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The question was laced with a gentle smile that stopped short of his eyes—a familiar, subtle tilt of his lips that you mirrored by sheer reflex, despite the frenzied thundering of your heart against your ribs.

Ever the dutiful captain, he had thrown you a lifeline wrapped in a casual question—rescuing you from the confusion of figuring out how to act by offering an easy script to follow. Now, all you had to do was play your part and pretend that since the front door clicked shut half an hour ago, you’d done nothing but drop off paperwork and exchange pleasantries over the kitchen counter.

Yes, see you on Monday.

Five simple words that would let you snatch your phone from the table, pull your coat from its hanger, and slip out the door. They formed behind your teeth, clean and easy, but actually forcing them past your lips felt entirely impossible. So instead, you just offered him a small, tentative nod.

“They’re saying the storm will be here in an hour or two,” he warned, his gaze dipping to the ball in your palm, counting the restless tapping of your fingers before anchoring back on your face. “Could be sooner. Air’s growing too still.” He gestured vaguely toward the balcony. “Think you can make it home before that?”

Your eyes followed his lead, but the glass was a black mirror, throwing back nothing but the silhouette of your own hesitation.

“I can drive you,” he offered quietly. “If that’s alright.”

The words brushed soft against your ears—a sudden, tender warmth swelling in your chest despite the chill threatening the city outside. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to accept. With rush hour traffic in full swing, your own commute would be a narrow escape, but manageable. It was him you worried for. You didn’t want him stranded in the whiteout, trapped somewhere between your apartment and his own.

Shaking your head lightly, you let your feet pull you into his space, lured by the rich, distracting traces of a freshly smoked pack woven into his clothes—especially that wrinkled shirt you bitterly wished he hadn’t been in such a rush to throw back on.

“You’ve got plenty of work to do, Captain,” you began, letting his rank hang in the quiet air between you—a futile attempt to remind yourself why tonight was a sweet indulgence that must never happen again. “I’ve already sidetracked you enough.”

You knew that, yet your feet stalled right in front of him anyway, frozen by the sheer greed to steal a few final seconds of his heat before stepping out into the bitter dark.

“Besides,” your eyes flickered toward the stove where his dinner sat forgotten. “I don’t want that getting any colder than it already is.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest in response—a sound coarse as raw sugar, worn down in a familiar, human way that made you ache for the right to stay and make sure he got enough rest.

“Thank you.” The words spilled hot across your cheeks, his voice hoarse with tobacco. And you couldn’t tell whether he was thanking you for making him dinner, or for letting him fuck you breathless after it.

It didn’t matter. You would do both all over again if he only asked. And you knew he could read the submission in your gaze now that the room wasn’t dark enough for your thoughts to hide.

Before reason could stop you, you moved, the floorboards groaning faintly beneath your bare toes as you rose to press a soft, parting kiss against his jaw.

Though his stubble prickled sharp against your lips, you let the sting burn just a moment longer before tearing yourself away—just enough so the ghost of his touch could follow you all the way home.

“Anytime.”

He watched your lips shape the word, his eyes swallowing you whole like the farthest, bluest depths of the open sea—tracing slow, lingering paths from your mouth to your eyes and back down again, as though he stood balanced on the edge of a decision, debating whether the fall would be worth it.

And for one dizzy, sweltering heartbeat, a wild idea flickered to life inside your chest. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to go back to being just your captain. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to stop pretending either.

Not just yet.

His arm drew you in before you even saw it move, closing tight around the narrow of your waist. The heat of his forearm molded perfectly to the curve of your spine, intimate and familiar, as if your body had spent countless Friday evenings anchored against the heat of his.

He held you flush against the hard swell of his chest, your lips hovering just a mere fraction apart in that suffocating space where your breath became his.

“Do you mind if I kiss you before you go?” His eyes sparked embers all over your skin—a blistering blue that drew you in even as it scorched.

“Not at all, sir,” you breathed, the title a silken thread trembling in the hot, restricted air you shared.

