Chris Redfield One Shots

Something Familiar

Feeling as though I was waking up from a deep slumber, I opened my eyes slowly, and immediately found myself surrounded by a familiar smell; not too soft, but not too strong at the same time. It did not take me long to realize I was lying on a bed, although, not in my bedroom, therefore deducing I was not at home. I looked around and down at my body, only to find it buried underneath the sheets of a large double bed, reigning in a large bedroom, entirely illuminated by sunlight shining through a window to my left which forced my eyes to open wider as I felt the rays warm the skin of my face.

After having truly awakened, I made an effort to move to the other side of the bed, next to which the nightstand was; however, the slightest movement of my body made me quickly realize how physically weak I was, as pain instantly flowed through my muscles. Once I had rolled over to my right, I turned my head to the clock resting on the nightstand and saw it was midday, around noon. Next to it, on one corner of the bedside table, I also noticed some pills and what seemed to be medication, though I had no idea what they were for, or who they were for; in fact, I had no idea what I was doing in this bedroom whatsoever.

I closed my eyes firmly as I took a deep breath in to try and remember my latest memories, but no matter how deep I dug, I had no clear recollection of what the past few days had been like for me.

Brushing my worries away, my attention was once more drawn toward the scent, the tender and affectionate smell that was emanating from the bedsheets and enveloping me whole. Rising into a sitting position ever so slowly, I pushed the sheets aside and got out of bed: but as I set foot on the cold floor, my legs immediately bent under my weight, as if having not carried me for a long time. I managed to steady myself by holding onto the side of the nightstand, stopping my body from falling back on the bed, and as I took more and more steps, started to regain balance.

By the time I had stabilized myself, I was out of the bedroom and into a short hallway; walking through it quietly, I was then faced with a flight of stairs that took me almost directly into a kitchen, neatly cleaned and ordered. Once there, a rather small piece of paper set on the counter caught my attention before I could really take in anything else in the room. Picking it up curiously, I first read my name on it and understood it was a memo addressed to me.

"Thursday, March 10.

If today is the day you wake up, you'll find some cereals and loaves of bread in the left-side cupboard in case you want to make yourself breakfast. If you're rather looking for a dish for lunch, you'll find some chicken and leftovers of stir-fried vegetables in the fridge. I cooked them yesterday so don't worry, they're still good to eat. I can only imagine how hungry you'll be after waking up, so don't hesitate to grab whatever food you want. However, please wait for my return if you want to cook something intricate, you won't be fully recovered and I don't want you to harm yourself or push yourself too hard until I come back.

Lastly, if you're looking to change into other clothes, you'll find a good portion of your wardrobe in the closet of my bedroom, on the right-side shelves."

No signature had been left at the end of the memo, but I did not need one to recognize it was written in Chris' handwriting.

Chris...

I held my breath, along with the piece of paper in my hands as I started thinking of him; a part of me felt taken aback, as if I had forgotten about him before and was only now remembering him. However, it felt to me like something was not quite right. I tried my best to remember what led me to end up in what evidently seemed to be his house, in addition to why it was empty, but no clear answer came to my mind. Instead, I focused on scanning the kitchen briefly, until spotting a bin, somewhat transparent and open, revealing its content to me.