Blossom-works

There was a phase of "Did I do something wrong?" But your friends were quick to shut that down. The Rhode's as well. Given that they've been together for so long, they gave you some of their wisdom: "Marriage is choosing to love that person even when you don't think you do. You chose to be with that person in life, so that means you choose them everyday. There's no choice in the matter, because you already made it."

After that, your mind sort of cleared up. Life wasn't so hazy and you actually look time to live. You went into stores you previously walked past and had short, pleasant conversations with strangers. Some conversations weren't about anything important, but they were nice to have. You thanked the men that complimented you instead of brushing them off with indifference. You talked with the women about god knows what.

And it was all because you figured out that John just stopped choosing you. Simple. Nothing you might have done. Nothing about you that drove him to someone else. There was nothing wrong in the marriage. It hurt to admit at first, but John just stopped choosing to love you.

Putting the vase back on the table, you make sure nothing else needs your attention before heading to bed. You change into something comfortable that doesn't smell like chicken. Your hair and teeth are brushed and your face is clean.

Willow is already in her spot (yours) as she waits patiently for her nightly cuddles. The cold cotton feels nice against your legs and Willow makes herself comfortable at your side. Turning off your lamp, you're ready for another predictable and peaceful day to come, knowing that gifting yourself flowers is a sign of love no one can take from you.

A few weeks after that, you thought to yourself. What's your next move? What do you? Do you confront John? What do you say? What will he say? These questions haunted you, making the days go by slower than ever. Your relationship with John has simmered into that of roommates. You were only married on paper now. He doesn't talk to you much, and you stopped trying to think of ways to get him to. A small part of you had hoped your marriage would survive, but as the days go by, the roots of your marriage dry out.

The house is quiet. Abnormally quiet. It has been since you saw them talking. Both of you are in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner. Despite the distance, you two still act married. After wiping the counters, you decide to break the ice. Ripping the band-aid off.

"Does she make you happy?"

John turns to you in confusion. "Who makes me happy?"

"The woman you were talking to in the lounge. The brunette with the green eyes."

"What about her?"

You smile to yourself. You can't tell if he's getting ready to defend himself or if he's truly confused.

"You like her."

John's brows furrow as he tilts his head to the side.

"What makes you say that?"

You set the rag on the oven's handle. "You know what, John. You look at her the way you used to look at me."

"We were just talking, love. Nothing to be concerned about."

Now you're annoyed. Is this man just denying it to save him the trouble, or is he just oblivious to his own feelings?

"You like her. She likes you. This is more than co-workers getting along and having a chat. I know what I saw, John. You know it too. I saw how you wanted to hold her hand. I saw the way your eyes looked at her lips. Everything I saw told me everything I needed to know."

John's lips tighten in a thin line. He says nothing as you two remain eye contact. This is awkward and uncomfortable. The two of you sit in silence for what seems like forever. Neither of you move from where you stand. It feels like an atomic bomb would go off if you did.

"Answer me this, John...Does she make you happy?"

It takes him a good handful of seconds, but then he nods yes.

"Is she intentional?"

He thinks about it some more before he nods again.

Clamping your lips shut, you walk to one of the kitchen drawers and pull it open. John's blue eyes watch you like a stakeout. Your moves are careful and calm for someone who just found out her husband is attracted to another woman.

You hand him a small stack of papers.

"I had a lawyer draw these up about a week ago. Everything that was yours prior to marriage stays yours and vice versa. Whatever big item we got together, I'll send you the money for my half."

There are only a few times in his life when John Price is speechless. This would be one of those times.

"Don't worry about having to see a judge, too. Given your profession, the judge is giving us special treatment. All we need to do is sign the papers and hand them to my lawyer. He'll take care of it from there."

John takes the papers and stares down at the pen in your other hand. Is he really doing this? Is this happening?

"I'll move out before the weekend is over," John says. It's the least he can do after falling for another woman.

You shake your head. "No need. All my stuff is already packed and at my place."

"Your place?" John's brows might as well reach the top of his forehead.

Nodding, you explain, "I got my own place around the same time the papers got drafted. I couldn't ask you to move out of your own home. You've lived in this place since before we ever got together. It wouldn't be fair."

