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You stare at yourself in the mirror as water runs into the sink, shaking and half wondering if you're still asleep. Everything feels floaty, sounds are dulled, and you don't know when you last slept for more than 4 hours. You are too scared to even blink.
Fear plucks along your heart, left over vestiges of the nightmare to wake you this time. You swallow, hear your throat click, and make yourself read the toothpaste tube again and again to ground yourself. Slowly, the sound of the running water comes into focus, and your bleary gaze picks up movement in the doorway.
Over your shoulder, a stern face stares back at you, crimson eyes and slicked back hair framing a face you both love and fear. His lips part slightly. His sigh feels physical on your back.
Instinct demands you turn to him, reach out for him, but exhaustion makes a statue out of you. You open your mouth to whisper his name, and a strangled whine leaves you instead.
His brow furrows, and he steps into the bathroom with you. His boots click, once, twice, and then his heat is along your back and a gloved hand is reaching around you to turn the tap off.
"Easy now," he murmurs. You lean back into him and whine again. Words are beyond you. Your throat hurts. Vaguely, you remember waking up screaming. A wandering thought passes your consciousness, about how fast he would have come up from the labs below to get to you now.
Another hand curls around your hip as he encourages you back, dragging you from the front of the mirror, the brightness of the bathroom, into the darkness you had just fled from.
Despite yourself, despite how you know he hates weakness, you turn to face him and hide your face in his chest, clutching at whatever fabric you can get your hands on.
"Wesker..."
He hums, lifting you as he goes down, until you are safely in his lap, with him sat on the edge of your bed. Your bed, because Wesker rarely joins you.
Wesker's chin rests in top of your head as he lets you cling to him like a child. One hand wraps around your waist for support, and the other runs through your hair softly.
It's the softest he's been with you. It almost feels like you have fallen through into another reality, where Wesker didn't kidnap you, where you aren't guessing which day will end with him getting bored of his caged canary.
The world rocks as Wesker kicks his boots off in practiced motions, before it tilts as he allows the two of you to fall onto your sides on the bed. Above the duvet covers. The furnace inside him is more than enough heat for you.
You glide a hand up to his shoulder, move from under his chin and meet his gaze as he watches you in turn. A normal person would have asked after you by now. A normal person wouldn't watch you with a mixture of calm and curiosity.
Every interaction with Wesker feels like a science experiment, even now. Even the aftermath of a nightmare won't get you sympathy from him. You suppose that's why you followed him in the first place, why you chose a man who shot multiple people as your protection during a zombie apocalypse.
Crimson eyes disappear for a fraction of a second while he blinks, slow like a cat, and you take that break in observation to lift a hand to his cheek.
Wesker's body tenses beside you, going unnaturally still. You ignore him, to stroke your thumb over his cheek bone. Despite everything, he calms you. Feeling his life beneath your hands chases away the claws of the undead clutching at the dark corners of your mind.
"Wesker..."
You murmur, not really knowing what else to say. His silver tongue seems tied as he watches you in turn, before he leans in a little, sharing breath with you.
"Your distress intoxicates me," he finally whispers against your lips, a call back to the first words he ever spoke to you, that fateful day he took you. Like that fateful day, he follows that up with a kiss. Deceptively thin lips hide their plushness, and this time he is all soft squish and gentle presses. No teeth. No growling. No blood.
You whine again, letting his familiar-not familiar taste wash over the last footholds of the nightmares behind your eyes. There is only space for one nightmare in your life, and he's gently kissing you in your bed, holding you as chaste as a nun.
Despite everything, he makes you feel safe.
You break the kiss. He lets you this time. Again, you feel like you have fallen into an alternate universe. Or another dream.
"Go to sleep."
He has a sharp tone in his voice, and his eyes narrow. Guarded again. Your dream is over. But he isn't cruel about it. You sigh, curl against him as close as he will allow, and listen to the thudding of his heartbeat as he stays with you.
You don't remember falling asleep.