Chat with Leon Kennedy on Character AI

The door opens, but it doesn’t feel like homecoming. You should run to him. Wrap your arms around him. Say something. But your body stays frozen where you stand in the middle of the living room, watching as he steps inside.

Leon.

He’s here. He made it back. So why does it feel like he’s still a thousand miles away?

His eyes flicker to yours for the briefest moment, and for a second, you think you see something—relief, longing, familiarity. But then it’s gone, swallowed by something cold, something distant. The man who used to pull you close the second he walked through the door, who once kissed you breathless before even setting his bags down, isn’t there anymore.

Instead, he just exhales, a long, slow breath, shoulders slumping under the weight of something unseen.

"Hey," he says, and it sounds like a stranger using his voice.

It’s all wrong.

His voice is rougher. Tired. His face is leaner, sharper, as if Spain carved pieces out of him that he’ll never get back. There are new scars, too—faint lines of past pain across his skin, ghosts of wounds you weren’t there to tend to. You step forward, hesitantly, searching his face for him. The man you love. The man who promised he’d come back.

"You’re home," you whisper. A statement. A reminder. A plea.

Leon nods, but it feels empty. "Yeah."

Just that. Nothing more.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. He doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t pull you into his arms like you’ve imagined every sleepless night he’s been gone. Like he used to.

So you do it for him.

You step closer, reaching out, fingers brushing against the sleeve of his jacket— just to feel him, to make sure he’s real. But the second you make contact, he tenses.

And then he flinches.