The bitter cold of the night permeated the air, as delicate snowflakes began their descent from the darkened sky. New Year's Eve was just around the corner, promising a fresh start and new beginnings. In a modest and unassuming home, a man emerged from a steaming shower, his obsidian hair slicked back, strands clinging to his damp skin. Despite his ability to afford a luxurious penthouse, he chose the simplicity of this humble abode.
Before the mirror of his worn dresser, his reflection revealed a scar etched into his left cheek, an everlasting reminder of a past life. Raccoon City, a place synonymous with chaos and horror. His mission had been to retrieve a sample from the infamous William Birkin, and the mark on his face stood as a testament to his success. It had been a decade since that fateful day, yet he remained a renowned Umbrella Mercenary, a faceless enigma who had managed to leave that life behind and start anew.
However, his girlfriend was privy to his true identity, and the knowledge gnawed at his heart, breeding insecurities that threatened their relationship.
How long would she tolerate his dangerous existence, his constant inner turmoil? With a heavy sigh, he stepped out into the living room, its walls adorned with hues of regal purple. A dragon-themed coffee table stood proudly, a symbol of his own desires for personal enjoyment. Across the room, a magnificent screen awaited their shared moments of entertainment.
As the wind howled outside, he settled into the plush embrace of the oversized couch, anticipation mingled with unease. Tonight was meant to be theirs, a night of intimate connection, laughter, and shared memories. Yet, as the minutes ticked away, he couldn't help but wonder where she was. Doubt crept in, clouding his thoughts and testing the fragile bond they had meticulously woven. Where was his girlfriend? Did she plan to stay home and didn't tell him?
As his finger traversed his tousled hair, his mind waged a relentless battle against itself. Doubt and insecurity swirled through his thoughts like a tempest, threatening to consume his fragile hopes.
Was it possible that she was conversing with that young man from her past? The name floated tantalizingly on his consciousness, elusive yet persistent. Steve Burnside.
His heart sank at the mere mention of the name, for he couldn't blame her for seeking solace in the arms of a more conventional suitor, one capable of offering her the stability and normalcy he feared he could never provide.
Yet, against all reason, a flicker of optimism danced within him, refusing to be extinguished.
Their relationship had bloomed in slightly strange way. It began amidst the pulsating chaos of a dimly lit club, where their eyes locked in a moment of fateful connection. A simple gesture, a shared drink, and the stage was set for a night of enchantment. Bodies swayed in rhythmic harmony as they surrendered to the intoxicating allure of the music.
But fate, ever capricious, intervened with a cruel twist.
A malevolent force sought to tear them asunder. They seem to be hitting it off pretty well, however it all changed when she figured out his true identity when he saved her from an attempted kidnapping by mysteries mercenaries . . unraveling the veil of normalcy he had so painstakingly woven around himself.
After all, the skills he showed cannot be from a normal person. So she never let this go until he answered her questions.
At first, horror painted her delicate features, her voice stifled by the weight of her revelations. It was a blow that could have shattered the foundation of their fragile connection, tearing apart the threads that bound them. But, in a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, she chose to grant their love a second chance. And so, there he is at this moment, patiently awaiting her arrival.
The hands of time ticked away, each passing minute eroding his confidence, leaving behind a residue of uncertainty. "Am I not allowed a second chance?" he whispered to himself.
Yet, as if in answer to his plea, a sound announced her presence. The creak of his front door, the fluttering of his heart, in perfect synchrony.
With a slight tilt of his neck, he stole a glance, his breath hitching at the sight that greeted him. She stood before him, a striking figure of grace and contradictions. Tall and commanding, her brown-reddish hair cascaded in a loose bony tail. Clad in a resolute grey coat, she emanated an air of both defiance and vulnerability. Her attire was a simple dark blue sweater clung to her form, and black jeans that embraced her slender legs. In her grasp, she held a bag. "Hey there," she began, her words infused with a delicate vulnerability, "Sorry I'm late. Got held up in a frenzy of crazed traffic."
Claire Redfield was her name.
With a smile he stood up and opened his arms for her, she left the bag at the ground and gladly accepted his embrace and in this moment she could sense him trembling ever so often but Claire chose to ignore this, for now.
" I brought dinner, did you pick a movie?" She let go of him and then took the bag into the open kitchen.
Relived beyond belief, he answered her. "I picked a Christmas Carol."
She chuckled in the other side," A true classic I must say. I never imagined you would be into that kind of thing!"
"There are still things yet to be known, baby." He answered with a smirk.
Maybe he could make this work somehow, if not? Then at least he could hold the memories of the first girl he liked as a normal person who works at the library. There could be someone else out there in the world for him.
As he turned off the light and started the movie, she snuggled in his arms with a drink in her hand. For now, he is going to enjoy every minute of this.
Thank you for reading. This is an idea I have I might turn into a long story someday.
Happy Birthday The95Will, I hope you love this short sweetness.