further that I fall, much closer to it all,
incapable of helping my love
-Arctic Lake, Further

Phil

Empty. I try another cupboard and it yields the same result, the dusty wooden cavity bare on all sides. Still, there's no harm in looking and so I keep opening doors, moving around the derelict kitchen and opening every one that I see. Some of them are bigger and I have to crane my head to see the upper shelves, others are smaller corner ones that are narrow and dark and still smell vaguely of the spices they once had held.

There's a window just over the sink between the two counters, the glass dusty from being neglected so long but warm afternoon light filtering through it all the same. It casts a glow over the otherwise darkened kitchen, the shadows creeping in as it grows on to evening. I've only gone about halfway around the room, which isn't saying much as this apartment isn't that big, though the kitchen is bigger than the one I had in my old flat. The walls are painted a pale yellow which makes everything around me look like it's glowing, shrouding me in light while I observe every corner.

I'm looking for something to eat. I know the main streets of London are probably looted to the core but seeing how this apartment is slightly outside that radius I'm hoping to find maybe a can of soup or something. There's one backpack of supplies and eight of us, six that need to eat since the other two are half-lifes.

It was a spur of the moment choice to stay in this flat. Nowhere seems safe enough for a suitable camp and we're now miles away from home, plus now we're painfully aware of the confederation. Their trucks are going by constantly, the telltale rumble signifying their presence and letting us know we need to duck away from any windows.

They're all pickups and they all have barbed wire along the front, undoubtedly deadly to run into. Chris tells us they own this part of the city, that they're constantly on the lookout for rebel groups who might oppose them. Every time one goes by we all fall deadly silent, sitting in the dark with the curtains drawn without daring to make an incriminating sound. No matter how far away the vehicle is we all fall into this quiet, my eyes finding Dan's while we wait for it to pass.

The days after the party are somewhat hazy to me, seeing how I'd been unhealthy, with no food and little water for the beginning ones. Looking back, I remember we spent a whole other day after our escape night driving farther away from the factory until the truck ran out of gas, which led to us ending up here, the third-floor flat at the top of a windy staircase, two-bedroomed with a kitchen, lounge, and tiny bathroom, long-unoccupied by the state of it.

The place is fully furnished and almost surreal with how everything's been left behind, pictures of a smiling family and their two dogs gracing the picture frames on the shelves and walls that we've ungracefully inhabited, dumping our small amount of stuff onto the sofas and trailing dirt on the carpets. The place also has blankets on all three of the beds and draped across the sofa, at least giving us a reprieve from the cold at night, the overwhelming homeliness making me feel like I'm trespassing.

In the kitchen where I am now there's an island separating the room into two parts, one side full of counters and cupboards and the other featuring a stove and fridge. I'm on the cupboard side, glancing briefly out the window to observe the currently empty street, when a voice rings out a little tentatively behind me.

"Try the top shelf."

The quiet suggestion startles me so much I almost trip right into the counter, as it is I bang my knee against the wood of the island and it makes a very audible clunk.

Dan's form leans against the white-painted frame of the kitchen doorway, his brown eyes alert and fixed on me as I turn to meet them, almost apologetic as if he's not supposed to be watching.

I shoot him a sideways glance and then turn around, resuming my work and checking the shelf he's asked me to but otherwise giving no other acknowledgement that he's entered. I have to stand on the tips of my toes to brush my hand over the dusty shelf, but when my hand hits the back of the structure I feel a rounded, aluminum can and then two others, drawing them out for closer examination reveals them to be spaghetti and meatballs. I don't know how he knew it but I draw them out gratefully, slipping them into the backpack and focusing on looking at nothing but the next one, even though I'm quickly running out of cupboards.

I see Mark wander past the doorway. He glances over when he notices we're in there, he and Dan nodding to each other before he moves on, continuing on his way.

They seem like business partners lately, ever diligent in keeping us in line and pushing down their stresses to get the job done. Despite being cool and distant, I know they're slowly becoming something like friends now, the gesture between them looking distinctly amicable for one of the first few times I've ever seen.

I cough as a puff of dust floats into my face from the cupboard, shutting it quickly when it reveals only some dishes and an empty cereal box. Dan shifts a little when the silence stretches on, Mark's footsteps fading into the other room.

"What's up?" I ask abruptly, unsure of what else to say.

Ever since Dan woke up after getting the bullet removed an awkwardness has developed in my mind towards him, and I find myself distancing myself from him slightly, though not entirely intentionally, not ignoring him exactly but not seeking him out. We didn't mention the night of the party, at least not right away when we should have since we seemed to silently agree it'd only make things strange for both of us when we did. Eventually it had to happen though, and that's the main reason I feel so weird.

I can't deny the butterflies I get when I think about the incident, no matter how I remind myself of our pretend relationship and how it was just an act. Because that's what it would be like. If only for that night I had a slight insight of what Dan could be to me. Like a game ready and available but highly expensive, and I just got the demo. If he hadn't pretended to be in love with me, things would have been so much worse. We probably would have died if we straight up tried to fight.

"It shouldn't make things awkward." He'd insisted during the conversation. It had happened last night, the silence between us broken as we sat in practically the same place I'm standing currently, backs against the cupboards and sitting on the floor after I'd explained to him in very simple terms how the memory bothered me. Plenty of omissions, the main one of course being that I'd thought it a good thing to be that close to him in that way, left out purposefully and making the conversation feel weirdly no-homo. "Phil, it was pretending."

It had been hard to articulate to him exactly what I was feeling. At this point all he knew was that I couldn't forget what he'd done that night, as much as I had been grateful that we got out. I'd imagine on his end it was very confusing, trying to figure out why his best friend was so worked up about a pretend romance, if there's was technically no real romance to get in the way.

"You aren't actually my boyfriend," he added, like the nail in the coffin that I really didn't need. "That would be..."

We both glanced at each other and then quickly looked away for some reason, embarrassed at discussing dating him, with him. I wasn't sure why he was so nervous to hold eye contact with me, but I couldn't do it either, so there's not much I can say. A dull feeling sunk into my stomach as he confirmed for me that the idea of anything between us was ludicrous, honestly at this point I should just come to accept it.

I shook my head, though my heart sank a little.

"...Yeah." I agreed. Because I really needed a confirmation that he felt that way. That stung and I know it did, I'll be keeping that in mind for a while. It's why I'm trying to forget that that party happened. Clearly he already has, or at least the emotionally important parts. I'll pretend I don't mind that he's repressing everything that meant something to me, only focusing on the part that the girl played, the part that I'd rather put aside forever.

This must be what Dan means when he says I'm always irritatingly looking at the positive side of life. What he was like when he defended me from the girl, all I can think is that if he felt the way I did, it would be like that. He had pretended to be in love with me. There's nothing I can do to get around it.

And in that same one night I'd had to in succession escape a girl who had me pinned against a wall and her hands all over, see him choked, shoot a man, escape to a corridor and spend a whole night there that I don't remember, get captured and locked away and then escape again only to nearly see him die. He's acting like it's nothing, like my worrying about him is annoying and then defaulting to comforting me instead of taking me seriously. I'm trying to ignore those parts and all of the bad things. It should be healthier that I tried to focus on the parts where all the good things happened with me and Dan, but he doesn't seem to think so.

So the rest of the night after that conclusion of sorts was spent quietly, the two of us eventually moving back down the hallway from the kitchen and sleeping on opposite sides of the bed in the master bedroom that we chose to occupy. It became immediately evident as the next day wore on that there was now a touch of discomfort between him and I, especially after we woke up in this strange apartment that we're still at and the mood was already odd. Even after doing it so many times it's still unsettling to wake up in a new place, added on top of the fact that Dan's probably worried I'm angry at him for what he did. And I'm not, really. I'm more angry about what he's not doing, and angry at myself.

I don't think Dan even realizes this problem exists, but I can't help that what happened after has also ruined my emotions.

Seeing him shot- it scared me, I couldn't leave him alone in the back of a truck unconscious and hurt. The thought of it terrifies me now, and all I can think about is how pale he'd been when Chris had helped me move him to the back of the truck, how the moment he was awake I was practically sobbing, the guilt eating me alive. It was too much after the charged emotion of the escape night, and now a couple days later I'm stuck in this limbo trying to separate my thoughts while we live in a tentative safety. There's so much happening in my mind it's crazy, I'm not as level as him when trying to organize my thoughts.

Dan himself is worn-down, yet he's changed since that party. Oddly enough he's suddenly become more open, more than he's ever been. He doesn't hesitate to say what's on his mind anymore, to tell us when we're acting stupid or say I did something right. He doesn't move away when I sit close to him, even if he can't possibly know why I need it. Even when I'd gotten horribly sidetracked trying to reassure him in the truck and ended up crying instead he just pulled me into his shoulder, tiding me through without a shred of stiffness or hesitance. I'd give anything to see what's going on inside his mind right now, maybe that would help make it all make sense. It just seems so weirdly convenient.

The night after the confederation bunker washed any of our previous conflicts away,  introducing something new as well. Not only is he back but he is in fact physically closer, our being apart and endangered seeming to awaken something of some kind. He's suddenly putting far more effort into our bond.

It's not like he wasn't trying before, but now he's practically attached to me, always one step behind me or trailing me from room to room. When we sit he presses our shoulders together. When Chris needs me check something he joins me. Considering he's the one who is at this point more physically damaged, it might seem a bit strange how he's always overworking himself to assure I'm comfortable, especially when you remember that I used to have to fight him for every hug and comfort, not even attempting anything in front of others. It's like he knows something, knows I want him there physically and maybe the contradictory feeling that I also want him away. That's been the entire day today, so it's no wonder he's now followed me into the kitchen. I've already sat in a single chair in the living room purposefully at one point today so that we couldn't sit together on the couch. This kind of thing is not something I want to put myself through at the moment, our intentions with constant nearness are too different. He's standing at a distance on purpose, but it's obvious that he's left the lounge intentionally to follow.