"Your things..." John hadn't noticed anything had changed around the house. Was he so disconnected from his marriage to notice his wife's stuff going missing? Is it wrong of him to admit he feels a twinge of relief right now? You aren't turning this into a battle. You aren't out for blood. John does feel guilty for being the reason why is marraige is ending. He feels sorry for whatever pain you're feeling.

"Sign the papers, John." You shouldn't be encouraging the end of your marriage. It's crazy. But it would be crazier to fight for a marriage where all efforts are in vain. It takes two people to be married, two people to stay married, and it takes one to end it.

Being the soldier he is, John heeds your orders. He prints his signature on every line marked with an "x". He flips through every sheet until the granite countertop reappears. Keeping the silence, John hands you the stapled papers back. You skim over them to make sure everything is filled out correctly. You'd rather not have to do this a second time.

Seeing that everything is signed, you nod in approval. With your empty hand, you reach inside your back pocket. A small, metal item is placed on the countertop.

"Here's your key."

Not wanting to spend another second of this emotionally draining night, you give John one last look before escorting yourself to the front door.

John calls out to you. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I would've thought you to be more...emotional than this."

The open door allows the cool night's air to enter the building. Goosebumps form on your exposed arms. The chill slithers down your spine. And you can finally breathe again.

"I was. I was emotional ever since you stopped bringing me flowers."

And this would be the last time you and John ever see each other. A relationship that would've ended beautifully ended in a quiet tragedy.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the living room lies a glass container. Its placement is awkward, serving no other purpose than to collect dust. A vessel that John later donates in hopes that it would one day be filled with flowers again.

---------------------

Simon killed his own kind. Anything that tried to eat a living person died at the hands of Ghost. No one could understand it. Ghost's case was a unique one. He couldn't talk, but he could understand his orders. He still knew how to use a gun.

Chaos stayed in the world for months on end. Countries quarantined themselves from the outside world. No one without special permission could leave their country. If they were in a different country for work or on a vacation, SOL. Away from their families, SOL. The only thing that could follow was anarchy and riots. This stretched for a few more months before the world seemed to have steadied. Governments finally got a hold of the situation, and citizens have calmed down.

The undead were exterminated, and the special gas that created this catastrophe was burned. No lab, no country, no government was allowed to hold onto it. In fact, Task Force 141 was given the recipe to destroy. Captain Price and Soap were the only survivors of this. So yes, they were going to destroy the madman's work.

Meanwhile, the world doesn't know that one more zombie still exists. Not for much longer, though. Laswell had to use up all the favors in the world to pull this off. All because John requested this of her. Begged her even.

Touching the cold knob, your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest. In an interrogation room that replicates what's seen in movies, sits your beloved Simon. The man you've committed to and who committed to you. He's still dressed in his uniform, but his mask is half torn off. His jaw is loose. His skin is dark and purple and gray. He smells of rotting flesh. But damn, do you still love him.

As crazy as you are, you still love him. The fact that he's literally a dead man walking doesn't change anything.

You sit across from him at the steel table. His eyes follow your every movement. Like he's taking you in for the last time.

"They told me that you broke your own jaw before you...turned. To prevent yourself from hurting anyone else. That was noble of you Si."

Simon has no choice but to stay quiet. He has no jaw to talk with and he's sure that his vocal cords had been ripped out when he got ambushed.

"They told me that after this...they're going to have to kill you. It's to prevent this from happening again."

Simon nods.

"So this is goodbye, huh?"

Simon nods.

"It's not fair that I get to say my goodbyes and you don't."

With his cold fingers, he signs.

This is how I have to say goodbye.

"You remembered. I have to say that I'm shocked. They said that you had almost all your normal functions. You're a fighter through and through, aren't you?"

Had to be. I wanted to see you again.

You thought you could do this, but with every stiff sign, a bit of you dies with it. You're saying goodbye to the man you love more than yourself. If anyone had asked you, you would have chosen to save Simon rather than save the world.

I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise. I hope you can forgive me, love.

For a moment, it feels like time has stopped just for the two of you. Simon spills everything he feels for you. He gave his life for the world; the least he can do is give you his heart. You take in every sign, coding it into your own memory. Simon recounts the day he met you and when he decided to dedicate himself to you as much as he could. He told you the whys and the whats. Simon never told you what he wanted for your shared futures or what he had planned for the two of you. He knows that it would only hurt you more.

