Late Night Confessions - Luis Serra x Reader (Beneath the Rot Part 4)
Summary: After the events of the village, both of you are starting to have your doubts about your employers. Masterlist
The lab is never truly dark.
Even at night, the fluorescent lights refuse to fully die, flickering faintly above him like something that can’t decide whether it wants to keep watching or not. The refrigeration units hum steadily in the walls, mechanical breath filling the spaces between silence.
Luis has long since stopped noticing it. Or at least, he tells himself that.
He doesn’t notice the time either, until you set your bag down a little too heavily beside the workstation and exhale through your nose like you’ve been holding your breath for hours. It makes him check his watch, sighing when he sees that it’s just a touch past eleven at night.
“Long day?” he asks without looking up from the sample notes.
“You say that like there are short ones here,” you reply.
That earns a quiet huff of amusement from him. Not quite a laugh. Something smaller. Still real, though. That’s the problem.
You move around the lab slowly, more tired than you’ve been letting on lately. He notices it in the way you don’t immediately start organizing your tools. The way your fingers hesitate over the sterile tray before setting down your gloves. Eventually, you take your place beside him.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
The parasite under the microscope twitches intermittently, as if reacting to the rhythm of the room. Luis watches it longer than he means to. Watches the way it responds to subtle shifts in light, in sound, in presence.
You break the silence first. “I keep thinking about them.”
He doesn’t ask who. That would be pointless. Instead, he exhales slowly. “The villagers.”
A pause. You nod once. “They don’t feel like ‘subjects’ anymore,” you admit quietly. “Not when you’re actually there.”
Luis leans back slightly in his chair, rolling a pen between his fingers. “That’s the trick,” he says. “If they stayed ‘subjects,’ this would be easy.”
You glance at him then. “Is it easy for you?”
He almost answers immediately. A joke. A deflection. Something sharp enough to keep the question from landing too deep. But it doesn’t come. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
Instead, he just shrugs. That makes the room feel colder somehow. You shift your weight beside him, arms crossing loosely.
“... We’re not the good guys in this situation, are we?”
The question makes a dry laugh fall from his lips. Luis drags a hand down his face, exhaustion scraping against the edges of him harder than usual tonight. The fluorescent lights overhead continue to buzz faintly, cold against the metal tables and glass slides scattered across the workstation.
“Those cultists upstairs really didn’t tell you anything, did they, hermosa?”
The words come out too harsh, almost like an insult. He mentally scolds himself when his tone makes you flinch.
You look away from him, body turning inwards and eyes downcast to the floor. “Just that they’d pay well and that our research would help people.”
The parasite beneath the microscope twitches sharply against the glass slide, tiny limbs flexing in blind instinct. Luis stares at it too long before reaching forward and shutting off the microscope light entirely. Darkness swallows the specimen.
“That’s what they told me too,” Even in the dim light, he feels far too exposed, “I’m not sure I ever believed them, though.”
Your voice is low, “Then why did you stay?”
There it is. The question that he’s been dodging since childhood, it seems. Part of him wants to lie, just like always. To dress up an excuse. Make it all pretty and flirty until you stop asking.
But you’ve been persistent enough that he knows you’ll probably never stop asking.
“At first?” His laugh is faint and humorless. “Because I was curious.”
The confession settles ugly in the air. He watches your expression carefully, expecting disgust. Judgment. Fear. Instead, you just look sad. That somehow feels worse.
“We spent our whole lives being told certain things were impossible,” he says quietly. “Then suddenly someone places proof in front of you. A parasite capable of rewriting biology itself.” His eyes drift toward the darkened microscope. “Do you know how difficult it is for a scientist to walk away from something like that?”
You nod, “I do.” Then, softer, you mutter, “But that doesn’t make this okay.”
“No.” His jaw tightens slightly. “It doesn’t.”
The refrigeration units hum steadily around you both. Luis rubs tiredly at the back of his neck before continuing, voice lower now. “By the time I realized what they actually wanted these things for...” He trails off briefly. “Leaving became complicated.”
Your brows furrow faintly. “Complicated how?”
