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"I don't know what I ever saw in you. Your thin, unkempt body, slouching back, and tense, tired shoulders are the result of your endless nights of scientific study. Hollow cheeks, heavy bags under your eyes, an unhealthy dark color, when was the last time you slept at all? Eat anything other than fast carbs from those garbage stinking bags for cooking in the regular microwave? And the way you squint when you look up at my face - don't you feel sorry for your own eyesight, which you so mercilessly sabotage by reading and rereading endless documents? Your dry, stiff fingers twitch often, as if you were still typing even while you were pissing, and your weathered lips occasionally whisper formulas only you know. I don't listen. It just makes me laugh.
A complicated equation with three unknowns in a logarithmic ratio. Damn it, don't you have better things to do?
And yet I find you fascinating. And yet I never cease to be in awe of your genius for turning the world upside down. You're perfect for me, and there's something funny about it that you don't even realize.
I wouldn't have any trouble breaking you in half. But, I... I'd like to feel those angular ribs under my hands."
- Al?
With a shudder, Wesker casts his thoughts aside and lowers his gaze, invisible under his sunglasses, to his companion, silently responding to the address to himself. He seems to have become somewhat thoughtful and lost the thread of their previous conversation. No wonder the scientist looked at him with such blatant skepticism in his gaze.
- You weren't listening to me, were you?
- My bad. - The fake S.T.A.R.S. officer hummed and shrugged angrily, acknowledging his miscalculation. He knew William wasn't the type to easily forgive disregard in his direction. - If memory serves me correctly, we stopped at a methodical scolding toward Marcus. I assure you, I am ready to continue with all the enthusiasm and engagement.
That was a lie. Hated by all his black heart, the doctor was not at all occupying his thoughts now, remaining a familiar irritant somewhere in the background. Not to be compared to the far more attractive figure of his best friend.
"Oh, William. If only you could have guessed."
Wesker grimaced painfully and stepped forward, mimicking on his face a genuine interest in the endless blueprints and documents that occupied the genius brain of his, for more than a dozen years now, partner. Formulas, formulas, reasoning about the potential of their common work. Earlier, the officer would interrupt, eagerly agreeing with everything he heard and supplementing the rushing stream of eulogies with his own. Now he could not take his hazy gaze, so well concealed behind his glasses, away from the throbbing jugular vein, past which a drop of sweat was slowly dripping.
How he wished he could lick it off.
To lean forward, to grasp the sunken cheeks with both hands and pull her head toward him, to kiss those weathered, puckered lips aggressively. Stupid neurotic. Such a beautiful mouth should be stretched around his cock and stained with cum. What he wouldn't give to finally be able to see his best friend on his lap, worshipping his taut, perfect body to the last detail with a selfless smile. The captain had spent years training himself, persevering to visual perfection, just to finally be seen, just to prove that he was much, much better than the woman who had taken everything from him.
"For all my love of you, I have enough objectivity to admit that you have completely neglected yourself. The coarse stubble and the hackneyed mustache add to your age, not to your manhood, and with that unhealthy complexion, greasy hair, and deep, sleep-deprived eyes, you look even older than me, and we're not even the same age. No wonder the last time Annette gave you one was before Sherry was born. Damned prude."
Wesker lets out a quiet, irritated growl and immediately misfires, but by happy coincidence, at that very moment Birkin yawns tiredly, not noticing the sudden change in his best friend's mood. Fine. The time has not yet come when he can reveal his feelings, so there is no need to draw attention to the irreconcilable hatred of the scientist's wife unnecessarily. The bitch who took what was rightfully his alone. What did he see in her anyway? A bland, perpetually disgruntled face, a bony, gray mouse. Yes, smart. Genius, as all who have gained access to the development of the highest secrecy. And yet she doesn't even come close to what he, Wesker, represents and could give.
"Really, sometimes I think about fucking you right in front of that bitch. Let her see how sweetly you can moan when you really feel good. She doesn't appreciate your supple body and hardly ever thinks about how beautiful you are when you wriggle and ask for more without a memory. She doesn't want your skinny, straining arms, your adorable moles on those tired shoulders, even your hot ass - in fact, all she wanted from you was your cock. I don't argue, it's impressive. No, don't ask me how, but I'd be happy to ride on it. Nevertheless, I know about your hardened dissatisfaction. That your marriage was only for the continuation of the family, to pass on your outstanding genes to someone who would inherit your parents' scientific labors. Only for Sherry."
Sherry.
Wesker smiles faintly, remembering the little enthusiastic girl. The one person in the Birkin family who never hurt him. Funny, kind, clinging so desperately to his every visit to his dull, insincere home. He loved to shower her with gifts and spend long hours in utterly meaningless activities, whether it was toy tea or helping her try on new dresses. As much as it might affect her reputation, the officer knew that he had unwittingly replaced the little girl with both parents, treating her at best like a pet or a flower that only needed watering and occasional transplants from old things to new ones. Poor kid. One day everything will change, and the three of them - Albert, William, Sherry - will surely start a new life somewhere far away where the ubiquitous tentacles of the corporation cannot reach. The frightening Uroboros will fade into oblivion, like the bigoted doctor, like a bunch of dumb-headed sycophants, like Annette's arrogant face.
- Al, I hate to admit it, but we've only got two hours to sleep again. It looks like we'll have to sleep on the couch again among all those papers.
Quiet laughter again pulls him out of his thoughts, and Wesker sluggishly watches as William meticulously cleans up document after document to at least somewhat clean the surface of the old leather couch for their shared sleep. The prospect of falling asleep in an embrace with her lover seems so sweet. Still, the officer wasn't about to rush things. One awkward movement and things could have gone down the worst possible scenario. It remained to be content with the mere presence and the smell of a relative, who was now lying so close, so unacceptably close...
- I was used to it. So are you, by the way. - Albert smiles in response to a consonant chuckle and sinks heavily onto the sofa, which creaks miserably from their mutual weight. It's hard, cheap. It's not much, but it's good for a quick nap. - In that case, I'll see you in two hours. When was the last time you were home?
- A week ago. - Birkin shrugs his shoulders and rubs the bridge of his nose before turning to face the leather backrest. It's frustrating, on the other hand, so the scholar can't accidentally discover the hunger and longing the time-tested friend is looking at him with. - See you tomorrow, Al.
- See you tomorrow, Will.
He had waited nearly twenty years. He had only a little more time to wait.