#''wesker personally scouts a promising spanish student to get him to work for umbrella''

[sirrentxt]

It's just a few days past graduation, well into the night, and he's walking home through pouring rain and familiar tight streets—taking shortcuts wherever he can because the leather on his back keeps soaking up water, heavier by the minute—when he finds himself stopping for shelter under a small roof. Nearly bumps into a man already standing there; blonde, sunglasses, fancy suit, a black coat reaching his ankles. Luis can't help but think it's weird; with how few lamps are around and in working condition, if he were the one wearing shades, he wouldn't be able to see shit in the absolute downpour.

“Raining jugs tonight, eh?” He pitches, brushing wet hair out of his face to take a better look at the man.

“Quite,” says the stranger and reaches into his suit jacket. A silent beat passes before he extends a hand towards Luis, a silver cigarette case gleaming in his hand, open. “Care for a smoke?”

Luis is not one to turn down that offer.

They smoke in silence for some time, listening to the rain beating down the tin roof over their heads, but Luis keeps curiously watching the blond in the corner of his eye. The man has a certain way about him—an accent, a prowl, a presence; a heavy step in the way he stands unmoving under the roof while Luis keeps switching legs.

“You from around here, señor?” He asks eventually between drags.

“Afraid not.”

Luis chuckles.

“Not the best hour to be out in these parts, you know.”

“Is it?”

“Mm. Not many locals here as charming as myself.”

A smile ghosts over the stranger's face, the intention behind it a mystery to Luis.

“How unfortunate.”

A thrill runs up Luis' spine like a warning. Minutes later, he'll ignore it in favor of inviting the man over, the danger of it all not once crossing his mind; convinced the way the conversation was going was some particularly tricky flirting.

The stranger will follow.

He'll play along, suddenly unsure of the ground beneath his feet. At first, when Luis offers him tea; then, after he declines, when Luis appears right in his face, persistent eyes and a sly smile. A hand running down his side, stopping at his hip. Luis circling him—“May I take your jacket, señor?”—then sliding it off his shoulders, carefully putting it aside. Circling back around, raising an eyebrow at his side arm—“Not from around here but not your regular tourist either, eh, señor?” “Albert.” “Well, señor Albert”—one of Luis' hands stopping at the man's hip, the other finding his belt loops and yanking him closer—“any other surprises you've got in store for me?”

luis serra x albert wesker // chance encounters