Tell me that love is enough
The seas will be parted for us
-Jarryd James, 1000x

Dan

Empty. That's how I feel.

The world has compressed itself into purpose. I only think about our plans to infiltrate the confederation, to find dad and the others, and little more.

It's odd, really. I don't feel sad or angry. Yes there's grief, but it's just a dull ache in the pit of my stomach. I don't feel overwhelming emotion or an abundance of stress. I haven't shed any tears since it happened and it's not that I feel pain.

It's worse, almost, because I don't feel anything.

Life feels devoid of colour, of any kind of feeling. While I felt reality barreling forward at a blinding, impossible rate, I'd anticipated the destruction of our safety. I figured we'd be forced to move on, to have to face the impossible situation of saving our friends like we already have countless times before, but we'd carry on just as we had, in a group. I'd never thought to fear that this would ever turn out. I didn't think we'd lose our best friend.

"Are you all right, love?" An old lady asks me as she shuffles past the door frame leading to the stairs. She's been wandering the house and checking up on practically everyone like a mother bear since about one in the morning, long silver hair framing her pale blue eyes, probably seeing my huddled form as the most pathetic of our lot. It's about three now, though not everybody is sleeping. I know now that the people hiding in this house are campers taking refuge. They have no idea what's going on, but nobody feels safe enough to go back to camp yet.

I look up at her blankly, answering her with silence because I can't muster the energy to speak. I'm sitting at the bottom of a tall, dark wood staircase leading up to the narrow second floor. She nods and seems to understand. I watch her turn away with a gentle glance my way and all I think is about how nobody really lives to be old anymore. Nobody lives in general. All of us here, we probably won't be around for long. I wonder how she's survived.

When I'd talked to dad before the attack yesterday he'd said, almost disturbingly offhandedly, that death wasn't an uncommon occurrence here in this part of the city. There used to be quarantine zones in London apparently but the Confederation very quickly shut them down in the beginning, that was when the disease really began to run rampant. It didn't strike me as much of anything news-worthy.

I suppose it's because in this life, that was a given. It doesn't ease the numbness I'm feeling, doesn't cut through the bitterness that I can't ignore to the point where it feels more purposeful to stay sitting at the foot of this building's rickety wooden staircase, staring blankly at a fixed point and both ignoring and being ignored by the other campers, all strangers to us, who sit in knots and groups or all by themselves, whispering about the confederation and asking to no one why the they would devastate them like this.

So is it bitterness, really? Or just guilt at this point?

It hasn't really sunk in yet. It's odd, I know what's happened, but I don't. The confederation stormed this camp simply because Phil and I were there. No one can sugarcoat this and tell me it wasn't my fault, because I didn't have to stay and endanger these people. I could have gone willingly or gone somewhere else instead of thinking to shelter there, letting myself forget who I was and where I was to catch up with a father who hardly even knows me anymore.

It feels like I've just made a mistake. Cat isn't gone. I'm expecting her to wander around the corner any moment now and laugh at us for crying, telling Phil she sensed him from a distance and teasing me about my shitty dance abilities. I have to remind myself bitterly that she won't.

Phil's eyes are shut, but I can still see how swollen they are. I think that's what made everything snap for me. He cried for hours afterwards, and I held my tears in after awhile because it was exhausting, and then I just ceased to really feel altogether. But he couldn't stop himself. He exhausted himself.

Occasionally I catch people looking at us, but I think it's more because we're strangers. Two guys huddled closely and only half-there, they have no idea who we are and what we've been through. I wouldn't care what they thought even if they did stare a long time. Nothing matters anymore except Phil. We don't even stand out amongst the knots of people really, everyone's staying near to the people they know.

I take his cool hand and start running my thumb over the skin, sliding down against the wall and shuffling closer to him. He doesn't even stir, not even when my shoulder presses against his. I don't move to wake him. Sleep, at this point, is much more preferable.

I didn't tell Phil yesterday, but I'd told my dad everything. The man had had a million questions, but it was inevitable that he asked about Phil. I wasn't afraid of him anymore, but I had been at one time, so it was with honesty and a kind of indifference that I told him I loved someone, saying without saying I was fine. He didn't miss the message in any way.

The conversation plays in my head, echoey and distant like the songs from the record we danced to with Cat last night. I'm not even sure why I agreed to wander off and speak to dad alone in the first place.

"It's him, isn't it?"

Not a question, not really. I didn't even have to ask whose name he was referring to.

"Yes. But it wasn't back then."

I remember dad shaking his head, not in disapproval but simply for the motion, for a way to channel his feelings with something to do.

"My greatest regret in life was what I did to you." He'd admitted, and at first I hadn't been sure what he was referring to. "I've lived these last two years thinking you were dead, and that the final thing I'd done to you was leave your mother and try to stop the one connection you had in your life because I was afraid you'd fall in love with him."

A small silence. I guess it was just interesting finally hearing the truth from him. He'd never outright said it, and now it didn't even matter.

"You weren't wrong."

Phil makes a restless sound and stirs fitfully as the memory plays in my head. I don't have blankets to wrap him in and the night is only getting colder, but I don't think he's cold. As gently as I can I wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer to my side, feeling his tense form thrash against me at first and then turn inwards, seeking my comfort. It makes my heart ache, thinking of the nightmares.

"Does he know?"

"No, dad. I haven't told him."

I hear the woman speaking quietly to a child on the other side of the wall, her low, soothing voice making me focus even harder on blocking out any semblance of feeling or thought. It's odd, but I'm thinking about that morning in the barn all that time ago on what we'd thought was just an ordinary day.

Before we'd visited that farmhouse, we'd been surviving without any of this having happened. I'd woken up from a nightmare, only to find Phil and Cat with me just as always. We never could have predicted what came after, the music of the piano bringing the monsters that drove us into Mark, Felix, and Marzia and set this entire situation in motion.

That had been my fault too. I'd been the one to play that goddamn piano, luring the zombies to us. It's strange, really. I'd only sat down and played it because Phil looked so genuinely happy to find it, so eager to hear me play Moonlight Sonata that choosing not to felt almost unacceptable. I remember how bitter I used to feel all the time, how cold I tried to be. I'd never really thought to wonder why everything was an exception with Phil. Everything comes back to him. And now, because of that small impulse, everything is different.

