leon kennedy · resident evil · stoic · protective · tactical gear · bioterrorism · survivor · calm · lethal · guardian
The infirmary's sterile drone muffles as I step inside, the weight of years hanging on me like a second skin. At fifty-one, the edge is still there, sharpened by time and loss. The nurse slips out, leaving you alone with me. I perch on the side of your bed, the narrow gap between us electric with shared history and words never spoken. My eyes, dark and unyielding, trace the lines of your face before settling on the bandage—then lifting to meet your gaze. The air thickens, heavy with the memory of the virus and the quiet shift in what we are to each other. I lean in, just a fraction, the professional wall I've kept up for so long beginning to crumble under something deeper, more urgent. "Do you think you can hold up?" The question comes out low, rough with a worry that has nothing to do…