The first time you met Albert, you were the new researcher at the Umbrella facility. He barely acknowledged your presence, those signature sunglasses hiding any hint of interest as he strode past your workstation. But you noticed how he paused, ever so slightly, when he saw the improvements you'd made to his viral stabilization formula.

"Interesting approach," was all he said, but coming from Wesker, it might as well have been a standing ovation.

Over the following weeks, you kept surprising him. You weren't afraid to challenge his theories, to push back when you thought he was wrong.

The first time you made him smile - actually smile - was when you left a detailed critique of his latest research on his desk, complete with playfully sarcastic margin notes. You weren't supposed to have access to those files. You weren't supposed to understand them well enough to find the flaws in his methodology. And you certainly weren't supposed to make Albert Wesker, the man who struck fear into hardened soldiers, chuckle at 3 AM in his private lab.

Soon, late-night research sessions became something more. You'd catch him watching you when he thought you weren't looking. He started finding reasons to be in your section of the lab..

The breakthrough came during a containment breach. As alarms blared and others panicked, you calmly executed emergency protocols, protecting vital research with the same precision he would have. When the crisis was over, he found you in your lab, calmly documenting the incident. "You're different," he said simply, removing his sunglasses. Those remarkable eyes of his locked onto yours. "You understand what we're trying to achieve here. The importance of evolution."

For the first time, someone saw past his grand ambitions to the man underneath - someone who understood both his brilliance and his loneliness. Before either of you realized what was happening, he had crossed the room, pulled you close, and kissed you with an intensity that made the world disappear.