It was the same night when Muller was at home and she was staring at her bare body in the full mirror's reflection in her shared bedroom. She felt thin; not built enough to be the lover of someone like that gorgeous American.
She sighed and slipped on her robe just as Henry came in.
"Are you alright?" he asked as he finished drying himself after putting on pajama bottoms.
"Not really," she said softly as she continued staring at the tips of her feet after sitting down.
"Don't tell me it's about that guy," he told her as he sat on the bed perpendicular to hers.
"And if it was?"
He rolled his eyes. "Just go to bed, Muller."
"Good night, Henry. I love you."
"Love you too, cuz. Sleep tight."
"Don't let the bedbugs bite," she finished softly.
He watched her lay down before turning off their lamp and putting his head on his pillow. He waited until he heard her soft, sleep breathing before closing his own eyes.
Albert Wesker was not a particularly happy on that same night. He restlessly paced along the hotel room's carpet, wearing it down even more. That girl-Muller-was all he was able to think about. She had to be quite a bit younger than him, but he didn't care. Age rarely truly ever mattered anyway.
At seven thirty-in the morning-he finally figured out something. He could go to the restaurant, which was probably open now, and ask to see her file so he could figure out where she lived and take it from there.
But, as five more minutes of pacing ensued, he realized that that was...wrong. One of the things she'd told him last night rose back to the front of his mind.
She was personal friends with the owner of the cow farm.
Which meant this was a close knit community.
Which implied that many people would know Muller and he could just ask them, instead of bribing his way to a file that might not actually exist,considering what kind of place this was.
He went down to the desk clerk after getting dressed and brushing his teeth. "Do you know a girl named Muller?" he asked.
The young man nodded vigorously. "She was in the class under me! She, Henry, and her parents live in the apartment building."
"Who is Henry?" he asked. He could already deduce that that was the young man from last night, but real confirmation was a wonderful thing.
"Her cousin. He's an orphan and lives with them 'cause they're the only family he's got left."
"I see. Thank you." Wesker pulled out a few dollars from his wallet and put it on the desk before walking out. *No sense in asking which apartment building it is, considering the use of 'the.' Not to forget that there can only be so many apartment buildings in this town.
He walked into the first one he saw; a few streets over, four stories high and rather kept together looking. He walked into the lobby and walked over to the names listed on the wall. He saw 'Muller' next to 6A and was about to press the button to be let up when he considered his actions.
He'd be a fool to go up there. What would he even say? 'Oh, hi, I saw you last night and just had to talk to you?'
Nope. That was not going to float in this boat.
He turned around and walked out of the building, already deciding that he'd simply go to the restaurant for dinner later.
In the meantime, he'd just walk around.
Henry stepped out of the stairwell just as the stranger in black walked out of the lobby. Their actions had been so close together that the younger man had seen him walk out.
And, to say the least, he wasn't very happy about it, either.
He walked out, instantly looking around for the man, but he was already gone. He stood outside the apartment building for a moment longer before remembering the reason he'd come down in the first place; to go to the grocery store.
He sighed and put his fists in his jacket as he walked down the street. People who knew him tried to say hi, but he dismissed them. The fact that that man had been so close to the apartment annoyed him. He (the stranger) had no business whatsoever with Muller.
When he got to the store, his mood improved no better. There was the man, inspecting some hand-crafted trinket hanging on the wall. Henry bit the inside of his cheek before going over to the deli.
"The usual, Hunk?" his fellow teenager-some kid whose name he didn't quite remember-asked him.
"Yeah, the usual," he practically forced out.
"Are you alright? You seem upset," the smaller boy pointed out.
"You could say that." He looked over his shoulder and over to the black clad stranger. Don't, don't, don't think about him. You're not like that. Store, store, supplies, necessity. Not this, not this, you're normal.
"Here ya go," the boy said, handing him a package wrapped in brown paper.
"Thanks," he muttered, mainly underneath his breath.
He went about the store, getting the bare minimum-tea, sugar, flour, milk. No extra money for his uncle's tobacco this time though.