You don't realize it, but Simon sees your tears. He wishes he could wipe them for you, but a condition for this meeting was that no touching was involved. They couldn't risk another person being turned from something like an unknown papercut.

Before coming here, you thought of everything you would say to Simon. You made up this whole speech in your head. You wanted to word vomit, but you think Simon said everything for you. He was always like that. Taking care of you in ways you didn't even think of.

You know they made you agree to the conditions, but screw it. What are they going to do? It couldn't be worse than saying goodbye to your Simon. Standing up, you walk around the table to hug your love goodbye. His body feels different even with the gear on. Simon used to exhibit a lot of body heat, but now he's cold to the touch.

Leaning your head down, you press a kiss against the top of his head.

"Wait for me, ok? Be it hell or heaven, wait for me to join you."

Simon raises his right hand and grabs onto your forearm. Even in his current condition, he can still fill your warmth. He nods to your promise. For you, Simon will wait for the universe to explode if he needs to. He's at your service. Death won't change that.

With a final goodbye, you're escorted out of the room, and Price goes in. Soap waits for you at the end of the hall as you hear a single gunshot go off. Everything that you felt in the last hour comes barreling down on you as you wail for Simon. The chapter that you shared with Simon has ended. Leaving you to write the next one on your own.

-------------------

But for some reason, no matter how many rejections she faced, his wife persisted. She sat with him when it was hard for Muzan to breathe, and no matter how many times he would swat her hand, she would still put a cool cloth on his forehead. It wasn't until his wife stood up for him did things change. Apparently, some of the maids were badmouthing their lord, and their lady had heard.

"You are to take what you can and leave this residence immediately. I will not allow anyone to taint Lord Muzan's standing."

After that, Muzan slowly accepted his wife's help. No longer did he swat her hand away, and he even took a few sips of her tea. He had even asked for her name.

"It's Asa, Lord Muzan."

Morning. How ironic it would be later on. The name of the woman he learned to adore is what reminds him of his mortality.

A couple of years before Muzan became the world's first demon, he would demand his wife coddle him. He would only eat her cooking and drink her tea. Muzan even had the staff move her futon to his chambers. It especially helped him in the winter when his body couldn't keep up with the cold.

On the rare days that he could walk, Muzan and his wife would take a short stroll in their gardens. She would talk about her childhood, and if Muzan allowed it, they would discuss children. Pointless considering his condition wasn't getting any better, but his wife had hopes. It was only fair that Muzan indulge his wife's fantasies.

Even a thousand years later, Muzan still remembers the day he turned into a demon. He had already killed and disposed of his doctor's body. When his wife returned from the market, she cried. Not for the doctor's untimely death, but for the fact that her husband could walk without assistance. Slowly, the young mistress let go of their staff. She didn't want anyone to question why their young lord could no longer walk in the sun's rays.

Oh, and about Muzan's hunger. He never told his wife what would satiate it. He knows she loves him, but would never condone the practice of eating human flesh. It seemed that his hunting had caught up to him. When Muzan was out on his "nightly strolls", he came home to his home being burnt down and screams ripping through the night's air. The village people had had enough.

Muzan found his wife's charred body tied to wooden poles. Her body was unrecognizable, and even parts of her had turned into ash. While cradling her body, Muzan had discovered that he could still cry as a demon. That night, the Demon King was born. A being that reins carnage over the world in both revenge and hope.

---

About a millennium later, a woman with straight black hair and brown eyes was born. She grew up to become a strong swordsman with an even temper. She became what is known as a "Hashira". She, like many of her fellow Hashira, became a mentor to Tanjiro Kamado and his friends. Whatever wisdom she could pass, she would, in hopes that it would make him a better fighter.

The Earth Hashira was liked by many. She reminded the Slayer Corps of their Master Kagaya. They shared the same temperament and mentality. If it wasn't for their differing last names, many would have thought them to be related. The only downside to her is her frequent headaches. The only thing that could help was applying peppermint and ginger oil to her temples. Not even the Insect Hashira could help her friend.

Her headaches would even plague her in her sleep. She would often dream of a faceless man with dark hair. He was often cold and aloof with others, but when it came to her, he was gentle. He would whisper her name and claim his affections for her. Every time she would wake up, it left the Hashira with a raging headache. It almost became a nightmare for her.

