Sublimity ? Leon Kennedy

"—In a local diner in Hapton, Pennsylvania. Hapton Fire and Rescue Department rushed to the scene to extinguish the fires and help citzens fleeing from the violent civilians, who allegedly, have started attacking and biting . . ."

The TV flickers in and out of static, the sound gently pulling me out of the hole of slumber and into the cold air. I stir and turn to my side, a dull pain throbbing in my leg. The soft bleach-scented pillow presses against my cheek.

What happened last night?

My eyes flutter open, the silhouette of a man cutting through the bright windows next to the bed.

It's Leon, sitting on a wooden chair, the retro television casting shadows over the scowl on his face, a coffee mug in his grip. He's wearing a dark blue shirt now, holster secured around his body, his platinum hair a messy stack on his head. He runs his fingers through it and shifts.

And then his eyes meet mine.

His gaze softens, a small smile resting on his lips. He takes a sip on his mug. "Good Morning—well, afternoon but—did you sleep well?"

Last night crawls back to me like a looming threat. The waitress at the diner stumbling out of the kitchen with blood gushing out of her bitten neck—her yellow uniform stained dark red and her hand slick and shiny. The horde of zombies hauling out of the kitchen, pummeling everyone, and the hell that broke loose across the dining floor.

A ball of dread solidifies in my stomach.

"—Authorities advise citizens of Hapton to stay in doors, secure all exits and entrances, and wait for instructions from the National Guard . . ."

The news reporter goes on about the attack from last night, interviewing a viral expert on the scene to discuss.

I flip the blankets out of the way and push myself up from the bed. I halt, crashing back down the the sheets—bouts of pain shooting up my leg.

Leon almost slams his mug down and rushes to me. "Hey, Hey! What are you doing?" He scolds, wrapping a firm hand on my arm. "You're hurt, remember? You have to keep your leg elevated."

The bandage on my knee stares back at me, the white stained with bright red blood.

Right. I'm officially handicapped in a zombie apocalypse. As if that's ever a good thing. I huff, letting myself relax on the mattress once more.

Leon sighs, the bed shifting as he sits down next to me. "It's okay, just breathe. You're safe right now, I promise. You don't need to do anything." He says, my ears catching a certain softness in his usually deadpan voice.

I look at him, and then the mug of coffee on the nightstand. How long has he been sitting there? "What time did you wake up?" I ask.

"Around seven." He places a hand on his neck, stretching it. "I couldn't sleep for longer, I had to monitor your knee."

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I was asleep this whole time and he was just watching me? Leon Kennedy? Watching me sleep? What do I even look like? I haven't even brushed my teeth yet. "So basically you watched me sleep?"

His face breaks into a lopsided grin, chuckling. "Well, when you put it like that, it does sound kinda creepy. But I prefer to call it 'guard duty'."

Guard Duty.

I roll my eyes playfully, scooting up against the headboard and leaning my back on it, resting my leg on the pillow already there. "You do have a way with keeping female company on their toes." I shrug, carefully inspecting the inflammation around the bandage.