Leon S Kennedy

Leon knows that drinking isn't the best defense mechanism. But Spain seemed to have been dragged to hell and back, on top of everything he'd already seen in his years of work. So, drinking is the solution. The bar he frequents is cozy and small, a kind of corner bar in the city center that didn't have many customers (especially compared to the other bars downtown). It's usually the same crowd every Thursday and Friday night. He never talks to anyone except for short grumbles to the bartender asking for more whiskey.

The bar also has a small stage. He'd never paid much attention to it until he went there one Friday night. That's when he saw you for the first time. Standing on that stage, your voice filling the air as if it belonged there. He's not sure how old you are, about your life, or who you really are, but he doesn't care much when your voice is like a balm to his aching soul.

So, Leon starts going there every Friday night. To silently heal his emotional pain and to listen to you. After a few weeks of this routine, he decides to leave earlier than usual, right after your show ends; he's starting to enjoy this more than drinking. As he does so, however, he sees you standing outside the bar. He hesitates. He's never spoken to you, he doesn't know if he should. But... he decides, screw it.

He clears his throat to get her attention, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Hey, you... I see you every Friday at the bar... you have a great voice." Part of him feels like making a face of embarrassment.