Today's my birthday (4th August), yaaay~!

So I thought, "Let me do one of my favorite things: sadden my readers :)"

Coach:

The last snack you both shared.

Crumbs fell as Coach broke the bar in two, checked the sizes then proudly showed you it was the same size.

"Told you I could do it precise," he teased, holding one to you.

To jest you told him you want to inspect for yourself, holding both hands out for both pieces.

"So you don't trust your own man?" he faked offense then swat your hands jokingly, "Fuck no, you'll just steal bo-"

Your laugh was turned to a shout while his word was changed to AAH. A hockey had jumped off a roof, right onto his back; teeth sunk into his neck and refusing to let go even as you shot it over and over.
Eventually it fell off, motionless, with Coach on the ground, gurgling and muttering. He tried to push you off, away, but you kept trying to stay close. But he got your attention by holding both the snack pieces to you, forcing a pained smile:

"Guess they are both for you after all." You stood frozen, so he forced them in your hands then held them, whispering: "Go. Enjoy them, for me. Somewhere nice, w-with a good view."

It was as if someone had pulled an 'off' switch on your brain. It just didn't work. All you could do was stare, tears rolling down, and whisper: "We were supposed to do this together."

Coach watched with pain but he knew he had to get you away, because he was in no way harming you when he switches. So he pushed you away, a loud firm; "Go!" and turned his back to you. It shall forever give you guilt that you turned and walked. That you left your boyfriend to the worst fate. It shall forever eat away at you.

Rochelle:

The last time you both held hands.

Holding your hand is one of her favorite things. It's like a little comfort, a reassurance, and just such a wholesome thing. When you do that thing where you walk ahead but hold hand back without looking it makes her stomach swirl and she'll rush to grab your hand.

She interlocked your fingers, watching yours grasp her hand back. Before she could speak she saw something swirl around your thighs. A sharp tug, causing you to slam to the ground and Rochelle to let out a pained shout as her arm got tugged down hard. The tongue around your thighs began dragging you across the ground, and no matter how much you tried to scramble free or kick it it kept pulling. Rochelle got dragged along as out of reflex you clenched her hand, shouting for her to shoot it. Rochelle stumbled, trying to pull her pistol out but just as she got it out she fell as you pulled on her hand.

Realizing your own mistake you let go of her hand, and vanished behind a wall. Rochelle wanted to rush after, she really did, but the slashing sounds and screams that followed froze her to the bone. Those are sounds no one should ever have to hear, whether from a stranger or their lover, they are sounds that would haunt her till her last day. Made her choke up now. Mind stuck between rushing out of there and keep going or go after that smoker for revenge.

She chose to kill the smoker, screaming of how it deserves this, what a piece of shit it is, all that she could think of, and then rushed out of there, crying of how sorry she is to you.

Ellis:

The last laugh he heard from you.

You might be the only person who genuinely laughs at his jokes. Though he's still unsure if it's because you find them funny or just because you love him so much you find anything he does endearing. Both make him feel warm so he doesn't mind which it is. So long he can keep hearing it.

Which brings to now: on knees, hands cradling your cold paling cheeks, that light he was admiring not even a second ago in your eyes now died down, lip corners that were turned upwards now downwards.

One second he was admiring your laughing expression, detailing every piece of it, hoping you'll get those laughing wrinkles when you are old as they'll be proof of how much he made you feel happy, but then BAM. Then he was staring in horror as blood shot out the side of your head like a fountain and your body collapsed to the ground as if someone dropped a sack of potatoes.

It will never become a normal sight to see how a body can simply fall into itself like that. How it feels as his hands grip your cheeks, whispering: "Oy, hey, come on, don't do this. Wake up." Glancing tot he side, to the source that caused it, was a group of survivors. As scared as they were; shaking in their darn boots, inexperienced, having mistaken you two for zombies maybe. So all Ellis could scream was: "THEY WEREN'T A ZOMBIE!" It was raw, it sounded painful to hear. "They did nothing wrong! They were LAUGHING! How could you mista- How could- Come on wake up for me!" and went back to slapping your cheek as if it would magically bring back that light.

It did not.

After that he could never hear a laugh again. He would compare it to yours, deem no laugh as good as yours was, even began to hate the sound of laughter. What is there to laugh about if the person with the most beautiful laugh isn't around anymore.

Nick:

The last time he gave you his jacket.

The only person allowed to wear his jacket is you. The day it happened was oddly touching as it was a symbol that he now trusts and truly likes you. He will pat it clean, claiming it suits you. When you jokingly asked if you can keep it then, he answered;

"Don't get your hopes up that high."

He does like seeing you with it. What kind of boyfriend wouldn't? It's always a sense of pride to see your partner wearing your clothing, it's an indirect way of expressing love and showing off.

So maybe he should be happy that was the last sight he saw before his body was slammed to the ground, head smacking the ground. A tank let out a narly sound, grabbing his ankle despite all your shouting and shooting at its face, and threw the man as if he's just a pebble. Nick's body hit a building, flopped to the ground on his side, and laid there; motionless.

Once the tank was taken down you were aside your boyfriend, pulling him to lay on his back. But the second you saw his face you were standing again, pacing, gagging and cooing to keep your sanity. For the sight of your boyfriend's cracked in half face, sunken in eye, and body that felt like jelly with harden bits inside will forever haunt you.

You paced for what might have been three hours, trying to comfort yourself, not look to him but doing so as it was like driving by a car crash: you simply look despite knowing how fucked up it is.

After that you had to go on alone, with the only sign that Nick was ever here being his jacket still on you.