I know it's not his fault that I'm feeling so weird around him, but it feels like he's defaulting. I'm mad at myself for being so dramatic about probably the least important part of the last few nights to anyone else. Even now he's gazing at me softly like everything's fine, slightly puzzled by my silence and completely unaware that every time he's near me my mind is filled with conflicting feelings. Is he really different now or is he just acting like this because my instability makes him nervous? I can't be relaxed until he's better again and he knows it, so why is he acting like he doesn't?

Either way, he's here now, and before I know it he's standing at my side, eyes on my hands that are resting on the countertop carefully.

"Is this where you've been since I fell asleep on the couch?" He asks me, referring to earlier in the day when Chris had given him meds for the pain that made him slightly drowsy, causing him to nod off while our group had been sitting in the lounge. Chris's inventory is mysteriously convenient, a single backpack stuffed with things he's accumulated in his time working for the confederation. It's well-stocked and well-organized, the whole setup a bit of a miracle really when I remember how much time he'd had to string together a plan. He told me at one point that he mostly just grabbed anything that looked essential, his preparation for any situation ultimately saving Dan's life with the lighter and bandages even though he had no way of knowing that any of that would happen. In a way it's quite impressive, and I can only wonder what else he has that will also come to use.

"Yeah," I reply to Dan, idly brushing my hand over his fingers and then placing it back on the surface, pretending to be absorbed in looking at the cookbook propped against the wall, despite the fact that I should probably be avoiding delicious food images when the best I can find in real life is canned noodles. I can almost imagine him waking up and going to find me, not wanting to be alone in the room with Felix, Chris, and PJ. He starts at this minimal contact, though he doesn't react outwardly in any other way.

He takes another step closer and absently rolls his shoulder, flexing the fingers on his hand and trying to shrug off the ache of the healing wound. He still has to replace the bandages occasionally and he often holds the limb stiffly, reminding me of the bullet that had been there and making me uncomfortably aware of it now. He seems to sense this because he drops it down quickly, but then drifts over to lean himself lightly against my side in a way that makes me feel warm.

"Looking for food in the kitchen." He comments, eyes flicking to where I'm shouldering our bag.

"I am." I agree.

"You're doing everything alone today." He says without missing a heartbeat. "Is something wrong?"

I shake my head quickly, then remember I'm facing a cupboard so he can't see my expression. Ideally I don't want him to worry, so I think a reply up in my head relatively quickly, hoping to sound like I mean it when it comes out of my mouth so it doesn't become an issue. "No." I tell him semi-convincingly, cringing when I realize he'll hear my tone and read into it. "It's just what I remember seeing in the movies. When people shelter in what used to be someone's house, they scrounge around and go to find food."

He nods thoughtfully and I feel relief that he believes me, the guilt of lying to him bugging me slightly but easily dismissed as my fingers tap the way his do sometimes when he's thinking and pondering, the gesture from his point of view looking like I'm calm but preoccupied. I breathe a sigh of relief before he looks at me suddenly, nodding so abruptly I jump a little as a nervous feeling creeps into my chest.

"All right, I know what this is." He concludes as if I've handed him the secret formula. "You're thinking about the party again."

I have no idea how he can tell so easily. I haven't said a word, and I'm deliberately acting like I'm totally fine. Actually I am, honestly. Petty love problems aside I'm pretty much okay emotionally now that I know the danger is basically out of the way. It must be the years of experience in which he's concealed himself every day that explains it, but I know him well enough that maybe we can let this blow over if I just keep reassuring him it's all right.

"I'm over it, Dan." I breathe as cheerily as I can manage, turning around to face him for good measure and placing my hand on the back of his, feeling him squeeze my thumb gently as it brushes under his fingers. With my other hand I reach for the next handle in my proximity, wondering if maybe I can find some crackers or soups, his hand relaxing when I don't leave it. "It wasn't even that big of a deal, it doesn't matter. Are you hungry? I could probably cook one of these." I ask him, reaching behind my back and showing one of the cans.

"You sound like you're talking about a breakup." He answers jokingly, taking his hand back and wrapping it loosely around my side. He squeezes my arm against my body, a calming motion that I'm not expecting, yet another thing I've never had him do. He takes the can away carefully and puts it back in the bag, practically demanding my attention by keeping my hands free.

I shake my head and step out of the semi-embrace gently, patting his back so he knows I'm not (too) angry. He's clearly distracted though, more focused on my lack of an answer than the motions I've just gone through. I decide to go back to searching, occupying my hands that way.

He knows I might evade him if he asks me outright, so instead he sort of springs the statement, practically cornering me into the wall as I try and fail to be in any way subtle by reaching for the next cupboard. And the only reason he manages to do that is because he catches me off guard, striding forward and pushing me backward gently until there's nothing but a wall behind me and forcing me to look him in the eye, letting me know he's taking this seriously and that I've accomplished nothing with my lie. I realize as soon as he moves towards me that he's about to be bluntly honest about what he's thinking, and absently wonder why I even try.

"I know you're thinking about it." He says stubbornly, as if he's read into my very mind.

I shake my head and gaze carefully at him, realizing I'm looking up slightly and wondering when in hell he got to be taller than me. I'm being towered over by him by a couple of inches, making his stare look more serious as I think about how odd it is that he's being so insistent. He puts a hand on the wall, not touching me or boxing me in exactly, more just forcing me to pay him my full attention as my mind tells me to deny. He hasn't even said what he's talking about and I still know it, it's like we have some psychic connection that for once I'm actually wishing we didn't, because it's unfair that he should be able to read me so well right now.

"Why would you say that?" I ask. If he's insisting on making me think about it then I'm going to be difficult, though I admit it's partly due to the fact that it's significant to us for different reasons. But we're both unfortunately quite stubborn, making me realize he won't let me brush this off until I tell him everything. The most annoying part is that usually this is my role, were having some kind of weird reversal and now I'm suddenly realizing what he's feeling every time I have him pour out some honest part of his heart.

"Because you're being weird around me." He states. "You keep speaking so abnormally formal."

"You think I'm being weird." It's less a question and more of a statement, because I'm determined to talk in circles about this for as long as I can.

"Well, you're not being normal." He points out. "You never go off to be alone in a room like this and you're always really good about letting me know what you're thinking. Since when have you ever avoided answering me?"

I feel like he has me nailed down. It's my own fault, I guess. It was idiotic of me to think he'd be that stupid and not realize something was up, and as much as I hadn't wanted him to worry, it seems like thats exactly what he's out to do.

"Normal is boring." I say weakly. "Can you blame me? Think about how what we did."

As soon as I see the look on his face I realize what a mistake I've made, his cheeks reddening minutely as he gives me a decidedly startled look. "What we-? Wait, what did we do? What exactly are you talking about?"

I step back a bit nervously, my back meeting the cool paint of the wall and my mind frantically trying to redirect itself. I thought we were on the same page, so what is he thinking of? I'm uncomfortable because I can't deal with how I'm feeling.

"The party?" I ask hesitantly, and I see his eyes widen.

"Oh. I don't know why but I was thinking about in the truck..." he stammers, eyes flicking to mine and then darting away. "I don't want you to feel embarrassed or whatever about either thing. You know it's totally fine."

"All right."

I don't know what to say and the silence amounts quickly, and it's not the quiet comfortable one that we usually share.

"Nevermind, you probably don't wanna talk about it." He guesses. I nod in confirmation and he settles his hands on the counter, pondering wordlessly while he tries to come up with something else to say. To his credit, at least he's trying.

"You... you know what I hate?" He asks suddenly, hastily changing the subject.

I consider holding off on him just for the sake of being petty, but that's not really an option when I can't even grow a spine and be annoyed at him for prodding me. It's a testimony to just how much he has me wrapped around his finger that I cave, grasping at his feeble attempt at conversation and answering. "What's that?"

"Using a gun." He says unexpectedly." It just feels wrong. Everything's so close-quartered and I had to learn how to reload it from Chris, who I'd rather not be speaking to."

The way he mentions Chris still comes out cold and distrustful, an irritating characteristic that I'd like to get past.

"Remember he fixed your shoulder." I remind him, hoping to say without saying to him how I feel about this route.

"I'm talking more about the weapon." He mutters, but I can see the resignation that he knows he's been called out.

"Dan, the confederation wants him dead now." I insist. "I'm pretty sure he's on our side."

"You trust too easily." He states bluntly, forgetting his own act to change the subject. "I know you think I'm a miserable cynic but I feel like I'm the only cynic. Is it not the smallest bit reasonable that I don't want him dictating what we're doing after watching him lie to us and hit you? Or am I making everything difficult-"

"God." I interrupt, startling him with the harshness of my tone. I don't have the patience to repeat this cycle, for once I want him to reach just a little bit and find his own self worth. "Don't even start that. Everything you're feeling about Chris is perfectly valid and you're right, you probably have good reason to think a little harder about it than we all are. I'm not attacking you."

He looks at me uncertainly. "Well I... just don't think we should relax this easily. It could be some elaborate ploy to lead us right to their leader. Considering some of the shit we've seen, I wouldn't be ruling it out. So you can stop arguing me."

"I'm not. I just want you to feel safe." I tell him, hoping that the words come across as genuine rather than irritated. I would never purposefully be cross with him, but it's hard for him to realize that when he's always expecting the highest amount of indecency whenever spoken to.

"I'm not sure I do," he confesses quietly. "maybe I never will."

"You didn't trust the group when we still lived at camp." I remind him. "You'll probably feel unsafe no matter where we are in the world."

He shrugs noncommittally but nods in agreement, eyes drifting down to my hands rather than my face.

"It just makes me angry. I can't think of any way to change it."

"You're always angry." I remind him. "At someone or something at some point."

I don't ever want him to be ashamed of feeling, god knows he doesn't get to do it enough even if he is being stubborn. "That's okay though," I add. "Maybe this place will be different."

He lowers his head almost ashamedly, taking in my words and contemplating some fixed point below my eyes. "I know, I guess. I just...refuse to let it be you that I'm angry at, you know?"

Now normally that'd having me melting into a puddle, but right now I just feel resigned.

"Well that's a development." I sigh, regretting it a little when he immediately looks hurt. Surprisingly though, he doesn't look in any way deterred.

"Phil..."

