Night

concrete jungles

fanart by Midonix they are the literal best ok bye
(Thank you for making them look so badass this is amazing)

Howling ghost they reappear
In mountains that are stacked with fear
But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart.
-Monsters and Men, King and Lionheart

Dan

Say it.

A voice in the back of my mind is driving me crazy, bombarding me with thoughts of the familiar boy next to me.

Say it.

There's something ironic in being able to confirm so much that I'm feeling in the moments that exist hours, days even after I'd denied their existence. My life, it seems, is one giant mistake after the other and I have no way of helping that, but the words won't go away. The ceiling fan above our heads hangs motionless and I wish it would turn, willing it to spin so I could cast my gaze to the motion. To something, anything else.

I swear I do. I know you can't see it, but it's all I can think about, Phil.

It's my own voice nagging me, which is why it's so maddening. There's just no way I can do that. The simple, loaded phrase that I knew was true before I could even put a word to it. I can't make myself voice it aloud, but when I think of saying it, I know it's true. With everyone around us, I can't say it anyway.

I love you.

It hit me while we were walking back to the apartment, Cat slightly pissed but grateful under the surface that we were okay and the three of us walking away from that bar, leaving last night and all that drunkenly happened with it behind. The air between Phil and I felt odd but not in a bad way- it was warm, magnetic, charged with a strange mix of nervous yet seemingly impossible calm, I couldn't put my finger on why at first it felt so strange.

So much had happened. So many secrets that weren't meant to escape were sprung free. Why wasn't I uncomfortable? Why did I feel relieved, rather than scared in the aftermath? Phil knows everything short of his being the object of my attractions, yet even with our half-life there I found myself stepping in to press us closer, fingers aching with the painful need to wind through his, to feel the warmth of their weight against my own.

Overwhelming. Intoxicating.

But also... liberating. Because it's a part of me. It feels good to be able to actually accept something within myself for maybe the first time in my life.

We passed the Starbucks on the way back. Our Starbucks, which Cat of course didn't spare a second glance. It caused a dull thud in my heart and it made my head clear in a moment. Memories floated up of Christmas lights and drifting flakes and a stupid cupcake with chocolate dot eyes, the first meaningful gift I'd ever gotten and receiving it from Phil, right by the door of this very place. The thought, it didn't happen in a dramatic way, there was no profound revelation. In fact, I don't even think an expression crossed my face.

Just passing that place again, on top of all the other memories I had now, ones of Phil's high school boy story and bittersweet wine and lips pressed to the skin of my forehead, it all suddenly meant something. He met my eyes briefly in acknowledgment of our shared past when we crossed by it, even this small part of the past housed in that derelict building, and just that glance- like it had always been obvious- drew out the words from my mind and made me think it for the first time.

I love you. I've loved you all along.

That was it, free of dramatics it was just the simple truth. The thought didn't even linger when we arrived at our destination, washed away by the nerves of explaining ourselves and then later, the introduction to the kids. It was a comfortable, simple given, meant for him and him only to know. It was only when the formalities were gone and we settled into quiet again that it floated back up, and time wears on, a humming silence in which it's found my thoughts again.

Now, hours later, he's being treated to several minutes of solid quiet as I keep my mouth stubbornly shut, not sure what I'll say if I open it. The quiet isn't good because now I'm saturating in that memory, blocking out less appealing thoughts in favor of letting him take over my mind.

He looks totally content if not a bit absent, sitting off to the side with me while our friends are huddled closely around the table, actually writing on scraps of magazine paper trying to construct any small sort of pathetic plan. The sofa is just long enough that Phil and I aren't pressed together, but it's hardly an accident that our elbows and knees end up brushing occasionally all the same.

It's no secret that we need to come up with some course of action for how to move forward soon. Pressure is piling on all of us to come up with something, because PJ and Chris are in more danger every day, and yet we haven't been presented with any real solution. I'd meant to be part of the discussion but just the idea of trying to devise a fruitless plan makes my still somewhat foggy head hurt. So here I am instead.

I look at his hands, one on the armrest of the sofa and one just lying palm down at his side, trying not to succumb to frustration. My fingers twitch as I consider the middle school move, imagining I could just shift a little bit to the left with my hand out and just accidentally let them thread together with his. It's sorely tempting, imaging the way my anxious heartbeat would calm. Except I could never pull that off, it's not exactly like me to offer anything to him unless he's upset or if I'm drunk, apparently. Never have I been so angry with my own existence.

I begin tapping my fingers restlessly, fingertips thudding on the fabric of my jeans as I try to reason with myself. It's hotter than usual today and I just can't concentrate, my pre-apocalypse tendency towards procrastination trying to pretend there is no problem, that nobody's lives are on the line and I can just tuck it all away for the time being.

As for Phil, I would blame the fact that I can't say it face to face with him on the issue that we've been quiet so long that I'd literally be blurting it randomly, but I know that's just an excuse. I'd had plenty of time before.

"Tapping." Phil says suddenly, and I give him a questioning look as he gazes at me from his side of the sofa, which prompts him to follow up, probably realizing a one word statement doesn't give me much to go off of.

"You're tapping again." He gestures to my fingers which I still self-consciously, and he indicates them with a spread of his hands. "That means you're thinking about something and it's driving you crazy. What are you thinking about?"

What I'm thinking about is probably not something he'd be able to understand exactly. I'd like to come up with something clever or sarcastic to come back at him with, something mildly interesting, but my mind feels fuzzy and stupid, too-warm and slow from the goddamn hangover I'm trying to pretend doesn't exist.

I can't help but give him a small smile as his bright eyes meet mine, simply not wanting him to worry and taken aback a bit at how pretty he looks. I can guarantee I look like a wreck, if Felix's expression upon seeing me this afternoon when we made it bck home is anything to go off of. I see him brighten visibly at the expression, then I panic, redirecting my focus onto my hands.

"You." I blurt honestly, making him start a bit.

His mouth hangs open comically for a second, but he shuts it twice as fast. "Me?"

My heart starts beating faster out of nerves but he can't see it. All he sees on my expression is an ocean of calm. Sometimes I forget how well he can read my body language by this point, it makes me wish I could still wipe my face clean of any feeling. Unfortunately for me, my mind and body are no longer cooperating.

"Yes, Phil." I confirm, rolling my eyes. "I do that from time to time."

It's interesting really. My voice sounds rather nonchalant.

"But you look like your brain's caving in or something." He observes haltingly, sounding concerned and not entirely convinced by my facade. "I don't think I would merit that amount of problem."

"Wow, thanks." I exclaim, offended by the observation. "I'm allowed to think about you! And also, it's not driving me crazy. I'm-"

"-yes, yes, I know." He teases. "You're fine. You're always fine. You're a block of wood with no soul, and nobody knows the strug-"

I shove him and he loses his balance, thudding his side against the armrest and gripping my elbow to stop the fall. He raises his head to shoot back at me but then falters as soon as he meets my eyes, expression going shy so abruptly I have to avert my eyes to conceal the blush on my cheeks. Suddenly his hand on my arm feels incredibly intimate and he quickly lets go, whereas I'm stuck frozen with a flustered look on my face. It takes me a few seconds to look back up.

He nods with a weak half-smile when I do and then turns back to eye the backs of the men at the table, speaking in low voices about the innerworkings of the government. It's not an awkward exchange but I feel on edge all the same, noticing his demeanour and comparing it to the usual one. He looking at them so intently you'd thinking they were talking about Muse or something. You know, something other than not dying.

Just as fleetingly as our normal banter has recovered, it's sputtered out again. The stupid thing is, this has been going on all day. Every touch feels double-edged, laced with hidden meaning. At least mine do. I know everything I say and do around him now is a cleverly controlled concealing mechanism, seeing how far I can get to let out what I'm feeling internally while trying to read him in turn. I can't pretend I didn't like some of what happened last night when our barriers were broken down. That entire night, it's done something to both of us.

The worst part is, I know he's not oblivious. I can tell by the way he's acting. The drunken words, the truths and confessions, he remembers all of it. All I can really do is wait, considering I told him I don't remember. I'm kicking myself now for telling him I didn't remember. Like as not, he does, and now I have to watch his behaviour and see how he's acting around me. Already he's distant, but I don't know if he means to be. Maybe distant is the wrong word. He's aware. He's cautious.

I think back to the blur of this morning, my mind slightly hazy on the exact specifics but pretty much there as a whole.

What do you remember? He'd asked me after we'd woken up, the drink's influence finally gone from our minds. For the most part.

It's all kind of fuzzy. I'd replied, along with some vague recollections. Apparently he remembered our you're gay im kinda gay conversation, which is mortifying enough on its own. I'm glad he didn't ask for more detail, because I remember how off-kilter I'd felt last night, and though I hadn't exactly lied to him, I wasn't telling him everything either.

Last night, I thought several times about kissing him.

I wanted to kiss him when he had my cheek in his hand, my head in his lap and his eyes cast down on me all drunken and cute. I wanted to kiss him when he asked me if I'd ever been in love, definitely. I especially wanted to kiss him when I brought him close and felt his breath across my lips, but I knew that that was wrong and brushed it off with a joke instead, just so he didn't get freaked out or anything. Logical mind won over impulse. I suppose in hindsight just wanted to know if I could get that far. Now, in broad daylight and full consciousness, it feels incredibly stupid. Imagine if I pulled that now!

He asked me who the right guy was. Just a joke before I'd gotten anywhere, but how could he have possibly been oblivious enough to not know it was him? I wanted ask that very question, but I didn't. I might have drunk and uninhibited, but I was still fucking terrified.

Dan, have you ever been in love?

