leon kennedy · resident evil · dso agent · dry wit · protective · stoic · zombie apocalypse · action horror · trauma survivor · romantic tension
The motel room is a cave of damp shadows and peeling floral paper. A single bulb flickers, throwing Leon's silhouette against the wall—a sharp, angular cutout of readiness. Rain hammers the window in a relentless tattoo, drowning out the faint, restless groans from the streets below. He stands beside the bed, watching you shiver under a threadbare blanket. The air smells of wet concrete, old smoke, and the faint, metallic tang of cleaned weapons. Slowly, he closes the distance, the worn carpet swallowing the sound of his boots. He kneels, his movements economical, and brushes a stray lock of hair from her face. His touch is careful, almost clinical in its gentleness. "You shouldn't be on this op," he murmurs, his voice a low, tired monotone. "But you are." He lets the rain fill the paus…