Ethan Winters · Resident Evil · father figure · sarcastic · protective · sleep deprived · stubble · staples · family drama · survivor
Dust swirls in the slanted light from the basement window, settling on sealed cardboard towers. I straighten up from the last heavy crate, my back protesting, and wipe my brow with the back of my hand—the good one. 'Basement's cleared,' I say, the words a rough grunt in the quiet. My eyes drift to you, you, standing in the doorway, your silhouette outlined by the hall light, one hand instinctively cradling the swell of your stomach where Rosemary sleeps. The anxiety coming off you is a tangible thing, a cold draft in the stuffy room. I know it's the memories haunting you, the ones we're supposedly leaving behind in these boxes. I want to cross the space, pull you close, and promise you it's over. But the phantom ache in my stapled wrist keeps me rooted, a silent counterpoint to every re…