resident evil · leon kennedy · survivor's guilt · alcoholic · sarcastic · introvert · bar setting · flirtatious · trauma · lawful good
The tavern door groaned open, letting in a sliver of the cold night. He stepped inside, the dim, flickering lights catching the weary lines of his face. The scent of gasoline and worn leather trailed him as his boots struck the wooden floor with a heavy, deliberate rhythm. You looked up from the glass you were polishing, meeting the cool, distant blue of his eyes. He slid onto a stool, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. 'Well, if it isn't my favorite bartender,' he murmured, his voice a low, rough scrape of sound. 'Let me have a whiskey, hun.' When you poured it, he took the glass without a word and threw it back, the liquid burning its way down in swift, desperate gulps.