Wouldn't it have been something- to just dive forward right after the question left his mouth and and cut him off there, bringing my lips to his and answering that way. Now I wish I did, but I'm also highly relieved that I didn't. Because if it went wrong I would never forgive myself. I don't want to risk my friendship with Phil for anything, and I certainly still knew that then. That knowledge is stronger than any drink.

It feels like a disease, the way this takes over my mind now. Was it lying, really? Or was I just protecting us both, keeping the recollections to myself? I guess I know it's wrong, but honestly when I recall the events of the night, I feel like I took advantage of him.

It's scary to know that I love him, having to keep it inside and repress it garners a similar feeling to repressing my sadness and stress. It's another hidden secret to contend with, another thing I cannot let show blatantly on my face. But it's almost worse somehow. It hurts because it's connected to Phil. With my other burdens, Phil can share it. But with this burden, he can't. Is it selfish of me to wish he could? No matter what course of action I take everything comes back to him.

But then at the same time, people are dying out there. I shouldn't even be thinking about this. But I can't pretend last night didn't happen. I can't conceal the fact that with every plan to put ourselves out there to rescue our friends or storm the confederation, Phil's prospects of safety go down. It's not just that I'm in love with him; there was a whole friendship before that. Like it or not he's the only person left from my old life and above all he's what matters more than my life in general, and no matter the greater good or the responsibilities I have it's not just a fear or obligation I can ignore. In a way it's all connected, and it's making it hard to think.

Last night felt like something different, a grace period in which for the first time ever, he not only accepted the fact that I was flirting with him, but responded. Now I'm stuck here dissecting his reactions, trying to figure out what he meant on his side of the story, and it's proving harder than I'd thought.

"Phil?" A small voice inquires.

Phil snaps to attention at once, face lighting into an excited expression as he turns his head to acknowledge the sound. James comes wandering into the room with and armful of toys and a grin on his face, the horror of the apocalypse somehow lost in favour of what I can only describe as joy.

From the looks of it, he found the animals in a drawer in one of the bedrooms, probably the one with the bunk bed and the toys scattered all over the place. I try not to think of the child that must have lived here before this and how his stuff is up for grabs now, focusing instead on the way my friend leans forward to observe him.

"Look at all these dinosaurs I found!" He says excitedly."there's a pterodactyl and a stegosaurus and a liopleurodon."

Of course I remember some things from my childhood but that one word's gone completely over my head. I stare at the small collection of plastic creatures in his hands and note that not all of them are actually dinosaurs.

"A leo...what?" I mumble.

He doesn't seem to hear me though, dropping the toys on the floor and picking up a bigger one, edging it along the couch and towards Phil's knee.

"Look... it's T-Rex." He whispers menacingly.

The green lizardlike toy is nudged forward, simulating a hunter's prowl. I can see Micheal, James's older brother sitting on the couch opposite us, reading a book and very obviously wanting to be left alone. Unlike his brother, who hardly ever stops talking, I've hardly heard a word out of the kid yet. The last few hours have definitely been louder with the kids talking occasionally back and forth, but like me, Micheal doesn't seem to take to strangers any better than I'd expect someone to.

Phil raises his eyebrows. "Oh no." He sounds concerned and adorably into whatever this kid's imagining, watching as the dinosaur toy gets bounced up his knee. "What's he gonna do?"

Jamie's eyebrows cinch together and he stops to think about it, looking at the thing in his hand.

"He's gonna climb up the mountain." He decides. "You're the mountain. He needs to get to the top so he can spot his prey far away."

"Ah." Phil says with a nod, following the dinosaur with his eyes as it inches past his leg and up onto his shoulder. James rests the creature on Phil's shoulder and starts muttering to himself, voicing the T-Rex's internal monologue as it looks down at the scattered toys below.

"This is a tall mountain." I hear him mumble. "I can see all of the forest from here. Everything on the ground is mine."

Phil laughs softly and glances over at me, scrunching up his neck slightly as James raises his arm and accidentally whacks him on the head with the toy's plastic tail. He's smiling softly like he genuinely enjoys a small child he barely knows climbing toys up his head, and it makes my heart falter.

"That's one way of pointing out I'm tall." He jokes. I just shake my head, too awkward to add to this conversation. It doesn't matter anyway as Phil is quickly occupied by the kid playing on him, his expression much more relaxed than it had been just minutes ago.

This at least is the one good thing has come out of having Earring's kids here-
They serve as a distraction, an odd kind of interruption to the seriousness of life. They wander the flat and keep out of the way of the adult conversation, yet always seem to be in the corner of my vision. James especially seems to have no issue with us since his dad trusts us, seeing how every time something remotely eventful has crossed his mind today he's made it his duty to announce to either me or Phil.

It's strange, being able to see what Phil is like with kids. It's honestly something I'd never thought about before, never considered I'd ever be able to see. He seems to have a natural way with the boy, responding to his thoughts with enthusiasm and witty replies, while I fumble to even answer half the time because my mind doesn't know how.

Personally, I just see kids as another group of people, and people in general make me anxious. Talking to a child is no less a form of refined socialization than anything else, so it's with rapt fascination that I observe his interactions with James, who seems delighted by the response he's getting. Phil looks happier than he did moments ago, more spirited, and he interacts with the kid effortlessly even though technically, they barely know each other. To me it's confusing.

Then suddenly I'm included, the thunk of a brontosaurus toy hitting me in the shoulder snapping me back to attention.

"There's going to be an earthquake." James whispers, speaking to me like he's giving me a warning. He climbs up onto the middle couch cushion and sits down right next to me, blue eyes boring into mine with urgency. "We have to protect all the animals, or T-Rex will eat them during the storm!"

Considering he's only just met me this morning, the boy seems to have no concerns about strangers and personal space. He's leaning his side against my shoulder and has a dinosaur pressed on top of my shoulder, now observing Phil in the way they'd observed the ground. I can practically imagine the startled deer expression on my face, cursing myself but also frozen in place.

I look to Phil helplessly to get some kind of indication of what I should do, but to my dismay he just grins at my incompetence. What do I even say to James? What does he want to hear?

"Mt. Daniel's about to have an earthquake!" Phil exclaims, face alight with mock-horror. I shoot him a death glare.

He smiles and lunges forward, gripping my shoulders in each hand and squeezing while James screeches in mock fear.

"It starts with little earth tremors." Phil mumbles. I widen my eyes but it doesn't stop him from rocking me from side to side, pushing me around as James exclaims excitedly. "And then the ground starts to shake." Now he's shaking me around, I stay sitting in place, completely helpless as my vision blurs at the motion, his fingers digging into my arm. What's he doing? Pretending I'm some kind of mountain?

"Watch out." He warns. "Soon there's going to be lava."

I can see him moving his hand devilishly to tickle my neck and that's when I snap back to my senses, jerking away.

"Let go of me!" I exclaim, shoving him aside and laughing as he falls clumsily. He laughs too and gives my shoulder one last defiant shove, exclaiming jokingly.

"An eruption!" He cries.

I grin at him. "Shut up."

And it's like for a moment, I completely forget about the stupid game, like time has slowed to a still. Our banter fades to be replaced by a gaze instead, and then while I'd only meant to laugh at his joke, now I can't stop looking at him.

He looks so happy, an actual joyous expression on his face despite all the fears and uncertainties we're stuck with. My face goes slack in what's probably the dumbest expression I've ever worn. I fall back against the couch cushion slightly as gravity takes over, and I feel the pressure of his hand on my skin to keep me from falling down.

His fingers curl around my arm rather than pulling away and vaguely I feel James slouch off the couch to sit on my foot, enacting some kind of dinosaur battle while my mind is completely distracted, round blue eyes and raised eyebrows greeting my fixed look. And instead of remaining still, Phil shifts closer.

His gaze flicks over to our friends, but they all have their backs to us. Perhaps emboldened or just less self-conscious because of this, he reaches an arm around my waist and nudges his head into the crook of my shoulder, an innocent, affectionate motion of relaxation, and that's when my heart bursts into giddy beats, the reason behind the reaction undeniable.

It's like an immense amount of calm washes over me, the question of whether yesterday's events meant I had to distance from him thankfully vanishing, replaced instead with this silent confirmation that he's not going anywhere. I melt into the touch, resting my head against the side of his where it's pressed into my neck and darting my eyes around everywhere, suddenly unable to focus on any singular thing. At first my gaze is cast to the floor, but then I hear a surprised sound.

It's then that my eyes travel up, my heart skipping a beat as my eyes lock with Cat's. Her expression is unreadable and almost instantly she tries to rearrange it into something more casual when she realizes I'm watching, raising an eyebrow at me questioningly, perplexed.

It makes me tense but I can't bring myself to break the promise I've already broken, especially since- bad as it sounds- it's only Cat. She can wonder all she wants about our situation. It's everyone else that I don't want encroaching for whatever reason. I squeeze Phil's shoulder reassuringly and even though I can't see his face, I'm sure he smiles.

"Guys! Guys!" Jamie squeals. Phil blinks and abruptly backs away, snapping back to reality. He sits back quickly and I can see the colour on his face, the dawning self-awareness that we're not alone and there's an audience. It makes me want to drag him away and have him all to myself, greedily. I can feel the physical space between us. It burns.

"Wh-wha?" Phil asks him distractedly.

"We need to hide! There's lava!" His little hands shoot up to grab mine and Phil's and he pulls on my wrist, trying to get me to sit up and keep playing with him. Now Mark and Earring do turn their heads to look at us, the kid's insistent voice urging us to follow. "Come on! It's safe in the bedroom."

Mark turns back to keep talking but I can see him looking back at me occasionally out of the corner of his eye. We can't exactly get up and avoid the situation anymore than we already are, and I see Phil's hesitation.

"We can't go." I mumble to Phil. "We're already ignoring the group discussion, we can't just ditch them to play with dinosaurs."