The slow smile that touched his lips was the last thing you saw before your eyelids fluttered shut. There was a faint absurdity to it—calling him by his rank while the room still hummed with the scent of what you’d done—but years of conditioning were hard to break; and his lips had never taught yours to shape any other name for him.

Your lungs stalled as his mouth pressed against yours, completely forgetting their purpose the moment his tongue commanded you to open for him. Wide. Compliant. As though he owned you entirely. There was no need to coax you when he knew you’d been trained to obey him. No need to tease when he’d already claimed you. No need to be gentle when he already knew how deep you liked to feel him, how hard he had to press to make you crumble.

A weak, unbidden whimper bled from your mouth into his—a sound born from instinct rather than will as your chest begged for air. Far from stopping him, your cry only guided his hand to the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so you could feel his tongue bury even deeper. His grip didn’t bruise, it was just tight enough to grant you what you craved; just stern enough to hold you fast in case you tried to break free.

As if you’d even dare to, when all you’d ever wanted was this. Your hair tangled in his fist. His stubble burning your skin raw. Your entire frame trembling in his arms as he savored you like this.

Open and deep.

Slow, yet impatient.

Hungry, yet perfectly contained.

Never clumsy. Just wet.

Consuming you until there was barely anything left. Until your knees buckled. Until your mouth gasped helplessly against his. Until you came completely apart on his tongue and the suffocating temptation to call him by his name.

His real name.

Your hands cupped his face in blissful distress, his stubble bristling against your palms as your tongue matched his hunger—tasting dark coffee, cigarette smoke, and the sweetest mercy you’d ever been given.

Just seven days ago, you’d been watching him across the cold, shuddering hull of a transport helicopter. He was nothing but a statue in his own seat then—present in flesh, but mentally light-years away in a dark place of his own making. The whole ride, his gaze had been buried beneath a harsh, heavy frown, lifting only to check on Mia Winters as she soothed a restless baby Rosemary right next to you.

Yet here you were a week later, burying your broken cries into his mouth as you took him so completely. For years, you had used company policy as a shield against your own treacherous thoughts—the kind that visited on long, quiet nights when loneliness threatened to make you bold enough to dial his number. You had forced yourself to prioritize protocol, clinging to the belief that certain lines were uncrossable—that every single desire, every single thing you imagined his lips doing to you, was strictly outlawed by BSAA regulations. Never once guessing that he was just as willing to burn the damn rulebook for a single night with you.

Your chest hitched against his, your entire body shuddering in his hold as it waited for his permission to breathe.

And then, out of a sudden mercy—or perhaps just his own desperate need for air—he broke the kiss.

A sharp, violent gasp tore from you, oxygen flooding your burning lungs like breaching the ocean’s surface after nearly drowning.

He pulled away just barely, just far enough to look at you, like an artist stepping back to marvel at his own creation. Through heavy eyelids, he drank in your glazed gaze and your flushed skin; studying the shape of your lips as air escaped them in short, fractured sobs. And for one sweltering heartbeat, as he waited for you to catch your breath just so he could steal it away again, you allowed yourself the luxury to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was every bit as addicted to this as you were.

“Do you really have to go?” he rasped against your mouth, his lips gleaming with your saliva and his chest heaving beneath your palms.

“I thought you didn’t want me—” you began, but he leaned in, kissing the rest of the sentence straight off your lips.

“—wasting my Friday evening?” you finished playfully, catching his bottom lip between your teeth before he could slide away. “Said it was too short or something.”

A deep, easy chuckle escaped him, rumbling beneath your fingers and brushing warm across your face.

“It is, but I don’t much like the idea of you out on those roads alone.” His hand slid from the nape of your neck to cradle your cheek. “Weather’s turning ugly.”

You let his thumb glide softly over your skin—a silent promise to keep you warm against the bitter night ahead.

Not that you needed much convincing anyway.

“Then keep me here,” you whispered, your hands sliding up his chest to drape over his broad shoulders, feeling the crumpled cotton of his shirt bunch beneath your fingers.

