#Burnfield

[geddy-leesbian]

silly little valentines day post 💝

[leon-stupid-kennedy]

Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles ➳ My Mods ➳ Steve's Western Costume + Made In Heaven

[crimescrimson]

Claire Redfield & Steve Burnside in Resident Evil: Darkside Chronicles (2009)

[velvetrambles]

This is how DSC Chapter 6 went right (additional editing by @reallolattack thank you!!)

[spiderbunnifics]

A Bad Situation: And A Worse Solution

Disclaimer: do NOT try to do DIY blood transfusions, I mostly made this to help me remember the steps of drawing blood for my phlebotomy class, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.

   “Oh well Steve’s doing it so he’ll be okay” HE ISN’T LIVING LONG ENOUGH TO HAVE SIDE EFFECTS.

    “Alright, alright, I’m setting you down..” Claire sighs, finally kneeling on the concrete floor of the -- hopefully -- safe room; feeling the coldness of the material seep through the denim of her jeans and into her skin. She tentatively set the taller boy to the ground, letting him lean his back to the wall, sending ripples of chills and cold straight through his hair and to his neck. The light sprinkle of freckles on his face were much more distinguishable against the boy's pallid skin 

     He groans and shifts, head lolling slightly as Steve lays his hands on the ground. Adjusting how he’s sitting -- trying to keep from putting pressure on his tailbone.

Claire’s hands raced to ghost next to his shoulders, trying to soften the pressure between his back and the wall. Steve was already the most reckless person she had ever met; from doing (his version of)  acrobatics to air-kick the undead to try and save Claire from a monsters grip, all the way to nabbing those twin guns, without even maybe taking in the fact that they could very well be booby-trapped. 

He was a good kid. Sweet, even; But god he had less than zero survival skills.

When she leaned back and away from his crumpled form, Claire had to take time to find the injury again; she knew it was a seemingly small gash in his arm. Every time he unbent it, the gash seemed to open a little more, revealing the crimson of the deep cavity that the cage-trap had left him. Claire remembered how, before the pain had even registered, he joked about the cage leaving a ‘parting gift’, elaborating on the joke after seeing just how bad the injury was -- and just how worried the injury was making her -- in that usual trying-to-be-charming way. 

Now that she thought about it, he had barely reacted to the pain, his body too frazzled by the copious amounts of adrenaline in his blood, pumping through his body. 

 Steve was lucky to only walk away with a gash, excessive bleeding and all; anyone else, and the falling cage would have severed his arm by the elbow, and he would’ve died from blood loss minutes ago in Claire Redfield’s arms.

Speaking of blood loss, Claire thought, we should probably find something to do about it.. There really wasn’t much she could do for the blood that had already left his system; now that most of it was caked on the dirty, decrepit floor, she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate it if she found a way to put that back in his system..  

Claire looked from the door they had just walked through, all the way to Steve, who now looked much more dazed, staring off in her general direction, his blue-green-hazel eyes appeared glassy; like they’d been open for too long, like they’d been exhausted from numerous sleepless nights. His breaths were shallow -- so much so that she had to really squint to see the rise and fall of his shoulders, and Claire could see the faintest of bluish hues on his lips, the kind of hue that made Claire’s stomach churn like a witches brew.

“Steve..” she watches as his head lowers as if he was starting to fall into slumber, his shoulders slumped forward as he gives no answer, no acknowledgment.  

“Steve!!” A shout, this time, firmer than she’d meant it to be. 

This time he jumped, immediately wincing at the sudden, involuntary movement that made Claire's heart clench right away.

“What?? I’m up, I’m awake!?” He sount more annoyed than anything now; even if the sudden burst of energy clearly exhausted him more than he’d like to admit.

Well, they couldn’t just stay here like sitting ducks. Steve’s losing a lot of blood, and I’m not sure what herbs -- if any -- could help stop the blood, She thought.

    She knew she was on the edge of talking to herself, as she always was when stressed, she’d done it throughout high school, did it at Raccoon City, and now she was sure she’d do it here, too. 

