AN: WELL. I haven't updated in for-EVER. I am very, very sorry for the lack of writing. I appear to have gone through something of a creative drought. But as autumn rolls around I appear to be getting back into the swing of things. I apologize for the lack of quality in this one, but I had to get something out. I couldn't go much longer! Anyway, I know it's all sad and angsty, but enjoy anyway!
Number 26 - Argument
For them, arguing was akin to breathing. Not a day went by without some disagreement or dysfunctional event between the two of them. It was just how their relationship worked. Some relationships were fueled by lust, forbidden passion, friendly affection or even love - theirs was fueled by the ability to regard each other as equals, despite whatever misgivings they may have about one another. Arguments could be good or bad things, and in their relationship they were usually the former.
This was bad.
It hadn't been an argument. It had been a full-blown screaming match.
Chris sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at apparently nothing. The storm (thank fuck there was no sign of thunder) was pounding the windows like their was no tomorrow, the sound reverberating through the silent, dim atmosphere. The shattered remains of what used to be a table lamp were opposite him, almost mocking him with their sharp edges and cruel truths. He desperately looked away. He felt as if he was going to be sick.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? CAN'T YOU FOR ONCE JUST STOP AND THINK ABOUT SOMEONE ELSE?"
"I THINK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE ALL THE TIME-"
"THINKING ABOUT SEX WITH ME ISN'T 'THINKING ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE', ALBERT!"
The lamp wasn't the only thing that had sustained damage. A crumpled bit of metal and plastic somewhat resembling a radio was next to the front door, and Chris' pet plant, Charlie, was laying forlornly next to it. With a defeated, weary sigh, he just about managed to get to his feet and make his way over there. Chris fondled Charlie's glossy green leaves as if apologizing.
"GODDAMMIT, CHRIS, WOULD IT KILL YOU TO SAY YOU'RE SORRY?"
...no, no he couldn't think about that. Not right now. He wasn't sure he had the emotional stability at the moment to look back on their row of barely an hour previous. At that very moment, all he wanted to do was go to bed, hide under the blanket and pray that this was some sort of horrid, cliche-ridden nightmare, that it would all be gone in the morning and he could go back to life as he'd come to know it. His, and Wesker's, life as he'd come to know it.
Fuck. Was every single one of his fucking thoughts connected to that man? He refused that possibility that he was nearly as obsessive about Wesker as the blonde was of him, despite the little ring of truth that glittered. He wasn't like that...that...can't even use the word bastard to describe him, can I? Chris righted the little pot plant, still absently playing with one of the leaves. The word had been used as a term of endearment to the older man too many times in the past for him to bring it up now. The brunette closed his eyes, trying to steady himself.
Several long minutes passed, the movement of time only noted by the soft tick, tick of the clock on the living room wall. Chris only realized he had started crying when he opened his eyes to a world blurred by tears. His grip on the leaf became tighter, almost tugging until the little piece of foliage snapped off in his hands.
"...shit, m'sorry Charlie-" he cut himself off. Fuck. Fuck.
He stared at the leaf as a nauseous, tight feeling crawled into his throat. Fighting it was futile - Chris finally gave a small, hitching sob. It wasn't long before the shaky breaths escalated into plaintive wails, and there he was howling his pain and sorrow. Once the dam had been broken, there was no holding it back. He took breath only to fuel his emotional, desperate breakdown.
Chris cried for a long, long, time, curled on the carpeted floor. His sobs and lonely whimpers sounded like a wounded dog or a child, lost, cold and alone, and unknowing when the person they loved would come back. If they ever came back.
Number 10 - Regression
Wesker hated driving in the rain. He hated absolutely everything about it. He hated how the rain made it nigh-on impossible to see, even with the wipers going, he hated how other people would act so ridiculous when driving just because it was raining, he hated the feel, he hated the sight and he hated the sound. The obnoxious spattering along his windshield and bonnet only served to add further painful stimulus to the roaring in his head.
The car park he'd chosen was a few blocks down from his and Chris' apartment, although it had not been his first choice. Having discovered a lot of other car parks were full, blocked off by roadworks or charged just ridiculous rates, he'd settled on a relatively small one just off the main road, near a block of industrial buildings.
He rested his head on the steering wheel, barely gripping the sides. It was uncomfortable, yes, but it brought a strange sense of relief to him. The discomfort was something physical that he could hold onto, something that-
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THIS!"
...something that could distract him from the flashbacks that kept assaulting him.
Wesker shook his head, slumping back into the driver's seat with the air of a man forty years his senior. After the fight, he had stormed out of the apartment with the intention of going somewhere, anywhere else, just to cool off for a while.
Christopher James Redfield - the only person who could do this to him. The only person who could dig underneath the walls he had erected and pull him out, the only person who saw beyond the cold atmosphere and brought out his human side. The only person who reduced him to such pure, unfiltered emotion it hurt.
He thought that, as a child and morphing into the slightly dysfunctional adult he had become, he had been able to erect enough barriers that he would never experience this goddamn pain. Not again. Not like the times he had been alone, surrounded by people, aching for some form of human contact but unable to achieve it. His mother and father's cold nonchalance towards him had left him somewhat unstable - desperate for some form of affection from anyone or anything. And when he got the affection, the person that could make him feel wanted, loved - he placed them on a pedestal, holding them much, much too tight.
Sound like a fucking woman, don't I. A grim, pained smile played across his lips. Too bad it was the truth. And sometimes the truth was more cutting than the lie. He would like to say he was a strong, macho man who could set aside these feelings...but he simply couldn't. The lie may be easier to swallow, but the truth was easier to believe.
One thing was clear. He couldn't go back to being how he was before Chris. Not now, not ever. Regressing back into his old self would alienate the few friends he had managed to make, hurt the success of the STARS team...and push Chris even further away. He wouldn't do that. He couldn't.
He didn't just love Chris. He needed him. Like a fire needed oxygen, Chris' affection and company was the fuel that staved off the lonely, dark thoughts kept him going.
Wesker breathed in deeply through his nose, slowly settling the turmoil inside himself. He flicked the lights on and turned the ignition, putting the car into reverse.
This wolf didn't give up the hunt that easily.
AN: Ah, that was fun. Well, I'm not really one for writing sad things (I try to avoid them as much as possible - I have a horrible habit of making 'dramatic ' scenes very one-dimensional) but maybe it was a step in the right direction to get me back into writing again. Hell, if I want to do this as a profession I've got to get some practice in, haven't I? As always, reviews are much welcomed, please give your thoughts now matter how critical and I will see you guys again as soon as possible! Ciao!