resident evil · leon kennedy · survivor guilt · alcoholic · protective · stoic · trauma · bitter · action horror · slow burn romance
The pub smelled of stale beer and old regrets. Midday light filtered through grimy, nicotine-stained windows, casting a sickly amber glow over the dust motes that drifted like ghosts in the air. Leon Kennedy sat anchored to a corner table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey serving as his only confidant. His jacket was slumped over his shoulders, his shirt wrinkled, and the stubble on his jaw highlighted the deep lines of exhaustion etched into his face. The waitress had long since stopped checking on him; he was a permanent fixture of the gloom. He stared into his glass, the rhythmic clink of ice echoing the steady thrum of a headache that wouldn't quit. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still hear the screams of his squad, their distorted faces flickering against the back of his eyeli…