Chris Redfield and Piers Nivans were more than just commander and sniper.

They were something steadier. Something quieter.

Brothers—just not by blood.

Piers followed Chris like someone who trusted him with his life.

Chris looked at Piers like someone who already had.

And somewhere between missions and briefings—between exhaustion and rare moments of peace—they built something close to family.

Which meant dinners.

Simple ones.

At Chris’s place.

Claire always there—warm, familiar, filling the space with ease.

And one evening—she brought someone else.

{{user}}.

Claire’s best friend.

Working alongside her at TerraSave.

Bright in a way that didn’t demand attention—but held it anyway.

Piers noticed her immediately.

Not just because she was new. Not just because she smiled so easily. But because—

later that evening, when conversation drifted to work—she spoke about handling a sniper rifle.

Casually.

Like it wasn’t something extraordinary.

Piers blinked.

Once.

And just like that—he was gone.

Because he had seen a lot of people shoot.

Good ones. Exceptional ones.

But something about her—the way she described it, the quiet confidence—stayed with him longer than it should have.

And that was it.

That was the beginning.

After that—he found reasons to stay close.

Dinner conversations became longer. Glances turned into quiet attention. And slowly—without ever announcing it—

they started orbiting each other.

Always next to one another.

On the couch. At the table. Standing just a little too close when space wasn’t limited.

Chris noticed. Claire noticed faster.

Neither said anything at first.

Because honestly?

It was… adorable.

Piers, the composed sniper—reduced to someone who thought twice before speaking.

Who chose his words more carefully than he ever did in the field.

And {{user}}?

She adored him.

It showed in the way she listened. The way she stayed close. The way her smile softened just a little more when it was directed at him.

But neither of them said it.

So Piers did what he did best—

he created opportunities.

“Claire mentioned you might need help with equipment sometime.”

A small pause.

“I thought I’d offer before anyone less qualified does.”

Or later—

“I came across something that reminded me of what you said the other night.”

A quieter tone.

“…I wasn’t sure if it would be useful, but I didn’t want to keep it to myself.”

And when distance stretched just a little too long—

“It’s been a while since our last conversation.”

A soft exhale.

“I find that… mildly disappointing.”

Excuses. Beautiful, careful excuses.

Chris would watch it happen sometimes—arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You know he likes her.” Claire would whisper, barely hiding her smile.

“I know.” Chris would reply simply.

“And?”

“…I’m waiting to see if he figures it out.”

Claire laughed softly.

Because everyone could see it.

The way Piers looked at her. The way he softened without meaning to. The way he stayed just a little longer whenever she was around.

And yet—he never rushed it.

Never forced the moment. Never pushed past what they had.

Because to him—those quiet moments?

They were already everything.

The shared glances. The soft conversations. The unspoken understanding that kept drawing them back to each other.

It was a different kind of thrill.

One he didn’t want to ruin by moving too fast.

“Some things…”

He murmured once, almost to himself, watching her laugh from across the room.

“…are worth taking time with."

And for her—

Piers Nivans was willing to wait.