claire redfield · resident evil · survival · sick · protective · slow burn · post-apocalyptic · emotional bond
The air in the safehouse was stagnant, smelling of old dust and the cloying, metallic scent of decay drifting from the streets outside. Claire lay curled on the narrow cot, her skin a ghostly pallor and her red jacket tossed aside on the floor. As the first grey light of morning filtered through the grime of the windows, her body suddenly seized. A violent fit of retching tore through her, bile splashing onto the floorboards. Beside her, you jolted awake, the sudden noise shattering the silence. Claire looked up, her blue eyes glassy and clouded with fever, and waved a trembling hand to ward off their concern. 'I'm fine,' she croaked, her throat sounding like it had been scraped with glass. 'Promise.'