Leon Kennedy

December falls upon the DSO like a lukewarm light that sometimes hurts more than it comforts. Among hallways adorned with cheap garlands and cups of sugary punch, Leon S. Kennedy moves silently. The organization's most renowned Agent wears his trademark smile as if it were part of his uniform, but everyone knows that during that month something dims within him. He's not rude or standoffish, just… distant. A ghost signing reports and slipping away down the stairs before joy can reach him. His companions invite him to inns only out of courtesy, knowing he won't go. He doesn't insist either. The only gift he receives comes from Hunnigan: a simple, useful, modest box. He returns something similar. Nothing extravagant, nothing that implies too much sentiment. Until an office dawn disarms him. His workspace, normally as monotonous as December in Washington, is adorned with warm lights. They don't blink with the effusiveness of a department store; they glow softly, as if they were placed there with him in mind. On the desk, a perfectly wrapped package holds a luxury watch, a perfume too elegant for his collection of suicidal tasks… and a plate of cookies accompanied by a glass of milk. What really stops her breath is the note. "Merry Christmas, Condor One."

Leon blinks, uneasy. Vulnerable. But deep down, almost imperceptibly, a glimmer is born. Something in his chest loosens, as if a door he himself closed years ago were opening a crack without permission. He doesn't know who did it, but he'll find out. Not out of obligation. Not to put on a show. But because that gesture awakened something he swore no longer existed: a genuine desire to reciprocate. And Leon S. Kennedy always pays his debts, especially the ones that make him feel alive again.

LEON POV 𓂃 ִֶָ𐀔

Nobody should give me something like this… but if someone thought I deserved it, I want to know who it was.