I shut one last door, out of reasons to be looking away from him. "Don't get me wrong, it's good that you're being honest." I tell him firmly. "But you don't need to wallow in self-pity to get me to care about you, you know."

Hi eyes widen, expression looking almost offended. "I'm not!" He exclaims.

He lurches forward so that our noses are practically touching and glares at me purposefully, not even hiding the effect of this that I've said. It's weird because the glare isn't angry. The look he's giving me is one of intent, and it's an uncomfortably strong reaction. Whatever I've said, it's apparently been way off the mark.

"Is that what you think this is?" He asks haughtily.

It's what we keep shifting to lately. He gets dejected and I turn it around, I admit that many times it has in fact been vice versa. It's not that I honestly think his states are all for attention, I know him better than that, but subconsciously he's still doing it.

I stare up at him. "I don't know what it is," I explain truthfully, stumbling backwards at the proximity. "I can't help it if my reactions are kind of weird right now."

"You know, you were worse off than me at that party. You don't get to tell me the things I'm doing are making you feel weird when you don't even remember all of that night." He shoots, before seeming to immediately regret it.

The way he says it makes my heart slam against my ribs. I'm now looking up at him in confusion.

"Wait, why are you telling me that?" I exclaim nervously, not sure what to make of this with so little context. "What happened?"

His eyes widen. I can practically see him moving to backtrack, a look that's out of focus in his eyes. "Nothing important!" He stammers, though his feigned composure makes it hard to believe. It's not often that I see him this way. "I just mean you didn't have to deal with the aftermath."

"Then why are you like-?" I mimic his expression, making him shake his head.

"Never mind, Phil. I'm sorry."

For what? "Why are you sorry?! What is it that happened after that party? Did we do something weird after we escaped?"

"What?" He frowns confusedly. "No!"

"Why'd you bring it up then?" It seems an oddly specific point to just make, especially out of nowhere when we'd been talking about his self-depreciation.

"I was proving a point." He sighs. His cheeks are now definitely red, and it hits me that he is in fact hiding something. I have no idea why he'd feel the need to. I've always been so openly honest with him, and sooner or later he always ends up spitting out the truth too. We're shit at hiding things from each other. Whatever it is it's obviously a big deal to him, and I'm debating internally if it's worth the discomfort to try and pry it out. Otherwise, why would he keep it a secret?

I put a hand on his chest and he looks reassured by the touch, looking up gently until he realizes what I'm doing, pushing him away slightly and trying to nonverbally tell him that he's in my space, which at the moment I don't think I can take.

"From now on don't prove any points then." I sigh. "Just... can you go? I need to be alone for a little while."

He doesn't move back for once but rather stares at me in shock, a stark contrast to one month ago when he would have stalked off angrily and closed off any form of feeling displayed on his face.

"Like hell you do." He says with a forced laugh. "You are avoiding me."

Immediately guilt settles into the pit of my stomach and I yearn to fix it. The problem, though, is that it's entirely true.

"I don't want to do that to you, Dan." I say quietly. "You're the only person I can keep around me constantly." It's about the only thing that I can truly say to him honestly in this case, anything else would hold obvious implications.

He throws out his free hand, gesturing to the way he's had to put me to keep the conversation from being broken and encompassing the entire room where I'd been. "Well what do you call this, then?"

I open my mouth and close it a couple times, but now he has me really stuck. It's not like I want to avoid him. It's just for this little while that I'm feeling the need to be away from him. Standing here with his eyes on me reminds me of his lips on my neck and the possessive way he spoke all those days ago. How could that have not been real at all? How can I convey that without lying to him? To tell him anything but reality would mean I'm concealing the truth.

I can see the comprehension on his face when he notices the look in my eyes. He looks at me worriedly and tilts his head forward, brushing my cheek with his hand and raising his eyebrows.

Whether he means it or I think it feels far too intimate. A wave of emotions hits me and I jerk back, which ends up making me hit my head off the wall as pain and need assault me in equal parts and his hand falters.

There's a huge, impossible part of me that can't seem to give up. No matter what I tell myself or how blatantly unromantic the two of us are, I still seem to be completely and irrevocably attracted to him. I can't have him this close to me. He thinks it's all innocent, that he's just holding my attention. It's just making me want to run away. I'm actually able to imagine now what it feels like to have his lips on me, now whenever he's this close to me it'll probably be all I can think.

"Don't do that." I say tightly, my heart sinking even as I'm uttering the words.

Immediately his face moves several inches back, his expression riddled with blatant confusion. "What? What did I do?"

The memory of last time I'd been pressed against a wall hits me and I flinch. The girl at the party. Her hands on my waist, her lips...

"Nothing." I huff uselessly. My hand goes up to grip at the one of his that's touching my face, not sure whether to guide it away or thread my fingers through it as I try to pass off the instinctive shudder at the invasive memory. I have to remind myself that this is Dan. He's being a pain but he's not going to hurt me, I'm against the wall so he can look me in the eyes. He doesn't realize why I don't want him to touch me, and I'm not sure if I can explain.

We stare at each other for a few moments longer, holding our gazes even at the sound of approaching feet. Then Dan's face turns stubborn.

"That's not an answer." He insists, his tone levelling more gently. "What did I do? Please just tell me, Phil, because I can't figure it out by myself."

I shake my head slightly. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it bloody well matters!" He exclaims, his voice ringing out unintentionally loudly and making me wonder if the others can hear. "I will never, ever do anything to purposefully hurt you."

I sigh deeply, shoving his hand away from my head. Everything he's doing is for good intentions, yet I can't accept it. Human emotion is so strange. I know in the back of mind I'm not making it any easier on myself, but being able to reject him feels like making up for what I can't have. He draws it back defeatedly, placing it back on the wall.

"You're not hurting me." I tell him. "There's just a lot on my mind. You didn't do anything."

"I know you're upset because I don't want to tell you." He sighs, his shoulders sagging a little bit. Well, at least he's aware that he's doing it. "It just scares me, okay? I think you're better off, not being able to remember."

A twinge of bitterness hits me and I shake my head, unable to think of anything that he'd truly want to hide from me. If it's important to him, then don't I deserve to know this? After all, I was there.

"Certainly." I end up spitting. "Definitely something you should keep to yourself."

I go to turn away but his hand stops me, one pushing intently against my chest and the other turning my cheek to face me, a strange expression burning clearly in his eyes as he manually holds me in place.

"Trust me. You won't want to look at me if you remember."

"You know that I love you, right?" I blurt suddenly, not even realizing what I've said exactly until the words are out and he freezes like a deer in the headlights, the words so angry it takes a spilt second to register.

His mouth drops open and my mind goes completely blank, emotions assaulting me from several different places as he blushes and tries to conceal his state with his signature deadpan. I try to utter a sound but no words come out, my eyes wide.

He blinks and grips my shoulder, forcing me to focus my thoughts. My heart is pounding, my brain unwilling to look in his eyes. I should correct myself. Try to backtrack. But I can't backtrack. There's no way to explain this beyond anything less than it's is, and it's been a long time since I've seen this amount of sincere and obvious emotion in his expression. He truly looks pained like he's scared I'm going to abandon him, as if words made for him could never be allowed to have that much meaning. But also stunned.

Oh god, I shouldn't have said anything.

"What do you...?" His cheeks are still impossibly pink, my chest is still so constricted at the worry that he's going to see right through me. I shake my head, not trusting my own mouth.

"You're my best friend?" I end up babbling, focusing determinedly on the arch of his shoulder rather than his eyes. He tilts my head back up, forcing me to look at him, to take him seriously, and I flush as he bites his lip, looking more than a little surprised.

"Phil, I... couldn't get through this life without you." He replies slowly, flushing for allowing himself to utter such an honest, open statement. But the anger is gone, replaced by a calmer insistence. He moves forward again, although now I'm not fighting him. I'm transfixed by the attention. "Look at me. You're my best friend too. You know that. I'm babbling like an idiot here because I'm so fucking worried about you. Anything you're feeling is important, and I guess I should accept that you have the patience to care about me."

I stare at him numbly, amazed that the exchange has shifted so much. Regret and relief are fighting to occupy my feelings, and I'm not sure which is going to end up overwhelming me more. He doesn't realize the sheer weight of the thing I've just said to him, but in a way, I guess that's good. It's good to be loved, and I love this friendship more than life itself.

"What that girl did to you, it will never happen again." He continues, swiping his thumb under my eye before I've even realized there's a tear there, which is simultaneously mortifying and unbelievable. He only looks more worried when I don't immediately respond to him, trying to gauge my emotions that I've never really been able to hide from him. "And yes, I know that's what you were thinking about before."

I look into his eyes, the brown irises dark because he's backlit by the window. His hand is no longer on my cheek but instead curled around the tips of my fingers, raising a hundred questions at once as to where his mind is at. I bite my lip to keep my heart from exploding right out of my chest, not wanting to do anything reckless.

"For god's sake, please say something." He sighs, relaxing his grip and taking in the look on my face.

I blink, seeing how uncertain he is. My heart feels unusually heavy. I flicker my gaze briefly back and forth from his eyes, still in shock from allowing three simple words  that encompass so much more than he can probably imagine. It's my fault we're in this atmosphere of strangeness and it's why I can't reach out right now and hug him, despite the actual verbal permission he'd given me that night in the truck.

"What do you want me to say?" I ask him, not too sure of that answer myself.

"I don't know, anything!" He huffs. "You know I'm serious. I'm still your bloody fangirl aren't I, really. Look at us,  you can't seem to shake me off. I'm a mess. Totally dependent, and unlike everything else I'm not even gonna pretend to regret it. I just want you to be honest with me, you need to, it's what we do."

I'm in complete disbelief at how passionate he is about this. And also his acknowledgment of sorts of what I've said to him. He's not angry, he's not brushing off the emotion. He's just telling me it how it is, giving me a very intimate insight into how he feels. It's a major thing to get used to. He wants to believe that he's the one being clingy and it's just coincidence I'm so attached to him, so adorably oblivious I could punch him. Lovingly, of course.