After a few more blinks, Claire’s mind finally thought up a solution! It was … dumb, and likely would cause so many problems for Steve in the future, but it was a good solution when you were in a biohazard and had literally nothing else.

Claire remembered seeing on Steve’s prison ID card that he had blood type AB; yeah?

    Well, the thing to remember about AB was that it was a universal receiver -- when it came to blood types --. If he did have AB blood, any other blood type would be able to properly mitigrate into his. 

So, given all that, who’s to say she couldn’t … use the butterfly needle, syringe, and expired vacuum tubes she took from the room on rockfort with that undead analyticist?  

Maybe take some of her O-type blood using the butterfly needle, connect it to the vacuum tube, get the syringe into the tube, and inject the blood into Steve’s wound? She could even use her own prison jacket as a makeshift tourniquet.. 

Right?

Well, it was …. Decently worth a try.

“Steve, you’re gonna have to forgive me.”

“Wha- why??- what’re you gonna d—”

“Something really, really stupid.”

He looked mildly scared now. Maybe he did have survival skills, after all.. 

Trudging through her satchel, Claire scrabbled a few items out; “Butterfly needle, vacuum tube, syringe… jacket.. Left luger..” 

Now that the items were sprawled out on the floor (Okay, not the most sanitary, but this is prison. And a Biohazard.), Claire finally let herself concentrate; mentally going over the steps in her head; She wasn’t … exactly certified with this kind of stuff, per se.. She had taken half a course on it during high school, but even then, she barely listened.. 

   “So.. what ‘Stupid’ thing are you … uhm.. Doing..?” His voice was small now, the bravado he’d kept tucked in the back of his throat; he trusted her, with his life, even, but he didn’t like it when she had no clue what to do. He needed her to know what to do.

“Well, It requires needles, and--”

“And you want to use me as a human pincushion.” His tone became hesitantly jovial, but it was cut off with a grimace; Claire could see his hand tremble very slightly. 

“More or less,” Claire murmurs, a faint smile had begun to rear, “And somethin’ tells me you’ll happily let me?”

“I guess” 

“Good boy.”

With a huff, Steve lays back, his back against the wall as he looks to the wall behind her. 

     Claire guessed that -- despite his bravado -- he didn’t care for needles, because his eyes stayed there, a thousand-yard-stare.

Claire quickly scurried to his side, gently taking his arm in her hand, her blue eyes trying to find the biggest vein in his arm. She didn’t necessarily need to know where it was immediately, but it was best to look for it while assembling the needle set.

Claire inhales deeply, shaking hands struggling to tie the tourniquet on herself properly,

    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve's hands raise up towards her, silently offering help; but she shook her head, she couldn’t ask him to help her with it, not when he was already so weak, and certainly not as she could see his head tilted at an awkward angle, he looked too tired to keep it fully upright.

She somehow managed to get the tourniquet tightened on her arm properly, just a pointer-finger-length away from her inner elbow

‘Two inches above injection spot’

She winced at the feeling of the strange, stretchy material digging into the skin of her arm as it tightened.

‘Feel for the vein.. The tourniquet can only stay on for a minute…’

Claire picked up the opaque connector, securely screwing it to the right, unintentionally ignoring something -- probably something stupid -- Steve was in the middle of saying

She held the wings to the butterfly needle up, making sure the bevel was up 

‘Fifteen-to-thirty degree angle…’

She angled the needle upwards to her vein ever so slightly; did she know whether it was the right angle? Absolutely not. No way. In no way did she know.

But she tries anyway, she carefully -- gently -- sinks the needle into her skin, wincing at the very mild sting that dripped onto her nerves. 

Through lidded eyes, Claire sees the flash of red between the wings of the butterfly needle; Claire hurries to secure the vacuum tube into the holder; she was so focused on looking for a flash within the needle that she almost didn’t even react.

Her eyes raced to that vacuum tube, entranced eyes watching as her own blood slowly filled the tube, she knew she’d need a lot of blood for Steve -- though, hopefully not needing to take out enough to where she would pass out --

She …. Probably left the needle in for too long; not that she could really feel any difference.