His grip tightened around your waist, pulling you in to seal the promise against your smiling lips—dissolving the world beyond the frosted glass, melting the kiss into something thicker. Something gentler.

Something sweet enough to last far beyond tonight.

-

The final hours of a Friday could never be described as quiet in a city like this. There was always a siren wailing somewhere in the heart of town, drunk laughter spilling loud onto the pavement, or a car zooming recklessly past the window just as you were about to drift asleep. Tonight, however, the storm had swallowed it all.

Only the wind broke the silence, knocking impatiently against the windowpane beside you, rattling the frame as if begging for shelter from the freezing night.

Downstairs, the streets lay entirely abandoned, buried beneath the heavy white blanket that had begun falling sometime after nine. You weren’t sure of the exact time; it had been hours since the clock last mattered. Your whole world had shrunk down to the low hum of late-night television and the damp whisper of your lips parting against his in a slow, sleepy chain of kisses shared in the dark.

Sometime after dinner, you’d tumbled into bed together, putting on a supernatural thriller you’d been wanting to watch for a while—but the right time never seemed to come when you lived alone on the outskirts. Online reviews had praised it, but you honestly had no idea how it ended. By the second act, your lips were already back on his, and long after the credits rolled, you still remained hopelessly tangled in his sheets—a leg draped over his lap, your skin tingling with the fading warmth of a hot shower, wrapped in nothing but his arms and the oversized shirt he’d pulled from his dresser for you to sleep in.

His palm traveled warm and raspy across your bare thigh, tracing a silent apology over the faint bruises he’d pressed into your skin earlier in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry.” His fingertips slid beneath the hem of your shirt to rest easily against the tender curve of your hip.

Shifting back an inch, you sought his gaze, your hand braced against the solid planes of his chest—bare, since he hadn’t bothered with clothes after his own shower. Completely indifferent to the howling blizzard outside, he’d walked back into the room wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs—the dark cotton clinging tightly to the hard, hair-dusted lines of his thighs.

Under the flickering glow of the TV, his eyes glimmered softly as they held yours—like a deep, stormy patch of blue sea caught in a midnight gale.

“Don’t be,” you whispered, your nose nudging his as you shook your head. “It was perfect.”

A faint smile softened his features, welcoming the brief, sugared pecks you began sprinkling along the line of his jaw, before concern tightened his brow once more.

“Still, I shouldn’t have handled you like that.” His thumb drew a soothing arch against your skin, as though the rough pad of his finger could somehow erase the purple blooming beneath. “Just look at you.”

A ghost of guilt shadowed his gaze as it drifted down to the thigh slung over his lap, where the distinct print of his fingers was branded in dark violets and vivid crimsons.

Had they been on your wrists or neck, you would’ve spent the entire Monday morning commute fabricating a lie for the office. But here, hidden away on skin only he was allowed to see, they were your secret. A secret that neither John, Emily, or—

Shit.

You bolted upright, your palms shoving against his chest for leverage.

“I forgot to text Charlie,” you breathed, already swinging your legs out of the heavy covers.

Your feet thudded faintly against the cold floorboards of the hallway, goosebumps prickling beneath the hem of his giant shirt as your body mourned the heat you’d just abandoned on the mattress.

At the end of the dark corridor, the kitchen greeted you with the low hum of the refrigerator. It sat drowned in a lonely midnight gloom, pierced only by the blinking blue of his laptop’s standby light and the ghostly glow bleeding through the frosted glass.

On the table, your phone still waited exactly where you’d abandoned it hours ago. Shaking your head disapprovingly, you swiped the screen awake, the sudden glare stinging your eyes in the dark.

12:01

Far too late for a call. Though you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone was still up, drinking the storm away over at John’s.

‘So sorry I missed tonight! Do NOT leave me out of the next one. I swear I won’t bail.’

Mischief curved your lips into a smirk as your thumbs typed the next line.

‘Drinks are on me next time. My place!’