James jumps up hyperactively and starts running around the room, holding a toy in each hand, but turns when he realizes we aren't following him.

He jumps back onto the sofa, grabbing hold of my shoulder. "C'mon, Dan!"

The touch startles me and I just stare at him blankly, unable to think of a response. "Uh..."

"Phil! Phil!" He pleads, seeming to finally catch on to the fact that I'm the less likeable one of the two just like everyone else. Really, I'm surprised the kid even remembers our names considering he's been in proximity to us for mere hours. Phil makes the mistake of making eye contact with him, dinosaurs being placed on both shoulders.

"Stop bugging them." Micheal mutters suddenly.

I turn my head to see him lift his eyes from the battered book he'd been reading, pulling his knees closer to himself and brushing the dark hair out of his face. James looks at his brother in surprise but grins at him hopefully, holding up the toys in either hand.

"Huh?"

"Those are just pieces of plastic." Micheal tells him sharply. "You're too old to be playing with toys now. Especially in a zombie apocalypse."

Despite the fact that only moments before I'd been uncomfortable about the idea of actively being a part of James's games, I can't help but frown at the the idea of his bit of normalcy being so dismissively snuffed out. Micheal himself is probably ten at the oldest, and it feel weird to hear someone so young dismissing the idea of clinging to childhood.

"They're just toys." James, protests quietly.

"They're useless." Micheal snaps. "Grow up."

I can see the moment the coldness in his brother's voice hits the younger boy, his features falling and his eyes casting down to the toy in his hands. It hits me for whatever reason, the dull feeling. The impact of Michael's words. I can see Phil stilled in shock.

For the first time since he arrived, Micheal meets our eyes briefly with a flat expression and then looks back to his book, holding it closer to his face as if to hide it, and James goes quiet.

"Hey." Cat speaks up. "Dan? Phil?" We need you over here."

The voice makes me jump and I remember where I am and what our situation is, the brief distraction of James making me forget I have to actually think about how I have to balance my life and the greater good now.

I groan and sit up reluctantly, not sure I really want to hear anything if they haven't gotten any further. Phil stands up and wanders to my side, my eyes going to James who looks oddly sad, his arms hung at his sides now. I feel bad, even as I pull up a chair at the table and see the way he curls up silently in the couch corner by himself. The toys sit in his lap, his previously cheery expression just fixed on his stoic brother now.

Our friends' backs have done a good job at concealing the actual chaos of their brainstorming. Dirty bowls from lunch sit pushed off to the side and all the plans have been written on a sheet of slightly smudged paper, Felix has a water bottle from the confederation bunker in his hand still partially filled that he's sipping from.

Everybody glances at us briefly as we sit down but no one actually spares a word, the room is silent and I wait for someone to speak.

"Right. Down to business." Earring exchanges a glance with his brother and then looks back to us. The look in his eye suggests we're about to be proposed something, a knot of tension already settling in my stomach in anticipation.

"You have to remember that, despite your apparently one hundred percent safe walk you went on-" he glances at Phil and I purposefully, but even despite some of the awkwardness resulting from last nights events, I can't bring myself to regret them. "-We're still in confederation territory, and they definitely want you."

I can tell he's not trying to make our actions the focus of that sentence, but I can't help but feel like I'm being chastised.

"Look, you can stop reminding us that what we did was dangerous." I point out. "There's more pressing things to think about and we already know what we did."

"Dan." Phil warns me, but nobody seems to hear him.

"How about you just stay with the group and not separate when there's such a possibility of dying." Beard retorts. Before I can shoot back at that, his brother cuts over him.

"Needless to say," Earring says sharply, "we need to move on."

I open my mouth but Phil grabs my wrist under the table, gently silencing my racing mind. "What's the idea?" He asks hurriedly and I grit my teeth, not ready to let that argument drop.

Felix catches my eye subtly and I see him nod unexpectedly, almost like a silent understanding. It's weird that it comforts me to know he supports me, since I'm not about to apologize for needing to leave life behind for a day, especially when they dropped what they did on me. But he doesn't hate me. What's weirder still is that, for whatever reason, I don't hate him either.

His eyes go back to the table, but I'm still looking at him until someone speaks up.

"So there's a survivor camp in this part of the city." Earring tells us. "The confeds leave them alone because they've agreed to stay out of the group's business and they grow some small crops in exchange for the land."

He glances at us to check if we're following, then keeps talking.

"I think they'll let us stay there if we ask the right people. There's a guy there that owes me a favour."

I try to imagine putting our lives into the hands of strangers again. Wirrow had claimed not to be part of the confederation, yet he's dedicated to following us now. The idea that we not only have to risk our lives to find this camp but then also assume it's safe seems far too much like grasping at straws to be comfortable to me.

"Our only other option is to try and sneak into their buildings, knowing that we have no idea where neither Chris nor PJ are." Mark inputs, noticing the look on my face.

"Which you'd know if you'd actually been a part of the discussion." Beard mutters. I shrug, too tired to argue this.

"So that's the plan here." He says quietly. "Dan?"

"It's great." I say flatly. "Fantastic. Let me know when you want me to sacrifice myself."

"What?" Several of them shoot me a confused look and I raise my eyebrows, wondering if once again I'm the only one who's thinking anymore.

"The last time we were asked to come stay with a group of survivors, Wirrow was planning to kidnap us and we got locked in a room for days." I remind them irritably. "We got separated from everyone and forced into a party and a girl had Phil-"

I stop myself as Phil's body goes tense at the memory, but to my surprise he lowers his shoulders and nods tightly.

"We were forced to drink, then drugged." He says quietly. "And the people around us still knew we weren't one of them. A girl... took advantage of that."

There's silence for a few seconds as his words sink in, and even then, only Mark seems to catch the attachment.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He breathes quietly, a sudden comprehension on his face. Our friends still look confused but Mark's words are probably giving them a good guess, the atmosphere almost tangible.

"She didn't get to do too much of anything." Phil says quickly. "She didn't touch me or anything, just kissed me, a-and..." he looks right into Mark's eyes and I realize Mark knows us better now than everyone but Cat does, and he's the only one who does. "You'd know why that felt worse than it already would have."

Mark's the only one besides us three that knows about Phil. His expression darkens instantly at Phil's revelation, perfectly reflecting how I feel about it too.

Felix is gaping at us, just now hearing this story. I don't even know why happened to them that night.

"It's not ideal." Earring agrees. "But as far as I know, is all we've got."

I think back to how we got here, driving in the brothers' truck and then depositing it miles back and completing the walk on foot. We have an entire vehicle at out disposal, it seems stupid to go around traipsing the city.

"Why can't we just get the truck?" Phil asks almost as soon as it crosses my mind, leaving me wondering if he's just on a very similar wavelength to me or if we need to stop spending so much time together.

Beard frowns at him and I feel almost defensive, it's not Phil's job to know the confederation in-depth.

"You don't drive here." Beard explains. The explanation is ready-made. "The confederation vehicles are the only ones in Broxbourne area that are allowed to exist."

Of course they are. This are of the city is so heavily controlled, it's amazing we haven't run into more people yet.

"anyone else will get stopped and interrogated by practically everyone, or stolen by gangs." He continues.

"Wow." I grumble. "Because I really would rather get jumped by a gang."

I can see my friends nodding along at this, but the brothers don't look fazed.

"Trust me. Gangs, we can handle. We know this part of the city like the back of our hand." Earring reminds us. "We won't get lost. We'll leave in an hour, gives us time to move before sundown."

He glances around the table as if looking for anyone objecting to this plan, but with no others forthcoming, there's nothing but silence. He slides his gun off the table and stows it away in his pocket, securing the clip before addressing us.