We've been here for a few hours. It doesn't feel like much time has passed because I'm not really aware of much that is happening. I know our friends are safe because Cat said so, it was one of the last things she'd ever said. There's an impossible amount of guilt and pain every time I think about her. So I don't. I can't.

"Mm." I hear current Phil mumble. His head turns, pressing his nose into my arm, and I see his face crease in confusion at something up against his face, eyelids fluttering before squeezing shut again. He's been woken up accidentally, I stay silent in the hope that maybe he can fall back asleep. He groans, then opens his eyes blearily and looks at me, only half-focused. His cheek is pressed carelessly against my arm, I don't think he even realizes.

I look down at him, at the way the fear in his eyes calms slightly when he sees me. I wonder what happened in his dream.

"Hey." I whisper. My voice is rough and exhausted and I realize I haven't spoken up until this point. The last time I'd talked I'd been screaming, assaulted by too many feelings at once that couldn't be hidden away. I realize that's why everyone's keeping their distance, why the old lady tried to help me. I'm not stable and I don't even care. I've probably scared all of them with our erratic entrance and my complete loss of control, but at this point I don't even deserve to be liked by any of them.

Phil's eyelids are already drooping, halfway to being back asleep, but he shifts his back and shoulders so he's more comfortably leant on the stairs, settling his head on my shoulder where it's practically carved it's own place.

"r' you okay?" He mumbles. He's barely conscious. his lips are brushing my neck as he speaks, but there's nothing intimate about it. He's just trying to assure himself I'm here and I don't even think he realizes it's happening as his head nestles closer.

"I'm fine." I say automatically, softening my voice as much as I can so he won't worry about me. I press my lips to the fluffy dark hair on the top of his head even as he frowns at my words, desperately needing the motion to stay sane. "I am. Sleep for a bit, Phil."

The top of his head is warm. One small bit of feeling sparks in my empty chest.

"y' always... say that." He protests, voice heavy. "Even when you're not."

But his eyes close, and then he's unconscious again. It's vaguely lonely, especially after another few minutes pass. I think about falling asleep but can't keep my eyes closed for long. Every time I do, fire burns against my eyes.

I pretend I'm a shadow, blending into the corner at the base of the stairs and flickering, on the edge of something I can't quite put a name to. My arms hold Phil and I let my darkness surround him, protecting him from everything that might try to get in and feeling nothing like the hesitation that used to rule me when I still clung to that bit of decency that old life valued.

Things are different now. I'm hyper-aware of the gun in my pocket. I'm tense as I wait for someone to come in. If the confederation threatens us, I'll fight back. It's not about my morality or being stronger than the will of a heartless nation. If they come near us, I'll kill them. It should be terrifying how I don't even feel a shred of hesitation anymore at the idea of killing when I'd once been terrified to ever do so, but some dark beast has stirred from where I'd kept it down inside me for years. I feel no need to control its wrath now.

In my mind, Wirrow's face smirks at me bemusedly, mocking me for failing everyone so miserably.

I still have one bit of leverage.

I remember the nightmare I had of him killing Phil. I wonder now that that was the manifestation of my greatest fear. I'd always thought that would have been losing my sense of self, of killing a man because this world has reduced me down to something primal. But it's done that already. I know who I am, and that someone doesn't condone murdering innocent people for power.

Murder.

The word crosses my mind for the first time. That's what this is. It's what's all around us. It wouldn't seem like something so unusual except that until this time we've always been able to ignore it. Avoid it, even. But just like Mariza's, these deaths were no accident. If anyone died in the attack last night, it was because the confederation killed them. If the place is no longer safe, it's because we're here. Cat wasn't lost. She was murdered.

And my biggest fear is losing Phil. I suppose that's a given, has been for a long time, but now I'm being forced to act on it. He's done nothing to deserve to suffer this. He doesn't deserve to be so exhausted he can't even feel or stay conscious, his emotions wrung out and destroyed while I hold him up.

I'm not even just afraid of losing him physically, but losing him, and who he is. It's like there's always been this weird metaphorical light that's existed between us. It's the one that makes laughs escape me when I'm trying to repress them, the slowing heartbeats when I've held him at night or the soft expression in his eyes that appears the moment I remind him he'll be okay. He's maintained a comfort between us that I would never have been strong enough to support on my own, and it's always been enough, letting us go back to being as normal as possible no matter what happened.

Something is different this time. Something broken. It's not immediately obvious but the shift is there all the same, and I'm afraid that when he wakes up the look I'll see in his eyes when he looks back at me won't be okay. His voice- though I've only heard it briefly, was hollow. I can't pretend I'm not unsettled by that.

"Dan?"

I nearly jump out of my skin as a small voice that's not Phil's tentatively calls my name. I hadn't even realized how long I'd been sitting, looking up with flushed cheeks to see none other than James peering confusedly at me.

James, who has a scrape on his cheek and who's all by himself, staring me wide-eyed holding the hand of the old lady who'd checked up on me earlier.

I can't even imagine the dark look that must be present on my face. I try to look up at him reassuringly, eyes widening as the lady raises her eyebrows, clearly surprised that we know each other. I'm unable to comprehend how he's survived. I've no idea how he's made it here, but he's here.

"James." I get out. I feel a tug in my heart, biting my lip. "Hey, buddy."

Before I can even stop to think he's dropped the woman's hand and raced over to me, feet pattering on the wooden floor and turning several survivors' heads. He braces a hand on the railing of the bannister before reaching out his little arms, swinging forward and hugging me.

Phil makes a mumbled huff of confusion in his sleep, jostled slightly to the side as the impact knocks me back.

"Oh." I stammer, trying to keep my expression unreadable, refusing to let him read my mind. I'm not going to cry in front of a child who's barely clinging to hope. "What are you doing up? It's late."

"Can't sleep." He says simply. "I was gonna ask the lady if she would go sit on the porch with me."

