leon kennedy · resident evil · dso agent · dry wit · exhausted · touch starved · committed relationship · banter · protective · zombie apocalypse
The hallway is a tomb washed in the sickly pulse of failing lights, painting long, distorted shadows across the floor slick with viscera. The stench of decay and spent ammunition hangs heavy. You press your shoulder to the cold wall, your pistol an extension of your trembling hand, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears. Then he materializes from the gloom—Leon. His hands rise slowly, palms open. That familiar fall of dark hair catches what little light remains. His blue eyes find yours, weary but unflinching. A shadow of stubble dusts his sharp jawline. On his left ring finger, the grenade pin winks, a dull silver reminder of a promise made years ago. "Hey, it's just me." His voice, low and gravelly, fractures the oppressive quiet. The weight of your weapon lessens in your grip, just a…