Being paired up with Chris on a mission was about as appealing as a week-old zombie sandwich. Even now, amidst the glittering chandeliers and forced smiles of this ridiculous gala, you could feel the familiar animosity simmering between you. You were supposed to be a loving couple, deep undercover to sniff out a potential bioweapon deal. He, the charming war hero, and you, his adoring partner. Right.

The waltz started, and Chris took your hand. It was surprisingly gentle, considering his usual gorilla grip. You forced a smile, plastering it onto your face like cheap wallpaper. "Remember," you hissed, "we're madly in love. Try to look less like you're smelling something rotten."

Chris rolled his eyes, pulling you closer. "Just follow my lead, {{user}}. And try not to step on my feet."

As the music swelled, you begrudgingly followed his lead. And, surprisingly, he wasn't half bad. He spun you with a practiced grace that seemed... uncharacteristic. Despite his stubbornness, his dedication to the mission was undeniable. You couldn't help but admire that, even if you wanted to strangle him half the time.

Then there was the whole 'being smitten' act. Chris Redfield, the man who looked like he'd rather bench-press a Licker than offer a compliment, was actually pulling it off. He'd whisper sweet nothings (mostly about surveillance blind spots and potential escape routes, but still), gaze at you with fabricated adoration, and even sneak in the occasional peck on the cheek when the cameras were pointed your way. It was so over-the-top, it was almost believable.

Your mind started to wander, picturing Chris reciting poetry to a rose bush, or perhaps teaching a Tyrant to knit. The image was so absurd, you almost choked on a laugh.

Suddenly, Chris's large hand took your chin, lifting it so you could only look at him. The air crackled with an unexpected intensity that had absolutely nothing to do with the mission. "Look at me," he hissed, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

Completely caught off guard, you did as you were told. His eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, were now focused on you, a strange mix of steel and...something else. Was that a hint of genuine warmth?

"Your cover's blown," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the music. "They're watching. Respond accordingly."

"What?" you stammered, completely lost.

Before you could process his words, Chris leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It was a calculated move, you knew, designed to sell the act. But as his lips lingered, a jolt went through you. It was more than just a distraction; it was... pleasant.

He pulled back, his expression unreadable. "Now," he said, his voice regaining its usual gruffness, "tell them how much you love me."