#iiiiiiim crying in the club!!!!!!

[godstrain]

it's startling, because of all the things wesker expected chris to do, it certainly wasn't this. this tender thing / he shivers slightly when chris brushes his thumb over the scars- scars to prove everything he'd done wrong (and everything he had found some twisted comfort in / everything that had played out wrong, because he didn't calculate for that result. he hadn't calculated for this), scars to prove that he was not a god, even if he wanted to be- maybe in another lifetime he had been, but not this one. sometimes, he still wanted to be / he's supposed to know better than to want that. sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't.

as usual, maybe this is the one outcome he should've planned for the most. he was different than he'd been in the past, of course, but so was chris. at the very least, they were different enough that they weren't trying to tear each other to shreds / holding onto anger to hide the grief of all that had happened. and that, too, felt like another life- another person. maybe it was.

albert wesker had prided himself on remaining calm and collected no matter what situation he came across. it was that sort of behavior that had made him a good leader- a good captain (because he wanted to believe that his position wasn't just some award from umbrella- he wanted to believe in his own merit). and he was a good captain in his own ways. his team admired him, looked to him for guidance, and of course it wasn't perfect- in hindsight, he understood that no person was perfect.

which was why he had to become a god. so he could have that perfection- that was his goal / spencer's goal. he was to be some golden, flawless thing / some masterpiece above all others- untainted and unreachable, the very thing humans would aspire to be. yes, that was spencer's goal. but it took all of that- all of the pain and madness and death for wesker to realize it. this was not what he wanted.

i hate that i never know what to make of you, speaks chris, and there is no malice in the statement. simply fact, perhaps a hint of frustration. wesker had always thought to present himself as what he was (what spencer had deluded himself into thinking he was! some immortal god / savior of humanity), and he'd learned that few people could understand. few people could accept it- and he deluded himself into thinking that he didn't care what other people thought. because humans had failed, hadn't they? war and famine and sorrow painted the canvas of the planet, and he had to begin anew- humans were a disease upon the planet and he had created a cure- or so he'd presented it as such.

chris hadn't seen it like that at all. chris had seen it as monstrous and twisted. chris had looked at him like he was just another infected dog that needed to be put out of its misery- and in a way, he was. now, chris was telling wesker that he never knew what to make of him. another unexpected (rather obvious) turn of events. one that makes him laugh fondly, gently shake his head / a rather normal act, as if he ever had any semblance of normalcy. ❝ i had always assumed you were rather confident in your assessment of me, ❞ soft, there's no bite to his words- he's too tired to bite back (or maybe he's afraid, because this is something fragile and sacred and if he breaks it, it will never happen again. it shouldn't be happening in the first place).

silence lingers for a moment after, but it isn't nearly as awkward or uncomfortable as he would've anticipated. he feels lighter / a burden lifted even if only for a moment (he knows it will come crashing down upon him in time / he will face the consequences of his actions time and time again, if not by the betrayal of his own body, then by the ruination others would bring in his stead. because he knows deep down that he did become some sort of idol- just not in the ways he wanted / not for the right people.)

do they hurt at all?

oh, there he was. that tender-hearted and loyal young man from the past. the chris redfield who always found trouble, who always worked hard. the chris redfield who found a way to worm his way into the shreds of wesker's heart. the one whose smile truly lit up the room / an aptly named star- when he asked questions like that, the caring ones, it was easy to see that person. even with how much chris had changed, his heart would always remain the same. for that, wesker counted his blessings (few as they were, this was certainly one).

do they hurt-

❝ ... not nearly as often as before. ❞

before, when he had dragged his body from the lava, numb, but only until he began to heal. it was the nerves that were the worst. it made him remember what it was like when he was first infected- the fire in his veins, the way his body felt wrong / vision blurred, no one to take his hand and tell him that he would make it through. no one to stay at his side if he didn't- but he knew better than to have hoped for someone to stay if it had gone wrong. they would've died too- killed by whatever he would've become.

the people he wanted to be at his side had died anyway- most of them had. and he didn't know how to face the others / maybe he never would (but he owed it to them, didn't he? what a foreign concept that was, thinking he needed to do anything for anyone else. he was still changing in ways he didn't understand. mutations of a different sort / he wasn't certain whether they were beneficial or harmful, but they were changes. something in the remains of his heart / soul- something was changing). ❝ i would like to think the worst of it is over. ❞

and oh, how he means that in more ways than one! because this was some sort of fresh start / new beginnings; as new as they could be, right? because he isn't fighting with chris this time. this time, they're talking, and it isn't some sort of argument. it isn't insults thrown, snide comments and nonsensical ranting- it's a conversation. it's a step forward, even if it's a small one.