You chuckled softly into the dark, knowing full well the message read more like a threat than an invitation. Absolutely nobody liked driving out to your apartment, they always joked that visiting you felt less like a casual hangout and more like a tactical deployment to the far edge of the city.

Grinning at the memory, you set your phone down on the wood beside his computer. Earlier, you’d stepped out of the shower to find him sitting before the glowing screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard as though he actually had a better place to weather the storm than buried in the warmth of the sheets with you. You had managed to coax him into snapping the lid shut for the night, but the blue light winking at you from the side of his laptop warned that his retreat was only temporary. After all, Captain Redfield wasn’t one to surrender. He was simply playing along, waiting for your eyes to close so he could brew a fresh pot of coffee and bleed the rest of his night away into briefings and reports.

Your gaze hovered over the white sea of classified files scattered before you, stopping where a glint of reflective silver caught the night filtering through the window. You didn’t dare disturb his arrangement, but you recognized the metallic edge of the packaging instantly.

More pills?

You stared at the silhouette of the blister pack for a dull, aching heartbeat. It was a bitter, agonizing thing—knowing that, at least for now, caring had to look like doing nothing at all. Supporting him had to sound like asking no questions at all.

Yet his words from earlier still found their way back to you, even in the dark.

‘He had this.’

They lingered in the breathless space between your lips every time his arms wrapped around you, haunting the quiet heartbeats after a kiss, whenever your eyes met in the gloom.

Why did the two of you get to share this warmth, while better souls lay buried in the snow?

You let the ghosts of the fallen trail behind as you retraced your steps to his room, taking a deep, numbing sip of cold night air before stepping through the door—shelving the bitter question in the back of your mind for another night that wasn’t tonight. For a future that wasn’t the present—this present smiling at you from the bed. Warm, real and entirely yours.

At least until the sun rose on a new day.

A wistful smile touched your lips as you walked over to him. To the hollow in the mattress that still held your shape. To the soft nest of blankets perfumed with his heat, completely indifferent to the wind lashing furiously against the window—a window to a world you were allowed to forget tonight.

“What did he say?” he murmured, the quiet glow of the television casting shifting colors across his features.

“Nothing yet. Just sent him a text.” Your words dissolved into a soft sigh as you sank back into the deep, sheltering warmth of him. “Midnight didn’t feel like the right time for a call.”

“They’re probably still drinking, you know.” His arm welcomed you back to his side, fitting you like a puzzle piece against his ribs. “If the snow locked the roads down, they’ll be sleeping on John’s floor tonight.”

You chuckled at the thought of poor Mr. Elba. If that was true, he’d be doomed to an all-nighter beside the chainsaw rattle of Charlie’s snores.

“Probably, but what if he actually picked up and asked where I was?” You shifted, propping yourself up on his chest, a spark of mischief in your voice. “What was I supposed to tell him then?” You dropped the question, along with a quick, sweet kiss against his lips. “That I chose to get stranded at the Cap’s?” Your mouth curled into a smile as his palm glided warm beneath the covers to find your waist. “That his hand is under my shirt—which isn’t even my shirt, but his?”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, his lips beautifully swollen from brushing against yours for the better part of the night.

“Don’t think they’d be too shocked.” His playful fingers slid down to cup the soft swell of your ass, threatening to spark a fire that would easily keep you both awake, if you weren’t already so tired. “They already think we’ve been doing this for months.”

You pulled back just an inch, just enough to get his eyes to confirm his words.

“Charlie’s not especially subtle once he takes his helmet off,” he explained, reading the silent question written across your features.

So he knew.

A soft huff of air escaped you.

Of course he did.

You should’ve known that very little ever escaped his notice.

“Guess he’s not,” you agreed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow before pressing a sleepy kiss to his stubborn, permanent frown. “I’ll make us pancakes tomorrow—if you promise not to sneak out to that computer the second my eyes close.”

A quiet, tired laugh escaped him, the sound melting like warm honey against your ears.

