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Chris looks at the ghost of the man he'd loved once, and lights a cigarette with fumbling hands. He's had too much to drink, but hell with it. It's July twenty-fourth, the one night a year he lets himself indulge, and he deserves this.
"I always told you that was a disgusting habit, Christopher."
"Fucking and?" It feels like he's twenty-something again, not pushing forty and feeling every one of the years. "Maybe you shouldn't have fucked off, I'd have had a reason to quit."
Wesker's sigh is almost fond. "Always such a brat."
"You used to like it."
"I liked your obedience more."
"Yeah, you did, didn't you? Obedient, muzzled dog, waiting right where you left me." He's bitter, but it hurts, and he thinks he's earned the right, after everything. "You'd still have me there, wouldn't you."
"If you hadn't killed me."
"If I hadn't killed you." It had never felt good, not the way he'd hoped. Pyrrhic victory, empty and leaving him with more questions than answers, more pain than satisfaction, and he'd been welcomed back to the BSAA as a hero but he'd crawled home and curled up in the shower to sob until the water went cold because it was finally over, but it was finally over, there was no going back.
He knocks back another glass of whiskey. He's moved on to the cheap stuff, and it burns horribly, but it feels good. Tonight he wants to hurt.
"I could have given you what you need," the ghost says, "You need me tonight."
"This is because of you. They died because of you. Everything happened because of you."
Wesker sighs. "You're angry. I understand."
"You're a hallucination."
"And yet you're perfectly happy to argue with me. Is it because I'm better than being alone?" Wesker cups his cheek. "Is it because of everyone, I'm the only one who has ever understood you?"
"Don't-"
"Chris Redfield. Older brother. Protector. You went into the Air Force to provide for your sister. You went into STARS when that didn't work out. You told no one your secrets, your struggles, your needs. No one but me. You trusted me, because I was the only one who wasn't your responsibility. You never had to protect me from anything."
He can't stop shaking. The cigarette has burned down to its filter. He wants another, but he doesn't think he can light one right now. "You hurt me," he says, and hates how pathetic he sounds, how plaintive and childish the words are.
Wesker sighs again and tilts his head, smiling. "Only because you let me."