"We're gonna crash at an abandoned gas station and then walk the rest of the way to the camp tomorrow." He concludes. "You have until then to pack."

~~~

"Pack up our meager possessions." Phil mutters to me later. We're in the flat's bathroom, me sitting on the counter and Phil leant against it next to me, observing his reflection in the mirror and combing through his fringe with his fingers.

It's a narrow room, smaller than my bedroom at university and about as effective, but I'm basking in this window of time where everyone's still getting ready, even the kids, and I get to just be here with Phil, letting him clean his face with a damp cloth and and sit in this claustrophobic space where it's quiet. They're not necessary tasks but they seem to calm him, and now he's moved to his hair, just fiddling with it in the impulsive way he always used to back when we were just friends hanging out at his flat.

It's nice, a little bit of a luxury almost to see him revert to his rare fussy side that would sometimes present itself back in the day. Phil as a general person is and was not a person who placed a lot of value in appearance, at least in contrast to other things, but with his hair he's always had a tendency to adjust it whenever he can see it. Add to the list of things I didn't realize I'd noticed about him all these years until recently, Phil Lester tends to play with his hair.

We have about fifteen minutes before we need to go. I can't pretend I'm not nervous about leaving this safe space, and Phil's not even trying to at all. We don't speak much with the awkwardness of yesterday's events hanging over us, but his hip is brushing my knee so there's physical assurance all the same.

I notice how dissatisfied he looks with the face staring back at him. He meets his own eyes and I can see the way a frown tugs at the corners of his mouth just slightly, face flickering back to neutral since I'm sitting facing him and he knows I'm reading everything. He brushes through the front of his fringe intentionally, laying a section in a sweep over the top of his forehead. It's like he's trying to hide it, and I realize what he's doing.

"Stop." I say quietly, taking the hand fussing with his hair and lowering it to his side, brushing my other one through the bit he's placed over his forehead and pushing it back. I comb the dark, wiry strands and feel a small amount of guilt at basking in how nice it feels, seeing his eyebrows furrow as his gaze looks past me, into the reflective surface. He's looking uncomfortably at the face he sees, eyes distant and focused on the jagged, healed skin just under my hovering hand. Contrary to what he seems to think, he looks so unconsciously beautiful right now.

"You look fine." I say quietly. I touch a finger to the car crash scar and trace over the fading bruise from the party that's coloured over some of it, moving my hand down to his chin so that I can tilt his face up to look at me instead, rather than old wounds on his forehead. If only I could have been exactly what he wanted to see just now, maybe I could have made it so he wouldn't want to look away. He does make the effort to focus on me.

He shakes his head, turning it slightly and touching his finger to the bruise.

"I look awful." He whispers. "I look sick and tired and like I gave up a long time ago. I always forget what I look like and then with the first glance in a mirror I have I'm reminded that there's a scar on my head and we're all exhausted."

I want to tell him he's wrong, that I can see some of that but it's not a hindrance, but I can't make myself admit just how I feel about him vocally. It feels like a roadblock in my mind, only open enough for the weakest version of a compliment to be able to squeeze through. If I managed to get anything out I already know it'd be extremely watered down and not nearly meaningful enough for what he deserves. So instead I stay silent. This apocalypse aged us all in a way. It's just too bad that he has to see it.

"Don't say that, Phil." I chide. "You know that's not what the rest of us see."

He sits with that for a moment, then sighs tiredly. "You're just saying that because you don't want me to be upset."

"Or maybe I'm being meaningful." I shoot, poking him in the chest. "How come you're allowed to call me gorgeous but I can't tell the truth?"

His cheeks darken and he shoves my face away with the palm of his hand, and I let him just because it's distracting him from whatever he's feeling. If I were to look in the mirror I would see my own battered face and hungry body but I can choose not to worry about it. Phil never stopped worrying about his own wellbeing. He's stronger than me in that way.

"That word is cursed." He groans. "Don't ever bring that up again."

His attempt at a joke draws a smile out of me that I wouldn't have expected to exist on my face, a soft and fond one that I'm almost embarrassed to feel pulling up the corners of my mouth "You said it first." I say halfheartedly. "You should be flattered that I didn't forget."

He sits with this, looking far too serious for a conversation that's lightened considerably. He lets me nudge my foot against his knee as the mirror hung behind me presses cold against my back, just watching me.

"I don't deserve you." He says softly. He brushes his own hair off his forehead this time, complying with me and smiling tiredly when he meets my eyes in the reflective surface. "How did this friendship even happen?"

I think back to my comments and messages, embarrassed at the actions I'd taken even then.

I shake my head. "I fangirled over you."

He looks stunned for about two seconds and then laughs softly, meeting my eyes in the mirror and observing us both quietly before a warm hand covers mine, turning me back around to face the actual Phil.

"You think so?"

"I know so." I joke, feeling warmth creeping into my cold palm, every nerve in my body focused on the contact of our skin."It's true."

"That's not generally a term I'd connect with you." He points out. "Fangirling."

"It's not exactly accurate, but you were the one thing that distracted me from my generally depressing life." I remind him. I push my fingers in between his and begin fiddling with his index, and he lets me without a word. "It got to a point where you were the only one online that I paid attention to. I still don't know why I messaged you."

"I'm glad you did." He admits.

I shift my fingers a bit, squeezing his, and his hand twitches a little, maybe not expecting the response.

"I'd hope so." Considering we're literally living in what's left of the world now, I don't want to be stuck with someone who can't stand me. Not that I'd ever believe him if he claimed that.

He half-smiles and it encourages me to keep at it, glad I can stop him from feeling like he's giving up.

"Come here, you sentimental fuck." I chide, guiding him forward so that even though my legs are hanging over the edge of the tiny counter I can still reach out to wind my arms around his waist, settling my hands at the small of his back and pulling him in.

His arms wrap around me and I push my head into his chest, turning my head to the side and resting it there.

"Don't say you don't deserve me." I murmur. "The world doesn't deserve you, at this point. Everyone else knows I'm shitty person and they treat me like it, and I'm not going to argue it because I've never been comfortable enough with myself to ever be anything else. It's because of you that I'm here now and not dead or a giant collection of defence mechanisms anymore."

He sits with this statement, tasting it silently a few times before he answers.

"I'm useless in most ways, honestly." He sighs. "You're not a bad person, Dan."

I nod absently. "And neither are you. Do you know what I'm saying? You're the one that showed me I can actually mean something to anybody."

"But you do-"

"It's not about me!" I laugh, pushing him away jokingly without actually letting go of him, trying to get him wake up and see my point. "I'm just an example of what you've helped. You're far from useless in this shithole world."

He tries to protest but I cut him off with a no ever time he tries to speak, lifting my hand to cover his mouth before he swats it away irritably.

"Okay, okay." He says weakly. "I believe you. You're the only one who's ever broken out of a confederation party with me before. I guess it's safe to say we're okay, circumstances considered."

I nod, nudging my chin into his sweater. "We're not dead yet."

I go to back out of the hug but he holds me tighter, stopping me mid-motion. My hands, which I'd been in the middle of moving away, still and I clasp them again at his back, not much inclined to let go of him either. I can feel his warm breaths fanning over my neck, my arms pulling tighter around his back as a warmth surges up from somewhere, so much love for one single person. It's not the most comfortable hug with our awkward positioning, me on the counter and him standing in front of me but we make it work, and somehow it's more meaningful than any less emotionally laden one would be.

His response hangs in the silence and though I can't see his face, he leans closer against me and I know his thoughts are wandering the same way he knew why I was tapping. We're finally talking about that confederation party, and this time neither of us are secretive or angry.

"It's weird." He says haltingly, quite suddenly breaking the silence. "That girl at the party, she... she was my first kiss, I guess."

My breath bates in my throat. He falls silent for a moment, unable to get the words out, my heart thudding into my chest at the realization.

I don't know what to say to that, holding his head close to mine. I'd never even stopped to consider it would ever mean so much to him, never taken then the time to think about what an effect her attack is still having even so much later. It was a horrific night for both of us, but he had it so much worse. He doesn't even remember how it ended. I'd never stopped to think that he hadn't been kissed before.

"I know it's just a concept fabricated by society." He rambles. "I know most people's first kisses hardly matter and that they end up falling in actual love and getting to all that much later, but I can't help but think that... I don't know." He shrugs and hides most of his face in my shoulder. I raise my hand to run through his hair.

It's strange, but I feel angry. He's right, a first kiss should technically be meaningless, but even if it wasn't me, I almost wish Phil had been kissed by some other boy at some point, someone who wasn't her for him to remember instead. He deserves to be proper kissed, to have the the air knocked out of his lungs and to have that swell in his heart as someone makes his mind reel so fast that he's near breathless. Phil, one of the few truly good people still left in this world, has had all of it ruined for him by the whim of one selfish person. It hurts to think about. He didn't deserve it. He especially didn't deserve it. It makes me so goddamn angry.

"You don't have to say it." I say softly. He shakes his head.

"It shouldn't have been her." He manages, words tight. His voice trails off into quiet, his body a weight against mine like he doesn't want to support himself any longer. So I hold him up, the only support I can offer.

"It was awful." I whisper. "I know." He closes his eyes and sighs, keeping his head hidden from my view.

"I feel so wrong." He mumbles. "I've just felt off since that night. Our life has changed so much. We're in so much danger these days and I'm not- my own body doesn't even belong to me anymore."

The statement, delivered so faintly and flat-toned from my best friend strikes a dull chord in my heart. I flash back to yesterday, when my hands had held his cheek and his wide eyes had met mine from inches away. So close, yet so far. I didn't even consider how he'd feel.

"It's still your body." I argue. "She can't change that."

"I don't think I've ever had a drunk person be like that." He admits. "I hardly ever even went to parties."

It's all too much in an instant and all I can think about is how I'd done nearly the very same thing, pushing him into place and forgetting what he'd been through all because we were drunk.

"I'm sorry I acted like that last night." I blurt.

I expect him to tense when I broach the subject of our drinking but he doesn't, he just sucks in a surprised breath and curls one hand in at the base of my neck.

"Sorry?" He mumbles. "Why are you sorry?"

It catches me off guard, that fact that he finds the question confusing. I'd thought it was obvious why I needed to apologize.

I try to think back to all we'd done, quickly trying not to because of how it makes my heart skip a beat, and Phil is definitely close enough right now to feel it. How do I bring up what we did, what I did?

"I... I didn't even consider what it would feel like to have someone holding you like that after she'd had her hands all over you." I end up fumbling, worried that bringing it up might not be the thing to do. "It wasn't- I promise I'll never hurt you like she did. I won't let anyone even touch you."

He doesn't answer right away, my fears redoubling with every second I'm given to overthink.

He drums his fingers on the back of my shoulder, and vaguely I wonder what would happen if one of our friends walked in. I don't even care.

"Don't worry about that." He says suddenly, the tone unexpected when he'd been so frail before. "It's... we're not the same thing as her."

My heart skips a beat. "We're not?"

"Dan, I'm gay." He laughs, drawing back to look me in the eye and then blushing almost immediately, bringing up a hand to cover his face. His eyes flicker back up to mine and I raise my eyebrows, seeing him shake his head in disbelief, my hands at his back keeping us at this weirdly intimate proximity. He stares at me.

I bite my lip. "What?"

"I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I can just say that to you." He explains with a laugh. He shrugs slightly, looking sheepish even from here. Comprehension dawns and I breathe out a laugh, grinning at him and feeling the blush I'd been hoping to avoid heating up my cheeks.

"Oh. Right."

"I meant to tell you, I swear." He promises. "That just wasn't how I expected it to happen."

"Oh, well. Too late now, I guess." I joke. "It's still your body, Phil. She was one person, it didn't really mean anything."

"It just sucks." He mumbles. "No, understatement. It's shit. I'd rather it were you holding onto me drunkenly than some confederation girl. You're all cute and gentle and we just talked nonstop. It was perfect."

Perfect. My chest constricts in a nervous way. I wait for him to retract that statement, or to gloss over it with a joke, to maybe allude to the fact that he isn't so serious about not wanting to skirt the topic, but he doesn't. He just looks at me, and suddenly it's like nothing else in the world exists except for the two of us, stood, or in my case sat here in this bathroom.

What do I say? Maybe I don't have to say anything.

"Perfect." I end up repeating, like an idiot.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

I realize that he's entirely serious, and quite honestly, so am I. It was perfect. That night was more fun than I'd had in ages.

I look up into his eyes, and that's when he chooses to smile sheepishly. And then my mind blanks.

Just kiss him, you idiot.

My mind is racing. It's so calming, standing here in the dark. He's looking at me. The next action, the next step here, it's obvious.

Or is it? What would be the context for kissing him now? I couldn't do it yesterday, and it scared the shit out of him when we were drunk and I almost tried. I want to. I need to even, I don't think I've ever wanted something or someone so badly.

I see his gaze shift as I leave him hanging, see his lips part slightly in a breath. He's waiting for an answer, I could give him one he could scarcely imagine.

He rubs my shoulder gently, and I rest my head against his chest. The butterflies in my stomach gather in with my breath. When I release it, they flutter out.

It's unfortunate, I can't bring myself to actually do it. To even tell him that I want to. Even after all that's happened, I don't actually know what Phil feels about me. I remind myself of this as his eyes flick down in the silence, remembering the situation, the conversation, where we are. I have to keep my mind on what's important. All the same, I can't stop myself from looking at his lips.

He deserves to be proper kissed.

I swallow.

He could remember his first kiss with me. I could replace her.

"Again, better you than a zombie." I tease, turning my head away from him so he can't see my burning cheeks. I shake my head, just in disbelief if my own mind. It's definitely time for a change of subject. "God," I groan. "I can't believe we agreed to this. I bet the second we reach the camp it's gonna be all confeds."

"Mm." He agrees. "We're just trusting what Beard and Earring think is safe."

It's odd that I feel safe in this cramped room, this apartment. These past few days have served as a sort of grace period, or so it feels. I don't want to leave this room, secure in Phil's arms with no thoughts but what him and I are together to distract me. As soon as we leave everything is sure to pick up again, I can feel it. I don't know if I want that, not when so much rides on what I do and don't do. I wish I could just go back to that day in the barn so many weeks ago. Hungry, cold, nothing more than another person struggling for survival. Just me, just Cat, just him.

But then again, would we be here if none of this had happened? Would I have ever gotten to this point where we've become so incredibly honest with each other, where I held him when things got hard? I haven't even realized how much I've changed in the span of a month. My bitterness is gone, I have someone who knows they matter to me and I'm aware of my value to him too, I don't shun touch and I'm finding it less difficult to tell the truth. For the first time in my life, I'm allowing myself to really feel things.

And it's terrifying.

Phil is oblivious to my internal revelations. It's stunning, really, how much has happened and how much we've both changed, yet also inexplicably grown together. His hands draw away from me and he steps out of the embrace, sliding his hands over mine a little bit before gravity brings them down to at least assure me it's not a bad thing. I can feel the distance as it grows between us and seek to shorten it, not really wanting to end this when we've unintentionally cast such an otherworldly haze over the mood. I'd like to stay here with him where it feels so unlike what the norm is these days.

But we're running out of time. It's time to go soon.

"For whatever reason, I have a funny feeling like they're pretty pissed at us." Phil points out. "Like considering all we did was vanish for a day when they barely know us, Beard seems really eager to remind us we were inconveniencing all of them."

His tone is light and sarcastic but there's a hint of truth to what he's said, though I'm careful not to express to him just how much the coddling is actually bothering me. I hope he isn't too upset by the repeated remarks, I'll be doing a lot more than sitting idly by if it starts affecting him.

I sigh in agreement. "Yes. Speaking of which, we should go." I move to sit up rather reluctantly and he doesn't look very happy about it. In truth, I can relate. "I'm not in the mood to hear him complain about another inconvenience we've caused him again."

I slide off the counter and make to step out of the tiny room, feeling Phil follow behind me as we enter the narrow hallway. I take his hand for good measure and hold the door open so we can both get out, and he follows without a word, responding with a squeeze of my fingers. Our steps creak a bit on a loose floorboard and it's the only sound, the rest of our words can only be transferred silently for fear of saying too much.

From somewhere else in the flat someone calls his name and I'm assuming they've found his axe for him, everyone tying up loose ends for everyone else so we can leave this place without leaving any trace that is trackable. He drops my hand when we're standing out on the floor fully, hence the possibility of someone seeing us and asking questions. Without context, we both know what it looks like, and that's not what it is. We head for the living room, walking through the hall for what will probably be the last time.

He starts when I stop in the middle of the hall and grab his hand again. The content of our hideaway is getting to me. The feeling is overwhelming but I need to do something before we've left this safe haven forever, my impulses no longer just reserved for zombies and fights.

I deliberate internally for a moment, staring at his expression, but it all amounts to nothing. I reach over and tug him against me, lifting my head and pressing my lips quickly to the spot on his forehead that he shouldn't hide and then when he looks at me in shock I shove him good naturedly, and luckily enough, he seems to brighten at the gesture.

For a second, the call is ignored. He just looks at me. My stomach flutters at the shy smile he sends me before he answers the shout of whoever it is calling him from somewhere else in the flat, his cheeks pink and eyes wide with wonder. I wonder if that could be the reaction every time. He walks away rather reluctantly, a door shutting somewhere nearby not even turning my head.

Once I'm alone the hall seems so much wider, but my mind is also becoming much more loud.

I know what I've done to him this time. He knows it too. With no monsters attacking us yet, this is a first time for both of us.

I relay it over in my head. Try to think if anything I've done is wrong, bothering him maybe. I can't think of anything as I watch his back retreat. I can't think of anything at all. He didn't mind, did he? All he did was smile.

Even after he's gone I still stand on this bit of grey hall carpet, unmoving until a discrete cough sounds behind me.

I jump, turning to see Cat with a smug look on her face and my mind goes blank, one look at her expression telling me she's seen the whole thing. I wait for her to bombard me with questions, to demand to know the answers like she always does, but she doesn't.

She just crosses her arms and shrugs, raising her eyebrows. I feel a jolt of nervousness and wonder where here mind is at, but she doesn't ask any questions.

"Well, that's new." She comments.

Before I even have time to string together a reply she's strode past me, stepping out into the kitchen, so I just lower my head, confusion and feeling riddling my brain. The last thing I see of her is a fleeting smile.