“Haven’t had those in a long time.”

“Well, if you want them, just stay right here until morning,” you explained softly, letting your cheek sink back into his chest.

Your hand settled on the grid of muscle across his abdomen, the hard ridges under your fingertips making you wonder exactly just how long a time that really was. Far too long, perhaps. Forging an armor like his couldn’t possibly take anything less than a lifetime. Your mind drifted to the younger version of him that lived in the hallway, next to his sister, in that faded frame from far too many summers back. What kind of breaking point had convinced him he needed to become indestructible? Maybe you’d get to hear that story from his lips upon some other winter storm, curled under these very covers, your ear resting right over the lulling beat of his heart, your skin fresh with his soap, smelling entirely of him.

“And don’t even think about trying,” you added, your voice blurring as your eyelids threatened to close. “I’m a light sleeper, Captain. I’ll know the second you move.” It wasn’t a bluff, sleeping with half an eye open was a hard skill bought with years of field duty.

“I won’t,” he rasped, the promise thick with sleep.

His fingers stroked through your hair, gently coaxing your stubborn eyelids into surrendering for the day. But you managed to keep them open just long enough to find his hand, linking your fingers with his just as the final words of the day left his lips.

“You can just call me Chris.”

A quiet smile bloomed in the dark, just as it had countless times at the sound of his voice. Only this time, it wasn’t a distorted frequency crackling through an earpiece in the back of an armored van or the cold depths of a cave. Now, it was here, brushing warm against the crown of your head. Beating life right beneath your ear.

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, your thumb traced soft against his scarred knuckles, feeling the thick, rugged lines of past battles before bringing them to your lips for a quiet goodnight kiss.

In the haze of oncoming sleep, as the blurred watercolor of city lights shone through the frozen windowpane, a ridiculous question drifted into your thoughts—the kind of late-night absurdity born only when the brain is finally free from heavier burdens.

You almost whispered it aloud, but his chest had already settled into a deep, steady rhythm under your cheek. There was no point in waking him. Besides, what kind of man could actually punch a solid boulder and get to keep his hand intact?

A private huff of laughter tickled your throat.

Maybe one day you’d shed enough shame to ask him how that rumor came about. For now, you just closed your eyes.

—

The alarm blaring exactly at 5:00 in the morning rouses you in your sleep. Your hand slaps the air and the nightstand multiple times as you carelessly try to slam it off. Once you succeeded on your 7th time, you settled back into bed, but not before you felt the mattress shake under you from someone’s laughter and a heavy arm lay across your waist from under the sheets.

“Don’t start, Redfield…,” you groaned out as you felt his beard on your shoulder, his breath warm on your neck.

“I didn’t even say anything yet, baby,” he chuckles out as he brings you closer to his chest. You scoff playfully before nuzzling in hold. “You should probably start getting ready for work.”

“Five more minutes…,” you whine out.

“We know you will have your eyes closed for longer than that,” Chris counters.

“Well, your arm practically pinning me down right now says otherwise,” you tease as you turn around to face him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to stay in bed.”

“Is that so?” He says as he rests his head on his hand resting on the pillow, looking down at you. There he is. Your husband, the BSAA’s ex-captain, the now leader of the Hound Wolf Squad: Chris Redfield.

You giggled at the sight of him. You brought your hands up to the back of his head, pulling him down for a kiss. He groaned into it and crawled above you, holding himself up to not smush you under his weight. You make out for a bit until Chris pulls back, rubbing your cheek.

“Go get ready now. I don’t want you blaming me later for being late,” he says as he settles back into bed besides you. You pout, but sit up to stretch anyway. You get out of bed and go to do your routine. Every time you passed by your bedroom, Chris would be deep asleep. Getting to lead your own group has its benefits, you suppose. But like clockwork, whenever you rush to the front door, sliding your shoes on with one hand while holding your piping hot coffee in the other, you feel a firm peck pressed to the top of your head. You remembered when you first started doing this routine, how a man the stature of Chris can make his footsteps undetectable is something you still wonder about at night, but this part always makes your heart soar.

