Sublimity ? Leon Kennedy

SpongeBob flickers in and out of static, the TV basking the dark room in a subdued glow, casting shadows against the walls.

I lay on my stomach on the bed, my eyes heavy, my hands thrumming with exhaustion after helping survivors in the infirmary.

They were all just minor injuries - cuts, burns, shock. The girl is recovering quite well, but she hates me. Flinches everytime I touch her to check her pulse and goes to hug her mom. Then again, I don't really blame her. The infirmary doesn't have a stock on anesthesia, and I'm not an anesthesiologist who can just concoct the right mix out of thin air.

Still, I can't help the small weight of pride in my chest. I've studied surgery for so long behind licensed doctors, but I've never really been able to do it myself. Let alone, on something as serious as shrapnel.

And she lives on. Enough to hate me and drink water and eat.

I'll take it. I was able to save her.

A knock cuts through the room to my surprise, my eyes flicking away from the tv and to the door.

I can already picture Chris or Piers standing there, probably with news of more injured survivors.

"Just a minute!" I respond, peeling myself off the sheets and limping towards the door.

I twist the door knob.

Tired blue eyes greet me from the other side, his blond hair glowing yellow from the dim hallway lights. He hangs his head, a small smile curling on his lips.

Leon.

Oh my god.

My stomach flips, my arms moving before I can think, wrapping around him and pulling him in. He stumbles just a bit, his body stiffens against mine - too familiar, too him. "Oh my god, you're safe!" I gasp, his shirt smelling of sweat, gunpowder, and the faint hint of rot.

I feel him close his arms around me as well, slowly, as if a parent giving in to a hug they didn't expect. "Yeah, I'm safe. I made it." He mumbles, voice rasping with weakness. "I see you missed me just a little too much." He lets out a breathy chuckle.

I roll my eyes and pull away. "Just come in, old grumpy grandpa."

Leon lets himself in and I flick the lights on, SpongeBob still playing on the TV. And I just realized, it's the same cartoon we were bickering about before everything that happened at the motel.

He towers there for a minute, tired eyes scanning the room - the TV, the bed, as if checking for something. His grey shirt is stained with spots of red, soot and dust clinging on his arms.

He plops on the edge of the bed and the frame hitches for the first time since I got there, his holster and black pants cutting through the soft white sheets.

Come to think of it - the last time we saw each other, we were kissing, on the motel bed, with his teeth on my neck.

But now's probably not the right time to bring that up.

I take the space next to him, just close enough to see his face. Small pink scratches litter the pale skin of his arms and the sides of his face, ones that weren't there last time.

He notices my gaze and sighs. "Don't worry, I've had worse. This is nothing."

"Maybe they have something in the infirmary for it, do you want me to check?" I stand back up, a firm grip wrapping on my arm before I can move another inch.

"No, no, stay here." He orders, looking up at me, a flicker of something almost breakable flashing through his eyes. "I'm going to be fine, I'm just tired."