Claire makes no effort to band-aide the spot the needle punctured, carefully pulling said needle out of her arm and discarding it to the side -- not the safest way of disposal, but this is Rockfort Island, after all. -- 

     “Hey Steve?”

He hummed, blinking a few times before his full attention went to her.

    No words needed to be said, it would be better if they weren’t, even.

“You are …. Really not going to like this next part..” Claire’s trembling voice falters the words, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice, or, if he did, he hadn’t shown it.

The taller boy took a breath, grappling for the strength to start actually speaking.

       It was, at least, a minute before he finally spoke again, his voice tinted with exhaustion:

“I… Don’t think I really have a choice, do I?”

Claire couldn’t help the chuckle she let out. “Nope.. But, uhm, listen: You’re losing a lot of blood, I don’t have the right …” a pause.  

    “Materials, the right materials to do this right.. So I’m going to try to redneck it.”

“Redneck it??”

“...Gonna try to work with what we have and worry about it later.”

After a few seconds, he nods, “I can handle it.. We’ve been through worse, right?” Some of that bravado came rearing to front, and she sees him smile as soon as he finished the word ‘right’ 

Nodding back, Claire recovers some of her fallen confidence, biting the side of her bottom lip as she grabs for the syringe previously set to the side.  

     She grabbed the medical wrap she stole from the analyst zombie earlier in rockfort, unwrapping it so she could tightly bind Steve's injured arm in the pink wrap (“Well that’s manly” Steve grumbled, Claire couldn’t really tell if he was joking or not, so she let it go.) 

“Yeah.. been through worse..”

Claire dipped the needle’s tip into the vacuum tube, pulling up the plunger until all the blood from the tube was inside the chamber of the needle, she even checked the chamber once to make sure the blood was all … well, right-looking, texture-wise, not that claire could really tell what hemolyzed blood looked like.

“This is the part I was talking about.” she forewarns.

Claire was quick to sink the needle into Steve's upper arm, figuring it was better to get it over with than settling it into the large vein -- and being careful to not hit the vein wall -- with very little struggle. 

   “Alllll…..lmost done..” She holds the ‘l’ phoneme, initially unintentionally as she’s so fixated on focusing, the last thing she wants is to do this wrong, to burst a vein, or cause one to collapse.  

   Claire wouldn’t forgive herself if she had done any of those..

She moves her thumb, pressing down on the plunger of the syringe; and setting the blood inside the chamber on the path into the younger man’s vein. Claire’s blue-hazel eyes look up steadily at Steve’s face to check for any expression, softening as she sees him wincing slightly -- likely only at the syringe--, Claire quickly apologized with a murmur.

And then, finally, once the plunger was flush against the chamber’s edge, and the chamber was devoid of blood, Claire slowly pulled the needle out of his vein and skin.

She carefully wrapped the area in the stretchy medical tape, drawing it tightly as she kept pressure on the area with her left thumb.

“Is it over..?” Steve’s voice was small, still, as if he was afraid to speak any louder.

A simple nod is all the answer Claire needs to give him, because as soon as he seems to process her movement as a response, his shoulders untense, and he’s clearly brought to some sort of ease, by the way he finally rests and leans back fully against the wall he’s laying against; he breathes heavily for a few moments until finally letting out a “thank God”. 

    Claire’s lips turned up into a relieved smile as she set everything aside, not bothering to clean or sanitize -- because, well, it is Rockfort Island.

Claire leaned forward, lazily allowing herself to fold into Steve’s arms, as she sighed again, in relief: enjoying how Steve’s warmth emitted from his form. 

“Claire..?” 

“Yeah?  what’s up?”

“We … we get to rest here for a while... Right..?” 

Claire paused momentarily, “Yeah.., I mean, I was just gonna lay on you and make you rest, but I guess this works too..” 

She felt him shake with laughter, his arm cradling her closer.

[alfredsimp]

honest, I'm a tired of people saying "Steve so much like Leon!".