"I-I know." I manage, blinking away the light amount of wetness in my eyes, tired tears more than anything. I'm mostly just really stunned. I don't actually feel all that bad, there's just been so much that's happened.

"Then-" he shifts from foot to foot and then stares at me, extending a finger and poking me in the chest. "-act like it."

I open my mouth, about to respond to that with probably another act of impulsive stupidness, when another presence makes itself known at the door.

"Woah," Chris exclaims, striding in suddenly from the other side of the door, "sexual tension in here."

Dan's expression shifts in an instant, eyes widening incredulously as he turns on his heel, hand dropping from next to my head and hitting his side. His cheeks flush as he steps several feet away from me, the response catching me totally off guard.

"Sorry?"

Chris raises his eyebrows, a very surprised look on his face at Dan's exclamation.

"Oh, uh-" he stammers, realizing his mistake as Dan continues to back up, eyes wide and looking anywhere but at me. My heart sinks in my chest and my face heats up, trying to plead with my eyes for him to take back what his body language implies, that he thinks Chris has the wrong idea. He's not standing close anymore. He's not holding my fingers. He's creating physical distance.

"I didn't interrupt something did I-"

Dan's eyes widen, blazing suddenly with a defiant glare as he turns before even being given an explanation, his back retreating to the open door in practically record time. He stares flushed between Chris and I for another moment longer.

"Dan, wait." Chris exclaims hurriedly, reaching out to stop him from going. "I'm kidding, I swear! What's wrong?"

He freezes briefly as Chris's hand catches his sleeve, turning on his heel to face him and yanking it free. I already know how he feels about unprecedented contact, and am well aware of how this is gonna go.

"Nothing." He snaps harshly, back to his old self just as easily as before. The mask is back, his face an emotionless clean slate, and I've just opened my mouth to say something, anything, when he takes back his arm.

The floorboards below him creak as he sweeps past the both of us and strides out of the room. I just stare numbly as I watch him go, hearing his footsteps fading down the hallway, presumably he's heading into the lounge.

For a moment Chris and I just stare at each other silently, an unspoken heaviness filling the room. He looks stuck in place and confused, not sure of what he's caused exactly and simultaneously apologetic all at once as he looks to me for explanation. I sigh tiredly, running a hand through my hair which causes him to look at me curiously.

I just shake my head, not entirely sure of what to say because it's obvious he'd only been joking despite my friend's response. As much as it had been embarrassing it's nothing we haven't heard before and again, it was a joke. Never would I have expected such a reaction when having even the most minute of implications put between us. Glad to know that that's where I stand when it comes to Dan.

I raise my gaze to Chris's face and see the concern there, questions hanging in the air in Dan's absence. I still can't shake the image of Chris attacking us from my mind, getting along with him isn't going to be nearly as easy as it should be considering our introduction.

I wander over to the window and hop up to sit on the counter, noticing a bottle of dish soap that's been left on the sill next to a long-dead potted houseplant. The remains of the old inhabitant's life, now being witnessed by a pair of strangers. I bite my lip to keep from showing any obvious emotion. How does Dan do it?

"Phil-" Chris starts up hesitantly, still standing on the same patch of floor like he's not sure what to do with himself. "I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."

"I think he now mildly hates me," I sigh. "I screwed that up."

Dan could have gone anywhere in the building. When he doesn't want to be seen he won't be, and I can only imagine the things that he must be feeling now. I want to kick myself for being so stupid and to go reassure him, but at the same time he probably doesn't want to see me. Not when such an implication is between us now, he's probably taking back that genuineness right now.

Chris's eyes widen and he shakes his head, a comical motion with his skinny neck and mop of hair. "Screwed what up? I wasn't expecting that strong of a reaction." He asks me worriedly. "You guys weren't talking about anything important, were you?"

"We were just arguing." I explain. "Not even in an aggressive way, there's just a lot going on. He has a lot of issues when it comes to working with others, let's put it that way."

I can tell that he knows there was a whole other layer to it but since he doesn't have the guts to comment, I won't bring it up either. I can practically see him figuring out a different thing to say.

"It might just be that it's me, too." He says quietly, honestly. "I don't expect you guys to trust me after... all that."

His voice indicates he's all too aware of where he stands with us, though I can't help but feel he's redeemed himself slightly by risking his life to save us like that. After all, who knows where we would be now if he hadn't?

"Oh, no. You didn't cause this." I assure him hurriedly. "Best friends are prone to having their own issues."

I decide not to mention the fact that Dan has no interest in being his friend, not sure if that will in any way help our group's progress. Or that fact that he wants nothing more than to just be my friend. That won't help us either.

He shrugs. "Yeah, but-"

I shake my head, changing the subject. "It's not like I hate you, I know you had a reason for what you did. We've just had a few issues with trust in the last little while and with that party..." I trail off for a moment at the genuinely saddened expression on his features, hesitantly finishing my sentence. "...Dan isn't one to just forgive."

"Right." Good one, Phil. You've really charmed him into forming a better friendship.

"He's just a tough person to try and get close to." I admit hurriedly. "I think he just needs time to get used to this tentative safety we have happening."

"Is he always like that?" He asks bluntly, punctuating the silence with the curious sound and forcing the topic right back where he wants it to. "He bloody loves you, I can see it. To me it looks like he's just trying to tell you he's stressed, but isn't sure how to say it. Think about everything he went through after Wirrow shot him. He must be in shock to some degree. Just give him a hug or something and I bet he'll forgive you just like that, whatever you did."

My heart lurches in my chest and I bite my lip harshly, hiding my annoyance at this ignorant kind of statement. The convenient timing is a bit too much at the moment and I know it, feeling slightly irritated towards him even if he has no way of knowing. I'm not going to apologize for saying I love you, nor do I want to hear another's take on Dan's situation.

"You were in there for about twenty seconds before he left." I mumble, dismissing him absently because the obliviousness is a bit too much. "No offence, but we've just met you. I don't need any advice on how to manipulate his feelings."

"What was that all about, anyway?" He questions curiously, trying to deduce an expression from the look on my face.

"It's... nothing." I murmur, sliding off of the counter with a bit of a stumble.

He gazes at me silently and I can see his silvery eyes that observe me with uncomfortable intensity. He doesn't ask me to explain myself but I basically already know his judgements. I bet anything that he's just like Mark, the difference being that Mark is much more vocal.

