. Not from him.

Not again.

She reached the front door and hesitated for a fraction of a second, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Her heart raced in her chest, louder than the sound of the distant city. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she opened the door slowly, the faint creak of the hinges barely audible in the stillness of the night.

And then she stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Leon was slumped on the couch, still in his jacket, his eyes half-lidded, staring blankly at the TV screen that was showing nothing but static. The soft light from the table lamp bathed him in a dull glow, casting long shadows across the room. He looked like he was already lost—like he had already given up on everything.

Rose stood at the door, unsure whether to speak, to move closer, or to just disappear. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words felt hollow. She was already so deep in the mess she'd made of everything that the thought of adding more seemed impossible.

"Leon..." Her voice was barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of everything that had passed between them.

At the sound of her voice, Leon's eyes flickered up. He didn't move, but his gaze sharpened, focusing on her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. For a moment, neither of them spoke. It was as if the world had frozen around them, holding its breath.

Then, slowly, Leon pushed himself up, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was wading through thick water. His eyes searched her face, and she could see the confusion there—the wariness, the fear. Why are you here? they seemed to ask. What do you want from me now?

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Rose took a step forward, her breath unsteady. "I'm sorry." The words came out more quietly than she'd intended, but there was no mistaking the weight behind them. "I didn't mean to hurt you... I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Leon didn't respond immediately. Instead, his eyes softened for just a moment, as if he were considering something. Then, in a voice thick with alcohol and exhaustion, he finally spoke, his words slow but deliberate.

"It's not your fault, Rose."

Her eyes flicked over Leon, taking in the disheveled state of him—his jacket half-unzipped, his hair mussed, his face pale under the dim light. His posture was slumped, the weight of the alcohol pressing down on him in a way that made her nervous. This wasn't just a man who had a few too many drinks. This was something darker. Something deeper.

He wasn't just drunk. He was out of his mind.

The scent of whiskey and stale sweat filled the air between them, making her throat tighten. It wasn't just the alcohol—it was something else, too. Something that felt more dangerous, more volatile, like he was walking on the edge of something he couldn't control.

Leon blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused, and for a split second, Rose wondered if he even realized it was her standing in front of him. Had he been expecting her? Or was he too far gone to tell the difference between reality and whatever haze his mind had settled into?

She took a careful step forward, her gaze never leaving him, her heart thudding in her chest. "Leon..." Her voice wavered, a delicate tremor in the words. "You're not... you're not okay."

His head tilted slightly to the side as he squinted at her, his lips twitching into something that could have been a smile, but it was too strained to be real. "You think?" he muttered, slurring just enough that it was hard to tell if he was teasing or genuinely confused. His words came out slow, dragging behind him like the weight of his thoughts.

She took another step, closer now, unable to stop herself. She reached out, her hand hovering just an inch from his arm, unsure if she should touch him or if she was just imagining everything. She didn't know how to help him. She didn't know what to do.

"Leon," she repeated, more urgently this time. She watched him struggle to focus on her, his brow furrowing like he was trying to understand something just out of reach. "What's going on with you?"

He let out a bitter chuckle, one that sounded too hollow for someone still breathing. "What's going on with me?" He shook his head, his eyes shifting away, not able to meet hers for long. "Maybe the same thing that's always been going on, Rose. Everything's a mess. I'm a mess. And you—" His voice cracked slightly, and he stopped himself, as if he couldn't find the words to finish that thought.

Her chest tightened at the mention of her name, at the way it hung there between them like a question he didn't want to ask, but felt compelled to anyway.

"You're not a mess," Rose said quietly, the words almost instinctive, as if she couldn't stand to hear him talk like that, even if she wasn't sure how else to describe her own life. "But you need help, Leon. You're not okay."

Leon let out another soft laugh, this one colder than the last. "Yeah? I'm not okay?" He glanced up at her again, his eyes unfocused, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince her. "Tell me something I don't know."

Rose's chest tightened further, her hand finally landing on his arm—tentative, but firm. His skin felt warm under her touch, but it wasn't comforting. He was burning with something else—something raw.

She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of everything between them, everything that had been left unsaid for so long. "Leon..." Her voice was softer this time, but the urgency was still there.

Leon closed his eyes as his name kissed his ears. He settled back into his seat, relaxing. "'m tired. G'night, Rose."

Rose sighed, going and sitting criss-cross on the floor beside him. His eyes cracked open at the movement and his lips parted. The air between them was thick—heavy with the weight of everything they'd been through and everything that had been left unsaid for too long. She wasn't sure what she expected when she sat down, but she wasn't prepared for the simple, quiet way Leon spoke the words.

"L've you."

It was barely more than a breath, a mumble. But it hit her like a freight train. All the years of silence, all the fractured memories, and suddenly it was like the world had snapped back into focus. His voice, slurred and tired, the way he said it as if it had slipped out accidentally—but it wasn't was a confession. A quiet admission. One that, in any other moment, might have been a bombshell. But now? Now, in this fragile, broken place they found themselves in, it felt... it felt like an apology.

She swallowed hard, fighting the sudden wave of emotion that welled up in her chest. She wasn't sure if she could speak without betraying how much those words had affected her. The years of heartache, the ache that had never truly gone away, suddenly rushing to the surface.

But she forced herself to look at him, really look at him, despite the fog of alcohol and exhaustion clouding his eyes. He was still Leon. Her Leon. Even if he was stumbling through the haze of his own confusion, even if he was carrying more than his fair share of burdens.

She couldn't just let it slip by. She couldn't let him think that this—whatever this was—was enough.

"I've always loved you too," Rose whispered, the words tasting foreign, fragile on her tongue. It felt like admitting it now was both a relief and a terrifying weight. But she didn't look away. She couldn't. "I've just been... scared. I didn't know how to fix it."

Leon's eyes fluttered open, the alcohol haze still clinging to him, but there was something there—something deeper, even in his state. His lips parted slightly as if trying to respond, but nothing came. Instead, his gaze softened, and the weight of his exhaustion seemed to finally catch up with him. He let out a low sigh and reached out, slowly, his fingers brushing hers, just the briefest of touches, but it felt like everything.

"We don't have to fix it, Rose," he said, voice low, hoarse from the alcohol and emotion. "Maybe we just... survive it."

She felt her breath catch in her throat. There it was again—his way of carrying everything in silence, holding back all the things he didn't know how to say. It was like he was letting her in without really letting her in at all, and it made her ache for the man he had been, the man he could still be, if they could just stop breaking.

For a long moment, they sat there in silence, the sound of his uneven breathing and the soft hum of the streetlights outside filling the empty space between them.

She wanted to say something more. Wanted to reach for him, to take him into her arms and promise him everything would be okay. But she knew that wasn't what he needed right now. He needed space. He needed time.

He needed her to be patient.

"Get some rest, Leon," Rose whispered, her voice gentle, but firm. "You're not alone, okay? I'm right here."

For a second, Leon's lips twitched, something almost like a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, though it was faint. He didn't say anything more. Instead, he let his head drop back against the couch, his eyes closing slowly.

"I'll be here when you're ready," she said softly, her voice almost a promise. She wasn't sure what would happen next. She didn't know how they were going to make it through this—whatever this was. But she was willing to stay. Willing to sit in the silence, in the uncertainty, for as long as it took.

Leon didn't answer, but she didn't need him to. She could feel it in the way his body relaxed, in the way the tension slowly began to ease from his frame. Maybe it wasn't much. Maybe it was just a tiny crack in the wall they'd built between them.