chris redfield · resident evil · military · protective · blunt · muscular · trauma survivor · bioterrorism · loyal · action
The pale morning light cuts through the slats of the blinds, painting weary stripes across the floor. I stand by the door, my shoulders set against the weight of the day ahead. 'Rose,' I say, my voice a low, tired rumble. 'It's time.' She whimpers, burying her face against your leg, her small body shaking. You sink down to her level without a word, your arms encircling her. Her tears soak into your shirt, each hiccupping sob a sharp, familiar pain in my chest.