I nod at him politely before winding my way around the island, crossing the floor and walking out of the room, leaving him to stand alone in there in silence.

~~~

I have a serving of the spaghetti I found canned earlier heated now in two bowls.

I know it's a bit of a reach, but Cat's told me he's up in the attic room and I don't see why it's not a good idea to try and smooth things over, not when drawing boundaries between each other is so pointless.

The idea struck me as I handed the food over to PJ to cook when I reached the lounge, noting that Dan was absent and also wondering when was the last time I'd seen him eat.

The setup of this flat is fairly strange. The main floor, which is on the building's third floor encompasses the majority of the living space, featuring both the bedrooms and the lounge, the kitchen opposite the latter in the hallway and the bathroom near the entrance of the home. The attic room, however, is up a set of stairs behind a door we'd assumed was an ordinary closet, at least until Felix opened it and revealed this whole other room. Though I haven't actually gone up there Dan has once, and it's from him that I've gotten a somewhat pictureable description in my head.

I didn't provide too many details when Cat asked me why I didn't have him with me, just telling her he'd gone off again and I planned to follow him, to which she'd shaken her head and directed me, making me sit and wait for the food to finish before I went, apparently because she thought he'd want his space. I took it as an opportunity to bring a peace offering, even if I wasn't entirely sure it was entirely necessary.

Needless to say, my patience is worn thin by now and so I've gone to find him, twisting open the door and shutting it quietly, climbing up the squeaky steps and crouching a bit because the stairway was definitely built for someone much shorter than me.

I don't immediately see him when I enter, at first just noticing that the room itself is mostly unfinished. The air smells sweet like old wood and the room is dim and a bit dusty, storage bins and scattered possessions lining the walls. I spot a cardboard box topped with a folded comforter, identical to the one I slept under back at camp before it had all gone up in flames and walk over to examine it, placing the bowls down delicately on a crate and consequently almost tripping when I pass by a stack of boxes that's concealed him, foot almost catching on his shoulder.

He's laying on the floor.

When I step back he doesn't acknowledge me beyond a quick glance. He's staring up through the skylight at the burnished orange and deep purple clouds outside, the transitioning sunset to mark the end of today. He's lying on his back, looking serious but also remarkably calm and comfortable, hands folded on his stomach and his legs laid out straight. This at least assures me that he hasn't fallen, but I'm still wondering what he's doing out of sight way down there.

"What's this about me going off to be alone, then?" I tease hesitantly, seeing his tapping fingers stiffen at my weak attempt at a joke. The whole reason we'd argued earlier was because he'd been confused as to why I'd go off without him, yet now he's doing the very same.

I step over, lifting up the blanket and plopping it by his head. He jumps a little at the unexpected sound, glancing over before I move to lay next to him, laying my legs out straight and placing my head on the folded blanket and wedging into the space between him and the stack of stuff on either side. My back protests the contact of the stiff wooden floor against it but I ignore that, looking at Dan's face from the side. He's looking up at the clouds, apparently not wanting to acknowledge that I've joined him.

I don't know where I stand with him at the moment. He'd been in the middle of a fairly difficult admission just earlier when Chris had interrupted, driving him elsewhere by making him feel mildly embarrassed. But he'd said himself that he can't stay angry at me, and I'm not sure what he'd be angry about in the first place. There's a small part of my brain that just quietly niggles with fears like this, not sure what they are but knowing they're entirely possible.

He glances at my face and frowns at my expression, eyes drifting back up to the sky. "Leave me alone, you spoon." He huffs softly, neither encouraging the action nor anything the opposite.

He closes his eyes and I turn to stare at the clouds through the glassy square. They're orange-purple at the moment, casting the colours on everything in the room like a natural palette. Dan's skin glows softly as if by candlelight, the bruises on his face and neck that remain tinted a darker hue, feathery and watercolour. I resist the urge to trace my fingers over them again, instead tentatively reaching over and squeezing his wrist.

"Hi to you too." I hum, nudging my shoulder into his as I let go. He stays lying still and I see his chest rise and fall slowly, a thousand thoughts probably in his head right now. He lets several beats of quiet fall between us before responding, though I understand by his lack of movement that he's not about to kick me out.

"Hi." He replies quietly, frowning absently and lightly tapping his fingers against his stomach. "What's up?"

"What're you doing up here?" I question, sure I'd been expecting to see just about anything besides him laying on his back on the attic floor. Though actually, now that I'm doing it too I realize it's quite relaxing, watching the clouds drift by backlit by the setting sun, a comfortable setting while our friends' muffled voices hum through the floor below. It feels very isolated, and I realize before I came up here he must have felt like he was in his own little world. It'd be more comfortable though, if I hadn't just seen him storm out only an hour ago.

He shrugs, his narrow shoulders rolling a little. "There's nobody up here. I like that."

He doesn't elaborate and I mull over this, trying to figure out if I've intruded on his chosen isolation.

"Would it be better if I wasn't here?" I ask gently. "I won't bother you if you need to be by yourself."

He pauses, shaking his head. "No, I don't mind." He says decidedly. "I knew you'd come find me eventually."

A hopeful spark ignites in my chest and I raise my eyebrows, shifting to move my shoulders into a more comfortable position as some of the apprehension in my stomach relaxes. "You're not angry at me, then?" I blurt, curious. "The whole thing with Chris was sort of my fault, I didn't mean to..."

I trail off when he laughs lightly, blowing air out of his his nose and shaking his head, leaning on his elbows a bit to sit up.

"No," he repeats fondly this time, half-smiling at me tiredly and raising his eyebrows.

I raise mine right back. "Why not?"

To my complete surprise he shifts over and lays his head on my chest, relaxing his body and winding his arm around my side, sighing out a quiet breath as he goes slack. I can practically see him closing his eyes even though his face is hidden from my vantage, wispy brown curls in my immediate vision. Any unease I've been feeling vanishes in a second.

"It's forgotten." He mumbles carelessly, his cheek pressed heavily into my shirt while my body forgets how to breathe. "I came up here to forget about it, but now I don't really care."

I set my hand down, gingerly tracing my fingers over his back and shoulders, feeling them relax almost the moment I've circled over them. My heart is fluttering in my chest and I focus all my thoughts on calming it, well aware that he'll be able to hear it at the moment since his head is right over that place.

"What? Just like that?" My tone is teasing but I feel like I'm treading carefully, though he actually, miraculously, seems fine. I can't believe he's opting to just do this willingly. He looks so genuinely calmed by his own hold.

"Actually." He confirms seriously. "I think I just overreacted because of the way he chose to say it, honestly. I don't even like him to begin with and then he just barged in like an asshole, he could have just stood in the door and asked what was up."

I shrug, at a loss for what else to say. "Yeah..."

"Whatever." He says firmly. "I don't really care. I'll just avoid him, honestly. It's not like his feelings'll be hurt."

I can't believe he's just brushed it off like that. It's like there's something so much more important on his mind, somehow more important than the person he's refusing to forgive. I've never heard him so conscious of a stranger's feelings.

"Who are you and what have you done with Dan Howell?" I end up asking before I can stop myself, earning me a clumsy punch to the shoulder.

"Shut up!" He groans, settling himself back into his splayed cuddle half on top of me. "You've asked me that before. I'm still Dan. It's too much energy to deal with annoying people. I'm not gonna be a dick and hurt his feelings."

I smirk. "I seem to recall you making stupid excuses last time, too."

"Okay, bye." He snips irritably, letting go with his arm and attempting to roll off. I don't know what's come over me but I can't stand the thought of losing this contact when in reality I've never wanted anything more, so like a lovesick idiot I find myself winding my arms around his waist and squeezing him to my body, rolling back onto my back as soon as I have him and stubbornly not letting go.

"No..." I whine sadly and bury my face in his shoulder, fighting his unenthusiastic squirming and relishing in being able to hug him tightly. This leaves him lying on his back in an unbalanced way on top of me, legs fluttering uselessly with nowhere to go.

"Phil!" He protests hotly, trying pathetically to salvage his dignity before he bursts out laughing, a loud, obnoxious sound that I so rarely hear anymore, making my heart swell happily as soon as it happens. It's so beautiful, so pure and unexpected and so obviously uncontrollable that I only and up hugging him more enthusiastically, pinning his arms to his chest and settling my chin in the dip of his shoulder. He'd probably say it's stupid, or embarrassing. Definitely not something he'd want Mark or Chris to hear, but I think his laugh is wonderful.

"Oh my god, stop." He complains, unable to suppress another giggle. "I'm going to crush you if you keep me up here."

My arms find his heartbeat and I feel it beating quickly, can hear the playfulness in his tone that makes me think contrary to this protest. Somehow the dark cloud has lifted between us, leaving instead a lightness that neither of us could have seen coming.

"Dan, you're a twig." I mumble. "I highly doubt that you could crush me."

He grumbles something under his breath and covers his face with his hands, and I realize it all in a second: he's flustered. He's well aware of this too, retaliating by going limp dramatically, trying to make himself weigh as much as possible.

"Did you really think I had any intention of going anywhere?" He asks knowingly, purposely flopping a hand behind his head to lightly hit me in the face. His wrist settles right in the middle of my forehead, making me scrunch my nose. And blush. "If I roll away where will I go?"

"The floor is always an option." I quip. "Wasn't that where you were before?"

I expect him to squeak in protest again, knowing that when he's feeling strongly in a positive way he can have a difficult time levelling his tone. But he doesn't. Instead he just flops off, his body back on the floor again but his head on my outstretched arm. I can already feel my shoulder hurting from the weight of it but I don't dare move, never wanting his head to stop resting on me. We both turn our faces so the we're seeing eye to eye, a comfortable amount of inches between us but a certain feeling in the air all the same.

He grins at me, a proper, toothy grin that makes his dimple poke into his cheek, and I think I forget how to take in proper breaths.

"Nah."

He moves his head up so that it's sat more comfortably on the folded comforter, sharing my pillow of sorts with his hands going back to his stomach like nothing had happened. "If you're here I might as well use you."

His curly hair is right in my vantage point and I so badly want to dip my head down and kiss it, except I don't dare to after what's just happened before.

"My favourite kind of friends are the ones that use me." I say dumbly, making him choke on his spit and laugh quietly again, shaking his head with a bemused expression.
A comfortable silence settles between us, the clouds drifting past the skylight and revealing purple sky. His laughs fade away and we just lie shoulder to shoulder, surely both thinking about lots but saying nothing at all.

"I'm glad you came and found me, honestly." He sighs at the ceiling. "Existential pondering gets kinda lonely when you do it on your own."

"Does it now." I question emphatically.

"It does."

He shuffles back over, apparently not content with the stiff wood of the floor. Back around me goes his arm and his head is back to my chest though he does his best to play it off in a way that's nonchalant. Of course he does. I can feel my heart freaking out again and scramble to try and think of something to say, the only alternative way to calm me down that I can think of being to throw him right off.

"I brought you food, you know." I announce suddenly, remembering the spaghetti that had given me a reason to wander up here in the first place. He looks up eagerly at me at this mention, piqued with sudden interest.

"Where?"

I gesture off behind us. "On the crate by the door."

