Work Text:
The rain hitting the windows felt like twinkles of stars as the music swayed with our bodies, the fireplace illuminating our solliuetes, casting a portrait of our shadows. You stared at it, lovers intertwined, holding one another. Was this really Albert Wesker, sharing this moment with you? It felt so warm, the room felt so free of judgment and the usual stern eyes were full of a reflection of love.
Your head leaned into his neck, Wesker sighed in relaxation, holding you closer and placing a hand on the back of your head. You felt no words were needed. This moment had spoken itself. You had both fallen in love with one another.
The vinyl player reached its end, a slight buzz as it stopped. You go to pull away but Wesker reluctantly holds you there, his hand grooming your hair
"Don't let this moment go so soon, dearheart. I want to hold it longer"
You were surprised by his words, and felt your heart sink. His voice sounded so...sad, as if you'd never meet again. As if this moment were to pass, the memory would disappear. You hummed and relaxed yourself, allowing Wesker to sway his body, to no melody of the vinyl player, but a melody of his own.
"It's late Albert...I must leave soon"
You wished he would protest your actions once more, but you really did need to leave. It was a Monday and the week ahead required rest. Wesker noded gently, and pulled away, still holding you close by the hips, he turned his head to the window, a grievance in his eyes
"Pity it isn't raining more, I'd give any excuse to keep you here, with me"
A flush crossed your cheeks, you stared up at him and smiled, a light chuckle followed by a gentle tug of his shirt, you placed a kiss on his cheek with confidence
"The rain looks terrible to me...how on earth will I get home in that, Wesker?"
He smiled and placed a hand on your cheek, leaning down and kissing your lips slowly, a slight taste of suggestion leaving you with butterflies.
"How indeed..."
You both share a chuckle, eyes peering into one another. A gentle rumble came from the telephone on the wall, Wesker's brows frowning instantly, his body now tensed, he put his hands on the sides of your arms and breathed in, sighing. You felt a pain in your stomach as he walked over to the phone. He placed a hand on his hip in frustration as he picked up the line
"What is it, Birkin?"
A cold autumn's night in 1998, you will never forget the words he spoke, and you would never see him again as you did in that moment.