I mean, no.

maybe they really have a somewhat similar exterior design (hairstyle with bangs, + Leon in RE2 original seems more red than blond), but all the similarities end there. they have completely different stories, characters and personalities. yes, they both interact with Claire, but they have an absolutely different dynamic with her.

some seem to devalue Steve as a character, the terrible experience he went through as a prisoner on the island, or the fact that Steve literally overcame the virus in his body, just not to harm Claire, he loved her so much. but it all boils down to "look, this guy like Leon!". (he don't)

this wouldn't be a problem if I hadn't seen people who claim that would be good if the CV Remake "cut the role of Steve and added Leon" (we know that this will never happen and are grateful to Capcom for that). this teenage guy went through a terribly traumatic experience as a prisoner of the camp (which, according to Capcom's first plans, should have parallels with the end camp, they even have a gas chamber), became a victim of an experiment and curbed the virus in himself (can you imagine how strong he is?) for safety the woman he fell in love with. but in the end, some people call him "annoying" and want him erased from his own story for the sake of some ship (which doesn't even exist in the canon).

[thecodeveronica]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Burnside/Claire Redfield Characters: Claire Redfield, Steve Burnside Additional Tags: Fluff and Humor, First Dates, Arcades, this got majorly out of hand as you can see from the word count Summary:

Claire and Steve fight off another zombie outbreak, but this time with much lower stakes. Along the way, they try their hand at other games while spending an evening out together.

[tearsoftime0086]

Sharing a small scene from a burnfield timeloop AU I have going on w a friend

~

“Yo, Claire. You still up?”

His voice cuts above the low rumblings of the plane engine. Steve regrets it almost as immediately as the words leave his mouth. It’s a stupid thought – one he really shouldn’t verbalize in front of her.

“Yeah, because of you,” is the response. His head flips over to Claire, whose eyes are still closed.

“Shit. Sorry. Never mind then.”

“I’m kidding,” she laughs. Even with heavy bags outlining her eyes, the mirth in her voice puts him back at ease. It’s almost infuriating how quickly it happens. “Something on your mind?”

“Something like that,” he mumbles. He drums his fingers on the wall, rhythmic thuds syncopated with his beating heart. “But promise me you won’t laugh.”

“Promise.”

He swallows anxiously. “Okay. So when you grabbed my hand on the throttle back there… was that like? Did that mean anything? Or am I just-“

Oh god, this is so stupid, why would anyone ask this-

Claire keeps her promise and doesn’t laugh. To drive her point further, she fits her fingers gently between his. “Only if you want it to mean something,” she says quietly.

The cabin lights are off, but Steve swears they both see his cheeks burn bright red. “Oh. Um… yeah. I’d like that. A lot.”

[banillahare]

Don’t know how popular it is to post edits on tumblr, but I’m too scared of bullying to post it on tiktok.

This is like, my very first edit, and of course it’s going to be Cleve! I love them so much, man, I need more content with them

[horsefriends]

Friend by Taylor Burnfield

[geddy-leesbian]

Chapters: 2/?

1: beginnings

2: I hear the sound of gunfire at the prison gate – are the liberators here? Do I hope, or do I fear?

Words: 3,997

Relationships: Steve Burnside/Claire Redfield, Claire Redfield & Luis Serra, Leon S. Kennedy & Claire Redfield

Characters: Claire Redfield, Steve Burnside, Luis Serra, Chris Redfield (Resident Evil), Alfred Ashford, Alexia Ashford

Additional Tags:

Game: Resident Evil CODE: Veronica, Transfeminine Steve Burnside, Wingman Luis Serra, Third wheel Luis Serra, Umbrella Corporation (Resident Evil), Pining, Crush at First Sight, Awkward Flirting, Trans Female Character, Transgender Steve Burnside, Canon-Typical Violence, Steve Burnside Lives, Lesbian Claire Redfield, Overdramatic teenager feelings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary:

While breaking into the Umbrella lab in Paris trying to find a clue to her brother's whereabouts, Claire gets caught… Fortunately, it's by someone a little less than loyal to his company who has no desire to turn her in.