He cranes his neck for about five seconds but then evidently fails to see it, giving up almost immediately like a task such as looking is too much of a burden. His head thumps back down making me wince as he deflates dramatically.

"Too far. We'll get it later."

"What?" I protest. "It took me a whole ten seconds to get both bowls up that staircase."

He shrugs. "Oh well. Stop being such a good person and let me starve next time."

I can't help but grin at the backwards compliment. "You're in a strange mood at the moment." I comment carefully, trying to imply with my light tone that I appreciate the turnaround wholeheartedly, since it could be interpreted the other way.

He tenses a little all the same and I immediately regret even bringing his actions to attention, stomach sinking as his hand draws away, settling together with his other one, though his head still remains on my chest at least.

"I'm really not." He sighs. "I'm-"

"-If you say fine I'll leave this conversation here and now."

"-quite happy, honestly." He laughs, nudging his head against my chin. He winces as this obviously puts pressure on his shoulder, but the expression doesn't linger for long.

The response stops me right in my tracks. He's not putting on a facade for me. He's not concealing anything or calming his voice just to stop me from worrying if he's okay. He's actually, literally, genuinely, happy.

Suddenly my scolding feels really stupid and pointless, my hand facepalming me as I feel my face go hot. "O-oh."

"That's all it is." He explains calmly, the atmosphere now back to an almost dreamlike state, it's so calm and perfect. "I don't need anything more than this. Sometimes it's nice just to be alone with nothing more than a quiet room and your own thoughts. People are exhausting."

A shadow slants over our faces and I realize I'm staring to see the moon fading into visibility in the indigo sky, still pale and yellow-violet the way it looks when the night is early. I can't help but feel there's something off about his words, even as his head nuzzles more securely against me and his foot taps against mine absently.

"But I'm a people." I say softly, well-aware that the phrasing isn't great but he knows me, will understand what I mean in saying something dumb like that. "I haven't exactly left you alone." He's gone up here to get away from everyone because being around them is in his mind about as stressful as trying to unwind at a party, but he's the one who hasn't left me, he's the one laid against me all the same.

"You're the exception." He mumbles, shifting minutely and closing his eyes, head lolling sideways as his cheek presses into my shoulder. It's such a simple statement and yet it means so much for me to hear, dismissing any thoughts I've had that any of the decisions I've been making regarding what I've done for him recently are wrong. I don't know what I've done exactly to have someone like Dan be so willing to let down every guard around me, to let himself be calm and to tell me my presence is not burdening, but comforting. The people who didn't let themselves have this back in the normal days and pushed him away instead had cheated their damn selves. I don't know how anyone could have missed it, couldn't look at him and all that he is and promise to themselves they would do anything. I look down at him amazedly, stifling a yawn as his own mouth opens, lips parting in a similar action.

"I'm the exception."

We lapse into silence and the room slowly darkens. It gets to a point where it's nearly been an hour of us just lying still, and I can feel the heaviness in my eyes that makes me realize I'm staring to feel sleepy. It's like there's no concept of time when we're together like this. The comforter beneath my head is squishy and folded and Dan's head is a comforting weight as I sense that he too is feeling tired, turning to his side a little as he dozes and his curls brush the tip of my chin. I lift my arm and drape it over him, encircling his small chest and shoulders and securing him in place.

We probably could stay like this through the night and into the morning, except Felix suddenly bursts in, the door slamming against the bare-boned wooden walls and sending dust mites flying everywhere.

Dan's head snaps up in alarm, and it's then that he seems to remember what we've been like for the past hour. We tumble off each other in a panic, limbs untangling and faces blazing, but Felix doesn't even seem bothered by our position. Or to notice it, for that matter. His face is distracted, and he looks at us without even focusing, expression urgent as he enters the room.

"Oh, there you guys are." He gasps, sounding like he's been tearing the place apart to find us. "A bunch of zombies just appeared on the street and the staircase. Chris and Peej went to go for a walk and now they're surrounded out there. Cat's holding the door and Mark's already gone out but we need you to help us get them under control."

My heart skips a beat in my chest. "Zombies?" I ask dumbly. "How many?"

"Probably nothing we can't handle, but there's still a lot." He replies quickly. "I know this is London and all and we should have expected there to be tons of them but they're on the main floor too. Figures they'd find our building. Compared to what we've dealt with together so far, there's a lot of them."

Dan has been silent next to me and I look to him quickly, seeing the stunned, slightly tired expression on his face. I can tell our respite is over and feel slightly sad about it, understanding as well as he does that the monsters are and will always be our normal. I don't want to make any decisions without knowing what he's planning to do about this, ready to open my mouth and ask him for sure when he blinks, shaking his head.

"Lets not waste time then." He says abruptly. "Mark's gonna need another guy with a gun on the ground floor."

Felix nods, looking to me. "Phil, I'll be by the front door. If you could grab your axe and help Cat and I that'd be great. I don't want those guys out there longer then they need to be, especially because the confederation guys keep passing."

I nod absently, completely understanding why this objective is so urgent. Mark needs Dan with his gun and Felix needs me, but that means Dan and I will be-

"All right. I be there in second." I promise, seeing him nod and descend back down the stairs, leaving Dan and I alone again, albeit briefly, I'm sure.

There are several dragging seconds where we do little more then sit there, my legs going numb beneath me as I listen to the pounding of my heart. Dan looks in my eyes and an understanding passes between us- this heavy acknowledgement that we were crazy to think we could go too long in this life without experiencing some kind of danger. It could be funny that we're so unfortunate that this is literally our life, zombies practically sensing us it feels like, always appearing wherever we go. It's like some kind of karma for something we did that will never give us a break, except we have no idea why it's happening. I try to smile at him reassuringly but it's probably little more than a weak grimace.

In truth, I'm not okay with us being separated. He's been wounded recently and the thought of not being there to look after him if something goes wrong has me consumed with overwhelming worry. It's necessary that we move apart, but when the risk is more than a little high and the person is one of the only few people you still have in your life what should be simple and brief becomes terrifying and near impossible.

"So you're going?" I ask quickly, my heart already sinking as the worry seeps in.

"I'm going." He confirms, moving reluctantly to stand up. I panic a little, remembering the last time we were separated, how badly it had gone when I'd let him be mistreated. He stumbles, knocking a plank of wood off a nearby container and sending it clattering to the ground. It wedges in a diagonal almost perfectly between us, a good metaphor for how I feel about this entire situation.

He glances over and me and I don't miss the look of surprise that crosses his face when he sees the worry I'm doing such a terrible job at hiding on display on my features. He stops as I lower my head, hurriedly trying to rearrange my expression but falling short anyway. Because I really don't want to let him go. I can tell by the way his expression shifts that he knows it, watching me intently as I try to think of a better solution.

I open my mouth to say something but something in his motions stop me. Now that I'm aware of them I can hear the growls on the street below us, and then a gunshot sounding that alerts me to Mark already being there.

"Don't worry." Dan murmurs quietly. "It's only to help Mark. If it gets really bad I'm out out of there, I promise. No matter what happens, I'm coming right back to meet you."

I relax somewhat at his tone of determination, but I can't hide the anxiety that's bubbling through my veins, appearing so plainly on my face because when it comes to him I just can't hide my expression. There's no way he can promise that. I told him I'd never let anybody hurt him but already I've seen it happen, I almost consider holding off on Felix to prevent having to actually just leave him. He shakes his head frustratedly and slightly sits up, moving forward even as I'm talking. I know he's about to try to divert me and open my mouth stubbornly.

"Plus," he jokes lightly. "I'm immune, aren't I? I can afford to be a bit reckless." He gives me a small smile but it falls the moment he sees I'm not returning it, his eyebrows raising in evident concern.

"Dan, I'm going to worry no matter what-" I protest, but then he unexpectedly clamps his hand over my mouth, making me falter in surprise and effectively shutting me up. For a moment we just sit there, his hand cutting off my speech while I register more growls below us, hearing the monsters of whose existence I am now aware, his warm palm settled against me firmly.

"You're okay now." He says quietly, looking right into my eyes with a voice low and cautious. For some reason, in the way that he's saying it, it sounds almost like a question. "You'll remember everything that happens from now on, right?"

It's an odd question to ask but I nod hesitantly, and that seems to be all he needs even as the sunset fades and the room is shrouded suddenly in shadow.

"There's no confederation people watching us or alcohol this time." He murmurs, still with his hand silencing me, but his eyes out of focus like he's suddenly lost in thought. "This isn't like that party. Whatever happens this night, you're going to remember."

I mean yeah, I guess I am? Confusion courses through me trying to understand what's happening. He's looking at me so intensely you'd think I was planning to do the opposite, with little else to do when I'm incapable of speaking I just end up nodding again, unsure of what else to do when the moment is so tense and our lives likely on the line, if in a mild way. It makes me think back to how he said something happened at the party during the time I can't remember, and I wonder if he's worried I'll forget again.

Yes. I relay mentally, hoping he can tell that I mean it by the way that I'm looking into his eyes and then remembering to nod, which works a bit better.

"Okay, good." He sighs softly. I briefly consider brushing my hand over his forehead, thinking about what I wouldn't give to smooth out those stressed lines when he moves forward, and I forget all of that in my surprise.

It might be dark but that doesn't mean I can't see or feel. And I definitely do see. I see Dan's shadowed form shift closer to me, pushing aside the plank between us and darting forward. I do see his pale hand, placed on my shoulder so that he can lean over steadily.

And I do feel his lips, pressing themselves against the side of my cheek so carefully and chastely that I freeze in shock and my face goes hot.

It happens in the fraction of an instant, I'd be content to imagine it didn't happen but it's very real. He draws away without a sound, tilting my chin so that I'm looking right at him and removing his hand from my mouth.

"Stay alive." He mutters quickly, then abruptly stands up and walks off, sneaking around the wall of boxes and heading downstairs to go find Cat.

I know I have an objective, I know Felix will need my eyes when we converge on the stairs and zombies will be there to take us down but I slump down against the side of the wall anyway, my hand placed over where his lips touched me, fingers pressed to my cheek as I struggle to breathe.

Thump, goes one heartbeat. Thump, goes another. I just gape at the air blankly, blinking and trying to clear my head.

What... what the hell just happened?

I close my eyes and blink harshly before opening them again, confirming indeed that I really am in the attic, that there are monsters below us, that Dan is most definitely no longer here.

What was that for? How will I ever chase this feeling away?

Surely it can't mean anything. He's not nearly sentimental enough to pull something like that. And yet- he did. But he doesn't think of me romantically, he's made that very clear. He's just trying to reassure me. I'm sprawled down here like an idiot, my eyes wide as I try to keep my cool. I don't know what I'm doing. I've forgotten where I am. This is the closest he's come to showing anything, and Felix is standing just down the hallway, with no idea of what has just happened. A weird sense of deja vu hits me but I can't place it. Nothing like this has ever happened before.

