Work Text:
Frozen from Death, awaken His Peace
Ethan’s feet stood buried deep in soft, gently biting snow underneath him, feeling every bit of it brush against his fingers, every little flake melting by his flesh with every so little movement of his cold being.
He took a light breath, sharp air breezing into his lungs, cutting their rotten walls. Ethan felt the same cruel wind run through his golden-lined hair as it messed up his locks, little dots of black Charcoal landing by his enthralling dumortierite eyes, littered by the grimy air.
And the same grimy air that swathed together, from far lands the mountain Ethan Winters stood at, the cliff he were to be approaching. There were masses of sharp razor mountains colored by dusty black. The ones in the far distance, the ones that hid behind a thick yet some-parts ripped blanket of fog seemed to be reaching the skies, burying in their comfort. There was only one ridge that stood by Ethan’s right.
His musing, pierce, fair, rich eyelets crashed the blank nothingness. He felt so tired. He felt his lids closing.
And in the everlasting silence, where he should be hearing his own heart beating in his ears, his own heartbeat , his own .. – instead, as destiny cruel-ed, if he listened in, there he would to reveal a flooding yet in the first place – crying, spreading, wanting, murmuring mass, weeping to power – the mold.
Ethan feels what the mold feels.
And when the mold refuses to feel the dry of Ethan’s lips that reddened with drops of black blood caused by the salty so freezing cold that takes a bite out of his lips every passing second – he doesn’t.
There was so much yet, there was nothing.
This space, this unreal millennium for a view of nothing. The place represented nothing. That has the mold become of Ethan. Nothing. It was all his imagination, his world to be at peace yet the mask broke truth crackling beneath.
It was his place to be, it was his place to think, it was –
“Time for you to leave your little world, Ethan.”
A voice, sinister and greed–painted voice tore his ears with its song. A voice belonging to a perfect failure of an experiment stomped into ground.
Ethan grumbled as he opened his eyes, sighing with disgust when his dead eyes failed to bore bedlam of Albert Wesker. The man of word leaned over the tired blonde as he sat on the very side of Ethan’s generous bedding, the cruel brute staying leeping in awaiting silence as he dug his way into Ethan’s own gasping soul, searching for his mind and thoughts wanting to see through him.
Ethan has never taken a liking of it, of course. He angrily wiggled underneath the sharpened gaze with his own bitter expression, humming a low tune of disagreement as his eyes wandered to sides away from the man. He knew what the doomed experiment’s immediate answer to avoiding would be – that’s why the blonde offered no surprise when Wesker grabbed him by the jaw and somehow gently leaned his head back towards him while his nails dug into the dead-man’s skin.
The younger blonde furrowed his brows as sunrise washed its light-tails over his face from behind the curtains, gifting his dim eyes a piece of light for at least a moment. Wesker squeezed his flawed hand around Ethan’s jaw before finally letting go.
Narrowing his head and fixing his judging leer, Ethan brought up an idle hand to rub at his eyes, shooing away the sleep. Wesker hummed by his throat at that and touched a cold hand onto the other blonde’s skin, sliding his digits up over to Ethan’s nice, golden hair before twisting at tangled locks and rubbing, touching at what wasn’t his. What didn’t belong to him but did. The filthy hand made its way down to the same-numb cheek while it touched its prize and now possession, burning its power into it. Ethan felt it. Of course, he did. After all, Wesker only was the one to ever make Ethan feel touch. He grabbed the man’s wrist, weakly attempting to push it away from his form. There were no words spoken between them yet. There weren’t many after all on these days anyway.
A strain of amusement tingled on Wesker’s features at the poor attempt,
“Darling, darling, wake up, will you?” he harshened as he pitched a finger at his sensitive eyes, “It’s time to get out of your bed, don’t you have things to do today?” Wesker utters, almost as if he was blaming him. Ethan shot him an angry look, about to argue when the man atop him simply covered his eyes with his palm to shut him off any unwanted argument.
Despite so, Ethan grits his teeth, grabbing the hand and forcing it out of his face by a rough movement, “No, I don’t.” he hisses. “You give me things to do, have you forgotten? You-“Ethan spat out, suddenly so furious with the speaking overrun rat. “Leave me alone.” He muttered, placed in a nasty mood and no shape to even be in the presence of this menace. He yearned to turn around from him so he could be bound back to the peaceful world of his.
“I don’t believe you’d want that, you molded thing.” Wesker mumbles against his ear and leans up to straighten his back. Ethan says none and turns his head side to obviously ignore the lean imbecile, brushing his fingers into his silk covers and gazing fondly at his windows. His nose curls when a long finger pinches it to bring back his attention, “Don’t.” Ethan grimaces when those filthy hands roam beneath his tired neck and drag him upwards, hoisting the younger man’s arms over Wesker’s shoulders to bring him closer.
Oh, what would Chris say to him right now.
“Tell me, then, what is it that you want to do today, Mr. Winters?” Wesker surprisingly offers. Moments like these didn’t happen often, the hypocrite usual set his own pace so Ethan didn’t really know how to react. He only buried his face further into the side of the man’s neck and remained silent for a moment, eyes searching for an answer in nothingness.
“I want to get away from you.” The charming blonde proposed sharply, pleasant tunes of his voice closely haunting to Wesker’s ear who only leaned his head into golden hairs and huffed at those so little words. “And I want to sleep, yeah.” Ethan mutters, remorseful.
Wesker doesn’t voice his thoughts, instead leaning the smaller blonde against the fair headboard behind him. Ethan nudges at his side and raises a brow, “I brought you your morning meals, Ethan.” The man answered, obviously working his fingers into the silver tray, revealing the infectious‘ meal.
Mocking he was perhaps, but Ethan didn’t seem to put a heavy care onto it.
He looked at the moron who sat by his side and reached a hand a bit forward, pitching a naked finger into a pinch bowl full of cranberry relish that sat on his bedside table and pointed it towards the experiment’s face.
By the side of his hand, he shoved the black glasses off the man’s face onto the carpet beneath him. Wesker slowly turned his eyes to him but before he could react a finger pitched right into his eye and then, he felt the same finger brush down to over his cheek, through his lips and making its way to the other side. The finger pitched his other eye and ran from up to down on the first one, the same work done on the other a pity second later.
Retreating his finger, a bit, cleaning it off on the dark uniform, Wesker stared at him with absolutely nothing written on his face as Ethan Winters smiled at him sweetly. The sun didn’t shine brighter than his eyes that moment.
“You’re a clown, now.” He laughed at him for the remaining of the day.