~~°•••ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ•••°~~

He walked behind the blond, the empty house echoing the hollowness in his own mind. The blood-soaked living room, swam in his peripheral vision. Even this boy's chilling detachment was preferable to the gnawing solitude of his amnesia.

The bathroom was a sanctuary of white tiles and sterile calm; a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

"Sit there". The blond ordered, his voice a low hum. His movements were efficient, almost balletic, as he retrieved a first-aid kit.

The redhead perched on the toilet lid, a fragile bird on a porcelain branch. The blond knelt, his touch as light as a butterfly's wing as he cradled the injured hand before saying,

"This might sting". He said, his voice barely a whisper, "I have to use alcohol".

He nodded, his gaze drawn to the boy's downcast face. He hadn't expected this kindness, not after what happened minutes ago. A fragile hope, like a tender shoot pushing through concrete, began to bloom in his chest. Then, the sting came – a pinprick of fire that spread through his palm, like tiny glass shards being embedded. He clenched his teeth against the pain, trying hard not to push him away.

"So... you said you can't remember how you got this cut?". The blond's voice cut through the heavy silence. The cotton in his hand, soaked dark crimson now, felt like a grim flower blooming from his palm. The question was so sudden, and he felt exposed, raw. How could he possibly describe the gaping hole in his memory? To tell him he'd simply materialized into this broken world, a half-formed person with no past, felt impossibly crazy. But what else was there?

"Yeah, I... I actually can't remember anything. I just woke up one day alone in this... mess". He admitted, his feet fidgeted; the awkwardness coiled in his stomach. The blond hummed softly, a low thrum that resonated with a quiet understanding as he focused his attention back to the wound.

"So you're... amnesiac?". He concluded.

"Ahh... Yeah? I guess you could say that".

"Oh. Well, sorry to hear that... Um...?". He paused, his gaze searching, as if looking for answers in the depths of the redhead's haunted eyes. The other chuckled, a soft, uneasy sound. He knew what he wanted– his name. It was a simple thing, a piece of identity he had unfortunately misplaced.

"Heh. Sorry, can't remember that either".

The silence that followed felt heavy, laden with unspoken questions. But then another wave of pain, a sudden, searing stab, jolted him back to the present. He winced, closing one eye, a single tear stuck in the corner of his eye. The blond's apology was a soft hand reaching out to pat the back of his uninjured hand.

"How long has it been since you woke up?".

Again with the questions. The redhead thought.

"Um, maybe… three days?". Even his answer was a guess at this point. He tried to sleep a lot, a way to escape the horror of the new world, a desperate bid to outrun the gnawing fear that clawed at his subconscious. So it was nice to feel safe again, and more with someone else other than himself and the things outside.

He then looked up, his eyes widening as he finally realized something; he didn't know the guy's name. It was now his turn to ask:

"By the way, I didn't catch your name?". He placed a small smile when he said that. For some reason he was exited to know the blond's name. But his excitement was soon gone when he noticed the other's body stiffened, a visible flicker of discomfort passing over his face. His eyes dropped, as though thinking it through. Maybe he shouldn't have asked? Maybe he wasn't comfortable with him being here, let alone telling him his name? Again, he did barged in so suddenly.

"Yellow. You can call me Yellow". He said flatly as he continued to work on the cut, his touch precise and cautious.

It was a simple answer, yet the name, a splash of sunshine in the desolate landscape of his mind, brought a hesitant smile to the redhead's lips. Yellow. It was a beautiful name.

"Well, Yellow. I wanted to thank you for... y'know, not shooting me earlier. I don't know why you're doing this, but I really appreciate it".

"Don't mention it". Yellow replied, a faint smile played at the corner of his lips, for once showing a sense of relief.

"But you have to be more careful. I figured you probably have no idea what happened to the world, so a word of advice for the next time; don't enter through the front door, especially if it's open".

His words were simple, a direct warning– he didn't quite understand the meaning of– yet carried the weight of shared experience, and the redhead was grateful. But then the hand working on his cut stopped, and a soft gasp from Yellow cut through the silence. He didn't register it at first, assuming Yellow had simply finished cleaning the wound.

"What. The... Fuck...". Yellow breathed, his voice a horrified whisper, and his were wide with a stark terror that chilled the redhead to the bone.