Unfortunately, they both get caught soon after, and taken to a special hell on earth run by someone even more insane than the average Umbrella employee.

[leon-stupid-kennedy]

guess who found out she can easily mod Darkside Chronicles :)

[crimescrimson]

Claire Redfield & Steve Burnside in Resident Evil: Darkside Chronicles (2009)

[velvetrambles]

Velvet’s Guide to Understanding the AUs I Work on (Resident Evil: Rainstorm Edition)

(Once again none of this would be possible without my lovely boyfriend @reallolattack who is also co-creator of the AU!! I’d also like to thank @tearsoftime0086 for supporting the AU these last few months as well as inspiring me to keep writing, you’ve been a major help in fleshing everything out :] )

------------------- Oh hey it’s been a while since I did one of these. I just kinda forgot to,,,, But hey Resi brainworms returned and I started writing again so here goes nothing!!

Resident Evil: Rainstorm

"Imagine if Resident Evil was written by Oingo Boingo songs and bisexual people" - @reallolattack Okay first off; change!! What have we done? What will we do? (a lot of a pain for our characters that’s for sure)

The RC outbreak is delayed by a month.

Leon and Claire team up to investigate what’s going on because Chris isn’t telling her shit

I went and revived Steve Burnside because FYUCKKK YOU

Steve works under Wesker between CV and RE5. The prototype for P30 is also developed to keep him under control

Carla is drastically changed from her canon counterpart (main thing is that she isn’t well. Ada 2. But she also plays a much bigger part)

Aeon, Burnfield, and Valenfield are all very much canon here

Sherry and Steve meet and they are FRIENDS

Basically everything about RE6 has been mutilated beyond all recognition for the sake of self indulgence

Carlos is a member of the BSAA

Highlights

These will mostly be from rps between @reallolattack and I. They do have the possibility of becoming a fic in the future, so if you happen to see these paragraphs pop up again that's why! :] ------------------- Rebecca stares at the words, weakly strung up on some makeshift poles and hanging over their desks. The typo sticks out to her like a sore thumb, but she knows she can’t mention it now, not while they’re on a time limit. Yet, she keeps staring, like her eyes will magic away the extra ‘O’.

A few of the others are busy handling other equally cheap decorations to even notice it, leaving the burden of such knowledge to fall to her.

Did this happen at her welcoming party? Did she get a typo? Is this a running gag she’s unaware of? Or is whoever got sign-duty dyslexic?

You think Captain Wesker would point it out, but no. He’s too busy arguing with Chris over wacky glasses. Jill’s got cake duty. And Barry’s probably acknowledged its existence for all of five seconds before choosing to ignore it. Richard hasn’t even bothered to glance at it.

She takes a deep breath. He won’t notice, surely. She has to stop overthinking typos or simple mistakes before she ends up worrying more about being embarrassed than investigating a grisly murder. - Written by me. ------------------- They were mostly for minor injuries anyway, she hasn’t been bitten or scratched by these things, yet, only sliced by glass and broken metal, she’s more likely to get tetanus than infected.

Or so she hopes, really.

It’s one of those things constantly gnawing at her mind, always aware of her symptoms, always aware of any sign that she might be turning. She hates it, the around-the-clock paranoia, the small moments of panic when she thinks she’s developing symptoms.

Ever since Marvin, she.. she can’t begin to imagine what it’d be like once she actually gets infected. - Written by me. ------------------- Steve tests the shoulder as he shakes his head, which is also aching. Just his damn luck. The plane crash really did a number on them, and if the cold doesn’t kill them - internal bleeding just might.

Okay, best to avoid thinking about that. They’re not going to die here. They’ve got this far, right? Or well, Claire certainly won't perish here. With a wound like this, he’s already a liability. Honestly, it’d be better if she left him here, might increase her odds.

…

Damn, did he hit his head that hard? - Written by me. ------------------- He doesn't let himself entertain the thought of becoming one of… them. As far as he knows, he's the only cop left in the city. It wouldn't be a good look for the R.P.D. if all of their workforce died in the one situation they couldn't protect people from, right?