~~~

"Are you kidding me?" Felix groans as soon as we step out the door. "Zombies."

We've only just stepped out the door and onto the street, six men, two kids and a half-life, and already it's like my predictions have come true. Monsters amble along lethargically past the crossroads of our road, searching for living beings and heads turning at the smell of our blood. It's like every moment of peace around normal people makes me forget just how awful zombies look, how inhuman they are. If they didn't have worn dirty clothes hanging off their pallored bodies, you'd never known they'd be anything but rotting monsters. Just like that, the illusion of safety we've held for four days shatters in an instant.

"They're coming from the north streets." Beard comments, making me realize that yes, in fact, they all seem to be converging from the same direction, "which is suspicious. I'm not saying to cite this as fact but it could very well mean the confeds know where we are. We need to get moving so that they can't corner us, they could surge zombies down the streets if they want us in a certain direction."

I think about the risk of choosing a random route to get us in the right direction, especially when I'm convinced this sudden appearance of monsters isn't coincidental.

"That's a giant what-if to ride on." I point out uneasily.

"But it's a what-if we should take seriously." Phil points out. His axe is in his hand rather than at his side and I realize he's already glancing around nervously. It's back to running. We're subject to the confederation again. And so I follow the direction we're being led in, watching a few slow-moving walkers ambling after us. I don't even know what we'll do if we encounter runners again, we haven't seen any since Marzia's death.

Phil has chosen to walk with me and I don't correct it, yet to tell him that Cat saw what I'd done. I don't even know how we'll begin to discuss it. He seems to have taken it for what it is. Everyone else is on edge but he seems cheery, optimistic. I can help but feel a surge of emotion at how meaningful that is.

"No separating this time." I mutter to him, thinking about the half-life camp. The last apartment with the dog. The tunnel. Nothing good ever seems to come out of us when we're apart. It's ironic, yes, but it also feels like we're cursed.

He responds by stepping closer, and if that's strange to anyone else, nobody comments. James walks close by us and Micheal ambles between his father and his uncle, eyeing the area around us as if he's guarding them. Again I wonder why they're so different from one another. For two kids who are brothers, they don't even look anywhere near the same.

We take a turn cautiously, wary that zombies will cut us off, but aren't met with any more. I wonder if it's possible that the confederation doesn't actually know where we are. That perhaps they're trying to drive us out into the open.

The walk is tense and nervous, we stick to side streets and listen for the hum of trucks, constantly on the move even as the minutes turn to an hour. Phil's shoulders start to sag a bit and so I take the backpack off of him, lifting the weight and hoping it helps somewhat. I hoist up the worn black straps and settle the bag on my own shoulders, taking a second to brush my hair out of my eyes, and it's then that I see Mark, Cat and Felix talking decisively.

Cat catches my eye first, raising her eyebrows in surprise for a second before steadying the expression and meeting my eyes. I feel like I've caught her in something, and maybe I have.

It's not too long before I remember who I'm looking at, and that looking at Cat might be a mistake.

"Hey, Dan." She asks casually. "Can you come here for a second?"