I've never been held by anyone before, besides hugs from my mum as a kid or squeezes from Cat every once in a while. Phil was the only one I'd ever allowed to wrap his arms around me, staying past the point of what was generally socially acceptable. But somehow, I can't bring myself to push James off, though

"You're okay." I mumble in disbelief, still meeting his inquisitive gaze with no concept of what exactly I'm seeing. He nods, stepping out of the hug and looking at me, then to Phil who's now asleep against the wall.

"His big brother brought him here." The lady tells me, stepping forward and lifting her hand to smooth back James' hair before meeting my eyes with a gentle look. "You must be Dan." She observes. "He was telling me about how you and your friend played dinosaurs with him."

I feel a twist in the pit of my stomach. People have been coming and going in this house all night, usually not saying much or moving beyond the main room. I'd been a few doors' length from James and his brother and hadn't even realized it. James bites his lip and looks up at me shyly, as if afraid I might shun him suddenly.

He's afraid, I realize. Thinking about positive memories is distracting him from the fact that he has no better idea of where his dad and uncle are than we do of Mark and Felix. I need to look after him because for whatever reason, he trusts me.

I try to think of something to say in reply, my eyes still anxiously searching her face for judgment or hatred for what I've done to her, to all of them. It feels like everyone knows who I am now, and that this group is all just pretending they don't realize I've led the confeds to this place that had for so long been a place of safety. I'm about to confirm what she said and nod assent but then my thoughts fumble, nerves taking over.

"That's um, slightly inaccurate." Is what I end up saying. "I played the role of the volcano. When he played, that is. Phil was a- the mountain, I was the volcano. I don't really know much about dinosaurs but I let him walk the toys on me, but that was me."

Her eyebrows raise upon hearing me utter this recollection aloud to her, a smile finding her face even as I feel myself stumbling over how I shit my speaking is. She reminds me of my grandma who I haven't seen in years, the single person I ever wholeheartedly trusted before Phil back in the normal days. It's still sad to think about even now how I used to ring her, rather than my parents or my nonexistent friends, asking for advice whenever things went wrong. She continues fiddling with the boy's curls, and oddly enough I feel something like approval from her in my ridiculous response.

"Is he your little boy?" She asks gently, referring to Jamie, and my heart drops. My eyes widen and I shake my head rapidly, eyes darting back to James.

"No." We say at the same time, my voice a squeak and Jamie's a laugh.

She raises her eyebrows and briefly I glance at Phil, but thankfully he's still asleep.

"We met because his Dad is the city smuggler." I explain, face reddening for whatever reason at the suggestion of Jamie being my child. "He got my friends and I across the city and his kids came along."

Her expression shifts slightly, but not in the way I'd been expecting. It's one of reassurance, as if she can tell just how guilty and afraid I am though I haven't spoken a word.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" She asks quietly.

She sits down on the stair and looks at me in a motherly way, making my stomach squirm at such an unfamiliar treatment. Most people avoid me for a reason. The question gives me a pang and at first I can't pinpoint why, then I realize that this question is one of the first observations Marzia had ever made about me the first time she spoke to me too. Best not to even continue that thought.

I bite my tongue. "You could... say that."

"How old are you two?" She breathes, seeming to only realize now that Phil and I are not as aged as the apocalypse has worn us down to look, now that the moon is slanting in through the overhead window ever so slightly.

I search her gaze for intrusiveness and my internal voice is questioning why she should even care. I shouldn't be answering her, for all I know she could betray us just like anyone else, but my mouth keeps speaking.

"I'm nineteen." I tell her, hardly feeling connected to my own age. I look down at Phil, desperately wanting to hold him against me. "Phil is twenty three."

"And you are..."

"Best friends."

I can see the surprise in her eyes, can practically imagine the things she must be wondering. Why are we out here with just each other? How did we survive on our own if were still practically teenagers, still learning to grow up? What on earth reduced us to such chaos earlier? I'm grateful that James hadn't been here when I'd screamed, cursing the entire world and the injustice of humanity.

"I can tell you've seen a lot more than many of the people here have." She whispers, eyeing the swipe on Phil's cheek and the bandaging across my hand from the windshield glass of the truck.

I shrug. "That's not something to be proud of."

"But it means you're very brave." She insists. "I'm sure your friend thinks so too. He wouldn't let himself sleep if he didn't trust that you'd be okay."

I'm a bit taken by the fact that she's actually validating me, actually committing time and energy into making a useless person feel slightly less so.

"I won't be sleeping tonight." I say truthfully. "I don't sleep much to begin with."

"You should come and sit with me, then." James suggests unexpectedly. "I've been awake all night too. I was gonna ask if you and Phil wanted to come with me."

"Phil's asleep." I say dumbly.

He giggles. "I know that now. Do you want to?"

I can't understand how he's so willing to try, both with me and with himself, to be all right. His whole family could be gone the same way mine is now for all he knows but he's choosing to stay with me,  trying to distract me from things he can't even fathom. I don't know why he bothers, but I'm not about to make his life any worse than it already is.

"There's a swing on the back porch." The woman informs me. "It has some cushions on it and it's in the back of the house. It might be good for you and Jamie to get out and look at the stars for a bit, at least until it's safe enough to go out to the front again."

The message couldn't be clearer if she tried. I'm meant to take Jamie to sit for it because it would be good for both of us. The problem is, I don't feel like I deserve to do something healing. If I told her exactly who I was, she probably wouldn't be so open to sending me off with a small child to take my mind off things.

I feel an uncomfortable sensation in my stomach. I'm not good with kids, spending time with Phil and James together is much easier because Phil always seems to know what to say to him, letting the kid ramble on and on and requiring very little input on my part. The no is hanging in the tip of my tongue.

"You're okay with just me?" I ask him, half expecting him to change his mind.

"Yep." He answers instantly, not even hesitating. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Best not to go down that list. He doesn't need to know the list of reasons why I'm a less than deserving human being.

"Can you take me? Please?" He asks again, pale eyes soft and plaintive.

"I can't leave Phil." I argue. Impulsively, my hand flicks out and I brush back a section of Phil's hair, unnerved by how still he is and how vulnerable he looks slumped against the railing. If the woman is surprised by this she doesn't comment, just observes my actions and speaks in a thoughtful voice.

