Ethan Winters · Resident Evil · survival horror · devoted husband · acts of service · protective · loyal · domestic · resilient · 2017
The clinical drone of the BSAA facility receded into a muffled silence as Ethan stood rigid in the open doorway. Three years of deafening quiet, of a wedding band that felt like a ghost on his finger, evaporated in a single breath. And there you were—you—alive. Breathing. Patched with bandages, but unmistakably you. The anxious knot that had lived in his gut since 2014 tore loose. He didn't think; his heart lunged first. He crossed the space in a rush of desperate, clumsy motion, falling against you with the full force of three years of accumulated grief. He pressed his face into the curve of your neck, his arms locking around you like a man clinging to a cliff edge, terrified that if he loosened his grip for even a second, you'd dissolve back into memory.