It wasn't until she met the famous Lady Tamayo that Tanjiro talked about. The Hashira had a Kasugi Crow locate the demoness and confronted her on peaceful terms. It was a last Hail Mary for her. During their meeting, the Hashira found the cure for her headaches.

"When I was serving Muzan, I would often find him staring at a woman's kimono. He kept it in a special box and refused to let anyone touch it. I would catch him washing it himself, too. I had never seen Muzan touch anything with so much care. It was something special to him. I never asked about the history behind it because I knew better."

The Hashira asked Lady Tamayo what Muzan and the kimono looked like. A trick question, really. As the Hashira described the kimono and the man perfectly.

"How did you?"

Everything was explained to Lady Tamayo that night. The headaches. The dreams. The man with no face. How gentle he was with her and how he knew her name. He even knew what she liked or disliked. The details were so exact that Lady Tamayo didn't know what to think.

"What was your name again?"

"Asa."

For Lady Tamayo, everything made sense. To the headaches, the dreams, and the kimono. If it wasn't for that one time when Lady Tamayo heard Muzan mumble that name, she wouldn't be able to explain Asa's dreams. Once the realization sank into Asa, her headaches had finally gone away. Like the constant knocking had stopped now that the door was open.

The following night, the Earth Hashira had requested a meeting with the Corps' master and lady. Asa explained everything to them. To when her headaches had first begun and to what her and Lady Tamayo had concluded. That same night, Asa and Master Kagaya had coincided on a plan that would end Muzan's reign.

---

"I've located about sixty percent of the Demon Slayer Corps."

"I'm impressed, Nakhime. You've grown so strong over the years."

With another strum of a biwa, the woman found another member of the corps. Only this time, it was a stronger member.

"Lord Muzan, I've located another Hashira."

Satisfied with her findings, Muzan asks Nakhime to describe the slayer.

"It's a woman. Black hair with a green haori. She looks to be about the same size as the Hashira with the butterfly clip. She wears a pair of jade earrings -"

Like a cat ready for its daily feeding, Muzan had "infiltrated" Nakhime's mind. There, he saw a woman with long, black hair and the green haori mentioned. Quietly, Muzan wishes for the woman to turn around so he can see her face. He can barely make out the jade earrings Nakhime described. Luckily, someone had called out to her, using her full title.

'Is it?'

Naturally, the woman turned to acknowledge the lower-ranked corps member, and now Muzan can see. She hasn't changed in the thousand years that have gone by. She still has the same grace she carried all those years ago. And those earrings. They're the exact ones he gifted her for New Year's. Muzan had suspected that they had been stolen by the villagers when they set his wife on fire, only for them to find their rightful owner.

"Nakhime, you are to keep a close eye on her. No harm shall come to her."

Being the obedient servant she is, Nakhime agreed without question. The fact that his wife became a demon slayer angered Muzan. It only made the hate he has for the Ubuyashiki family grow stronger. How dare they risk his wife's life? He needs to locate Ubuyashiki and end this for good.

---

Kylian made you feel special and you thought you should do the same. You stopped talking to guys who tried to get you to go out with them. You wanted Kylian to know that your eyes are on him only. You would ask Kylian if he wanted you to cook something for him or do small tasks to make his life a little easier. You wanted Kylian to feel as if he found his Cinderella, his princess.

The dates you guys went on were a dream. Of course, Kylian would use those times to show off his status. You expected nothing less but told him that a trip to the grocery store or the park was more than enough for you. It was about three months into getting to know each other that you saw your relationship with Kylian declining.

When the two of you were alone Kylian would try to coerce you into bed. Not in a bad way but in an "I want you" way. As much as you wanted to listen to your needs, you made a promise to yourself. You would tell Kylian "Maybe some other time" and try to release the sexual tension through non-sexual means. You felt bad because you saw how frustrated and disappointed Kylian would get. When he eventually asked you why you kept rejecting him, you told him about your self-promise. After that, Kylian stopped trying to sleep with you. In fact, he kind of almost cuts you off.

Daily texts and calls went down to weekly texts and calls - if that. No more dates are planned. No "I want to see you again" is thrown your way. You thought that you did something wrong and even asked Kylian if you did. He told you that you did not and that he was just busy. You believed it because he is freaking Kylian Mbappe. The man's schedule is almost always booked in advance. You did not want to be a nuisance so you waited for Kylian to make the first move. That way you know for sure he has some downtime, no matter how little.