He sighed as he went over to the cashier. Just as he was, so did the stranger. The blond haired man stopped and let him go first, which Henry found himself tensing at. Why can't he be an ass? Can't he just give me a good reason to hate him?
"Hi Henry," the girl behind the counter said, along with tacking on the total for the groceries.
He sighed, going into his pocket for the cash. First was the right pocket-nothing. Left pocket there was some change. Next it was his breast pockets, but they were empty. He felt himself flushing a deep red as he realized he'd forgotten the money.
He swallowed hard, opening his mouth to try to explain, but before he could:
"Is this the correct total?" a voice behind him asked. Henry looked over and saw that the stranger was holding money out to the cashier.
"Yes sir," the girl said, taking it from him.
Embarrassed, Henry grabbed the brown paper bag and walked out of the store, clutching the groceries to his chest like a schoolgirl would with her books.
"You could at least thank me," the cool voice said, causing the hair on the back of Henry's neck to stand up straight.
"Thank you," Henry hissed.
"So proud…" he heard the man mutter.
He stopped short. "What's it to ya?"
"Nothing. Just simply making an observation."
"Like ya did last night? Calling me a neanderthal?" Henry shot back.
"That's incorrect. I called the people who raised you neanderthals. There's a difference."
"Well fuck you!" he said, turning and beginning to walk off.
He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and he let out a yelp at the harsh contact. "Would you like that?"
His breath caught in his throat. "Let go of me," he said softly.
The stranger's free hand went down to Henry's hip. "Doesn't sound like you want that."
"Freak," he hissed under his breath, pulling away. He turned around, facing the blond. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"
A smirk landed on his lips. "Nothing's wrong with me. I believe it's you who was glancing over at me every minute in the store."
"Whatever," the Edonian said, turning around once again to hopefully walk the full way to the apartment without interruption.
Wesker stood where he was, watching Henry walk off, getting some sort of pleasure out of tormenting him, much like he would occasionally with Birkin.
Finally finding himself tired, he walked back to the hotel and went to his room. He sat down on the bed, producing a loud creak from the mattress. He sighed and laid down in his entirety, resting his head on the too soft pillow. The torment he'd put on his body for being up for thirty nine hours, seventeen minutes, and forty seconds ceased to exist as he fell asleep.
It was later on in the day-during work to be exact-the owner came into the kitchen, taping Henry on the shoulder.
The larger male put down the pan and turned around. "Yeah?"
"Care to get out of here and put the baby grand to some use?" the owner, a man in his late forties who always smelled like the bar, asked him.
He didn't hesitate. "Yes sir! Lemme just clean up a bit," he said, rushing out of the kitchens and heading upstairs to the always stifling hot dressing room. He quickly took off his greasy clothes, put on a dash of cologne, and changed into a clean white button-up shirt, loose tan pants, and dress shoes.
When he came down the stairs, his heart sank and he felt his smile drain off of his face. There was that blond, a smirk on his face as he saw Henry come down. It felt like it took every single ounce of energy to hold himself back from launching himself at the stranger.
Muller raised an eyebrow as she turned around and saw the look on his face, but didn't say anything.
Henry walked over to the baby grand, sitting on the bench. His fingers seemed to have electricity flowing through them as he opened the white and creme piano. Just play, he thought to himself.
Trying to make his cousin happy, he started playing Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. Soon he lost himself to the white and black keys, shutting the world out as he did his eyes. Not even the blond could would've been able to take him out of his reverie.
Before he knew it, the last note was played. His eyes snapped opened as he realized his hands were hovering above the keys, not knowing what to do. He shoulders slumped and he sighed, forgetting he wasn't even in the restaurant.
Suddenly, the room echoed with applause, causing him to jump. He looked over his shoulder, remembering where he was. "T-Thanks," he said softly.
Muller came over and threw her arms around him. "It was beautiful," she whispered.
He smiled at the compliment. "Encore?"
"But of course!" she said, a smile present on her own face.
Author's Note:To be honest, I was really, really, really, trying to practice with third person. But, it's annoying and I feel very broken and jumpy, which means next chapter will be in first person.
Thanks for reading and please review! :)
~HolleringHawk65