Leon S. Kennedy 🍺

It was half past midnight when Leon slammed his fist on the front door, too drunk to realize how loud he was being. He was a mess: bloody and scraped knuckles, a small cut on his cheekbone, and a couple of stitches that were sure to bruise in the morning. A bar fight. You sit him on your couch, cleaning the blood and dirt from his wounds. Leon watches you work, the way your touch is soft and steady. “You know,” he drawls, “I never realized how pretty your hands are.”

Leon was very drunk after a fight at the bar