It was November of 1991, and two cousins were lounging in a shared bedroom, talking the day away. No work until tomorrow and they were both out of school; no worries unless you counted when the snow would really begin, and it was supposed to be mild this year.
"Henry, if you could change your name to anything in the world, what would it be?" the girl, who simply went by her last name-Muller=-asked her slightly younger cousin in a spur-of-the-moment-curiosity as she propped herself up on her elbows.
"Jacob," he answered her, throwing a ball up to the ceiling, catching it, and repeating the pattern.
"After your father?" she questioned.
"Yep."
She sighed and laid back down. They were parallel to each other, her feet by his head and his feet by her head.
"What about you?" he asked after a few more ball tosses.
"I don't know. Maybe something fancy, like Ekaterina," she told him. "I'd change my last name, too, while I'm at it. Maybe to Korozov. Do you think people would think we're married?"
He chuckled. "You're too pretty for me."
She sat up again, cross-legged this time, looking at him. "You've got a nice face," she told him, resting her chin on her hand as her eyes flicked up and down the length of his body-already a decent 6' 1" with the possibility to get a bit taller.
He got the ball before looking at her. "I've got copper hair and brown eyes. I'm plain and you're not. You with your green eyes and pretty, curly, multi-toned hair."
She raised her eyebrows. "Cousin, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been staring at me in my sleep."
Another deep laugh escaped him. "Have no fear, I sleep at night."
She smiled before changing the subject. This time it was the ballet-Swan Lake to be precise-that was playing in the city fifty miles away. She went on and on about it and how much she wished to go, but despite it all, they both knew they couldn't afford it; every cent they made went to rent, food, clothes' repair, and the bills.
Eventually, after other topics, they went downstairs for a light dinner of some vegetables and bread with her parents; to Henry, they were Aunt Beth and Uncle John, but to Muller they were Mom and Dad, the exact things Henry didn't have.
After dinner, the two went back to their room and talked even more, but as eleven o'clock rolled around, they knew it was best they went to bed instead of wasting precious sleep time.
The morning came around and the two young adults slept straight through the usual morning call of the rooster, and Aunt Beth ended up waking them up at eight thirty. As they went around their morning duties, they found themselves wired from some unknown excitement.
They both thought about it to themselves, but neither could come up with a reason. They couldn't possibly be excited to go to work at 12. It wasn't the thought of the weekend; after all, it was only Monday.
It was just something in the air, something they wouldn't be able to identify until they got into town.
Muller was a waitress while Henry was in the kitchens (usually, anyway.) She was darting around, taking orders, when the door to the restaurant opened, signified by the tinkling of bells. She glanced up out of habit and gasped slightly as she saw the man who'd just stepped in through the doors.
He was wearing black slacks, a black dress shirt, and a leather jacket. He was taller than Henry, but not by much and his blond hair was slicked back.
He sat down at an available table and Muller felt herself aching to go over to him. He was definitely older than her, but she didn't care.
He must be a statue come to life; he's just too handsome to be human, she thought to herself as she took the orders of a local family. She rushed over to the kitchens and slammed the order down, causing Henry to jump slightly. He raised an eyebrow at her state of slight distress; suddenly messy hair, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
"There's this man and oh god, Henry he's beautiful. You have to see him!" she told her cousin after coming over and gripping his arm.
He pried her fingers off of himself and sighed. "Fine, but then I have to get back to work."
The two of them left the kitchens, Henry just stepping out slightly. Muller was eager to point him out, and Henry stood there, looking at the man.
He had either already looked at the menu or never even picked it up. He was reading a book, a collection of Arthurian myths if Henry was reading the front cover right, his eyes darting back and forth.
Instead of saying anything, Henry quietly went back into the kitchens, letting Muller go do her own thing.
Slightly irritated, but not willing to waste anymore time, the eighteen year old went over to the handsome stranger. "Good evening," she said to him.
He stopped reading to look at her. She thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest as she saw his dark green eyes. She was going to lose herself in the pine green, dark forest looking color.
"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked him.
"A Coke," he told her. Her knees nearly buckled as she did; he had a deep American accent and that only appealed to her more.
"Do you know what you want to eat?" she asked, trying not to show her nervousness.
"A steak burger, assuming they're locally grown," he said to her.
"They are. I actually know the owners of the farm," she told him, smiling somewhat.
"How quaint."
Taking that as her cue to leave, she took the menu he'd picked up and tilted towards her, then scuttled over to the kitchen once again.
Upon seeing her new expression-near obvious embarrassment, if you knew her-Henry chuckled softly. "What, did he completely reject your advancements?"
"I didn't even try," she muttered, leaning against the counter.
"So you do have a brain in that head of yours!" he teased, clapping. "Now this is table four's and that's table seventeen's. Please, get to work."
She nodded and took the trays, one for each table. Even when she was setting the food on the table, her mind was distracted by the man; whenever she glanced at him, his face was in his book.
She sighed after she'd turned around from table seventeen and started walking over to the kitchen. She put the trays in their appropriate place and stood by the counter once again, waiting for more orders to be done.
However, it was not as simple as that for the stranger. He couldn't focus on the book in front of him; he'd been stuck on the same page for the past seven minutes. He'd come to Edonia-a place oh so different to America-to take a break.
But, as everything seemed to be for Albert Wesker, that was extremely difficult.
The waitress came after a few minutes, a steaming plate with french fries and a burger, along with a glass of Coke, were in her hands. She set it down, a smile on her face.
"Enjoy!" she said to him, and was about to turn around when she stopped and took the book out from his hands. "What is this that you're so enraptured in?" she asked, flipping it over and muttering the summary on the back to herself.
He looked over, observing-and memorizing-every detail about her. She was about 5' 4", or at least that's how she appeared in those shoes (worn looking black lace-up boots). Her deep honey blonde hair was braided and presumably lying in between her shoulder blades.
She had on a long sleeved, navy blue, v-neck shirt, an off-white tie hanging loosely around her neck, a faded denim skirt, along with grey leggings on underneath. The navy blue made a contrast against her creamy-colored skin, while the tie was only a few shades brighter.
As she put the book down on the table, he saw her eyes. God, they're beautiful, he thought. A light, almost faded, looking green stared at him for a moment. A light blush rose to her pale cheeks and she turned around, skirting off.
He smiled to himself before setting about eating the juicy burger.
A few minutes later, a young man came out of the kitchen. "Sorry 'bout Muller, anything I can get you?" he asked him.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Can I take your plate?" he asked him.
The American pushed the table towards him. "Feel free."
Henry resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he grabbed the plate.
"Clearly you don't have the same manners as Ms. Muller. Were you raised by neanderthals?" the blond asked him.
"Actually, we were raised by the same people," he snapped before going back to the kitchen.
Well then. That complicates things, doesn't it?
The blond glanced down at the book, but upon realizing he wasn't registering any of the words, he pulled out his wallet and put the appropriate amount of cash on the table, along with a tip, before leaving the restaurant.
Author's Note: Well then. Love at first sight? I guess this will be an actual story, but nowhere near as long as what The Two of Them currently is, and might be updated more frequently (though maybe less if I'm lazy :/) to get it out of the way. Hope y'all like it so far and please review!
~HolleringHawk65