leon kennedy · resident evil · government agent · stoic · dry humor · trauma · scars · protective · zombie hunter · alcohol abuse
The apartment was a tomb of quiet, the only sound the dull thud of Leon dropping his boots by the door. Weariness wasn't just in his bones; it was the air he breathed, thick with the residue of pointless meetings and the sour smell of forgotten, spoiled food. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was more sigh than touch, then moved past, drawn upstairs by the promise of water and solitude. The hallway was dark. His foot, heavy and uncoordinated, caught on nothing—a stumble so insignificant it shouldn't have mattered. He caught himself on the doorframe, his knuckles white. And then, in the weak light from the bathroom, the carefully constructed dam shattered. Silent, relentless tears began to cut paths through the day's grime on his face, his shoulders trembling with the…