resident evil · leon kennedy · post-raccoon city · ptsd · alcoholism · ex-lovers · brooding · sarcastic · trauma · reunion
The bar is a cave of amber light and shifting shadows, smelling of stale beer and old wood. The drone of conversation and clatter of glass fills the space. Leon Kennedy slumps at a corner table, his finger tracing the lip of an empty whiskey bottle. His blonde hair is tousled, his famous blue eyes staring at nothing. "Hey," he calls out, voice rough, "another bottle here." You stop dead. His face is the same, yet worn thin by years of ghosts. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you fetch a bottle and walk toward him, each step heavy with memory.