Well, except S.T.A.R.S., maybe. They would've owned the apocalypse.

Especially Wesker. God, he's cool. - Written by @reallolattack ------------------- He sits down with a sarcastic grin.

"Nope. Intentionally avoided it. I walked."

And he walked with tank controls!

"Needed to get the cardio in, anyway. I've been hunched over a desk for so long, I forgot what good posture was. Which- thank you for getting me out of the White House."

Which is a sentence that no-one on Earth has ever said before. Claire Redfield is just that strong.

He uses this opportunity to straighten out his back against the chair, keeping his posture in line. You just straightened out yours.

I know what you are. - Written by @reallolattack ------------------- Yeah, he was expecting something vague. Nothing affirmative, no dates, just- "once in a while". How long exactly is a while? Is he really okay with the bait of something stable, if it even is, hanging in front of him for god knows how--

… she told him not to think too hard.

It's something. It's… something. Hope. Tangible, material hope. The most he's had in- fuck. Ada's faint pulse against his chest made his own heart feel like it's finally beating again. She is his oasis.

"My window's always open."

Except when it's locked. But hey, she has a knack for these things. Maybe she has one of those Hollywood laser glass-cutters? She's used to destroying government property by now. Hell, his couch is probably next.

"So…" His teeth latch onto the inside of his bottom lip for a moment. "… how long are you staying?" - Written by @reallolattack -------------------

