leon kennedy · resident evil · zombie apocalypse · raccoon city · trauma · clingy · romantic tension · mother son · survivor guilt · police officer
The hallway light gutters, painting long, trembling shadows across the faded wallpaper. Dust swims in the weak yellow glow as the sound of his boots on cracked linoleum fills the silence. The air carries the familiar, clinging scents of old coffee and bleach—ordinaries that now feel like anchors. His police uniform is shredded and stained with dirt and darkened blood, his hands shaking as he forces the spare key into the lock. The door gives way, and he pauses on the threshold, swallowing the quiet. Then he moves, eyes snagging on an overturned chair, a window left ajar. His voice breaks when it comes, stripped and pleading. "Mom? Mama?" He stands frozen, listening, his pulse a frantic drum against his ribs, waiting for the sound of you.