The bench was cold and hard, mostly because it was made of metal, but also because the blond was locked in the same cell as his awkwardly-friend-zoned-almost-boyfriend-but-mostly-nemesis, who always gave him a feeling of dread and slight coldness in his posterior for some unknown reason. Perhaps it might be a medical condition...
Now that the brunette had gotten over his initial (borderline homicidal) bitterness and accepted the situation, Wesker was sitting safely on his side of the bench without injury, ignoring Chris as he paced the floor without aim. After about an hour, Albert was certain he could see a slight groove being worn into the concrete.
While Chris continued his nervous habits, Wesker leaned back with his hands folded in his lap, staring at the small television mounted on the wall just outside the bars, which Chris kept cutting off his vision to every time he paced by.
"Would you sit down? You're giving me motion sickness." he finally said.
Chris ignored the grievance, breaking into an angry rant that somehow Wesker knew was coming before he even opened his mouth.
"How are you alive?! You fell into lava! I shot you with a rocket! TWO rockets!"
"Technically," Albert cut in, "you shot ONE rocket. Your lovely accomplice shot the other-"
"SHUT UP! Why the hell won't you stay dead?! Do I have to grind you into dust and scatter you across separate oceans just to get you off my back?!" He snapped his head toward the blond, demanding an answer.
Albert caught his glare and shrugged lazily. "You're looking at me like I should know something..."
"You should!"
"Well, I don't." he chirped.
Chris growled and grabbed the front of Wesker's shirt roughly, wanting to strangle him with every fiber of his being, or at least break his nose.
"I don't believe you."
The blond merely smirked, cocking his head with a slight breath of a laugh. "Oh my, attacking your cell mate. Predictable, Chris. I oughta sue you for assault. Twice."
"Shut up! Don't say my name like that!"
"Quit being such a baby. If you had half a brain in that thick head of yours, you'd have noticed when I broke the lock off the door as soon as the guard left."
Chris's face went blank as he stared right at him, dark brows furrowed. "You... What?"
"Wow. No wonder you can't get through missions without a babysitter." Albert remarked, fishing the broken metal out of his pocket.
The brunet dropped Wesker back on his rear and stepped to the cell door, giving it a good shove- it creaked open without resistance. How did he not notice that?!
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?" Chris exploded, balling his fists. He turned the most hateful glare he could muster to the other man, but honestly he just looked ridiculous, like he was trying really hard not to drop a monster shit into his pants.
"How long were you gonna let me pace around like an idiot when we could have left over an hour ago?!"
Wesker didn't particularly enjoy being yelled at so excessively. "It was an amusing development. I saw no reason to rush out the door. Unlike you, I enjoy the time we spend together."
"Un-fucking-believable! I'm going to kill you!"
"Doubtful."
Chris huffed, storming out of the cell with Albert in tow, however, as soon as the brunet reached the security desk, he snatched his confiscated handgun from the table and spun around, aiming it at Wesker's forehead.
"... really?" The blond drawled. "Chris, you're literally the least of my concerns right now. Thanks to you, I have to venture back into that cesspit of human filth and get my hair gel, this time without the kind intervention of the authorities." He pushed the muzzle of the gun away from his head casually and sauntered past the blank-faced brunet.
Chris just turned on his heel and stared at the man as he walked away. He made a strangled groaning noise and after twitching his finger on the trigger several times, finally lowered and pocketed it.
He scoffed, shaking his head. There Wesker was, just walking away. Clean shot, back of skull, top it off with a severed head and a woodchipper and 90% of his problems are instantly solved.
But no, Chris wasn't ready to carry it out yet. Certainly not like this.
No, if I'm gonna kill him, I'm gonna kill him right. What am I gonna tell my friends? That I killed the world's greatest threat, Albert Wesker at the supermarket? No, I need an epic story of heroism and struggle and sacrifice. That's the legacy of Chris Redfield!
He didn't realize, but he had been staring into space with his fist raised as he narrated himself. Wesker was looking back at him through the doorway and shaking his head slowly.
thnx for reading my horse dump *throws shade*