I feel awake so suddenly, and no matter what it means, the gesture has somehow made me inexplicably thrilled. It's like what he did while we were acting, but much more meaningful, and much less subtle. It was meant to make me feel okay. We didn't have an audience, there was no one around to convince, making me realize that he did it just for me. If that doesn't make my heart burst a thousand times over, I don't know what else will.

It's like there's a void now where Dan had been sitting next to me.

I sit there dumbly for a ridiculously large number of seconds, cursing him for taking off after doing something like that. He knew exactly what he was doing, now I'm stuck here wondering what it means. It fills me with a burst of sudden and very intense energy, urging me to my feet to find my axe and go help the others.

I stand myself up and brush off the dust on my jeans as I head down the stairs back to the derelict apartment, the stairs creaking as I take each step at a slightly faster pace than is probably safe.

Breathe. I try to breathe calmly.

I reach the bottom of the steps and once again the realization hits me: his lips were pressed to my cheek. My heart is running far too rapidly and my mind keeps replaying the moment, so much emotion is happening and yet this new fluttering feeling is all I can think of here.

My mind is a blur as I sprint my way down the hallway, skidding on the slightly slippery wooden floor and rounding into mine and Dan's room. I push the white painted door open and snatch up my axe from where it's leaning against one of the bedposts of the heavy double bed, just barley catching a glance of the yellow floral pattern of the comforter that's all twisted and tangled, the bed which neither Dan nor I made this morning.

Whatever happens this night, you're going to remember.

I'm out the door and heading into the landing between the lounge and the staircase, peering in through the lounge archway to see everyone's stuff, their dinner plates and blankets and open backpacks scattered haphazardly, as if they left in a hurry. Nothing has been picked up or tidied, and no one is anywhere to be seen. It strikes me as slightly odd as the sheer silence of the house settles around me, making me realize in a moment that for some reason I feel alone. Where is everybody? I thought they had monsters at the door?

I wonder what it is that I don't remember.

I move to the front door where Cat supposedly was and see no one, in fact the it's been left ajar, the last of the evening light filtering in from the door at the bottom of the stairs. I can see the landings of the other two apartment doors on the floor below, shrouded in shadow. On the staircase I can see a scattering of zombie corpses, a smear of brown blood splattered across one of the white-pained walls on the staircase. As soon as I take a ginger step forward I'm hit by the familiar musty smell of them, the coppery tang of blood mixed in slightly and making me cough when encountering it in such closed quarters. They've managed to take out all the ones that have managed to get in here, but now I have no idea where any of my friends have gone. This includes Dan, who I'm not assured for regardless of whether or not he has immunity.

"Felix?" I call out. The sound of a gunshot rings out below on the street and I hear a cacophony of gargling moans, the sound of a group of zombies closing in on one place. But it's far-off, distant, and despite the loudness I've dared to let my call have I haven't gotten any reply.

That has me running down the stairs two at a time. It must be urgent if everyone's left their original spots inside. Shouts and monster screeches echo outside and I hear the sound of what must be Felix saying something, drawing me to the building's entrance at the base of the narrow stair.

There's a window situated about three quarters of the way up the door, and I crane my neck to peer out of it, taking in the mob of zombies and the few coming down the street. I briefly see Chris and PJ on the opposite side of the street when suddenly they leap into an alley, backs pressed against the wall even as a few monsters advance. I wonder what's spurred them to move and twist open the doorknob, confused.

I've just opened the door when the sound of an engine hums not far off from where I'm standing, making me slam it shut immediately again with my heart ramming in my chest. The chain swings like a pendulum in front of me, dust raining down into my hair and in grains on my face, my breaths bursting through the air and punctuating the silence, the only thing to do so. I've only pressed the thing shut for a moment when I see a black truck go whizzing by in the window, an armed man standing shoulders free through the sunroof, something suspiciously like a machine gun trained in his hands. I stand frozen even as it continues racing down the street and hooking a left-hand turn into the next neighbourhood, the men seeming completely unbothered by the zombies surrounding this one.

It's them, I realize. It's the confederation, they've found us. Chris and PJ jumped behind the wall to avoid being seen, and they'll probably be back soon and see those two if I don't give my friends backup.

I'm about to step out onto the street when a low growl splits the air, making me skid where I'm standing and causing my blood to run ice cold. Immediately the thoughts of entering the street are forgotten.

A dog, black-furred and long-nosed with mottled green skin gazes out at me from the broken-down door of the neighbouring apartment, stepping hungrily over the threshold towards my now frozen form. Almost immediately I see the milky glaze over its silver eyes that indicate it's blind, but its ears are perked attentively forward, its paws making careful steps over the splintered wood and dirty carpet as I slowly try to back away.

It tentatively lifts its nose, sniffing the air despite the fact that it probably no longer possesses that sense. It's definitely  some kind of Rottweiler- the legs are lithe and muscular, there are patches of brown above its eyes. I see a frayed, red collar hanging around its neck loosely, the shiny metal tag attachment to it spelling out the the name Diesel. A domesticated dog, definitely someone's pet at one time, though there's something undoubtedly threatening about the way it holds its body now, its spine tensed and coiled and its expression predatorial. I wonder how long it's been in here without its owner, zombiefied and waiting to smell blood and be awakened.

It lifts its head slightly at the sound of my ragged breathing, or possibly even in reaction to the pounding of my heartbeat. If it's like any other zombie that we've ever encountered, it's nothing more than predator now. Even while blind in two senses, it's actively seeking my flesh.

Don't move. I think quickly. Stay still and maybe the zombeast will move on.

It takes another step forward, just as I hear the sounds of another person in one the upper apartments. That's where Dan and Mark went, I realize. They're using the windows on the front of the building to fire at the monsters on the street below with their guns, and Felix and Cat have already gone out to fight physically. The dog growls and I realize it's definitely aware of me, moving several steps closer while the gunshots continue to ring out overhead.

"Dan-" I manage to call out, hoping to somehow garner his attention and clenching my axe tightly in my fingers- before the creature suddenly lets out a howl and lunges.

It leaps so quickly over the debris in the doorway that I trip, stumbling back and crashing through the other apartment doorway behind me while it clears the gap across its door and the hallway. I just barely catch myself on the knob as the door swings inwards, yanking me down with it as I struggle to stay standing up. I don't even stop to get steadily on my feet. I bolt into the room, my foot crunching over a broken photo frame as I move around a couch in the centre, nearly toppling to the floor as I grip the cushion and fumble my way upright.

The dog comes barrelling in, barking in an undead way that sounds like it's howling through a layer of distorted metal. It's a chilling, haunting sound, unmistakable in intention as I face it in this other lounge room completely on my own.

This room is long and narrow, backing me into the corner as the dog's body blocks the entrance to the kitchen. It has its ears perked alertly, knowing now that its prey is noisy and approaching all too fast. I have to step around to the back of the couch to avoid it as it strides forward, freezing in place as my hand nearly touches its head.

It jerks its head forward and I sink to my knees, trying to stay below it's head as it lifts it up higher. It freezes in its tracks and sniffs the air suspiciously, ears perking forward ready for any sound.

I don't move, I don't even breathe as the dog moves its head around, searching for me and so close that if I swung my axe right at this moment, I would have it's teeth snapping right into the arm that's holding me in place.

I watch as the creatures suddenly sticks out its tongue, dry and pale with death. It lolls out, dangerously close to my arm. As silently as I possibly can I try retracting the limb, pulling it soundlessly to my chest. The smell of its breath hits me and I have to cover my mouth so as not to gag, holding my breath and and clenching my teeth while it extends its tongue to the air, finding nothing. It lets out a low growl, starting forward and padding its way over to the other side of the couch. I don't move a muscle as it retreats, still seeking me out.

It's only about six feet away from me now, but now there's a space that I might be able to fit through. The narrow entrance to the kitchen is now open, the only other room I can dip into and hope to get out of the creature's way.

I get soundlessly to my feet and start sidestepping for it, nothing between me and the other room now but a patch of floor and the dining table. The kitchen door is an archway and the table is unhelpful wedged between it and the couch, an abomination of interior decorating that Dan would probably find insulting, given his obsessive nature and his attention to details.

I try to edge around the wooden chair blocking my path but it scuffs against the floor as soon as I try to push it aside, a low scraping sound that makes the dog's head turn quickly. I freeze again, holding still until it turns back around again, opting to just step over it even if the bar-style chair has a height that reaches almost up to my thigh.

It turns out to be a somewhat awkward step up, I have to hitch my knee slightly and hold the chair for support. I get over the chair and touch down on the other side with one foot, wobbling off-balance.

My foot catches and before I can stop myself I yelp, tripping backwards and slamming to the ground as my ankle hooks on the leg of the chair, sending it crashing to the floor.

Immediately the monster has whipped around, bounding over to me as pain erupts in my shoulder. I kick it as it lunges for me and scramble backwards, only to hit a wall as I try to back away from it. It pushes against my foot, snapping to try and bite down.

I have to pull my foot back to avoid getting hi, this proving to be a massive mistake. Freed of restraint it leaps again, paws thudding  across my hip as it sinks its teeth into my leg.

I panic, shouting in fear and pain before I can stop myself and jerking out from underneath it, using the full force of my foot to kick it back. It leaps forward again and I swing my axe into its side, any thoughts of being an animal lover flying out the window.

It skids across the floor and falls over and I collapse against the wall, shakily pulling back my jeans and preparing for the worst.

I'm dying. My mind screams terrifyingly. I'm dying. I have to be dying.  It won't shut up, I'm shifting into full panic mode and my mind is focusing on the worst possibilities. I've been bitten by a zombie. I'll never see Dan again. All I can feel is the stinging feeling, my mind making me look at the wound even though I don't want to.

The monster snarls, a choked sound of protest leaving me as I realize it's not even dead, but it backs up when I raise my axe in front of myself pushing threateningly into its chest, using the other hand to pull up my pantleg to the edge of my knee.

Dotted marks sit slightly swollen on the skin just below my thigh, pale pink but not broken, and I nearly deflate in relief at the sight of it.

"Jeans." I breathe aloud. "Holy sh-shit. Oh god."

I'd read something online once, just a joke thing really, saying if someone seriously wanted to survive a zombie apocalypse they should dress all in denim. Seriously, take your  favourite pair of jeans and try to bite through them. They'd said. I guarantee you can't. If all the people in the movies followed that, they'd definitely have lived a lot longer.

I blink in disbelief at this memory. Denim is a tough fabric was the idea of that comment basically. If I put aside the fact that the dog still isn't dead yet and that's still something to worry about, I could sit here and reflect on the fact that my pants may have just saved my life. Unbelievable.

I'm not dying, at least that's perfectly clear, but that's about as close as I've gotten. Death by domestic Rottweiler.

How long has it been in here? I wonder when the creature died, when the virus took it over. Its body looks haggard and long-dead, but it hasn't bothered us until tonight.

