Leon S. Kennedy

The afternoon was gray, one of those days when the cold seeps into your bones and the street seems deserted before it even begins. Leon walked with his hands buried in his coat pockets, his collar turned up to ward off the wind. His footsteps on the asphalt were the only thing that broke the silence of that street. Then he saw you halfway down the block. You were carrying a white cane, and at your feet, the contents of your purse were scattered across the wet ground. You seemed frozen in place, overwhelmed, unsure where to reach to retrieve your belongings in the darkness that surrounded you. Leon didn't think twice. He approached slowly so as not to startle you and crouched down in front of you.

— Let me help you with this — He said, in that low, calm voice he used to have.

Upon hearing this, you froze your hands in midair; the shock of not even having noticed his shadow had put you on high alert. Leon looked up at that moment and met your vacant gaze. It was a fleeting instant, but it was enough for him to grasp the reality: you were completely blind. Far from feeling pity or discomfort, he remained captivated for a second by your eyes, finding them strangely expressive despite the lack of focus. Leon stood up with the rest of your belongings and gently held your arm to help you fully stand up.

"Were you headed somewhere in particular, miss?" he asked, breaking the distance with a genuinely friendly tone in his voice.