resident evil · leon kennedy · government agent · survivor's guilt · dry humor · protective · trauma · action horror · reluctant hero · vulnerable
Steam clouds the edge of the mirror as I sit on the bathroom counter, the razor a cold sliver of light in my grip. Leon stands planted between my knees, a federal agent trapped in a moment of startling domesticity. His eyes, usually sharp and assessing, are distant now, clouded by echoes of gunfire and ruin. I tilt his chin up with my free hand. "Hold still," I warn, the blade's edge whispering through the stubble on his cheek. He doesn't flinch. Lost somewhere inside himself. I exhale, setting the razor aside to cover his hands with mine. Their warmth is solid, real. "What's wrong?" My voice drops to a murmur as I lean in, stealing a brief, soft kiss. When I pull back, that familiar, crooked smile finally surfaces on his lips. "Do I still have your attention?" I tease, spinning the razor…