I stare at her skeptically and Phil slows his walk, looking confused. She looks like she means business though, waiting for my reply.

"Why?" I ask confusedly.

"Come on, just separate yourselves for a bit. I only want you for a minute. You guys left me alone all last night."

"That sounds like a guilt trip." I grumble, but I let myself fall back just enough that no one can overhear us as she pulls me aside with a hand on my elbow, making me walk alongside her and betraying nothing with her steady expression.

The contact is unprecedented and I try to gently tug my arm away, feeling slightly captured by the contact that isn't Phil's gentle fleeting touch. Then realize what I've done. She grins at me wickedly as if she's caught me in the act, leaving me no choice but to pull back my arm the rest of the way.

"Yo." She teases, grabbing it back. "Let me love you, you ass."

She gives me a knowing smirk and I groan, casting my eyes to the sky. Suddenly this separation seems all too intentional.

"I think I know exactly what you're gonna try and talk to me about." I complain, pushing her away slightly as she laughs at me. She bumps her shoulder against mine and shakes her head, folding her arms and looking at me pointedly.

"Me, asking questions?" She inquires, "Never."

I look at her pointedly and she just rolls her eyes, pointing at Phil and confirming my thoughts. She isn't even patient enough to keep her questions until we're definitely alone, and I'm not feeling up to considering why everyone seems to find Phil and I so interesting.

"So." She prods, taking my silence for a reply. "You wanna say it?"

I frown, determinedly holding actual composure. "No."

She raises her eyebrows as if expecting this, getting straight to the point herself.

"Dan." She begins, already grabbing at me as I shake my shad and try to step away. "Can I please tell you how fucking cute that was?"

I bite my tongue, trying not to betray my embarrassment in my expression and looking her in the eye as I do so. "No." Is the answer that I end up telling her, distracting myself by looking instead at the road. "I don't know why you're bothering to even ask me. It doesn't mean anything at all."

My eyes flit to our mismatched group walking ahead, Felix and Mark with their short, slight builds, Phil's tall awkward one and Beard bulkier than his brother. The worn hoodies and plaid shirts and various cuts and colours of jeans on different people. An axe. A knife. Guns at sides. We all ended up here working together when all of us are so different.

She ignores me. "Well, I'm going to."

I turn my head to look in her eyes and I hope my expression is at least half as exasperated as I feel, incredibly tired of having to explain everything and having people demand I put my feelings for Phil up on display.

"Why were you even watching us?" I ask her, diverting the focus onto her. She looks like I've caught her in the act but the reality is I'm just struggling to buy time.

"It was an accident!" She protests. "I was just coming out of a bedroom. What were you guys even doing?"

Nothing. We weren't doing anything. It was my fault.

"It was literally just a conversation." I tell her honestly. "He was upset because he saw that scar on his forehead and got reminded of how much life actually sucks. So we sat there and I talked about life to distract him. Why does it matter?"

"Well for one you knew what I was going to ask you about." She points out. "So it was obviously important."

My heart sinks and I try not to get too annoyed by her persisting at me. I just shake my head, and she looks contemplative as she meets my gaze.

"I don't want to say anything," she says awkwardly, shifting to see if anyone's listening as she lowers her voice. "But... the look on his face when you did that. He wasn't even aware I was standing there and he turned around and just... wow."

And I know immediately what she's talking about.

My cheeks heat immediately at the thought of how I'd just kissed his forehead in the hallway, imagining her standing behind us while I pushed back his hair. I can imagine the scenarios that she'd imagine leading up to that, probably less reality and all fabricated romantic crap.

"I'm sure it's not nearly as exciting as what you're imagining." I say dismissively. My eyes go to Phil and I realize Mark is now talking to him, I'll have to ask him later what it could possibly be about, because their conversation seems free of personal questions.

Cat shakes her head at me, twirling a strand of dark brown hair around her finger. "You've said that before."

"It's no different."

"Dan," she says seriously, "his whole expression changed when you did that in the hallway." My heart jumps, but I try to avoid her gaze. "His eyes lit up and he looked so happy-"

"That's not going to work again." I cut her off. "You'll have to try a different approach if you're thinking getting me to talk is that easy."

She looks at me, shocked, and then smirks with a knowing smile. She shakes her head. "Dammit. It worked last time."

She doesn't even seem fazed that I've caught her digging for information, seeming rather amused instead. I wish I could be like Cat, straightforward and to the point. I'd feel awkward about asking for personal information like this, but she's obviously beyond curious now and it's all my fault. I roll my eyes and shove her, and she laughs.

I think back to that night in the tunnel, where I'd been barely awake and talking to Cat and she'd watched us falling asleep, the one time I was exhausted and just didn't care what she thought. She told me that even in sleep Phil looked so happy because of me, and it had seemed like such a wonderful thing at the time. Now I realize responding excitedly to something like that incriminated the truth, but I can't take back what she's seen. I guess if it were my friends I'd be just as curious, the difference between Cat and I is that she makes every feeling she has known.

"Come on Cat." I chide tiredly, looking at the street ahead. "What do you want from me?"

"Well for one thing, there's obviously something to talk about." She quirks. "You seem to think I'm trying to get you to talk, so what is it I'm drawing out of you?"

I want to groan in frustration but I know she's just teasing. I realize she's probably just closer to both of us than anyone else. I'm definitely regretting telling her I was bisexual, because it's clear she knows now what I'm hiding. All I have to do to confirm her suspicions is say it, or do something blatantly romantic like, I don't know- kiss my best friend's head in the middle of a hallway?!

"I don't know." I quip. "You tell me."

"Oh for god's sake!" She snaps. Phil and Mark look back confusedly at her outburst and she laughs to cover it up, shoving me so that I've stumbled and my expression is hidden.

Help me. I try to communicate to Phil with my eyes but he looks away, shaking his head in amusement because he has no idea what we're talking about.

"That night on the train." She starts, whispering now. "Was there a reason you were all alone making a realization like that?"

My mouth fumbles to come up with and excuse but before I've even said anything there's a figure staggering into view, a scream quite suddenly cutting the air.

The conversation drops from my mind instantly. There's a zombie barrelling towards James and his dad's too far back to help him, charging at him with its teeth bared. Just before the the monster manages to deliver the death bite Phil dives forward, slamming his axe into its gut and knocking it back.

James chokes out a sob and Phil pulls him back, shielding the boy's eyes as the monster collapses in a gory heap.

And then another zombie steps out. And another.

"Go!" I shout at Cat, charging forward and fumbling to get my gun out of my pocket. In moments two zombies are in front of me, roaring inhumanly as I fire a shot into each of their heads and scramble away, trying to reach my friends who are already being pushed in the opposite direction.

An ambush. I should have known the confederation wouldn't let us remain here safely for too long. I see Phil lifting up the kid and passing him to Earring, very nearly getting bitten as he lurches forward and that's what sets me running. There's a lot of monsters suddenly and I'm terrified that he's vulnerable, pushing a thin old-lady zombie aside even as she hisses and snaps her teeth, trying to hit me. I get my hand out of the way just in time, in no danger of being turned but not wanting to be bitten anymore than anyone else.

It's times like these where I truly feel the loss of my crowbar as a weapon. The gun feels small and flimsy, down to my accuracy and its use limited since I only have so many bullets. Yes, there's more in my pocket, but one lesson in reloading from Chris days ago is hardly enough to help me.

I've only just shot aside a pair of zombies standing in my way, managing to rush to the aid of someone who ends up being Mark before another problem presents itself.

A black truck roars through the mass, driving right over some zombies and stopping only feet away from where we're standing, cutting off Mark and I from not only the zombies, but the rest of the group.

"Dan!" I hear Phil shout, but he's overwhelmed by monsters and I can't see him, a sinking feeling weighing into my gut as I catch sight of the eyes staring at me from the driver's side window.

There's a man sitting in the truck, the driver's side door opening to reveal his sunken silver eyes and and sickly, sharp features. He looks half alive and he's wearing the same kind of black jacket Wirrow had worn the day we met him, immediately drawing me to several conclusions at once.

I raise my gun and he doesn't even flinch, Mark going tense behind me. I see another half-life man sitting next to the driver, both of them holding no visible weapons but undoubtedly concealing them, and it's clear they know we know who they are too.

He observes us coolly for a few seconds, assuring we have his attention, then folds his arms and raises his eyebrows as if there wasn't a battle going on all around us. As if he weren't obviously Confederation. His look is dark, full of purpose.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here." He states, his partner holding my eyes and daring me to try anything with the weapon. Even still I just glare, vaguely seeing Felix fighting his way over out of the corner of my eye.

"If you wanna live," he threatens, "you'll come with me."

This is how the confederation operates. They lay out the proposition right away, providing a chance to go quietly, devolving into more and more violent acts of coercion until the subject inevitably gives in. I feel a knot of anxiety at being caught in this trap again.

"Why?" I what I end up asking, unable to think of a better challenge. "What possible reason would convince me to come with you?"

He glares at me, gesturing to the zombies all around. "If you stay here where you're surrounded, all of them will die. I can take them out of here without consequence if you and the black haired boy step forward."

So I was right. Just like last time, they're here for Phil and I. Me because I'm the threat to their whole operation, Phil because he's the only thing they know they can use against me. It makes me feel sick.

Mark laughs uncomfortably and shifts his eyes to me, unease settling into the air. "Right... were just gonna hand over Phil and Dan with an empty threat the confederation's used on us before."

The man grins at me in particular and my heart sinks when I realize he knows exactly who I am. He definitely isn't just some city dwelling half-life. He's confederation, and much more dangerous than he looks.

"My companion and I don't take no for an answer." The man grins, nodding his head at the other half zombie who opens the truck door and starts advancing towards us, a knife glinting in the sunlight.

