If there was one thing you hadn't missed, it was the feeling of a bulletproof vest loaded with enough ammunition, grenades and weapons to wipe out a small army.

In the past, the weight had felt like a part of you, like putting on a favorite sweater or getting Mom's food.

That night, it didn't.

It had been a long time since you had last been out fully equipped.

As you stowed the gun in the holster on your leg, the fear that the weight would slow you down came to you. You were a fast soldier, nimble on your feet and in the field.

But it had been a long time since you had run with weight pressing down on you. Hopefully, the gear wouldn't turn out to be a disadvantage. In front of your chest hung three magazines, belonging to the rifle hanging loosely over your shoulder that would serve for rapid fire and large targets.

As you tightened the vest's strap to fit your body better, a feeling returned that you hadn't felt in a long time.

Nervousness.

Before every mission you had felt like this, nervous that something could go wrong or a mistake could happen that shouldn't happen. During the missions it had never been a problem, but before the start it had always driven you crazy.

The black turtleneck suddenly felt tight around your neck as you swallowed hard.

"Ha, shit.", with a sigh you let yourself fall on the passenger seat and moved your toes so that they got used to the feeling of the steel toed shoes.

It was kind of funny how you looked now. Chris had given you exactly what he was wearing himself.

You had to laugh at the thought.

"What's so funny now?", Chris stuck his head through the driver's side window, curious.

The blue of his eyes shimmered in the silver light of the moon. It was strange, but since you had agreed to help him, his mood had improved.

Malicious tongues would have said he was looking forward to working with you again.

But you didn't say that, of course. It would have only annoyed him unnecessarily.

He looked quite cute when he was angry though, you thought to yourself, and remembered the young Chris Redfield, who always had gotten a red head during arguments.

With a wide grin, you stretched out your arms so he could look at you.

"We're wearing the same outfit.", you said in a teasing tone. "Like a couple. Are you wearing matching underwear too?"

With a loud sigh, he rolled his eyes and dropped into the driver's seat. As he got in, the car sagged noticeably, causing you to raise your eyebrows in surprise.

"Heavier.", you mumbled and looked at him up and down for the first time.

God, he looked way too good for his age. The broad shoulders and the strong back he had always had, he probably had good heredity to thank for that.

Also the unkempt hair and the beard were nothing new. On long missions he had rarely had time to style himself properly, so he had left it and saved time. You couldn't complain, he looked better with a beard anyway and the hairstyle was also no disaster.

But for some reason you had forgotten how tall he was. You remembered that you had once reached up to his forehead. Now that was no longer the case. To his shoulders, maybe but not higher.

Either your memories of him were quite confused or he had grown in the long time. The latter was rather unlikely.
He noticed your gaze.

Of course, he had always noticed when you looked at him. That had been an advantage, then you didn't have to communicate through words and looks were enough.

"What?", he sounded a little uncertain, almost embarrassed.

Was he not used to being stared at?

The thought seemed ridiculous. He had always been handsome and you knew that women always gave their interest to him first before talking to his companions.

So why was it so uncomfortable for him when you looked at him?

"You're broader than you used to be.", you noted, poking his shoulder with two fingers. "Did someone finally get you to exercise or why do you look like a superhero?"

He felt rock hard under your fingers. You could feel his muscles move as he turned away.

His eyebrows drew together.

"Strange first question when you see someone for the first time in years.", he reached into the pocket of his black trench coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"Yeah, weird, but not so weird considering you didn't look like this when you were twenty-five."

"Is that supposed to tell me something?"

The click of his lighter made your ears twitch. Smoking. You hated the smell of cigarettes, the smoke always scratched your lungs and made you cough.

Actually, he had known that back in the day.

Or maybe he had just forgotten.

Many years have passed, you didn't have to hold it against him. At least he leaned toward the open window and didn't blow the smoke into the car.

"You look better.", you said, and leaned back. "Better than you did then. Do you have men's boobs too?"

With an uncertain expression he raised an eyebrow. Little threads of smoke slipped out of the thin slit between his lips and danced into your direction. The smell was enough to make you feel nauseous.

"Fuck, I forgot how weird you are.", he muttered, taking a drag on the cigarette.

"You should learn to take a compliment."

"That's not a compliment."

More smoke crawled into your direction.

"Not if you don't want it to be.", you grinned sweetly and let your hand wander to his stomach. "But you should quit smoking."

The grey clouds were already hugging your face, causing the air to become scratchy.

"Don't want to.", he said in a grumpy mood.

"Somebody doesn't want to see the age of fifty, huh?", you put on an apologetic look. "Sorry."

With one swift movement, you punched him in the lower half of his body, causing him to choke on the cigarette.
Out of reflex, he leaned forward and began to cough like a dying man.

"What the fuck?!", he asked with a red face as he finally managed to catch his breath.

You gave him an apologetic shrug.

"Little reminder that I hate smoking with a passion. Just don't smoke near me and you won't have to experience this again."