Stories set in Rainstorm

Every fic I post to AO3 set in this AU will be linked here!!

~~~~

Early Morning Cuddles

Snack Chat

Invasion of Darkness

As per usual; questions are welcome!

This AU has so much content sitting behind the scenes that things may get confusing quick, but I’m always willing to clear things up if needed!

[spiderbunnifics]

Bow, Backstep, and twirl

The plane was completely silent, all except for the chain of frustrated groans of Steve Burnside as he tried to turn the plane on; trying furiously to floor the rudder pedal, only for the plane to be silent as it, well, doesn’t turn on at all, makes no notion to move. ‘Nada’, Steve thinks, now glaring at the keyhole on the control panel, the thin red circle around the keyhole only serving to taunt him, he could almost hear it laughing at him, almost saying ‘You’re not done yet!’

“Seriously?!” he bellowed, getting up and making a move to kick the seat out of sheer frustration; searing pain that this caused him be damned!

This outburst caused Claire Redfield to snap her head to look at the ginger boy, to which he put his hands up and sat on the instrument panel, shifting uncomfortably to not sit too close to the flight controls, and muttering a brisk “Sorry.”

Claire’s head tilted subtly, starting to look at Steve, her eyes softening at the sight of him, now resting his arm at his knee, she noticed his hands rub at his left eye, occasionally blinking his restlessness away, as he’s not slept in a while -- well, not a proper sleep -- Steve’s ginger hair stuck to his sleepless face from earlier exhausts of fighting the undead, oh, and his dad, too; That must be the weirdest way for your dream girl to meet your dad, him being a zombie and trying to tear her larynx out.

At least I’m getting out of here alive. Steve thought bitterly, he hoped his dad would be happy with him keeping his memory alive, after he escapes from Rockfort.

“Well, this plane was a fuckin’ bust.” He breathed, and it was only now that Claire noticed that his breathing was more noticeably heavy, his entire body subtly heaving, each breath more labored than his last. He kept his gaze on her, but it was much softer than she was used to from him.

“Yeah, no kidding..” Claire murmured breathlessly, feeling those breaths subtly quicken like her heartbeat, her own gaze keeping close to him, but never quite making eye contact, she didn’t like keeping eye contact.

The auburn-haired woman glanced at the Ashford manor from the large window next to the cockpit, her blue eyes narrowed while she tried to visualize the floor and overall structure of the manor and prison; the floors, ceilings, it’s strange golden yellow lighting -- which honestly gave her a headache, she hated yellow lights --.

Upon staring at the structure and build of the place, Claire bit her bottom lip, eyes rapidly shifting glance as she tried to think.

“Say,” she turns back to face Steve, seeing that he almost jumped, racing to meet her gaze, freezing; no longer fidgeting with the hem of his prisoner jacket, the dull navy-coloured fabric being caught between his pointer and ring

fingers, and staying that way. Claire noticed his gaze as he examined her face, a mannerism that she’d steadily started to notice a lot more, but dared not to comment on; she thought it was cute, him trying to be subtle.

Claire briefly smiles, savoring the slow flood of confusion on his then almost stoic face, before continuing.

“I see this big rectangle window, Did we explore that room? It might have that key you’ve been looking at!” she suggests, blinking at him when she sees him make rapid eye movement, thinking.

“Good idea, yeah” Steve nods, his narrowed eyes looking up to his right as he speaks, as if he was trying to remember the room. By the time he looked back at her, she was already climbing out of the cockpit, auburn hair almost ethereally falling, even if it was in a low ponytail.

Steve almost had to catch his breath, looking at her, before calling out,

“Hey, wa-wait up!”

Now, the two wait in a large dining room area, only illuminated by uncomfortably bright light emanating from the chandelier, as it casts a warm, but lonely golden yellow light around the room. The warmth of the room heavily contrasts the cold dimness of the rainy outside.

Steve slowly walked towards one of the small tables on the side, a mahogany coffee table that was only decorated with red tablecloths, three photos -- of course, of members of the Ashfords, dancing, out of anything else -- lined at the back of the table, one wide photo, surrounded on each side by one long photo, depicting who Steve could only guess was Alexia and Alfred, with a fancy family photo being framed in the longways picture.

‘Wonder if they had family reunions..’ He thinks, ‘That would sure be weird, huh?’ Steve could hardly imagine how those would turn out.

“ ‘Hey fellow Ashford, have you killed anyone recently yet?’. ‘Why I have not, other Ashford!’ “

Wow, Steve thought, when was his last family reunion? He didn’t think family talked to each other like that.

While Steve occupied himself with the awkwardness of an Ashford family reunion, Claire stayed in a crouch in front of the large painting of Veronica Ashford. She took the time to study the numbers and faint circles on the floor, they looked to be dance instructions, out of anything else.

She glanced back at the painting, Veronica was depicted in a dull purple dress that looked more like a babydoll dress than a ball gown. Veronica’s purple dress was frilly, adorned at the hems and sleeves with delicate silk-esque lace. Claire stared up at the painting, her blue gaze fixed on the regality of the blonde’s stance, her poise, and elegance. She absently brought her left hand to her face, feeling at her lip, abruptly becoming acutely aware of her own messy hair, unkempt from her struggles of the day.

After a brief pause, she hears concern from her partner,

“Hey Claire, are you uh … alright?” Steve asks, to which she responds with a quick nod, the woman moving to stand up while she keeps her gaze on the floor.