"I'll watch over him." The woman promises. "I can wake him in a few minutes if you'd like to have him, but he looks like he needs the sleep."

He was crying for an awfully long time. It's what her eyes say that she doesn't, and it's that profound bit of understanding that, for whatever reason, makes me believe her. There's nobody here to harm us. The porch is mere steps away.

"Yeah, sure." Is what ends up coming out out of my mouth, instantly obligating me to stand up and let my hand be grabbed by James' tiny one, though I hesitate the moment I'm on my feet, seeing this somewhat stranger hovering over my best friend.

"You'll wake him up if he starts to look stressed?" I ask before I can think better of myself. I sound like a mum or a concerned boyfriend, but I'm serious. "Make sure you call him Phil and tell him exactly where I am."

She nods and I shrug off my hoodie, which is actually his black hoodie that he got in the confederation bunker without much of a thought, hurriedly draping over his front and tucking it in at his shoulders so it stays. Immediately I feel goosebumps rise up on my arm, but it gives the courage to actually leave him alone.

"I'll make sure he's all right." She assures me. "Go. Take some time for yourself, Dan. We've all had a hard night tonight."

"I know but-" I cut myself off, the but this is all because of me dying on my tongue.

"You matter just as much as he does." She adds, voice almost knowing. I feel like she can read right into my fears, countering them despite my best protests. Sometimes it's hard to remember that genuinely good people still do exist, and it catches me by surprise when she continues.

"You'll find that some time in the quiet city without any distraction but the sky may actually help you more than you can imagine." She says firmly. "If Phil wakes up I'll send him right out there. Nothing else is probably gonna happen tonight anyway."

James takes my hand again and I just stare at her blankly, stunned by how much meaning that advice holds.

"O-okay." I mumble. Something is twisting up inside me and a voice is trying to make me aware of several feelings but I push it down, smoothing over my features with that old stubbornness that feels as familiar as the worn runners on my feet.

You're stronger than your emotions, Dan. My mind chides me. You didn't need them then, you don't need them now.

Vaguely I feel James begin leading me down through the doorway and out into the hall, the survivors settled against the walls and leant on furniture hardly sparing us a glance.

We walk along the narrow hallway, keeping toward the back door because I'm pretty sure Michael would have a fit if he saw me taking his brother out where there could be zombies. Despite the seriousness of tonight I can't help but feel extremely nervous about my current situation, the notion of having to talk to James alone making my hands shake a little.

I wonder silently why I allowed myself to do this. Somehow I know that this time, Phil actually will be fine, I'm not dooming him to any kind of danger. This is a shelter that is being ignored by the confederation, not significant like the camp. We're just going to sit on the porch for a while. It's too bad my mind is a mess.

Being awkward as I am I've no idea what to say and so we walk in silence, only our muted footsteps and James's breaths punctuating the silence. I look down at the little kid holding onto my hand contentedly even as we reach the moonlit screendoor, so much relaxation and trust in the hold that I'm assaulted with unexpected emotion, feeling a sudden warmth for the boy with his brown hair all in a sweep and his friendliness that doesn't fit this world. He walks along staring straight ahead, looking neither comfortable nor uncomfortable.

We walk out onto the porch, made of rickety wood and sheltered by a roof, stood completely still until James gets the idea to wander us over to the bench swing and look at the stars, flopping down carelessly on the seat and looking up. He glances at me sideways and I obligingly sit down, feeling him scramble over and curl up against my side without consultation.

I start at the feeling of the little form nestling into my side. It's like nothing I've ever felt before and I try recall having ever trusted someone enough as a child to do this. When I realize I can't, it makes my thoughts race even more.

I tense at the unexpected contact but slowly relax, carefully wrapping a hand around one of his shoulders in the hopes of comforting him.

We sit in this way quietly with the spread of the galaxy above us, his hand slipping back into mine as he yawns and snuggles more comfortably.

He's so quiet I assume he's fallen asleep or something, having never heard him say nothing for this amount of time before. I'm just starting to imagine a scenario where I could grow up and have a kid of my own to sit outside with and hug beneath a night sky, the warm feelings of James's acceptance and affection making me feel strangely happy, and yet achingly sad too. It's a life I'll probably never have.

I'm not sure what to do with him. Do I check to see if he's awake? I have to accept that he likes me despite my coldness for whatever reason, has seen me crying yesterday and is probably hurting as much as me. Am I holding him correctly? Am I supposed to talk or?

"So do you know where my dad is?" He looks up at me with those bright, inquisitive eyes, and it really does feel like he knows I'm not telling him everything .

But what do I tell him?

I tense. I can't tell him the truth, the truth would only hurt him. I don't know why it should even occur to me to want to protect him but it feels almost selfish to hide from him the whereabouts of his own dad. Phil and I know well enough what it's like to not have one, and this boy is so much younger.

"No. But I know he's alive." I decide. "Both of them are."

"Do you know where anyone is?"

"No." I say honestly.

Well, you know where Cat is. I shake my head.

"How do you know my dad's alive?" He asks, just as I thought he would.

I look up at the sky, and just as the lady had said, the city skyline without its street lamps is pitch black, illuminated almost ironically beautifully by thousands of stars.

"I just know." I decide. "They're tough. They wouldn't go down without a fight." And though not everything I've said in the last few months is true, I mean this entirely.

To my surprise he looks instantly calmed by that, his posture relaxing and his expression suddenly confident. "You're right." He agrees.

He winds both of his arms around one of mine and we settle into silence. I let my eyes wander over the yard from beneath the slanted roof of the porch, seeing a fence only a few feet in front of us, a neighbors shed and house rising up right on the other side. Just a few residential homes along an old park, the smoke of the fire in the camp one block over finally dying away.

"You were really worried about Phil." James states suddenly, subconsciously letting his legs hang over the side of the swing which rocks us back and forth ever so slightly.

I almost drop him in surprise. So he is thinking about it, maybe he has been the whole time. Part of me had hoped he hadn't really noticed just how much I'm thinking about my best friend, how afraid I am and all the complexities surrounding him at this moment. I'm not exactly in the mood to explain this to him but he's making a statement rather than posing a question. I swallow, composing myself.

