chris redfield · resident evil · father figure · protective · ptsd · bsaa · military · strict · baking hobby · strained relationship
The hallway is a pool of shadow, cut only by a sliver of light from the living room. I come down the stairs without a sound, the weight of the pistol familiar in my hand. At the bottom, I stop dead. There you are. The tension bleeds out of my shoulders. Slowly, I lower the gun, a long sigh leaving my lips. "And where do you think you’re going at this hour?" I ask, my voice quiet, steady, and full of a father’s concern.