He glances toward you, crooked smile returning out of pure instinct. Defensive. Automatic. It’s his default face at this point. “Ah, ah. That sounds dangerously close to personal questions again.”
Normally, that would earn at least a small smile from you. Tonight, it doesn’t. You lean closer to the counter instead, arms folding tightly across yourself. “Luis.”
Something about the way you say his name quietly strips the humor right out of him. His gaze drops briefly to the floor.
“I helped build parts of this,” he admits softly.
The words barely make it out. But once they do, they don’t stop.
“The implantation procedures. Neural synchronization trials. Early behavioral conditioning.” His throat feels dry suddenly. “I kept telling myself I could steer the research somewhere safer. More humane.” Another bitter laugh. “Turns out fanatics don’t care much about humane.”
Silence follows. Not shocked silence. Just heavy. Then, after a long moment, you speak.
“I don’t think this is your fault alone.”
Luis looks up sharply at that.
“You still participated,” you continue carefully. “But so did everyone else in this facility.” Your eyes drift briefly toward the dark hallways beyond the lab doors. “The people upstairs created this environment on purpose. They wanted scientists desperate enough to compromise.”
His chest tightens unexpectedly. You are being far kinder than he deserves. Why aren’t you disgusted?
“You’re very bad at hating people,” he says quietly.
A faint smile tugs at your mouth. Tired. Sad. “Occupational hazard.”
His eyes track the way your arms hold yourself, body shivering slightly in the chill around you both. The chill he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get rid of.
“Why have you stayed? Something tells me that this isn’t the first time you’ve thought about all this.”
Your gaze drops briefly toward the darkened microscope. “No,” you admit softly. “It’s not.”
The answer comes easier than he expected. Maybe because you’re tired. Maybe because the lab at midnight has a way of stripping people down to the truth, whether they want it to or not.
You rub absentmindedly at your wrist before continuing. “I kept telling myself I was overreacting at first.” Your laugh is quiet and strained. “That, maybe I just wasn’t used to this kind of research environment.” You gesture vaguely toward the surrounding lab equipment. “Unethical experiments aren’t exactly rare in our field.”
Luis lets out a soft hum of agreement.
“But then we went to the village.” Your expression tightens faintly. “And suddenly it stopped feeling theoretical.”
The words settle heavily between you both. Because he understands exactly what you mean. There’s a difference between data on paper and watching a man’s hands shake while something alive moves beneath his skin.
“You could still leave,” Luis says quietly after a moment.
Your eyes flick toward him immediately. The words that leave you are hollow and empty. “I really can’t.”
Luis stills. He suddenly understands the darkness in your eyes. There's a difference between someone not wanting to leave and someone believing they can’t.
Slowly, he turns toward you fully. “That,” he says carefully, “sounds less like dedication to science and more like blackmail.”
Your mouth twitches faintly at that. Not quite a smile. “I wouldn’t say that,” You murmur lowly, “But I don’t have much of a choice, no.”
He doesn’t miss the way your hands begin to tremble.
He chooses his words carefully, “... What does that cult have on you? Whatever it is-”
You cut him off, “They don’t have anything on me, really. But…” Your exhale is shaky and unsure, “If I leave, then things will go bad for me. I can’t let that happen.”
Even in this light, he can see the way wetness is welling up in your eyes. Without thinking, his arm loops around your shoulders, his body a warm weight against yours.
You stiffen, but he doesn’t let go. “What are you…?”
His other arm slowly comes around you as well, pulling you into his chest, “... One day,” He starts, “One day I’ll get us both out of here, okay?”
Your head shakes, “Luis, I don’t think you understand.”
His hand comes up and pets your hair before he can stop himself, “I don’t, no. I have no idea what’s going on with you, genia. But you’re my friend, and I’m going to help you get out of here.”
For a moment, he almost swears that he feels wetness drop onto his shoulder, and a sniffle falls from your lips to accompany it.
The sound is so small that he almost pretends not to hear it. Almost. Luis has seen people cry before. From pain and fear and grief. Usually loudly. Usually ugly. But this?
This feels different. You’re trying so hard not to let him notice. Something about that hurts worse.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. The laboratory hums around you endlessly, lights flickering overhead while refrigeration units breathe cold air into the silence. Somewhere deeper in the facility, machinery rattles behind the walls like distant thunder.