"Yep." I state nonchalantly, hoping if it sounds casual enough he'll assume it's not a big deal and move on. I see a few campfires scattered around the park still, dying down now that the whole camp is again being left alone, see the plume of smoke in the distance from where the building collapsed. I can't see much if it from here, but much more of it is standing than I'd initially thought. I hope it's distracts James too.

No such luck. "Why?"

My mind struggles to think of an answer, not entirely sure of that myself.

"I don't know." I reply.

"You know Emily's gonna watch over him right?" He asks.

I frown. "Who?"

"Emily." He repeats. "The old lady. She's gonna look after Phil while we're gone. You don't have to worry about him."

I close my eyes for a moment and try to organize my thoughts. Technically he's right, I have nothing to worry about, but I also have everything to worry about. I can't change that.

"I'll always worry about him." I confess. "If he were here he'd definitely be telling me not to."

And it's true. Phil and I have talked about this dozens of times before, yet here I am again supposedly taking my mind off a very traumatizing night, and yet I still can't openly admit to myself let alone other people why I'm terrified of even having Phil out of my sight.

"Why?"

I look at James and see his fascination, so close to telling him the truth suddenly that I have to actually snap my mouth shut and reopen it to speak.

"You can probably tell he's my best friend." I say vaguely, yet somehow, that's what makes the kid's eyebrows go up in surprise.

He squirms and tugs on my thumb. "You like him, don't you?"

His round eyes gaze up at me inquisitively, the question sounding so sweet and simple coming out of his mouth despite how huge and monumental it is. I look down at him and I can feel my face go red as I shift uncomfortably, wanting to lie but completely unable to. He's just a little kid, there's no way the full complexity of a feeling like this is even remotely understandable to him. He probably doesn't even realize how big of a deal it is, what he's asking, and I'm not sure quite what to say. I guess it's a given that it's probably obvious by now.

"I...well-" my stammer gives it away, providing all the answer he needs. I guess like is another word one could say. But I've tried to tell myself not to do it, feeling anything for Phil in a one-sided way is not good for either of us and I can't stand to think it could ultimately impact our friendship.

"-I don't want to." I finish decisively. I think about how much stress it's caused us already. All those times I've pressed my lips to his cheek or hair or forehead without explaining how or why, how patient Phil is anyway. I'm selfish, but I'm worried now that he could disappear at any time.

James considers this, raising his eyebrows and quirking his lips into a curious smile. "But... you do, don't you?"

I bite my lip, picking a patch of concrete floor to focus on. I don't want to admit anything, it only makes all this more real. But I'd be lying if I tried for denial. I don't look at the boy when I say it, instead tilting back my head and picking out the Big and Little Dipper, tracing their paths in the dark.

"It's... I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"It does!" He exclaims. The enthusiasm makes me jump and I stare at him fearfully, surprised that such a small face could hold so much intensity. "You said you can't even sleep because you have so much on your mind, so I want to help you."

"Yeah but-" I get out, the urge to close off, the fear of someone else knowing my secret roaring in my ears.

"That's why you're so serious all the time." He says, sounding like an inspector on a crime show, collecting the clues. "That's why you're always together even though I can't even be around Mikey all the time."

"What?"

"I saw you kiss his head when he fell back asleep." He blurts, my heart dropping at the notion. "You like him, don't you?"

I'm backed into a corner, no way to go back and no way to skirt around this. I look at James and I'm surprised to see that his expression is excited, like he's been dying to get to know me and he's finally cracked the code. It's unsettling. How did a six year old manage to read me better than Cat did, than any of my friends?

The answer is simple; he didn't. He's just the first one to voice it aloud.

I don't want to admit anything, but I'd be lying if I tried for denial. I don't look at the boy when I say it, something akin to a hurricane raging in my heart as I close my eyes, steeling myself and then let's words rush out in a breath.

"I do."

Two words, but they're the truth. And now that I've spoken them, the meaning is as good as solidified. I can't take it back. His eyes widen and I wonder if maybe he wasn't actually anticipating the honest answer, or maybe even the possibility itself.

"But you're a boy?" He asks, making me even more nervous.

Oh. I think. There it is. Not that I really care about judgement anymore, but every emotion feels wired right now.

"Yes." I state. My face is a blank slate now, vulnerabilities locking up one by one. "We both are."

Then he nods, looking back out at the sky with a simple "Okay."

The instant acceptance catches me totally off-guard. I was worried I'd have to give him the whole explanation, or maybe justify myself. There's no way you'd catch me doing that, not even for this little boy whose judgement means everything and nothing the same time.

He leans back, snuggling into my chest to ward off the cold. Or maybe he's just lonely. "Is he your boyfriend?"

My heart skips a beat and I shake my head, before remembering he can't see me. He certainly moved on swiftly. It's like we've gone from thinking about our tragedy and being outside to something that he cares about more, an exciting bit of fact he didn't think of until now.

"No." I venture carefully, not sure what I should be saying to him. "He doesn't know. It's a secret, so don't tell him. Or anybody."

He doesn't know. The words hit me hard. He doesn't know, and I've no idea what I'd do if he did.

Who knew the first person I'd be confessing this to would be a kid? Cat couldn't even get the admission out of me. Pain surges at the thought that Cat never got to hear this truth aloud, but I console myself with the thought that I'm sure she knew.

He squirms onto my lap so that he's looking up at me while laying on my knees, short legs hanging over the side.

"It's a secret?"

I look at him seriously. "Yes."

"Mum always said you should never tell secrets." He confides. "I won't tell Phil, I promise. I won't even tell Mike."

I think about what Earring said about his wife. How she didn't want the kids, how she left them. I wonder how it feels to Jamie to talk about her.

A weight lifts off my chest. Not only have I finally said it aloud to someone whose opinion matters, but the kids' actually taken the time to assured me it's not going anywhere.

"Thank you." I mumble. Then, feeling like that's not quite enough, I decide to elaborate."I'm sure your mom would be very proud of you. You're... a good kid, James."

He doesn't answer this, just stares at the wooden planks below us.