Claire’s arms crossed behind her back as she tapped the heel of her boots on the floor a few times and her mouth remained agape. Without really thinking on it, Claire positioned herself at the first circle-step, her foot kept idle on it as she looked for the second step; then the third, fourth, fifth, and eventually, by the sixth, she thinks she gets it!

There were small symbols with each of the circles, with step six, the symbol notioned for Claire to twirl -- which she did carefully -- to step seven, which wanted her to face step two and bow, gracefully traipsing to step eight, before backing towards nine, one more spin, then she was done.

By the end of it, she could practically feel Steve glancing at her as if she was insane.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, his expression somewhere between genuine concern, and him trying not to laugh his ass off. “Never thought I’d see Claire Redfield dancing.”

“Yes, I am!” she chuckles, “I took dancing lessons when I was twelve, only for like... a day,” she states jovially, her brief smile never escaping her face as she talks with Steve. “I never thought I’d remember how!” Her smile did, however, falter a bit, as she opened her mouth to bring up her dad, and how he even said that same thing, -- after telling Claire that he was sure she would quit the lessons regardless -- but, the last thing Claire wanted to bring up was fathers at the moment.

“Me neither, it’s such a girly hobby” Steve remarks, his tone still cheerful and playful as his smirk widened, watching as Claire narrows her eyes at him in faux annoyance.

“Hey, I might make you help me, Burnside!” she taunts, silently going over the steps once more.

“Ohh noo, close contact? Anything but that!” He jabs, returning Claire’s faulty smile as he studies her movements; trying to copy them at certain moments; with more of a faux-mocking tone, of course, keeping up the playful banter they had going on. “You’re .. really into that huh?”

Claire nods, face remaining stoic in her haze of concentration; “it almost feels like muscle memory..” she mutters, only barely doing a twirl without losing any semblance of balance.

“C’mon Steve, if you’re such a knight in shining armor why don’t you come help your damsel in distress?” she chuckles, looking over at Steve after trying again on the twirl.

With a laughing sigh, Steve crossed his arms as he walks towards the painting; towards Claire; who welcomed him with open arms -- well, hands -- as she leaned forward and took his hands in her own, and pulled him close, “You’re-” she interrupted herself with a gasp after Steve tripped, “Cold!” she laughed softly, was he really that nervous?

Steve rolled his eyes, deflecting the statement by confidently saying “If you wanted to hold my hands, you coulda just asked”

Claire only made a ‘pff’ sound, before toeing over to step four.

The two tried following the same step at the same time, but occasionally bumped into eachother, or into objects, so that was a no-go.

Every misstep just caused a fit of laughter to befall the two, their closeness -- and maybe deliriousness from staying up so long -- only making the two laugh like they were put on laughing gas in a dentist's office.

Eventually, they felt like they had it figured out.

Steve started at step nine, Claire started at step one, with a mutual bow, -- which both ended up losing their balance and messing up with a little -- they started; both teenagers made sure to keep their arms close to their partner, but was it due to not wanting to risk one of them getting injured by a dastardly fall to the ground? Or was it due to remaining close to eachother? Not even they knew, really. Claire had properly pulled off a spin, followed by Steve properly leading her to step seven, even if it almost resulted in Claire tripping.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Steve!”

“Really? Or are you just saying that?”

“No, I’m serious!”

Cue the two going into another fit of laughter as they messed up step eight.

Steve huffed, rubbing his eye as he turned a little to look at Claire, who looked ready to jump in again; as always.

“Well, we almost had it! Wanna go again?”

And so, the two went at it one more time, hand-in-hand; Every twirl, spin, bow or curtsy, every traipse they took towards the next step seemed to deepen their bond as they tried for the dance.

The two didn’t really seem to realize how close -- emotionally and physically -- they had gotten, up until that very last bow, backstep, and spin;

Claire’s hand leading Steve’s as he stood to twirl, where he was briskly secured in her arms; the twirl, was followed by a moment where their foreheads were gingerly pressed together; their arms seemed to mingle, along with their heavy, and strained, hitching breaths.

For a moment, it was as if everything paused, as if everything around but the two of them, was pushed to the side, it was their turn to be the focus of each other's own little worlds.

Claire’s mouth kept slightly agape as she looked into the eyes of her partner -- now, as she understood, in more ways than one -- she was sure that both of them were pulling the other closer to them, mutually attracting and pulling each other closer, with the likeness of a magnet...

Until the wall right beside the coffee table pushed itself in with a loud BANG! Not only revealing the moth-wing key they had needed, but also effectively scaring Steve half to death, he had let out a yelp, followed by a jump as he instinctively let go of Claire, and reached for the gun holstered at his hip, and pointed it to the wall; only realizing after two seconds, that it was just the wall; his face flushing a little in embarrassment as he heard Claire’s warm laugh, walking towards the key, and bending over to pick it up.

Claire held the key in her hand as she brought it up to the light of the chandelier, having to close her left eye due to the way the light glossed blindingly over the key’s faux-membranous wing.

Claire spotted Steve, watching as he leaned back against a table, hand to his heart, easing its poundings; he occasionally laughed at his own scare, remarking inwardly about how easy he was scared.

Steve’s playfulness was one of the things she would always remember him fondly by; She would miss him when he was gone; it was hard to believe that this would be his last day alive.