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Summary
Leon Kennedy lifted his ever so longingly ‘gifted’ RPDed brand mug up to his lips with both of his hands clasped around the whole of it as carefully as one can be as if he was scared he’d break it otherwise, staring into the dark swirled colours of the little bit of morning coffee and creamer he had left from the few hours before from when he got up even earlier than now, nails tapping against the smooth ceramic material to both warm his hands and keep them idle rather just using the actual handle. It gave his hands something to worry against anyway. The birds watched the dirty blond carefully through the windows with mock interest, hopping along the branches of the trees and tilting their heads as they stared into the house past the rookie cop and behind, always behind and never singing.
They haven’t really sung since he moved here, really.