"Why do you like Phil?" He asks abruptly, kicking out his legs childishly.

My stomach flutters in a funny way. "What?"

"Phil." He repeats. "Why do you like him? Does he like you?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. He's been my best friend since before the zombies came. That's a long, long time. It happened slowly, recently. He's always meant a lot to me but I don't know, I guess I fell in love with him." My eyes travel down to gauge his reaction and the expression that meets mine is highly fascinated. Living alone with his brother must not have given him something this in-depth to think about in a while.

"So..." he asks cautiously, "why is it a secret?"

It's a secret because it has to be. I can't just up and tell him, I can't just go risking our friendship on the slim hope that he might feel this way too. I have to keep it down for the better. It could go wrong at any moment. Just like before, I'm reminded again of how much this all suddenly matters, how loving Phil is the single thing keeping me driven besides the need to see Wirrow dead and ruined forever. It puts into perspective how reduced my entire existence has become.

"Because, James, it's just so much more complicated than it probably seems." I get out. I'd like to think I'm strong but the truth is, at the moment I desperately wish someone would reassure me, telling me everything will work out and I'm not alone in a cruel, one-sided romance. "I don't think he... you know, likes me back. I mean obviously he still likes me in the friend way and I can't imagine this life without him, but there's no way for me to ask him and get the answer without revealing to him this whole problem."

His face has changed into a very cute yet intelligent expression of concern, and it's funny that I'm letting a kid attempt to solve a problem most adults struggle with. I'm not expecting the answer James gives me next, busying my hands with shifting him so that he's laying in my lap in a way that has him supported by my shoulder.

"I don't get love stuff." He informs me thoughtfully. "I'm just a kid. But I bet he likes you too."

My eyes widen and he giggles at my expression, though I'm not joking in the least.

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. He just looks like he does."

I have to stop myself from gaping at him. He says it so nonchalant, like he's sure he knows what's happening and it's not something I've been struggling to make sense of since I fell in love in the first place. Phil looks like he likes me? What kind of expression is that?

"What do you mean?" I sputter.

"He looks at you the way Mike used to look at the girl on our street that he had a crush on. His eyes go like this-" he gazes lovingly off into nothing, my heart skipping a beat- "and he kinda smiles a bit even when you're not doing much. I didn't know boys could have crushes on each other."

I think my heart has forgotten how to beat normally. It's like with a few absent words of one kid, I've been hit with stunning clarity. I'd never even thought to think James made observations of this kind of stuff. I'd never even stopped to consider that in fact, there's a chance these feelings could go in two ways.

Phil, broken and exhausted. Gay, but still getting used to telling me so. Suffering the same things as me, who loves me in some way. He's said so himself. There is a chance that in this hell world he could at least like me. It shouldn't sound like much, but when there's nothing positive left in your life anymore, you'd be surprised just how much emotion one single hope can spark in you.

A laugh escapes me before I can stop myself. "Yeah." I assure him. "It feels like you love him more than anything else in the world. I don't like people playing with my hair or trying to make me happy when I don't want to be but for some reason whenever he does it it's fine. It's more than fine, actually. It feels really good."

He sits up and begins bouncing in my lap, hyperactive and unable to sit still.

"Why would you not want to be happy?" He asks, confused.

Shit. That's not the kind of stuff you dump on a kid. He's just been separated from his family, and I'm here speaking without thinking. Life will catch up to him eventually, best not to screw up this innocent happiness when it's still somehow stuck to him. I don't even know how to explain what's wrong with me. Even Phil had trouble understanding why I hide my vulnerabilities and refuse to share my emotions.

"Don't worry about it, I'm weird." I dismiss him, brushing it off. "Phil makes me happy when he's not supposed to anyway."

"Phil makes everybody happy." James agrees. "He's so funny, I like him a lot."

The approval of Phil makes me warm and I smile for the first time in days, a hesitant expression I almost never thought I'd see again. He does, doesn't he? I'd gladly talk about him for hours on end rather than think about what this life holds, welcoming the unexpected theme this conversation has taken.

"So do I, oddly enough." I say stupidly, and he giggles.

"That's so cool." He breathes. "You guys are the best people I've ever met."

My cheeks darken. "You think so?"

He grins. "Yep. I do."

The smile is still there, feeble but cautiously alive, and I find myself hugging the boy back for the first time ever, unexpectedly sharing my greatest secret with him and ridiculously grateful for it.

"Why don't you tell him?" James questions, eyes already in the stars like he knows already how not-simple this answer will be.

The problem now is a new one entirely. I don't know how to explain that I just can't.

I'd love to be able to tell him that I could just easily forget these needs for Phil. I'd love to say our relationship has never been complex, that we are calm and affectionately platonic, that we are nothing more than friends, just friends.

But we aren't.

I glance back at the door to the porch, phantom sounds turning my head, but there's no one there. "I can't."

Just friends, I think to myself, they don't look at each other this way. Just friends don't get butterflies in proximity or shy away from what should be easy innocent contact or topics.

Just friends, they don't fall asleep in each other' arms, looking to everyone else like they should have been lovers, but decided to stay like this instead. They don't dance to a record in an old abandoned hall, joking and flirting to the point where there's little more than silence and raw emotion, because I'd be kidding myself to say we're just friends. Phil is so much more than that, we are so much more than that- to me anyway.

I hate that this is something to contend with. I hate that it burdens Phil and I hate that I can't tell him.  I can't even pretend it doesn't matter because as it stands, I'm running out of things that matter anymore and I literally can't ignore it because it's probably the biggest part of my life.

"I have an idea." James pipes up, staring worriedly at the look on my face. "Since you told me a secret, I'll tell you mine."

The way it comes out sounds so serious, and I feel apprehension in my chest.

"No, no, don't." I say hurriedly. "You don't have to do that."

"I wanna tell someone anyway." He insists. "It's really hard to pretend that nothing's happened since the monsters came because even Mikey pretends that life is fine. And dad tells everybody the same thing."

Quite honestly, I'm not sure if I want to know at this point. If a child as cheerful and energetic as James has a secret weighing on him and it's having an impact in a negative way, I don't know if I deserve to hear it..