➤  [ 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙻𝙾𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 . . . ]

He should be smarter then this. Keyword being should be - especially given the past & how it'd played out, just what'd led to the events within the present. & yet, here he was still willingly reaching over, ready to stick his hand into the very mouth of the beast he'd spent the better part of a decade, over that even, trying to hunt down. All of it hinged on curiosity, overwhelming even as it remained lightly strung in some tethering strands of trust. With a twitch of his nose, hazel flit up, studying the other's face as he freezes for a moment, hand left hovering in the air just a breaths space away from actually making contact.

Things had changed, for worse & the hesitant better, though even that's arguable as he finds himself swaying between the two depending on what new thing is uncovered, some new side of the formerly cold, heartless man he'd used to work alongside. Used to admittedly respect a great deal until the mansion had happened.

It all feels like a completely different lifetime ago, despite it all taking place only years before. This whole thing ensnared him in a cycle that he knows he'll likely never be free from, & despite his lingering rage at the betrayal endured, at all the death brought about by the pale man's very hands, the chaos that followed each of his selfish, stupid decisions - it's died down from the once blazing flame it'd used to be down to a pitiful ember, still managing to flare from time to time at the wrong step forwards. But it's manageable now, harder to keep lit so fiercely when he's back within the other's presence without that same anger, righteous & visceral to blind & guide him.

Now? As he looks over his features, takes in the way the blonde almost seems to flinch away from Chris' hand. He doesn't blame him, given what he'd gone through. Though it's ultimately viewed as karmic, justifiably earned given what he'd done, Chris can't help the spike of something . . . not quite pity, but something more sympathetic from rising. All spurred on at the stupid decision he'd thoughtlessly made to touch one of the larger patches of scar tissue marring the side of the blonde's face.

Fear so raw & visceral flicker like a candles light across tensed features, reeling back he'd been struck as he stares back at the operative with wide eyes. Near offended in the way he tries to compose himself back together again, fragmented pieces garnered up in pale hands to try reforming his old mask like Chris hadn't just stolen a peek at what lay beneath.

He should be smarter then this - comes the passing thought slowly reminding him, but even as he hears those words, he continues on anyways, the slight pinching of his brows as he glances back down to the human scars, the permanent marks that etch themselves deep, pushing through like the fool he'd always been guided by blind curiosity. He's careful, like he was holding something sharp with bladed edges in his hands, cautiously dragging a thumb along soft skin with a silent swallow at the feelings that rise.

Maybe this was why he'd always been so quick to latch onto anger. To ignore & shut out everything the blonde would throw his way with all his monologuing, his ranting in the past. The time for talking had long since passed, but had he given him a crumb of time to explain more over react with lashing violence, who knew. Maybe things could have been different, could have been if he'd spotted the warning signs early enough. Or maybe things were doomed to play out this way, predetermined.

He stops his wandering mind there before he can lose himself in puddling thoughts any further, expression harshening for a moment as he recalls the heat of the lava, the lick of flames from their final fight, the look of madness glazing through ember bright eyes like twin suns, just as heated in the fury they bore. Desperate. Wesker had been nothing short of a rabid animal in need of being put down, far past the point of reasoning with - but this close, Chris can see none of the same madness lingering in those same sights.

Its conflicting. That internal feeling that'd guided him for years now, helping him make the right call when he couldn't trust his mind or emotions to not steer him wrong being absent.

There's no effort made to stop him even as he leans in so close, only the earlier flicker of fear, the mirroring look of lost confusion & stunned silence swimming behind his gaze. He brushes a thumb along the pointed curve of a cheekbone, pushing in a way that he knew would soon get his hand snapped at, tracing the edge until he can smooth along the upper brush of ridged scarring. Delicate. Human continues to echo - shattering that long held view of the man as nothing short of monstruous & irredeemable.

He says nothing, isn't sure he'd even know where to begin when the moment felt both smotheringly vulnerable, like any wrong move would crush & kill it without another chance to be revived, & uncomfortable. He gives a final pet of his finger along the other's face before he makes the decision to retreat, gaze dipping with confliction down to Wesker's arm with a sigh & a shake of his head.

"I hate that I never know what to make of you." Comes the mumbled response, tired but blunt in it's honesty. He wasn't a threat in the moment, hadn't been for a long time since they'd come across him again. But he'd always hold the potential to be. Chris just didn't know how to counter it, if he could stop it early before he fell back into that old destructive mindset again or try something new to stop it from ever being a possibility. He's tired of their back & forth fighting. It gets them nowhere, hadn't for the better part of a decade by this point. Something needed to change & give. "You don't . . . Do they hurt at all?"

Not a perfect step in the right direction, but at least it's a start to talking. Blunt as it is . . .

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