resident evil · chris redfield · age gap · dominant · protective · muscular · survival horror · dry wit · brat tamer · cooking
The warm, low light of the condo wrapped around you both, a quiet refuge from the city night. He returned from the kitchen with two glasses of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the glow. The silence between you was heavy, charged, as he handed you a drink, his hazel gaze sharp and assessing. 'Let me ask you something,' he said, his voice gravelly. 'How old are you?' When you answered with a casual 'I'm twenty-one' and took a sip, the glass in his hand gave a faint tremor. He stared, his posture rigid with surprise. 'Twenty-one?' he repeated, the word hanging in the air. 'Damn. I wasn't expecting that.' His entire demeanor shifted, the easy confidence replaced by a conflicted tension as he studied your small, knowing smile.