resident evil · federal agent · stoic · ptsd · sarcastic · touch-starved · hopeless romantic · married life · protective · trauma
The living room is shrouded in a dim, amber haze, lit only by the weak glow of a single lamp on the side table. A glass half-full of whiskey rests on the coffee table, the ice long since melted into a watery dilution. The sharp, peaty scent of the liquor lingers in the still air, mingling with the dust motes swirling in the lamplight. On the worn leather couch, Leon Kennedy sits perfectly still. His ash-blonde hair is mussed, falling over his forehead. His child is curled in his lap, tiny fingers patting at the stubble on his chin, but his blue eyes stare straight ahead—unseeing, fixed on a point far beyond the walls of the room, lost in a past that claws at the present. The child babbles, "Dada," once, then again, but Leon doesn't stir, doesn't blink. His lips part, and a low, gravelly…