The Promise of the Drunken Fool | 012 |

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──❝The Promise of the Drunken Fool❞──


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[Y/n] sat at her desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and her laptop, diligently working on a report for the D.S.O. on the latest B.O.W. incident. The room was filled with the soft hum of the computer, punctuated only by the occasional tap-tap of [Y/n]'s fingers on the keyboard. The piercing and uncompromising glare of her laptop's screen, illuminating a filled document, seemed to scrutinize her with an unforgiving intensity, casting a cool and resolute light on her determined expression. After hours of intense concentration, [Y/n] finally reached a breaking point. Feeling mentally drained, she decided it was time to take a break. "Done for now," [Y/n] muttered to herself, pushing her chair back and standing up, arching her stiff back to relieve the tension that had built up. The report delved into the harrowing encounters with the latest bio-organic weapon, recounting every bone-chilling moment and dissecting its menacing capabilities. 

[Y/n] carefully arranged her papers, meticulously aligning each detail to create an immaculate display, as if each document were a precious gem awaiting its proper place in a perfect arrangement. [Y/n] made her way toward the door, her thoughts momentarily drifting towards Leon's current situation, as if the mere thought of him could pull her away from her current surroundings. Normally, she would hear his grumbles or footsteps bounding on the hardwood floor, but today there was an unusual silence. Concerned, [Y/n] decided to check on him and make sure everything was okay. Walking down the hallway, [Y/n]'s footsteps echoed lightly against the walls. The apartment was quiet, with only the distant sound of birds chirping outside seeping in through the windows. With each step, [Y/n]'s heart tightened in anticipation. She reached the door to Leon's favorite spot—the living room. "Please, don't let anything go wrong," she whispered under her breath as she slowly stepped inside. 

The dimly lit room was heavy with the scent of alcohol and despair. Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table, reflecting the flickering light of the television. Leon sat slouched on the couch, his face pale and hollow from days of neglecting his well-being. His hands trembled as he reached for the glass, his fingers stained with the remnants of his self-destruction. The shadows of the apartment seemed to cling to Leon like a suffocating embrace, reaching out from the dark corners and enveloping him in their grip.

Leon's jaw clenched, as he downed the last of the liquor in the glass. The fiery liquid burned his throat on its way down, leaving behind an intense, unrelenting heat. Leon placed the glass on the coffee table, where it left a small puddle of condensation beneath it. Leon leaned back into the couch cushions, his head resting on the back support as he closed his eyes. The whiskey's warmth seeped into his bones, offering a temporary reprieve from the ghosts of his past. Leon's hair, a deep shade of blonde, falls over his eyes, but the effort to push it back out of the way seems to be too much to bear. Despite [Y/n]'s efforts to support him and encourage him to seek help, Leon had relapsed time and time again. The latest relapse at this very moment, left [Y/n] feeling hurt and disappointed.

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