Work Text:
Sometimes you catch him.
When he thinks no one's watching, that the attention is elsewhere, Wesker lets his mask slip. That cool, indifferent demeanor fades. His stiff upper lip settles and his eyes soften, often gazing down to the ground. Something within him shifts as if overtaken by a profound sadness.
It makes you understand why he wears those sunglasses all the time. You just happened to be at the right angle to see it anyway.
You don't know how to bring it up. How do you tell your Captain such things? That you've caught his sorrow on full display would be a confession that you stare, which would be more than you want to let on. Of course, such musings are short-lived once his eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours. They widen slightly, as if taken off guard, and then that mask of his returns in a flash.
Cool, calculating indifference.
From then on, you find yourself with a drive to interact with him more– anything at all, really, to cheer him up. You bring him his paperwork, his coffee, each one delivered with a warm smile and kind eyes. You stay late, always making small talk with him as you both lock up and head to your respective homes. It’s awkward at first.
And then it’s not.
It comes as a shock the first time you see a flicker of happiness in that icy gaze of his. A glimmer that grows, a spark that catches, and a warmth that spreads to both your cheeks and his– becoming more apparent with every interaction.
Your run ins become less and less like those of a Captain and his subordinate, and more like friends on the verge of something forbidden and beautiful.
One night, after the rest of the team left from their mandatory overtime, you nudge his office door open, coffee in hand, and find him with his face cushioned on his arms. His glasses lay aloft in his limp grip as if he'd only meant to rest his head momentarily before crashing altogether. You smile sweetly at the sight. Though he’s clearly exhausted, he still looks peaceful in his own way.
A glance around the room turns up no sight of anything to drape over his shoulders, but an idea hits you. You scurry back to your desk to retrieve your jacket. It’s nothing too thick– just a light knitted fabric. Just enough to keep him cozy. At least you hope so, anyway.
You hold your breath as you lay it over his back.
He neither shifts nor stirs, so you simply turn off his clunky desktop monitor and office lights. You leave his door cracked slightly so he’d have at least some light when he wakes.
You head home that night with a soft smile on your face, giddiness bubbling in your chest at the image of him snoozing all but burned into your mind’s eye.
You’d never seen him look so serene before, and it’s hard to stop the thoughts of him like that. What you wouldn’t give to be met with such a sight as you lay your head upon your own pillow… To hear Wesker’s gentle breaths as he slumbers next to you.
You’ve never been a morning person, but you wager you might be if you could wake up to the sight of him.
Alas, you don’t. And that’s why it’s such a chore to drag yourself through your morning routines and back to work the next day. Things are mundane as ever, though you do lock eyes with your Captain on more than a few occasions. His smile is soft and warm, a slight quirk of his lips just subtle enough to avoid drawing attention. In what world does Captain Wesker smile like that, you imagine would be the question that makes the rest of the team suspicious. All the same, you know he knows exactly who covered him up the night prior.
Not that it was difficult to figure out. Even if he didn’t recognize your go-to zip-up, he still had access to the security cameras. Puzzling, though, is that he doesn’t give it back to you as soon as he sees you, nor does he do so later in the day. Even as the team leaves, all of them trying so terribly hard to pressure you and Wesker to join them for lunch, he makes no mention of the garment.
You decide to be a little bit bold and snoop. There would be no consequences to being caught, and you’re positive you could spin it as trying to see if he was busy before you came in to talk, so you huddle against the wall and lean over to peek through the blinds to his office window.
He’s invested in something on his screen, and you can faintly hear the sporadic clicking of his mouse as he works. Your cheeks go up in flames and a beaming grin makes its way onto your face when you catch the sight of his left hand. Atop his desk rests your jacket, neatly folded, and on it rests his hand. You can clearly see Wesker toying with it between his thumb and forefinger, almost as if it were meant to soothe him.
Perhaps he was waiting for you to retrieve it yourself. Maybe he felt no obligation at all to give it back. Either way, it makes your heart flutter in your chest.
As you all but tip-toe back to your desk, you decide it’s his for as long as he wants it.
It goes unmentioned even as the two of you leave later that night.
Long after you’ve settled into bed, you find yourself wondering what his reaction must have been when he awoke. You drift off imagining all the different scenarios.
You’ll never know that he pulled the fabric close to his face and nuzzled it, inhaled your scent and committed it to memory as best as humanly possible. Somehow, even with an aching neck from the odd position he’d drifted off in, he found that morning to have been one of the best he’s had in… a long time.
He plans another Friday for overtime. He has to know if you’ll do it again.
And you do. He leaves your jacket strategically placed on the back of his swivel chair and feigns sleeping. In you walk, fresh coffee in hand by the scent of it, and he hears you huff a small laugh. God, he loves the way you think of him. All your little ways of taking care of him…
The mug settles on his desk with a soft thud.
You admire him for a moment before grabbing your jacket from the back of his chair and draping it over his shoulders. A thought runs across your mind that’s too good to ignore, and all too dangerous. Then again, you’ve come to know your big bad Captain for the sweet man he truly is. There is infinite kindness under his stoicism.
You lean down and press a kiss to his temple, lingering perhaps a second or two longer than you should’ve. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and the faded aroma of his cologne blends sweetly with his natural scent.
That warm fuzzy feeling blooms in your chest, only it turns to abject horror when you pull back and find him grinning and peering up at you. Your eyes go wide and you freeze.
Oh no…
“You sure know how to tuck me in,” he says nonchalantly.
You’re mortified. Neither of you have ever pushed this boundary before– never discussed it, either.
You watch Wesker raise his head from his arms and reach for the coffee you brought him, sipping at it with that same grin still etched on his face. An apology stutters off your tongue in disarray as he stands from his seat to loom over you. With a curled finger, he tilts your face up to look at him.
You can see in his eyes that he’s only half as confident as he seems. Part of you is relieved.
“Thank you,” he says, thumb brushing over your lower lip, “for being so sweet to me.” Your heart hammers a million beats in the short time it takes him to lean down and press his lips to yours. Your breath catches, your head swims– you all but totally malfunction before some degree of sense hits your mind and you lean into it. He kisses you slow, thumbing at your cheeks as if to soothe all that anxiety he’d struck into you just mere moments before.
You can’t describe it, but there’s a hint of desperation in the way he moves. Lips pressing hard, hands pulling just a little more than necessary to keep you right where he wants you.
Like he’s afraid letting go will dispel the illusion.
How terribly understandable. In a way, you yourself fear that you’ll open your eyes and it will all be a dream. Perhaps, worse yet, you’ll still be standing there, pit forming in your gut, as your Captain lectures you on the importance of boundaries and personal space.
Thankfully it is your dreams that come true, not your fears.
Even after your lips part, he doesn’t release you. His hands remain at your cheeks and he presses his forehead to yours, sighing through his nose as a smile wider than any you’d seen before graces his face.
It’s only understandable that you’d want to kiss him again, right?
And again.
And again.
And again…
He’s got you backed against the edge of his desk by the time you both stop to breathe properly. Wesker makes a move you don’t anticipate. His arms wrap around you, drawing you into a tight hug. He buries his face against the crook of your neck.
You swear on everything you hear him murmur a thank you. You may not understand why, but it doesn’t matter right now.
Not when those pretty blue eyes sparkle at you as if you were brighter than all the stars in the sky.