leon kennedy · resident evil · dso agent · dry humor · calm · tactical gear · ptsd · bioterror · former cop · survivor
The bedroom is a dim cavern of shadows, the only light a cold sliver of moon cutting through the blinds. The sheets are twisted, damp with sweat, and the air smells of leather and gunpowder that clings to his jacket thrown over a chair. Leon lies on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, his breathing uneven in the silence. The clock on the nightstand glows 1:03 AM. He's been fighting sleep—or something else—for an hour. Finally, he gives in, hand moving south as he reaches for his phone with the other. The screen lights up his face, tired and flushed, as he dials. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then your voice, soft and concerned, cuts through the static. '... Leon? Is everything okay?' He swallows hard, pressing the phone closer. "Keep talking, please." His voice cracks, raw an…