And still, you stay folded against him. Luis realizes, distantly, that this is probably the first genuinely human thing either of you have experienced in weeks. Maybe longer.
Carefully, he rests his chin against the top of your head. “Hey,” he murmurs softly, voice stripped of most of its usual teasing warmth now. “No llores, hermosa.”
You let out a shaky breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “I’m not crying.”
“Mm.” His hand smooths absentmindedly over your hair again. “Of course not. And I’m the pope.”
That finally earns a weak snort against his shoulder. There you are. The relief that flickers through him at hearing it again is embarrassingly genuine.
After another quiet moment, your voice comes muffled against his chest. “You shouldn’t make promises like that.”
Luis’s brows furrow faintly. “Like what?”
“Getting us out.” Your fingers tighten briefly against the fabric of his coat. “People don’t leave places like this.”
The certainty in your tone unsettles him more than the words themselves. For the first time since meeting you, he realizes your fear may run deeper than the laboratory. Deeper than Saddler. Like this place didn’t just trap you physically. Like something else already convinced you escape was impossible long before you arrived here.
Luis exhales slowly through his nose. “Well,” he says quietly, “good thing I’ve always had terrible judgment.”
You huff another faint laugh, though it trembles at the edges.
He pulls back just enough to look down at you properly. Your eyes are glassy with exhaustion, your expression worn thin beneath the harsh laboratory lighting. God. When was the last time either of you actually slept?
“You know,” he says softly, thumb brushing beneath one of your eyes before he can think better of it, “for someone claiming they aren’t crying, this isn’t very convincing acting.”
Your brows pinch together immediately. “Luis.”
“There she is,” he murmurs, smiling faintly. “I was worried the personality had died.”
You roll your eyes weakly, but you don’t pull away from him entirely. Progress. For a while, the two of you simply stand there beside the darkened microscope and scattered research notes, suspended in the strange quiet that only exists very late at night. The kind where honesty slips out easier because both people are too tired to keep carrying it properly. The warmth between you is comforting and safe, even as you continue trying not to sniffle in his arms.
Eventually, you glance toward the workstation again. Toward the stacks of notes detailing synchronization rates and behavioral degradation and parasite adaptation. All the terrible things both of you helped measure. Your expression dims.
“What happens if we keep going?” you ask quietly.
Luis follows your gaze. He knows what you’re really asking.
What happens to the villagers?
What happens to the research?
What happens to them?
His jaw tightens faintly. “I think,” he says slowly, “eventually there won’t be enough left of these people to save.”
The words hang in the air like smoke. You swallow hard beside him.
Then, quietly, “And us?”
That question hits harder. Luis looks at you for a long moment before answering. “I don’t know.”
It’s the most honest thing he’s said all night. Your eyes drift shut briefly, exhaustion pulling at every line of your face. Without thinking much about it, Luis guides you toward the chair beside the workstation and nudges it lightly with his foot.
“Sit,” he says gently.
You blink up at him. “Are you giving me orders now?”
“Absolutely.” A faint grin tugs at his mouth. “I’m a terrifying authority figure.”
“You flirt during emotional breakdowns. That’s deeply concerning behavior.”
He clicks his tongue, “Ah, but it’s charming concerning behavior.”
That finally earns a real laugh from you. Quiet and tired, but real. God help him, there it is again. That warmth in his chest. Dangerous thing.
You sink reluctantly into the chair while he reaches automatically for the abandoned paperwork scattered across the counter. Sample reports. Implantation observations. Behavioral notes. For the first time in a long time, Luis looks at them and feels tired all the way down to his bones.
Beside him, your voice softens again. “Luis?”
“Hm?”
“If you ever do figure out how to leave…” You hesitate briefly. “Don’t stay because of me.”
He stills. Then he snorts quietly, shaking his head as he gathers the papers into a messy stack. “Too late, princesa,” he smiles.
But the joke lands too softly to hide the truth underneath it anymore.
Taglist: @animegamerfox , @kashasenpai , @koressecretidentity , @nocturnalstar , @burnoutpisces