The dog snaps its head up at the sound of my voice. I press my back against the wall, out of room to back up anymore. It growls lowly, unsatisfied without the taste of flesh in its mouth. It thunders forward and I slam the axe into its chest, blood bursting from the point of impact and speckling my hands. It doesn't even react, paws slamming into my chest, hot breath and sharp teeth in my vision, jaws opening to deliver the death bite.

Terror shoots through me and without really realizing it I scream, one last natural reflex before I'm dead. I try to push it off and a crash sounds somewhere off behind the monster, my hands trapped uselessly at my sides.

Then suddenly the bang of a gunshot sounds and the creature falls dead, its full weight slamming against me and then falling to my lap, making me collapse against the wall limply, gasping for air from the shock of it all.

Immediately Dan and Mark rush in, Dan kicking aside the chair I knocked over and scrambling over to meet me while Mark trails behind, an incredulous look on his face and his hands empty.

"You idiot!" He spits as Dan strides over hurriedly, pushing aside the dog and pulling me to my feet. "What if there were more zombies around?! You could have had us all killed!"

I catch my breath, putting my hands on Dan's shoulders and feeling them shaking slightly under my touch. His face is set and stony, but he's looking intensely at me, betraying his actual emotion. There's blood on the front and cuff of his shirt and a smudge of dirt on his cheek, giving me insight into the fight he's just had with the zombies outside. It's not his blood, that much is evident.

He slowly turns around, handing Mark his gun back. He didn't even have time to draw his, it seems.

"I'm not an idiot." He retorts finally, glaring at angrily him. "I just take action, unlike you. You were just fucking standing there."

He pauses for a second and then irritably looks back, hand lingering on my shoulder as he frowns at our friend. "Besides," he adds, "isn't Phil's life a good enough reason to need it?"

Mark falls silent for a moment and shakes his head quickly, surprisingly looking remorseful. He turns around without even a frown or a sarcastic remark, shrugging.

"Yes, it is."

I'm relieved that Dan's all right. My heart is still pounding and Im drawing comfort from his presence. Even as his hand draws away I find my gaze glued to him, which does not go unnoticed by our friend.

"I'm sure you'd have shot through me if you had to in order to keep him alive." He says pointedly, raising his eyebrows and turning his head.

"Are you hurt?" Dan asks softly, ignoring him. Brown eyes bore into me and my gaze flickers to the corpse's body hesitantly, then back to him as I remember my close call.

"Well, it did corner me, a-and I did get a bite-" I begin.

"Wait, it bit you?!" He shouts, panic tingeing his voice where calm had been only moments before. He lets go almost involuntarily, eyes wide as his eyes rake my body like he's expecting to see blood or wounds or signs that I'm dying.

"It bit me but I was wearing jeans!" I assure him, speaking quickly because his expression has changed so dramatically. "So I'm fine, don't worry!"

"But it bit you." His expression is barely concealed panic, Mark looks at me with widened eyes behind him.

"Yeah, but-"

"Do you feel sick, or tired?" he asks, unconvinced.

"No, I-"

"Do you feel like you're about to pass out? That's what Cat says it felt like."

"No! "

"Are you sure, because I swear to god, Phil..."

"Dan, I'm fine!" I protest.

He shakes his head and steps away from me, running a hand through his hair. I watch him slip out his own gun and hold it awkwardly, still not used to using it in place of his crowbar.

"Oh god." He spits, his voice so tight I'm afraid he's about to cry. He shakes his head and tenses his shoulders, composing himself, his hand twitching briefly.

"Dan." Mark says quietly, a consoling softness to his voice that I'm in no way expecting, especially because of who he's addressing. "He'll be all right. Look at him, he's more worried about you and he just had a damn dog on his lap. Looks perfectly healthy to me."

Dan nods and his gaze flickers back to me. Our eyes lock, a silent conversation that's more feeling than words, really, and in that instant I'm reminded of the last time his irises focused on me with such intensity. I remember what happened the last time we'd spoken just before separating. My hand moves subconsciously to my cheek, fingers ghosting over that specific place, and immediately his eyes go wide and his cheeks dust light red. He looks away.

"Mark and I ran into another dog upstairs." He tells me, voice calmer but now more artificial, clearly pleading for me to forget it for now. "We didn't see any animals when we found this place. Isn't it funnily convenient that the pets in this apartment are coming out at the same time the zombies showed up?"

Mark nods and we all start walking slowly towards the door, hoping to exit the room as soon as possible. "There's something going on here. I say we get outside and join back up with the others. We've stayed here too long anyway."

The corpse of the zombie dog sits in the corner of the wrecked living room, a visual backup for this vein of thought. I shudder even as I turn away, feeling Dan's hand settle lightly on my back and direct me away. Always looking out for me, knowing it's better to just forget.

We separate from Mark at the doorway. A quick trip back into the old apartment allows Dan and I to gather up our backpack and Chris's bag of supplies, for some reason well aware that we'll probably never return. We don't speak as everything is gathered, not needing words in such a purposeful atmosphere. In a few short minutes we're back at the door where the dog leaped out, this time actually opening it and stepping outside.

The air is hot and humid. I feel strands of my hair swept up and swirled around in the wind, feel dust blowing by my feet. Zombie corpses are everywhere and I see Mark standing with PJ, Chris, Felix and Cat, waving us over as we keep our weapons drawn.

They're standing in the gap of the nearby alleyway, red brick walls rising up on either side and the cast shadows concealing them from view. Some zombies still linger around the area, we move carefully to avoid catching their attention. As soon as we've stepped in along with the group Dan speaks up tensely, always keeping me in the corner of his vision but not actually focused enough to meet my eyes.

"How is it that so many zombies are converging specifically where we are? Even the animals are waking up, a dog almost killed Phil just now."

A momentary silence follows this question, eyes flitting nervously back and forth.

"Could it be by accident?" Felix questions. He looks out of breath but relatively unscathed, his gun held readily in his hand and his gaze focused on Chris. "I've never seen so many zombies."

I take a moment to take in our little group, relieved to see Chris and PJ still together just fine, though there's a cut on the former's cheek, suggesting he might have taken an attack to protect his boyfriend since PJ looks relatively all right. Cat is actively watching Dan and I the same way I'm watching the couple, even though we aren't in any way touching while those two have an arm over each other's shoulders. Chris's expression is serious, confirming my thoughts.

"This is no accident." He says darkly. "They're fucking everywhere. This is the confederation all right, I knew they'd have an idea of where we went eventually."

My heart jolts in my chest and feel Dan tense next to me, no doubt picking up on the unease in the air.

"We need to get out of here." He continues. "I've been with them for a year now and I know they're gonna be triggering monsters all over the streets until they can corner us. They have all the vehicles except the trains and even still they monitor the rails sometimes. If we really want to get away from them we have to go quick, and if we don't wanna been seen, the underground might honestly be our only safe bet."

His words sink in slowly. The confederation has the ability to awaken dormant zombies, meaning they can set off a trap on us without even having to lift a finger. The underground, the tube stations which are long and dark and long-abandoned, are our only chance of getting out of this city. My mind flashes uncomfortably to our first day in the apocalypse, that moment when the fires started burning Dan looked up at me, his shy, soft face full of scared urgency and his brown eyes fixed on my own. The moment he opened his mouth and told me, we need to get out of London.

"Then we go underground." Dan says seriously."There's no way we're debating. If the confederation's after us, we've gotta get out of their way."

"Is there another way?" Felix asks hesitantly. "How- what about all our stuff? It's all upstairs!"

"We grabbed the bags." I say quickly, keeping my voice quiet because for some reason we can all tell we need to avoid being more noticeable than necessary. Zombies growl and groan and shuffle along on the street sidewalk opposite, wandering around aimlessly as if daring us to stay or try to pass them. "So we can go now."

I look to Felix and then Cat, watching as they process this proposition, eyes flickering to the street sign directing us to the station we'd be heading for. It's a risky idea, knowing that we'd have to walk exposed on the streets to get there while confed trucks could come around the corner at any time, barbed-wire grills and machine guns ready. But staying could also equal certain death. I watch in disbelief as without a word and in turn, everyone nods one by one.

Nobody argues after that, just follows silently as Chris leads us down the block to the nearby station. When we reach the entrance, I see symbol for the tube is still displayed relatively unscathed on an upright sign, the red circle and the black underground letters a reminder of where we're about to go.

We glance at it silently as we pass it, trying to ignore the ominous mouth of the staircase that leads down into the black. I feel like it's reaching for me, any number of new dangers lurking there in the opening, somehow diminished by the one thats behind us right now.

Chris takes his bag from my shoulders and rummages inside, stopping us in our tracks for a second. Eventually he draws out and flicks on a flashlight and hands it to Cat, wrapping an arm around PJ and whispering something under his breath. I hadn't noticed before but something is off with PJ, his face pale and his expression scared, but he relaxes as his boyfriend talks to him, leaning against him gently.

After checking briefly to assure that we won't be met with monsters we start forward, noses assaulted with a damp smell and a lingering chill.

"I hope you're good at remembering the networks." Mark jokes tensely, reminding me that we're going off Chris and entering an impossibly long tunnel system without a map, designed to be covered by train. The station is dark and deserted, even the emergency lights are off. The vending machines are smashes and their contents looted, the signs covered in graffiti. Nobody laughs because the concern is actually true.

Dan falls in to step silently next to me and I hear him take a bracing breath, remembering in this moment that he's afraid of the dark. It's hard to remember sometimes that's he's even afraid of anything, his strength something so reliable and constant that I hadn't even realized I'd come to expect it. Beyond anything else, it's throwing our current reality into sharp focus, and I lean into his tentative touch as he presses our shoulders together.

Soon enough we reach the actual platform, the place where commuters and everyday people used to wait for the boring midday commute from one part of the city to the other before the days were anything less than normal. The tracks sit a few feet below it, awaiting the train that'll never return. We sit at the edge and push off it, stepping down onto the tracks without a word and beginning our walk. The tunnel is echoey, every footstep amplified so much it makes my heart jump in my chest, but other than that, it's eerily quiet.

Dan presses even more anxiously into my side.

We can't see anything save for the circle of light ahead of us so I move closer too, trying to keep track of him when I can't really make him out. He seems reassured by this, leaning towards me more noticeably and shivering as the tunnel washes cold air over our inadequately dressed bodies, footsteps echoing on the wet concrete stairs. I squeeze his wrist reassuringly and hear him take a deep breath, picking up the pace of his steps slightly so as not to lose the group, but never moving so far that our shoulders can't brush.

As we descend slowly further into the echoing darkness I close my eyes and breathe deeply, calming the anxious feeling in my heart and closing my fingers around his chilly skin. I squeeze again and he relaxes noticeably, leaning into the touch. And then, as soon as the air grows colder and the echoes come alive with our footsteps, I feel his hand slip gently into mine.

A/N Oh what I still exist? dw school and exams are over as of tomorrow. The update schedule will no longer suck.

tHIS STORY JUST HIT 2K READS WTF THANK YOU!!
I remember freaking out when I got ten.
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Thank you for taking the time to read this thing that makes me so happy to write :'( This makes the absolute difference in my life I appreciate it a lot! This chapter is 18.5k words long, extra lengthy to make up for my absence. Thank you for all your kind words and support!

~Aly🌙