"Are you sure you want me to know it?" I ask, voice cautious. "I don't want to make you say anything that'll hurt to say."

"It's only fair." Ha says matter-of-factly. "And really, it'll make you feel less strange about your own secret, since yours is kind of a good thing."

I raise my eyebrows. "You think so?"

"Yeah." He huffs, voice convicted in what he's saying. "I like you, Dan. You can even tell Phil my secret if you want to. I need to tell somebody."

I pause, scrutinizing his face for any hesitation or regret but he looks completely serious, eyes on the sky rather than me now. His foot bounces and I nod my head, shifting slightly at the weight of his small form curled against me.

How old is he again? Six? His depth of understanding for both my feelings and the situation has me questioning everything I know, wondering how he's actually making me feel comforted when nothing else has worked.

"All right." I breathe. "What is it?"

"My mum." He whispers. Immediately, my eyes widen. It's not what I'd expected him to say. "I haven't told anybody about this because I wasn't supposed to know it. My mum was a good person." He looks up at me as if waiting for this to sink in, and then observes me solemnly. "That story daddy tells strangers, it's not true."

My breath catches in my throat, I look down at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean it's not true?"

My heart sinks as I remember the whole spiel we'd been given on the day we met the two, in the brothers' truck mid-escapade from the underground. How Earring was a welder, his wife an accountant who didn't want kids and left them all. The bitterness in his voice, his emphasis on the loyalty to his kids. Not real.

"He tells it to look like a good dad, a person people will look at and trust." James explains. "Honestly, Mikey and I have heard it so many times it might as well be real, even we practically believe it at this point."

So the guys tell it to make them relatable and familiar, to validate their smuggling cause. My first instinct is to stop trusting both of them, realizing they've already believed themselves capable of lying to us once, but the kid seems to sense that.

"He's not a bad guy, he really did sneak people around to protect them from the confederation." He adds, "Actually he doesn't know that I know he's lying."

"Why would he do that?" I ask lowly, the thought not even meant to be voiced out loud. The bitterness seeps into my words and I feel guilt at knowing this little boy can hear it, my fists clenching.

"Because she's part of the confederation now." He whispers.

And it's devastating. A few simple words, revealing the whole ugly truth in moments. The true reason behind Earring's bitterness toward his wife. Not exactly a lie that he'd told, but not the truth either.

"Oh." Is what I manage to get out.

He nods solemnly and doesn't elaborate, and I decide not to press him. The truth is a difficult thing in itself to grasp, my mind working furiously to keep up.

"It's okay." I find myself saying. "You saw me meet my dad again yesterday. He was surprised that I survived so long without him. He said he was proud. I bet your dad's proud of you too."

He grins up at me then, and I notice for the first time that he's missing a tooth, a little gap where one of his baby teeth should be. It gives the expression a lopsided, childlike kind of wonder to it, my heart jumping at the realization that the expression is actually incredibly adorable. I can't even deny it at this point, not when he's looking at me with such trust and affection.

"If you two get married you should adopt me and Mike." He tells me. "You'd be the best dads ever."

My mind blanks.

Dads.

"Oh god, James. Don't get ahead of yourself." I groan as my face burns even worse than before.

He giggles. "I'm just kidding. Your face is so red."

"That's not going to happen." I protest.

"Well I don't know!" He laughs.

A very sudden, very unfair image pops abruptly into my mind. I imagine Phil and I with a child. I see him sneaking the little girl or boy cookies before they've had their supper, kissing them goodnight after a long day, fixing up scrapes with a bandaid. I imagine falling asleep on the couch with a child tucked between us, my heart leaping up into my throat at the mere thought.

God, he'd be such an amazing parent.

I'd think of Phil as being that parent that every adult aspired to, the one who threw his heart and soul into his little child who he adored, taking time out of his day to have that tea party or teach the child how to read comic books. I'm imagining his smile when the kid would show him the drawing they made. Something like that would make phil so happy.

It's stupid, it's so bloody stupid but the amount of emotion that suddenly strikes me out of nowhere. It feels like a sucker punch. There's a physical shudder as I try to push that all down, the feelings straining at the seams.

My eyes cast down to my bloodstained clothes. Reality, and my suitability for parenting is about as grim.

My eyes are still cast down, but this time for a totally different purpose.

"Why are you so sad?" Jamie asks me curiously, reminding me of just how obvious it's gotten. "Do you need a hug?"

I move to shake my head and then laugh heavily, a choked, embarrassing sound.

"Yeah." I get out. "Maybe."

He giggles and sits up, bony knees digging into my legs slightly. He winds both arms around my neck and hugs me closer to him, grinning delightedly when I hold him to my chest, arms closing tentatively behind his back. He's so small my arms surround him, I imagine I'm keeping him safe with nothing more than my grasp.

"Do you feel better now?" He asks into my shoulder, sounding for all the world like he couldn't be more delighted.

In truth, I don't really. Cat is still dead. The camp is still gone. I'm scared and wounded and sad and a little bit in love, a lot in love. I've just been reminded, and for all I know there may never be a time where I'm totally okay. But the stars are beautiful and some people lived. James is okay and he's talking about my favourite thing at length, so maybe there's some good left as well.

"Yeah." I say sincerely. "How about you?"

He laughs and wiggles out of the hug, laying on his back and staring up at me.

"I feel like a powerful T-Rex again." He growls, swiping his hands through the air and growling at me. It's ridiculously adorable and my heart softens at the sight of it, my teeth baring to growl back at him cautiously.

This makes him laugh even louder, the sound echoing into the empty night. In the back of my mind I'm still mentally noting that the confederation for whatever reason, has gone, that fires are still burning, but I'm also letting myself be carefree. Who knows when it will happen again? It's an addictive drug, it feels better than reality.

"I say we go and tackle Phil." He suggests. "He should be better too."

"I agree." I decide, a sudden, overwhelming urge overcoming me to jump on top of my best friend and hug him so hard he forgets he's even hurting, to hold his hands and push back his hair and maybe even kiss his cheeks, which are soft and beautiful and deserve that treatment more than anything else, if only to bring back that smile. "If I'm not allowed to be sad than he isn't either."

