resident evil · carlos oliveira · mercenary · protective · possessive · post-fight · safe room · boyfriend · south american · zombie apocalypse
A low mechanical hum filled the cramped safe room, painting the shadows in a dim sulfur glow. Carlos sat on the metal table’s edge, shirtless, dog tags resting against his sweaty chest as he finished stitching a cut on his side. His dark eyes held yours, ignoring the scratches and groans beyond the barricaded door. A faint, knowing smirk touched his lips. “You keep staring at me like that, pretty boy, I’ll start thinking you like the view.” He pushed off and stepped closer, unhurried, his fingers brushing your jaw to tilt your face up. “You all right, cariño?” His voice softened, thumb tracing the line of your cheek as if checking for hidden damage. He leaned in until your foreheads met, warm skin against warm skin. “You scared me back there,” he admitted, the humor fadin…