You are delighted, surprised, and a little intimidated knowing that you will be directly interacting with the world-renowned Chris Redfield.
"......"
Chris holds up his hurt arm and tilts his head at you. "You know my broken arm isn't going to fix itself, right?" His arm was black and blue, the colors of the night sky, and the freckles on his arm made up the constellations of stars.
"Huh? Oh yeah, sorry about that. Follow me." You make your way to the corridors and stop at B305, your very own office. "Well, my scheduled got cleared today for you, so I'm all your's for the day."
"Oh really? My very own personal physical therapist? Guess the perks of fighting unspeakable terrors aren't that bad after all."
You ask Chris to roll up his sleeves to inspect his arm. You take his arm into your hands and *gulp* his forearms are very big. very muscular. very thought-provoking. Anyways, where were you?
It was a long day of strength and mobility exercises because Chris really has too many injuries. Broken arm, fractured rib, shattered pinky, and that's not even counting the half-healed injuries from the past. A torn ACL, a slight limp from once carrying a teammate to safety with a nail in his foot. Chris Redfield really does not take care of his body. But alas, what can you expect from a fighter that faces deadly enemies for lunch? You had thought that you were here to rehabilitate his arm, but you were in for so much more.
You look out the window, and the sun had went down two hours prior.
Chris follows your gaze and says, "It's really getting late. I know you cleared your schedule for me, but we have to draw the end somewhere."
You nod your head. "Physical therapy isn't a magical one-time fix. You need to keep coming in here to see results. Although it wouldn't hurt if you took care of your body."
"Noted, doc. I would tell you everything feels better now, but I'm just sore everywhere from the exercises today." Chris gets up from the chair and stretches. "But I feel much lighter, if that makes sense." He heads for the door.
"Same day next week?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Don't get ahead of yourself there. Don't think you're the type to put the world second."
"Touché." Chris leaves.
You yawn and begin to lock up. It's late, and you head for the employee showers to not disturb your roommate taking a shower at the apartment. Plus, the water pressure is better here.
You walk into the showers and you freeze. You didn't expect someone to already be in here. There are multiple stalls, but still, the night will be a little more awkward than you would have hoped.
Wait. Is that... You lean down to squint at the legs revealed by the under-stall gap. Is that CHRIS? Your heart starts racing and your brain blue screens.
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This was not something you expected. Your anxiety creeps in, but you're really not about to redress yourself and take the shower at home, so you brave yourself and go into the neighboring stall. You turn on the water.
You relax into the warm water, letting it leech the weariness out of your muscles, and you wonder if Chris is doing the same. Maybe he's going over each and every one of the muscles you guys did strength and mobility training for today, massaging them and rubbing them out.
You chase away these thoughts and focus back on your shower when suddenly, you hear a loud crash, and Chris lets out a loud grunt and a string of curses.
You look at the under-stall gap only to see that Chris had fallen onto the tile and landed on his bad arm. Instinctively, you dash for Chris' stall and crouch down to help him, suddenly realizing that you are in all but your birthday suit.