It was not until you saw a post written about Kylian and a woman on an apparent date. It breaks your heart when you see it. You want to stay rational and not jump to any conclusions so you think about it for a while. Maybe the woman is a family friend or even a family member and they are just hanging out...but he would have told you, right? No, what are you saying? The two of you are not even dating so he does not need you to know about his whereabouts and he does not need to know about yours.

But still, it would have been nice to receive a heads up. The day after you first saw the post, you sent a text to Kylian. You did not want to jump the gun so you ask if he has any free time for a date. You want to cry when you see the message, "Sorry, I'm taking Missy on a date that day. Maybe some other time."

Who the hell is this Missy chick? Trying to give Kylian the benefit of the doubt, you ask about her. Apparently, they met at a party and hit it off. Despite your cracking heart, you want to know more about their relationship. Then Kylian asks why you are asking so many questions about him and Missy.

"I thought that we were dating. Not dating-dating but on the way there." You text him, and what Kylian texts back is absolutley gutwrenching.

"I'm sorry but I don't do relationships right now. I'm too busy to commit. You're a lovely woman, really. I mean that from the bottom of my heart but I'm just looking for some fun. When you told me that you didn't want to have sex until marriage, I thought that I should move on. I was under the impression that you understood, I should've clarified. Sorry."

You did not shoot Kylian a text back. Plus, your teary eyes and shaking hands would not allow you to. Wanting to save the last ruminants of your dignity, you deleted all text exchanged between you and Kylian and his number. Laying on your bed, you let your tears fall onto your pillow and think of what could have been.

It takes you about two months to come to terms with Kylian. Granted, you were not in a relationship but you did really like him. Maybe even love, but you will never know for sure. It takes you about six months to find someone else. A man named Dereck who you met in the small city of Edinburgh. A charming Englishman he is. The both of you love to poke fun at each other and explore your surroundings.

For the nth time in the past months, Kylian has been relentlessly cutting off women and he has no idea why. Having a lot of things is something that is normal in Kylian's life. He knows that the women he surrounds himself with know that Kylian asks for the bare minimum. Like any man, Kylian wants to have a meal prepared for him before going to training or even coming back from. He wants a relatively clean home, and he deeply yearns for a woman he can connect with on a non-sexual, intimate level.

Then that is when it hits him, Kylian had that woman. You. You were the woman Kylian was looking for. A woman who was (is) not afraid to stick to traditional roles and whose beliefs surrounded it. You treated Kylian like a man, not a resource. Dammit, what the actual hell was Kylian thinking when he cut you off? He quickly scrolls through his seemingly endless list of contacts before he spots your name. Kylian anxiously thinks about what he should send. A "Hey, how are you?" should suffice? No, not when Kylian dropped that bomb on you. "I miss you"? No, too strong and out of nowhere. Between the two options, Kylian chooses the former. It is more neutral and it does not make him sound so desperate.

Lucky for him, you responded but with a "Who's this?" That means that you deleted Kylian's number. It hurts but he cannot blame you. Especially with how things ended between the two of you. After Kylian reintroduces himself via text, you two exchange a couple of messages. It does not take a rocket scientist to know that you are keeping your answers short and sweet. You do not go into any details and you keep your questions mundane.

After a couple of days of exchanging texts, Kylian asks you if you want to hang out together. There is a reason you kept your responses short and replied to Kylian no earlier than ten minutes. It is because you already have someone - Derek. The best man a woman can ever ask for. If you thought that Kylian treated you like a princess before, Derek treats you like the crown princess who is about to take her throne.

You formulate a carefully written and straight-to-the-point message: "I'm sorry Kylian, but I have a boyfriend. I'm happy with him and I dare say that I'm starting to love him. I thought my responses would give you a hint but it looks like I need to be straight with you. I'm not saying these things out of spite. In fact, I forgive you Kylian. I forgave you a while ago. Let's leave the past in the past and move on, okay?"

When you send that text, you put your phone on "Do Not Disturb" mode and just sit in the small restaurant, thinking about what just happened. The you from a couple of months ago would have jumped at the opportunity, but then what about Derek? Sure, compared to Kylian who is the prince charming, Derek is a viscount or even a baron. But you like - love him. You love that Derek is a prince charming in his own form, reading to sweep his princess off her feet.

