This heartache tears me apart

CHAPTER 2

It wouldn't be until four years later that they saw each other again.

Yet the roles would be reversed.

Chris sat in his apartment. Taking leave time was now something enjoyable to him, but Jill still told him he didn't do it enough.

Chris was sitting on his sofa, as shitty as it was, he liked it. He was reading one of the cook books Jill bought for him so he wouldn't starve. What would he have for dinner?

There was a quiet knock on his apartment door, something barely audible if his apartment wasn't quiet.

He got up, expecting to see someone from his apartment complex, but what he saw instead confused him even more.

Standing in front of him was Wesker, holding his side with his pale hand covered in blood.

"Wesker?" Chris whispers.

"Christopher… I apologize. I do not mean to intrude, but I have nowhere else to go."

Chris looked down at the side Wesker was holding. It appeared he had lost a lot of blood. Chris sighed and grabbed Wesker gently, leading him inside towards the sofa.

Wesker looked sickly pale, as if he was about to throw up, and Chris was not good with patching up himself or others, so he hoped Wesker might be conscious to help him.

Chris grabbed anything he might need to help Wesker and rushed back to the small sofa.

"Wesker… I need you to guide me through this… I've never dealt with something so… big."

"Do not worry. First, let me clear everything so we can clean the wound properly."

Wesker sits himself up and takes off his jacket and shirt, letting them slip onto the sofa, his wound obvious on his pale skin.

"Shit."

Wesker leans his head back. "We need water and soap. It will clean the wound before you start putting on any bandages."

Chris rushes to the kitchen and grabs a clean wet towel and some soap.

He slowly cleans the wound, hoping he isn't hurting Wesker too much.

"Thought you couldn't get hurt?" You have to keep him awake.

"After the volcano, the T-virus in my body became very dormant. It works, but very slowly."

Chris thought for a moment as he worked on cleaning Wesker's wound. "So four years ago… when Jill held that gun at you-"

"If she had pulled that trigger, yes, I probably would have died."

Chris stopped in shock. He stared at the wound under his hands. Wesker could have died. He could have died. He could have died. He could have died. HE COULD HAVE–

Chris placed the cleaning supplies beside him as he got the bandages, covering most of the wound, and wrapping it around Wesker's waist was easy.

He looked at Wesker, whose head was leaning back, as he breathed heavily.

"I never told you why I came to you when I was sick." Keep him awake. Keep him awake. Keep him awake.

"You never did. Why did you?"

"I knew it wasn't something easy to get over, and as much as I trusted the BSAA medical staff at the time, I still trusted you more. I knew I could turn up at your doorstep. I knew you would help, even if you hated me, because I thought you wouldn't let some stupid sickness take me out."

While he was speaking, Chris moved back up beside Wesker, trying to look in his eyes.

Wesker looked at him, and Chris realized that they were no longer red but the same blue they had been during STARS.

"Wesker…" Chris muttered under his breath.

Don't die. Don't die. Don't die. Don't die. Don't die. Don't die. DON'T DIE. PLEASE, DON'T DIE!

The mantra repeated in Chris' head as he looked at his eyes, life almost drained out of them, as if he were a robot that Umbrella had been controlling from some other room.

Chris felt a cold hand touch his cheek gently.

"Christopher. You have that look again."

Chris closes his eyes.

His eyes flooded with tears.

"Christopher?"

"You're not really here, are you?"

Wesker was silent.

"Are you, Wesker?"

Still no response as his hand dropped from Chris' face.

"Tell me, Wesker! Am I that desperate? Am I?"

"No, Christopher. You are not. You are just–"

Chris snapped up from his bed, sweat dripping from his skin, his eyes wet and sore.

"Fuck… fuck… fuck… FUCK!!" Chris called out.

He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, curling into a little ball as he softly cried.

"Why…? Why am I still alive…"