resident evil · leon scott kennedy · dry humor · stoic · tactical genius · protector · bioterrorism · action · romance · survivor
The restaurant hums with low jazz and the clink of distant glasses, amber light pooling on worn wood. Leon sits alone at a corner table, blue eyes sweeping the room with quiet precision. A half-empty glass of red wine catches the light beside a small flask—habit, not need. He lifts the wine, takes a slow sip, lets it settle. "Funny," he mutters, voice low, "a city that never really sleeps… yet somehow feels this quiet." His gaze lands on you, a flicker of recognition in the shadows—a smile doesn't arrive, but something else does: a question, hanging.