"You can follow along or you can fight us, but if you do that you're not getting getting out alive."

A sickening sense of deja vu enters my mind. Memories of Wirrow saying he had one last bit of leverage, Phil telling me what he'd heard at the party about making one suffer to drive the other with fear. It's all a game to them, one of manipulation, and as I stare at this attacker while roars and shouts and bangs pierce the air, I realize my gun isn't going to help me in the least. I'm tired of playing this game, and I'm not going to let them take Phil, or threaten any of them.

An impulse crosses my mind.

"I have a better idea." I say casually. Before I can think about how stupid this is or the man has time to react I lurch forward, grabbing him by his skinny waist and yanking back as hard as I can.

Immediately he puts up a fight. It's a good thing he wasn't wearing a seatbelt because there's no way I'd have been able to dislodge him if he had been. As it is, he's heavier than I expected and I end up falling backwards, landing sideways with the man on top of me and sending pain shooting through my injured shoulder as I land hard on it. His companion has jumped out of the vehicle and it's taking Mark to keep him back, firing bullets into his flesh but missing the vital brain because of how quick he is.

"Dan!" Mark shouts, but I'm now preoccupied.

I can't stop the cry of pain that escapes my lips as I hit my shoulder, but I'm forced to ignore it as the half-life slams my back against the ground. He lunges forward and I push my hands against his chest to stop him from biting me, his eyes blazing with fury. He's strong, pushing back against my grip and trying to flatten my hands to my chest. I kick him, but he doesn't feel it. Of course he doesn't.

My gun is still in my hands. I drive my fist hard into his face and it knocks him back a bit, my fingers stationing the weapon to fire,

Just as my finger pulls the trigger the half-life yanks my hand, nails raking over my skin. The bullet embeds itself in the seat of the truck, and then the gun in ripped from my hand altogether. The man throws it away, lunging right back at me and pressing me to the ground.

The air is knocked from my lungs. He looks right at, the silver blazing of his irises flashing. 

"The man knows who you are, Dan Howell." He spits. He glares right into my eyes and I struggle, moving to roll him off of me. "Now that I've found you all of the confederation will know where you are, your hiding was clever while it lasted."

A shiver runs through me at the sound of my name, at the thought of the, knowing about us here all along.

"You can't kill me." I shoot back, fear making my mind race far too fast and dictating my thoughts. "I'm immune."

His face twists and he tries to close his fingers around my neck, driving his knee into my hips so that I'm straddled to the ground.

"I don't need to kill you." He says darkly. "I'll just make you wish you were dead. You should respect me, considering your friends' lives depend on it."

I'd forgotten he was undead. I hadn't considered he doesn't feel pain, that he's likely stronger than me. He has relentlessness and stamina and he's driven by the confederation cause, all I can do is fight back to avoid suffering coercive pain.

I look him in the eyes, not wanting to betray my fear even though my heart is pounding. Despite circumstance, all I can think of is my friends and the kids. "I won't let you touch them."

He drives his knee into my calf hard, making me falter for only a second, but it's enough. My hands go limp and his fingers close around my throat, freezing cold and making my vision go red. With his free hand he draws out a knife, poised at my neck should I try and fight back. Pain is building in my chest. I choke, but I can't bring in air.

"I won't kill you." He continues his fingers close tighter, my hands straining against the bony fingers because the grip is turning to extreme pain. "But I'll make you suffer for defying me. Wirrow won't mind if I bring you back with some wounds."

Mark is yelling something but his voice sounds weird and distorted. I'm struggling uselessly, feeling more and more air leave my lungs with every attempt.

I need air, my chest is folding in in itself and I'm choking, my lungs on fire. I try to raise my hands to push him off but my limbs aren't following my brain's command. They only flutter in response.

"Where's Phil now?" I hear being whispered. I don't know if it's the man or the delirium of my own mind, my back is straining as the half-life climbs further up my torso, pushing me down.

I really panic when the world goes black and white around me. He's overestimated, I can feel it. My heart is slowing. I'm going to die.

"Come with us-" he growls. It sounds like it's coming through a sheet of water. "After all, you don't have a choice. Better to die there than here, especially if you want to keep your precious Philly."

My eyes fall shut. I can feel myself slipping, a weak sound leaving my mouth. Weirdly enough, the suffocation isn't painful anymore, my whole body and mind is numb. I, fighting to stay conscious but I can't even stop the spasms of my hands.

Stars explode across my vision like a burst of fireworks and they burn white-hot against my skin and too bright against my vision. I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

And then, quite suddenly, the hands are yanked off.

I feel the fingers unclasp, freezing cold and yanking me up as they scramble to hold on. Air rushes into my lungs and I collapse back against the ground, gasping. My eyes shoot open and the light of this grey cloudy day is suddenly blinding, and though everything is moving, it's all blurred and swimming with spots. I feel stones and gritty dirt digging into my cheek. I feel blood rushing to my face. Lying limply.

Vaguely I hear the sound of something striking something else, a grunt of pain and a blow being dealt. My head is spinning and all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut, choking as a dry cough racks my throat and chest.

Something rushes past my vision. I see a blur of silver and hear a sudden, sickening thunk. I fall as the half-life's body collides with me, collapsing to the ground without even really knowing what's going on. Warmth splatters the side of my cheek and I wipe it off, repulsed, before the body's collapsing on top of me and I remember in my hazy mind where I am.

I drag in heaving breath after heaving breath, oxygen filling my lungs and my heart is pounding as my hazy eyes notice a tall figure standing over me. I blink, trying to clear my vision.

Everything falls into focus. Phil's standing over me, his terrified face frozen on me, arms held in front of him clutching a weapon.

And from below the stained axe held in his shaking fingers, I can see that my half-life attacker no longer has a head. 

"Phil." I breathe, and that's all I get to say before he's lurched forward and yanked me back to my feet, his fingers digging into my wrist and the half-life kicked aside unceremoniously. Suddenly my feet are flat on the ground again and I'm looking into his eyes, a swipe on his pale cheek from the half-life's knife blade the glows red against my vision as my heart pounds in my chest, his hand still gripping onto me as it begins to shake.

He must have pulled him off, gotten the cut, and then...

But how did he get here? How many zombies did he push through- how many bites did he risk-

An idiot. I think weakly. What an absolute fucking idiot.

He looks in my eyes, I grab onto his wrist and stare at him furiously. I've stood up too fast and the blood is rushing to my head, making me stumble and clutch him to stay upright. He holds my forearm until I'm steady, meeting my gaze despite the zombies approaching down the street. I take a shuddering breath and he quickly brushes a mass of hair out of my face, clearing my vision before holding me up again.

I just stare at him, my vision blurring in and out of focus. My throat aches and I don't know if I can speak.

"Well I, uh- I guess we're even now." He jokes weakly, probably staring at how white my face has gone as I realize what danger he was just in. At first I don't know what he's talking about, still gasping unevenly as the feeling of air becomes a luxury.

"I've killed a man too now." He points out, reminding me of the confederation in the tunnel. "Definitely cut his head off."

The air leaves my lungs and relief rushes in like a broken dam, my hands trembling so much I'm probably cutting off the circulation in his arm by the way I'm clutching it.

"You could have died!" I scream suddenly, not sure whether to punch him or to kiss him as my voice returns, sounding rough. "Are you stupid?"

But he can see the real emotion I'm feeling, thinking back to the way he dove in front of that little boy to save his life, then me to stop the half-life. His hand brushes my now-bruised neck and he glares defiantly, looking at me the same way I did when we thought the confederation had found us in the bar, when he'd told me to hide.

"It's okay, I'm fine, Dan." He says hurriedly. He touches a hand to the swipe on his cheek and winces as it comes away reddened, but even still he just shakes his head.

I fumble in my pockets and pull out a cloth I'd taken from the flat, pressing it to his cheek and shakily reaching down to pick my gun where's it's lain next to what's left of the half-life man.

"It's not the same." I manage weakly. "If we're counting half-lifes you killed Borg too. They don't remember who they are, or feel the pain when it happens."

Before he has a chance to answer I see the other half-life, the companion, stagger back to his feet, likely having been knocked down by Mark or Felix during my own fight. His eyes are blazing and zombies are now pouring in from behind. It's like he's summoned them with the way the all seem to march up behind him, his bleeding body still relentlessly moving towards us in pursuit of revenge. I catch sight of the still-idling truck and grab Phil by the shoulder, pushing him towards the now-empty vehicle and yelling at our friends who are frozen around us.

"Get in! Get in!" I scream.

Phil ends up scrambling into the driver's side and I push him right into the next seat, climbing in too and slamming the door just so that he's safe. In a matter of moments everyone's piled in behind, Mark ends up sliding in between the two of us because everyone else has to fit into the back, Cat holding Jamie who's pale and shaking and Micheal is on his father's lap, a tiny knife in his hand and a bruise on his cheek from defending his brother.

As I grip the wheel I see zombies converging and look around wildly, fumbling to put the thing into gear.

"Wanna learn how to drive, Dan?" Mark shouts. He gives me a sideways glance. I don't even have a seatbelt.

I hit the gas, feeling the truck lurch forward much faster than I'd expected. "I'm not getting a fucking choice!"

Zombies rush the vehicle immediately and I spin the wheel, learning fairly quickly that driving is pretty straightforward as I knock through a few at a speed that would probably be illegal if this were the normal days. The remaining half-life roars inhumanly and tries to follow, but he's on foot and we've left him behind in moments, skidding down the road past the apartments we've only just vacated as Mark whoops victoriously.

It's not a clean break as I slam into several undead bodies, the truck halting for a second before barreling right over them. The engine roars and I feel a strange rush of excitement as the speedometer climbs with the sound, rolling the wheel around somewhat dangerously before we've broken few of the mob and hurtled down the main road.

