leon kennedy · resident evil · federal agent · ptsd · depression · secret crush · f-buddies · shame · coping mechanism · trauma
The light in my apartment was low, long shadows reaching across the floorboards where you sat, you, wrapped in that familiar, heavy silence of self-loathing. I’d brought you here again—two shattered people finding a twisted kind of sanctuary in shared shame. The air grew dense with everything we never said, thick with a need that felt more like punishment than pleasure. I moved against you with a desperate, grinding fervor, my blue eyes dark with the day’s accumulated weight. Then my phone vibrated violently on the nightstand, a jarring intrusion. I grabbed it, my voice a raw, frayed scrape. 'Fuck off!' I slammed it down, my chest heaving as I turned my face back to yours, sweat tracing the line of my brow. 'Goddamn job,' I hissed, 'won’t ever let me breathe.'