The Perfect Subject - (Wesker x Reader) [ONGOING]

Chapter 12 - Chris

What is a relationship?

A question almost everybody harbors deep within their mind.

They never ask it, nor consciously consider it. It just happens to be there, lingering, waiting to be answered.

For me, I felt the hook puncture this question's gill, dig deep within the flesh of it, and yank it out of the water and into my conscious mind. And now I ask myself, What is a relationship?

Specifically, what is Albert Wesker to me?

The tightrope I've been walking for the past several weeks is my only evidence. I'd carry out orders, continue training, and occasionally share meals with him during our stay in Kijuju. But things have felt tense.

We've exchanged mindless touches and cautious conversation, yet it feels special in a way.

But isn't it the way it's always been?

༻︶𓏶︶༺

One day during the past few weeks, I was called to have dinner outside during a sunset. Accompanied by some of Wesker's men, they led me outside of my bedroom, through the temple, and into the blinding red sun on the horizon. There sat Wesker at a humble plastic foldable table. It took everything not to consider the humorous situation of a well-dressed man having a rather lavish meal at such a table. And in the middle of Africa, at that.

The moment he saw me, he stood, dismissed the people around us, and smiled at me. I would say it was real, but can anyone tell what Wesker is feeling? Who could ever know he's genuine? That kiss felt like something, but was it just "a kiss" to him?

"Y/N," he greeted in a rather bubbly tone. "Please, sit."

Wesker walked to the opposite side of the table and pulled out a foldable chair. Yet again, it took all of my willpower to suppress my conflicting feelings about humility.

"Thank you," I blankly accepted, sitting down.

He walked back to his chair and sat. The dinner in front of me was beyond anything I had eaten recently. It was a steak tenderloin, cooked to a perfect medium rare, sparkling with the glitter of spices and savory juices. The side was rather surprising: grilled zucchini and asparagus, also topped with spices one would use on a grill.

Wesker seemed to notice my raised eyebrow, and he remarked, "Surprised, aren't you?" He chuckled a bit before taking hold of his fork and knife, ready to cut his steak. "A man of my wealth and position wouldn't dare eat at such a place, table, nor eat such an ordinary meal. However, I can be modest as well."

I was startled, and quickly replied, "No, this isn't ordinary at all. It's rather... homey. It remind me of--" but then I quickly cut myself up, aware of the sensitive subject I nearly brought up.

"Your father," Wesker finished, glancing at me once more before slicing into the tender meat. I only now realised that he did not bear his sunglasses today.

"Yes. My dad," I confirmed, squirming in my chair uncomfortably.

"I intended to remind you of such," he affirmed.

I didn't want him to feel like I still resented him for my parents, yet I still wasn't sure if they were okay.

Almost as if he read my mind, Wesker commented, "You can ask."

"Ask what?"

He raised his hand, indicating to wait for him a moment, as he was dignantly chewing a piece of food. When he was done, he set his silverware down gently, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and spoke.