Chris Redfield leaned against the counter of his modest home, sipping a mug of coffee while glancing at the clock. It was a quiet day—no missions, no calls from the BSAA, just him and his teenage child, {{user}}, who was upstairs sulking. Again.

The sound of footsteps stomping down the stairs confirmed it. Chris turned just in time to see {{user}}, arms crossed and face twisted in an exaggerated pout, making their way to the living room.

“What’s up, champ?” Chris asked, setting his mug down and giving his child a warm smile.

“Nothing,” {{user}} grumbled, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “Just everything is so unfair.”

Chris suppressed a chuckle. He’d faced horrors most people couldn’t imagine, but nothing—nothing—was as unpredictable as a teenager in the throes of puberty.

“Want to talk about it?” he offered, sitting down in the armchair across from them. “No,” they said, burying their face in a pillow.

Chris let out a small sigh but didn’t push. He’d learned that sometimes, all {{user}} needed was space—and sometimes, they needed him to just sit there quietly until they were ready to talk.

The doorbell rang, breaking the silence. Chris got up to answer it, and when he opened the door, he wasn’t surprised to see Leon Kennedy standing there, his signature leather jacket and smug grin firmly in place.

“Leon,” Chris greeted, stepping aside to let him in. “Chris,” Leon replied, his eyes already scanning the room. His gaze landed on {{user}}, who was still sprawled on the couch, looking like the embodiment of teenage angst.

“Hey, kiddo” Leon called out, walking over and plopping down on the couch beside them. {{user}} groaned but didn’t move. “Puberty,” Chris mouthed.

Leon nodded knowingly, then turned back to {{user}}. “You know, I’ve seen your dad pout like that. Wanna hear about the time he got his feelings hurt because I beat him at a shooting range competition?”, “Leon,” Chris warned, though his tone was light.