“Have a good day of work, sweetheart,” Chris breathes out as he looks at you, offering to hold your coffee as you put your other shoe on. “You know what to do, don’t ever be hard on yourself.”

“I know, honey,” you say as you take the coffee back, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. He opens the door for you and you wave him goodbye as you walk to your car, taking the same route you took every single day to the grey government building.

•······································•••○•••·······································•

The office sector is very busy today, with people with clipboards running up and down office cubes while agents and other higher government officials walk around, trying to look smooth. You had your own personal bubble in the middle of all the chaos. You typed away at your computer, finishing up a report.

This was your usual tasks every day that you walked into the BSAA. Pass out assignments to agents, organizing records, and typing up all kinds of reports to send out based on completed missions. Some may say your work is ridiculous, that you’re basically carrying the world on your shoulders, but this became your normal years ago. You’ve been here since the agency’s founding and liked the role, so you stuck with it.

“So when are you ever going to tell us who the lucky guy is?” Your coworker snapped you out of your thoughts as you were refilling your coffee in the lobby. You look down to your hand, your simplistic wedding band glimmering in the office fluorescent lighting, and smile at it.

“You know I don’t vow and tell,” you quip as you go to the fridge for some creamer. Your coworker whines as she follows you around.

“But it’s been years! You’re seriously not going to tell me at least?” You grin at her dramatic antics.

“You know it is for personal reasons, Charlotte. Otherwise, I would be screaming who he is to the whole office by now.”

“But-” She tried to find some way to still get an answer. God, is she so nosey. You point to the doorway.

“Don’t you have that assignment to finish by 2 o’clock?” You say, which instantly makes Charlotte jump and speedrun out of the lobby.

“Oh shoot! You’re right!” She exclaims, but not before adding around the corner, “Don’t think this is over though!” Wow, does this girl know her way around computers, but not around people. She is and would always be one of the highlights of your days at work though.

•······································•••○•••·······································•

The clock struck five the same time you went to look at it. A satisfactory sigh escaped you as you logged out of your computer and packed up for the day, storing documents and files into your shoulder bag. You locked up shop without much thought and walked through the building down to the parking lot, passing by others who were also sprinting to go home while others came in to fill their places.

You got into your car, shooting Chris a quick text that you were coming home and then put the car into reverse, getting out of your usual parking spot and out into the highway. You put on the radio, listening through the various channels before settling on one with calm music playing. You thought back to the day today, on the new information you got on past evils you and Chris had to deal with decades ago. You wish these groups would just let go, but this kind of work never gets done. You and Chris promised to keep fighting against it as long as you lived.

You eventually reach your shared home, parking in the garage in the back. You walk into the house, seeing Chris in his regular clothes instead of his usual tactical work gear.

“Oh, are we going out?” You said as you slung your work bag over a chair at the dining table. Chris turned to you with a loving smile, walking over and leaning down to press a kiss to your head, he always does whenever he is greeting you or saying goodbye.

“Hey sweetheart. Yeah, I think it would be a good idea if we go out to do a little grocery shopping. To be honest, I wanted to surprise you with dinner today, but we are running low on everything in the fridge,” Chris says as he runs his hands through his hair, “Only if you’re up for it, of course. If you want to stay home and lounge, that’s completely fair. All up to you.”

“Who says I would deny a grocery date with my husband?” You fake-gasp and jokingly slap him on the arm as you head to your bedroom. “I'd love to go, just give me a minute to change.”

“Alright, one… two…”

“Chris!” You’re glad he can’t see the hard smile on your face as you chastise him. This man was seriously going to count to 60. You can never tell him anything as he laughs.

•······································•••○•••·······································•

Chris opens your car door for you as you arrive at your local Costco. You both walk into the perfectly air-conditioned establishment, Chris following right beside you with the big orange carts that are typically used for purchasing furniture, but with this man’s diet and snacking habits, you need enough food to feed a mini army. He brought a personal shopping list, but lets you know if you need or find anything yourself, that you are free to add it to the cart.