"Wh-What? Is it that bad? You can tell me, I'll handle it!". He stammered, a bravado he didn't quite feel. Was it really that bad? No wonder it took ages for Yellow to clean it up. Will he need stitches? Can yellow even do it?

"Red…". Yellow murmured.

"Red? What do you mean 'Red'?".

"I think… I think Red might.... be your name". He said, his voice trembling slightly.

The redhead stared, utterly bewildered, then looked down at his palm. His eyes widened, mirroring the sudden, terrifying expansion of his own understanding. The blood-cleaned wound wasn't a simple cut; it was a name, crudely carved into his flesh. – RED –. Shaky, hurried lines testified to a frantic act. The realization hit him like a tidal wave of amnesia, pulling him under a sea of dread. Did he... Did he do this to himself?

The small bathroom seemed to shrink, its walls pressing in like the suffocating weight of his forgotten past. His breath hitched, shallow and ragged. Yellow's face swam before him, a blur of worried brown eyes.

"Red, I… l-let's get you bandaged up first, then we can try to figure this out, okay?". He said gently, trying hard not to glance at the cut– bloodied name, though the casual use of the now-sinister name felt like a fresh wound.

Red nodded numbly, the practiced efficiency of Yellow's bandaging a stark contrast to the chaos raging within him. Each touch of the gauze felt like a needle probing at the fractured pieces of his memory. He felt lost, his mind was a frantic battlefield. He did this to himself. So what else had he done? The images flickered – fleeting glimpses of violence, of pain, of a darkness he couldn't comprehend. He wanted, desperately, to scream, but the sound was trapped in his throat, choked by the rising tide of dread.

"Hey... you alright?". Yellow's gentle voice pulled him back from the abyss as he finished bandaging his palm. Red looked up, his lips trembling. Suddenly, a dam broke. The carefully constructed walls of composure crumbled, releasing a torrent of tears. His hands, clamped to his chest, shook violently, hot tears blurring his vision.

"I-I don't… I d-don't u-understand". He choked out, each sob a ragged gasp for air. He felt utterly lost, his mind spinning so fast he felt like passing out. Yellow's heart ached at the sight of him, and he immediately gathered Red into a strong embrace, his touch a balm against the raw wounds, both physical and mental.

"There's s-something fucking wrong with m-me and I don't know w-why!".

"Shh… I know, I know. It's gonna be fine. It's all gonna be fine, I promise". Even as he offered comfort, Yellow's mind raced, the implications of the carved name a bitter pill to swallow.

Who would do this? To themselves? Who was this Red? The thought was a serpent coiling around his heart, its venom chilling him to the bone. Red did this to himself, that was for sure, and he was secretly glad the boy couldn't remember it. He stroked Red's rubellite hair, feeling the silky strands slip through his fingers. They stayed there for who knows how long, lost in their own thoughts and pain. Maybe even the comfort of each other.

Red had calmed down, although his breathing was light and from time to time his body would jolt due to the hiccups held inside him, not wanting to let their sound out of his lips. When the blond felt that he'd calmed and his heartbeats had slowed down, he decided to speak after a period of not daring to say anything.

"Hey. Tell you what". Yellow said gently, pulling away slightly to look into Red's eyes.

"It's been a long and… stressful day. So how about we get something to eat and then some rest?". Red, still wiping away tears, didn't meet his gaze.

"I've got some chocolate chip cookies. They're warm". Yellow offered with a tentative smile, his brown eyes, usually dark, reflecting the bathroom's light with a softer, gentler hue.

Red looked up, his gaze lingering on Yellow's outstretched hand. In that moment, a small, fragile smile bloomed on his face –the offer was simple, almost childish. He accepted Yellow's hand, and allowed himself to be led away. He still felt lost and confused, but Yellow's presence, the gentle strength of his grip, felt like a lifeline in the vast, terrifying ocean of his fragmented memory.

The chocolate chip cookies were a small comfort, but then, sometimes the smallest comforts are the most needed.

~~°•••ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ•••°~~

(Hello, everyone. Welcome back! I know there are a few of you who are reading this book and I just wanted to say thank you for supporting me. Something about me is that I love fantasy and writing about any kind of Apocalypse, especially Zombie Apocalypses.

I have planned a lot of amazing things for this book, I even spent days deciding the book's title. Fortunately, it turned really good!

Hope you enjoyed reading and have a nice day!

Note: I'm going, unlike my other books, to update new chapters randomly. This book is still under trial).