You made the right choice. A characteristic of a princess is that she is loyal to the man who will provide for her and protect her. Speaking of, your prince charming comes in, shaking the snow off his head and coat.

In his English accent he says, "There's my pretty girl. Has the diner been keeping you warm? Do you need my coat?" Derek does not wait for your reply as he is already taking his outermost layer off and draping it over your shoulders, and pulls away after kissing your head. The cold air had reddened his nose and cheeks, adding more charm to the already charming man.

"Hey, Chris! I just wanted to call and let you know that you shouldn't worry about me. I don't know when you'll hear this, but I love you. Come home safe, okay? Oh, and Leilani had her baby on Tuesday! Can't wait to meet the little stinker! Alright, I'll let you get back to your job, macho man. I love you."

You sounded so tender despite worrying about your boyfriend. Chris never really told you the truth behind his jobs and constant disappearance, and somehow, you always had faith in him. He never really knew why and even to this day, Chris does not understand where your faith in him came from. Claire told him that it was because you loved him. You loved Chris so much that you put blind faith in him. Crazy, right?

Maybe that is why Chris never felt alone with you. You could be countries apart, and your little voicemails and texts would make Chris feel like you were right next to him. Sometimes the man thought that you were a witch in that sense. You put some sort of a spell on Chris, making him unable to live and forget about you. A curse, because now Christopher Redfield is surviving, not living. He has had to survive before, but this is different. He no longer has that special someone waiting for him. Chris lost everything the day you perished.

It was not supposed to happen, no. Not if Chris could do anything about it. And he tried. He really did try to save you. Chris did everything he possibly could to bring you to safety, but it was not enough. You ended up turning into the same monsters he had killed countless times before. Chris' heart broke, shattered...disintegrated. The future that had whirled in Chris' mind for months disappeared. The invisible red string connecting your souls together was severed. Chris lost his love, the woman who nuzzled herself against his heart, keeping it warm and accompanied.

Killing you...Killing you was the same as killing himself. Would it have been better to let you bite and turn him? You both would be dead but together. That is all Chris ever wanted, to be with you. It was the whole reason why he bought a ring in the first place. In the end, Chris killed you. He killed his beloved. He remembers, clear as the dark day, holding your body with a bullet in your head. The bullet that Chris put there. He cried, wept, mourned, wailed. How could he not? Everything that truly mattered to Chris was gone.

Chris kept asking your dead body to forgive him. To forgive him for killing you because he could not protect you. He asked for you to forgive him for being a lousy protector, a lousy man. Your body had to be cremated so he and your family buried an empty casket. Your parents took your cremated remains once it was cleared of the virus, leaving Chris with his memories of you.

Months after your death, Chris still cannot find it in himself to throw away or donate your belongings. You did not live together when you died so he hauled everything to his place. He did it by himself. A broken man going through your apartment, the woman he loved more than he ever thought he could, and packing your things into boxes...What a picture.

Your favorite picture together is from one of Chris' birthdays. Claire was busy that day and no matter how much she tried, she could not make it to the celebration. You did not really know Chris' friends because they were all in the same job field as your boyfriend, so it was just the two of you. You bought a small cake and set up a movie night. If someone would have asked, that birthday was is Chris' favorite birthday celebration. He only ever needed you to be happy.

One of your hobbies was reading about human civilizations and history in general. You were a history nerd. Sort of makes sense because you taught second graders. You loved those obnoxious brats and they loved you. In a box are all the gifts your students gave you over your teaching career and their farewell notes and gifts. Your second graders were crushed when they heard that their favorite teacher died. Such a tragic death to someone who just wanted to teach the world's next generation. You taught future doctors, soldiers, lawyers, police officers, bakers, fashionistas, and so many more.

"Babe, the store didn't have any more of your favorite snacks so I got something else. I'll pop by again in two days to see if they restocked them."

A seemingly, meaningless explanation but not to Chris. You hated going grocery shopping so the fact that you would willingly go again for him made Chris feel giddy. Same thing with dishes. You hated doing dishes but would always do them so Chris did not have to when he came over. You wanted your boyfriend to relax since he never really had the time to. His job always kept him on his toes. Through every way possible, you showed Chris that you loved him. He can only hope that he showed you how much he loves you.