The two of you do your usual rounds. You buy the basic grocery necessities as Chris piles on huge boxes of chips and packages of all kinds of drinks and waters. You also thankfully managed to reach the store just in time that they were still giving out food samples, so you and Chris went all out trying out different things. Whenever you didn’t like anything, Chris would happily take it from you to finish it himself.

Once you got everything you needed, you headed towards the registers, passing by the clothes along the way. You stopped at the last table of clothes, the piles of neatly folded baby clothes grabbing your attention. Chris went to go see what you were looking at and paused, gently resting his hands on your waist from behind.

You both had this conversation before, quite early in your relationship as a matter of fact. You both have been close friends before your worlds went to hell, being members of STARS and then later the BSAA. You both shared similar experiences, so it was easy getting to live together. With that in mind, you both came to terms that bringing a child into this world, your lives, wasn’t the best idea. Yet, the want always remains in your mind.

Chris’ head on your shoulder brought you back to reality. You smiled. While you may not share what could’ve been an amazing, energetic child with him, you are happy with what you do have with him. To you, that is more than enough. Chris seemed to get your thoughts, as he softly urged you back to the cart. You both seemed to be able to communicate with one another without using any words.

•······································•••○•••·······································•

After a couple of hours doing errands and shopping, you both get back home. You work together to put away the groceries and notice how late it was. 8:00pm. Your energy is low, so Chris turns to you with a lopsided smile.

“Pizza and a shower?” He offers. You laugh as you take his hand.

“That sounds great, actually.”

Chris goes to order the pizza delivery on the phone as you get the shower ready. You lighted one of your favorite candles, lavender scented, just to ease down even easier and get your towels from the dryer to have them freshly warm when you finish. You take your clothes off and step under the boiling hot stream of water, enjoying it before Chris enters and switches it to water that could honestly be sourced directly from Antarctica. You close your eyes and indulge, until you feel hard planes of a chest behind you not too long after.

“Started without me, hun?” Chris breathed into your ear. You smiled, giving him a teasing pout before he wrapped his arms around you. “Don’t worry, I’ll bear the hot water, for today.”

“Yay!” You softly cheer, which makes his heart melt as he presses kisses all over your cheek and down your neck, tickling you. Chris then reaches for you shampoo, pouring a generous amount before scrubbing it into your scalp. He rinses it off, careful of getting any suds into your eyes before repeating it again and then going in with conditioner. As he lets it set, you make him lean down a bit and give his scalp the same treatment.

You then wash each other’s bodies, going smooth and carefully, even tracing old scars at times. You both were so comfortable in each other’s skins around one another, you could cry. You then go to rinse. You hold back laughter as Chris almost hits his head on the shower head. He may have lived in this house for years, yet he always forgets that he beats the shower by a foot in height.

You dry off just in time for the doorbell to ring that the pizza is here. Chris quickly gets into a pair of pajama pants and a shirt to go receive it as you go through your after shower routine, applying lotion all over your now relaxed body. You get into comfortable clothes as well and head to the dining room, but don’t see Chris anywhere. You hear a whistle and turn to look towards the living room, seeing Chris has settled pizza, plates, and even some wine down at the coffee table.

“How about we turn dinner tonight into a movie night?” He says as he lifts his arm from resting behind the couch, inviting you to the open spot next to him. You all but skip towards him, settling into his side as he serves you a huge slice of pizza as your favorite streaming service loads onto the TV. You both banter and talk about your days, sharing some things about work and you point out you have brought him some new information about the Connections in your bag. He says not to worry about it right now, and turns the conversation to talk about other things like chores and what’s going on in your favorite show until you doze off into his arms. Chris looks down to you, the most precious person in his life, and presses a kiss to your forehead this time. He wishes he can stay just like this forever.

END NOTES: Is it bad that I literally go to Costco twice a week...😓 Thank you so much for reading!!

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