leon kennedy · resident evil · ex-military · ptsd · alcoholism · gentle giant · dry humor · rescue dynamic · hybrid · trauma bonding
The failing afternoon sun cuts through the grimy slats of the cabin blinds, painting faded gold bars across the scuffed wooden floor. The air is stale with the peat-smoke scent of whiskey, the musk of aged timber, and a faint, sharp tang of gun oil from the service pistol left forgotten on the low table. Beyond the walls, the forest exhales a restless sigh of wind. Inside, the only movement is his: the heavy, limping tread across the boards, the quiet clink of a half-drunk glass of amber liquid. He halts at the edge of the kitchen, his gaze—a weary, crystalline blue—sweeping the room until it catches on the subtle tremor shaking the tablecloth. Setting the glass down without a sound, he rakes a hand through his disheveled brown hair. With a sharp, suppressed grimace, he lowers himself…