Chris misses you. He misses you so much that it physically hurts him. He buys the same detergent you bought so his clothes and linens will smell like you. He will spray your perfume on his cold bed to warm it up, even only for a fraction of a second. Pathetic, right? Well, Chris Redfield is a pathetic man. A man who could not save hundreds of innocent lives, his men, and the woman he wanted to call his wife.

Every now and then, Chris finds himself pulling out a glass frame. In it is the dried flowers from the first bouquet Chris ever got you. No man had ever given you flowers before so Chris' sweet gesture meant a lot. When Chris saw the frame of dried flowers, he asked about it because he had not seen it before and you told him. It was a special moment between the two of you. Flowers were not just flowers to you, they were special. They have meaning. Chris Redfield was not just any man to you, he was special. He as a person, had meaning to you.

You were always around when Chris needed you the most. He had nightmares. When sleep was supposed to be the most peaceful, it was terrifying to him. If you were next to him, sleeping away, you would wake up and comfort Chris. You would cradle him in your arms and whisper sweet nothings to him. You would wipe the sweat away and kiss him. If you were back at your apartment, sometimes Chris would call you in the middle of the night. You would talk him out of his terror and whisper sweet nothings to him. You would even go out of your way to go to his place to be there with him. Even if you had to go to work at six in the morning.

You never minded the baggage Chris carried. Sure it got frustrating and it even led to some arguments, but you were persistent. You wanted to be his rock and you wanted to pull Chris away from his nightmares. But now...now you are his nightmares. The same scene loves to infect Chris' mind. The scene where you turn and Chris has to be the one to put a hole in your head, and right after he pulls the trigger, you get up again and ask Chris why he did what he did. You always ask Chris that one question that shakes the man to his core. Pale, crying, and covered in blood you ask "Why did you stop loving me?"

Oh, darling...Chris never stopped loving you. To this day the man still loves you with whatever is left of him. Chris will never be able to love another woman like he does you. Chris' body, mind, heart, and soul belong to you. No flings. No dates. No "You're cute. Can I get your number?" To minimize women coming onto him, Chris bought himself a silicone ring. It does not matter that you two were never married, Chris is yours and yours alone.

After another long and grueling mission, Chris makes his way to a couple of shops. Once he gets what he needs, he heads to his final destination. The drive is long and quiet. Halfway through it, the sun starts to set and the road becomes more deserted. Chris' car tires bump along the gravel driveway that is on the side of the road. Arriving at the end of the driveway, Chris gets out of the vehicle.

Standing in front of the captain is an empty house. It was the home he was going to surprise you with. The whole plan was to show you the house and propose. Chris had set a large sum of money to the side so you two could renovate the old thing, but he never got to. You died not knowing this, of what could have been your lives. From the trunk of his car, Chris gets out a couple of containers. He pours its substance all over the inside of the building, making sure it does not splash on him.

Standing outside, right at the foot of the front porch, Chris lays a bouquet of flowers down. It is a replica of the first bouquet he got you. A bundle of blue forget-me-nots and white roses. Chris takes a couple of steps back and lights himself a cigarette. Puffing its toxic air, Chris thinks about what could have been. He wanted to marry you. Big or small wedding, Chris did not care. He just wanted to marry you. He wanted two boys too. No girls. Chris knows how men think, but it would be nice if he had a little girl. A mini-you running around in this house.

Chris wanted to grow old with you in this place. He wanted to go through the stages of life normal people do. What is that movie called? The Notebook? Yeah. Chris wanted to die like that. Peacefully in his sleep, lying beside you.

Puffing the last bit of his cigarette, Chris flicks the bud to the porch. Its ashes touch the gasoline puddles, lighting the house on fire. Chris watches the house be engulfed in flames. In his all-black attire, Chris just stands and watches. The roof starts to cave into the house from the weakening structure. Reaching up, Chris snaps off the necklace around him. A simple chain with what would have been your engagement ring. Kissing it, Chris tosses it into the fire.

For five hours Chris just stands there as he watches the house become nothing but ashes. Seeing only flickers of amber, Chris gets back into his car and drives away. He has no intentions of looking back at what could have been with that place. During your funeral, Chris did not shed a tear. Why? Because he cried everything he could the same moment you died. Besides, Chris will be mourning your death until he inevitably perishes.