The relief seems to hit us all at the same time, and then we're laughing, all sounding shaken up and in sheer disbelief as the throng of zombies is left further and further behind. Some of them are still trying to follow us, their skin broken from hitting the pavement but pursuing us relentlessly all the same but it doesn't even matter, we're rising in some high between euphoria and insanity, to an outsider, we'd probably sound mad.

The laughs continue for much longer than they should, wheezing slightly because we're all terrified but okay.

"Holy shit." Felix gasps after a minute of this. "Holy fucking shit fucking-"

"Felix." Phil interrupts loudly, looking amused. "We get it. We're not dead. Calm your language."

Felix smirks and Phil looks at him confusedly, seeing the man shake his head and fold back his arms as Beard mutters to me to drive more slowly, both so we can save our gas and he can give me directions.

"It's life or death these days, Phil." Felix chuckles. "Who cares about language anymore?"

I can't help but grin at the way Felix is teasing him, even though I know Phil's less innocent than everyone else seems to make him out to be. Phil seems lost for a comeback in the numbness of post-adrenaline, so I opt to help him out.

"I don't know." Phil replies, his tone light and teasing. "Must have been the adrenaline of chopping zombie heads off. I'm drugged up."

Next to me, Earring sputters indignantly.

"Don't talk about drugs in front of my kids!" He exclaims, making James and Micheal start at the loud boom of their father's mock-scolding.

I look around at the group, at Mark's grinning face in the rearview mirror and Phil's relieved happiness, unable to keep the smile off of my own face. Phil's apologizing but still can't even keep himself sat still, and somehow, it's as the energy of the moment goes to my head.

"Sorry." I say cheekily, smirking at Phil and a huff of laughter escaping my lips. "Phil's had a day. He's just having trouble thinking straight."

Phil's eyes widen and he sputters out a disdainful sound at the double meaning that quite honestly, I hadn't intended, punching me hard in the hip which is in no way helpful to my driving. He sticks his tongue out at me childishly and I flip him off with one hand, flaunting my perceived superiority. I see our friends smirking at our little battle, hardly able to care when Phil's grabbing my wrist to try and conceal the gesture from the kids' eyes.

I swerve to avoid a monster, vision blurred for a second and throwing everyone off to the side. They're still littering the streets, but we're in a reinforced confederation truck and there's not nearly as many.

"You're both having trouble being straight!" Mark shoots. Immediately, the group explodes into laughter.

Even Micheal smiles and covers his mouth with his hand as my heart jumps while Jamie just giggles, not getting the joke but copying everyone else's mirth. Phil's shocked eyes meet mine and I have to look away, my face burning. I'm laughing but my heart is beating out of my chest. I can't look any of them in the eye, because holy fuck, I can't deny it.

"Pulling the truck over." I manage to get out. "I'm trapped with a bunch of imbeciles."

"You're only pulling over if you want to actually die." Felix croaks, voice weak from laughter. "Oh god." The worst part is he's actually right, we're in the midst of escaping again and we don't have time to stop yet.

Cat isn't even speaking but is just hunched over, mouth open in peals of unstoppable laughter. If she were alive I have no doubt her face would be bright red, she's dying.

"I meant that there were... children in the car." Phil squeaks eventually, hands pressed to his temples and an adorable blush flooding his cheeks. "I didn't ask for that comment."

A truck looking just like ours zooms by us and we all scream in shock, but it doesn't stop. It passes right by, and everyone simultaneously seems to remember where we are.

"Jesus." Felix mumbles.

"How many confederation trucks have we stolen now?!" Mark exclaims. "Two? They're gonna pass right past us and have no clue."

I shake my head, feeling a slight sting in my neck when I do. The damn half life man must have bruised it, adding to my ever-growing list of injuries, but at least I know now that we're fine.

Jamie nods off to sleep after about an hour and the conversation subdues slightly, but everyone's spirits are suddenly much better with the success of this escape. We speak quietly so as not to wake him and Cat awws at the small boy curled against her shoulder, whispering something about us looking alike, the quiet punctuated by bits of friendly banter.

The sky is turning a muted navy and I can just barely see the last of the sun's rays peeking out from behind a building, the whole world painted in shades of blue. Beard says we'll have to ditch the truck soon because we're nearing the survivor camp, and we don't want to give them the idea that the confeds are dropping in without notice.

It's not just that confederation trucks are the only things allowed to drive here, they're also very distinctive. They're all black and they all have coils of barbed wire fastened to the grill, not to be reckoned with or challenged. Already our escape has stained the hood and the windshield with streaks of zombie blood, reminding me of Phil's car the night him and I had fled this city almost two years ago. I feel somewhat calmed with the task of driving to distract me, already I've turned down Mark once when he'd asked if I'd wanted to switch.

"I bet that's why he's taken to you so well." Earring adds, joining in on Cat and I's conversation and looking fondly at his son. "You look like him, Dan. I bet his little kid mind thinks that's the coolest thing ever."

My stomach flutters for whatever reason and I shake my head awkwardly, glancing over at my best friend who's rested his head against the opposite window, unable to imagine a kid appealed by someone as unapproachable as me. I start when I see Phil's eyes on me. I hadn't even realized he'd been looking.

"He likes Phil." I dismiss. "I'm just the attachment that no one asked for."

Phil frowns at that even though it was just a joke. It's true isn't it? Nobody's laughing and it's uncomfortable, Mark going so far as to shake his head.

"Are you really that convinced that no one could think positively of you?" Phil asks, his voice gentle but irritation biting at the words. "Especially some cute impressionable little boy that sees the good in everyone?"

I'm shocked by the implication behind his words, feeling guilty for my innocent comment.

"We all saw the dinosaur thing." A little voice cuts in unexpectedly. Micheal is eyeing me from where he's resting against his father, long legs curled to his chest. "Jamie isn't attention seeking with everybody. He kept telling me after we got here that you were so awesome."

"What?" I exclaim. I'm still wrapping my head around the fact that Micheal's spoken to me, never mind his words.

"He likes you." Mark inputs helpfully. "Can't imagine why, though."

I make an indignant sound and elbow him in the shoulder, the best I can do while driving.

"You seem to think that a lot." Phil mumbles. It's like he's forgotten all our friends are here, his blue eyes looking dark violet in this twilight. "How can you see yourself so despicably when I've told you a hundred times-"

"-we can't all be loved by numbers like you." I interrupt, heart jumping at the thought of him complimenting me in front of all of them. "Someone's gotta do the job."

Mark shakes his head, smirking.

"Wow, Dan." Felix jokes. "That's the kindest thing you've probably ever said to Phil."

"To anyone." I quip, and he chuckles.

It's true, though. Everyone loves Phil. There's something about him that feels safe, reassuring when most people these days have boundaries around what you can and can't say to them. Kids like him, people trust him, for god's sake, he even caught my attention, made me want to know him when I'd given up on knowing anybody back in the day. And look at me now.

The battle replays in my mind and all I can see is how his sweet, gentle norm was thrown aside without a thought, the axe swing and the man dead so quickly it should have been impossible that Phil was the one behind it. He's clearly keeping some thoughts to himself, but I wonder if it's as strange to him as it is to me to see how someone can transform when the things that matter to them are in danger.

I wonder if he realize how much he matters to me too.

We're just passing the landmarks that Beard had said I should look for when we near the camp when he finally speaks up, and it seems the little irritation hasn't left him at all.

"That's not what you said in the apartment." Phil mumbles.

Whatever words I'd been planning to say die on the tip of my tongue and I glance over at him, seeing his eyes focused on my face. There's a funny feeling in my chest and several scenarios run through my head, not sure what exactly he's referring to. I feel a slight bounce as the truck rolls over a bump, jostling all of us.

"What the hell does that mean?" I ask lightly, trying to bring back his happy mood from earlier. Once again he's focused on my face, which is highly distracting.

He stares at me seriously. "It means exactly what it sounds like."

But I don't know what that sounds like. That's the whole problem.

"Phil, what?" Felix exclaims quietly, sounding about as surprised as I feel.

I'm looking over at Phil and I don't know what to say, he's staring at me like I'm missing something vital, and I'm at a loss. Mark is eyeing me like there's some hidden secret and then I remember that he heard what Phil and I had said to each other that night, in that time where it held felt like it were just me and him alone under the stars in a stranger's bed. Just that memory alone makes my breath catch.

Again all I can think is about how much I want to say to Phil, to do with him. I don't even care that he's somewhat shaken and wants to argue with me right now when the very same person had told me he loved me, even in just the mundane, normal way once upon a time. It had only been about a week ago but it feels like hours, life is speeding by us so fast and safety constantly comprised.

It's incredible, really. Just a few nights have made everything that in my life had seemed so confusing suddenly make so much sense, all of the invisible lines in the map of my mind leading back to a single person, to Phil.

On the road up ahead there's a light and vaguely I wonder if it's a fire from the survivor camp, slowing the vehicle and turning my head, but our destination now hardly matters compared to what it sounds like Phil thinks he's implied in front of others.

He seems to realize this, eyes flicking to Mark and Felix's questioning gaze and then back to me, eyes on briefly skimming the road.

The suddenly he's sat up, his eyes going wide suddenly and his mouth opening to yell something.

"Dan!" Mark shouts, shooting up too. "Dan watch ou-"

I turn around to see that the light has gone out.

A dark mass rears up in front of the truck.

I've just barely hit the brakes, everyone lurching in their seats and the wheels skidding, before a bang sounds beside me and the glass of the driver's-side window shatters, a thousand shards exploding across my vision.

hi.
~Aly🌙

(from here on out there's some shit going down. be ready friends)