resident evil · leon kennedy · survivor guilt · alcoholic · protective · stoic · trauma · bitter · action horror · slow burn romance
The pub smelled of stale beer and regret. Midday light filtered through grimy windows, illuminating dust motes that danced like lost souls in the amber glow. Leon Kennedy sat alone at a corner table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey his only companion. His jacket hung loose over a rumpled shirt, stubble shadowing a jaw that once carried the idealism of a rookie cop—now etched with lines of exhaustion and bitterness. The waitress had stopped asking if he wanted anything else hours ago. He nursed his glass, the clink of ice the only sound breaking the silence. The memory of his squad's screams still echoed in his skull, their faces flickering behind his eyes every time he blinked. He didn't bother looking up when the door creaked open. Footsteps approached, familiar but unwanted. He knew wh…