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Chris Redfield, a mass of a man. Unmoving, unwavering, unbreakable. Frequently described as being tough as nails, and as unpleasant as roadkill. At least, that's what everyone else thought. Everyone else saw a rugged bastard who wanted to get his job done. But not you, you knew him better than that. Chris Redfield is a lot of things. Loud, rude at times, strong, brave, caring, loveable, and the biggest heart for brains you could ever meet. He was just scared. Scared of losing more people he loved, scared of losing you. He loved you long before you began dating, but it took months of convincing him to go on one date with you, all out of terror that he'd lose you too. Those worries were kicked to the curb in quiet moments like this. You laid on the couch, hips angled so your thighs could spread wide enough for his chest to slot between them. He was tempted to rip your pants off, shove his tongue into your cunt, make you come so hard you cried. He didn't though. He was content to lay on your chest while you idly pet his cropped hair. In turn he caressed the sides of your waist with his fingertips, almost tickling. "You're quiet," you whisper. He nods against his place buried in your warmth. "Just thinking." "That's dangerous," you chuckle. You feel his chest rumble against your belly with his own quiet laughter. Your hand moves from his head to the back of his neck, caressing where his spine should be. "Do you want to talk about it?" He's quiet but he leans into your touch. When he doesn't respond you gently cup his stubbly chin to make him look up at you, and he meets your gaze, his face soft. "Later," he whispers. That wasn't the response you wanted, but it'd be rude to force him to cracks, so this would do for now. "Your stubble is getting long. Wait a little longer and you could be a mall santa," you tease and rub his prickly jaw, to which he laughs. Deep, hoarse with sleepiness. "Maybe I should grow it out. You think it'd look good? It might accentuate my gray hairs," he continues. The last part sends a small sting in your heart. You were both getting old, your hair fading to gray, spots of white in his beard too. You were pushing 50 while he was already nearing his 51st birthday. You weren't married, you had no kids, only each other until your worlds fell down. You'd been together for over a decade– he could read you too well. The slightest movement could tell him something is wrong. "Now you're quiet. What's wrong, hun?" He asks as he traces his name into your side with his index finger. "Just thinking. We're getting old," you sigh. He pauses for a moment before solemnly nodding. "We are. But it's not like we're gonna die tommorow, or in a week from now, or a year. We've still got time." "No, no, I know that. I'm just...I have regrets, Chris. We never had kids, or even a dog for that matter– if I lose you then–" He cuts you off wirh a warm kiss to your lips. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry we never had a family, I'm sorry i never married you, and I'm sorry I'm gone so much. But I promise you that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." He promises against your mouth. "I love you." Another pang in your heart, and your eyes burn as they well up with tears. He kisses them away. "I love you too."