"Who's getting tackled?" I hear suddenly. "I thought I would get to sleep."

It's from behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin, face blazing bright red and my heart thudding wildly as James cheers and scrambles around to peek over my shoulder, confirming that he is indeed behind me.

Phil.

His eyes are still tired and there's an element of fakeness to his sleepy smile but after all that Jamie's said my whole being feels warm looking at the softness in his gaze when I meet his eyes.

"Hey Danny." He quips, face casual and jokey enough that I can confirm that he at least hasn't heard what we've been talking about. His black hair is messy and skewed on his head and he's got on the black hoodie, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders to that definitely wasn't there before. He only looks half-awake, and far too soft and comfortable to be humanly possible in this world, complete with eyes that focus right on me.

"Hey!" I exclaim, trying for a verve I wouldn't even attempt if it weren't him. Maybe we can't tackle him, but I'm going to try my damndest to keep that softness on his face. "What are you doing up?"

He smiles and walks over to me, settling down on the swing which dips a bit under our combined weight and throwing the blanket around both of us, plus James who looks delighted, moving to nestle between both of us by sitting on our overlapping crossed legs. Unfairly again, the image of our imaginary family returns.

"I missed you." He says simply, not wholly excusing how he's suddenly not asleep.

I bite my lip and only hesitate a moment before putting an arm around his shoulder as our shared warmth seeps in, noticing James's excited knowing look as Phil's arm slides around my waist. Damn him. He's going to ship the fuck out of us now.

I hadn't really thought this through as I spoke tonight, but then again, I'm not going to deny it.

"Emily gave me this blanket." Phil explains, noticing me eyeing it and fiddling with a corner. I give up any shred of dignity, laying my head right against him and breathing in him, brushing my nose over his neck. I pull the blanket closer around myself and James settles against my side, making us look to all the rest of the world like my imagination isn't that far off.

"Gotcha." I get out. "I'm glad."

Phil looks between James and I, seeing the half-awake little boy held in my free arm.

"You guys look like you've been bonding." Phil observes quietly, looking pointedly down at the affectionate kid we seem to be sharing.

"Oh yeah." I manage to get out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. It's a bit difficult to tell him that we'd bonded by talking about him.

James is relentless, grinning at me excitedly like he knows this is one of the best things ever.

"Dan is really funny." He informs Phil. "He's my best friend now."

Phil's eyebrows go up in mock surprise, looking at me with deepest offence.

"Is that so?"

I can tell that he's joking but there's a glint in his eye, a strange suggestion of inadequacy or is it... jealousy? Does he really think I'd replace him?

I chuckle despite myself at the very thought and he looks at the grin confusedly, before his lips suddenly quirk into a smirk.

He lunges forward and his hands collide with my chest, knocking back against the cushions on the left armrest and quite literally taking my breath away. James squeals and jumps on me too, wrestler-style, landing with a painful thump that makes me flinch a bit.

"You're my friend." Phil jokes, wrapping his arms around me and speaking against my neck. I shiver, the warm breath against my skin simultaneously making me want to recoil and lean closer. "I'll beat you up if you pick someone else."

"Mine!" James squeaks. He pulls on my arm, but seeing how Phil's arms are already pinning mine, it nearly knocks us both over.

It's like in the moment of play fighting, all of our pain disappears while we share the burden. It doesn't even matter if we wake someone up, not when laughing feels like being healed. And it feels wrong to laugh- it does, but I know it's what Cat would have wanted to see.

"You wouldn't replace me, would you?" Phil teases. "I'm the best."

I'm comforted by the way we've settled back into our normal, comfortable banter. It's like his own quiet and genuine way of assuring me that we will eventually be okay. It ells me he's willing to try.

I stick my tongue out at him. "You're the literal worst and I hate you." I inform him. "Zero quality friendship."

"Dan likes me better!" Jamie singsongs. "I know stuff about him!"

"Shut up." I hiss, seeing his cheeky smirk even as I roll my eyes, wondering in the back of my mind if that's the best-influence thing to say to a six year old. "Let me sit up, you heathens."

They're totally ignoring me though, Phil ambushing Jamie with a tickle attack while the kid squeals, jerking away from Phil's fingers and kneeing me in the gut.

"His best friend knows his secret nickname." Phil proclaims.

Immediately my eyes widen and I try to shoot out my hands to cover Phil's mouth, but gravity catches up to me and I miss, which makes him smirk even more. He pushes down against the cushion and I look at him in despair, James pestering in the background with: what is it? What is his nickname? I want a secret nickname.

"No, god, Phil don't tell him." I plead.

"It's Bear." He says triumphantly, drawing out the cringy word and squishing my cheeks briefly as evidence. And then, he bursts into such loud, giggly laughter that for a moment I'm speechless. The smile on his face is real. It's real and it's because of me. It makes a blush erupt on my cheeks and he looks delighted to see it. And like that, a crack spikes through the darkness and absolute affection pours through the break, my chest glowing with something that means so much more than our banter.

He's still calling me bear bear bear in an obnoxious loop but I'm just blushing and grinning like an idiot, making sure James is out of the way before I lift my arm, making sure he doesn't get away with it.

I smack him on the side of the head and turn away, making a sound of exasperation. Normally this would entail hiding my face and not letting it back out for a long, long while, but after what James has told me earlier a thought has occurred to me, and suddenly I'm very curious. I still keep my head down, not wanting to seem obvious because that would risk it not being there, but all then same I try for sneaking a glance.

For the first time, I see it.

Whenever I looked away from him in the past I never thought much about how he'd react. Sure I knew he'd delight in the teasing embarrassment he put me through, but I also never considered the affection behind such teasing. Never dared to assume I could look for it. But this time I'm emboldened, both by lack of sleep and James' observations. This time, I'm looking.

So when my eyes go to his face, I see it.

He's looking right at me. His eyebrows are raised but his eyes themselves are relaxed, his mouth up in a soft smile, and it makes me almost tip over because I realize that he is in fact looking over at me... fondly. I've never noticed, never bothered to see this gentle expression that encompasses little more than a sideways glance, and yet it says so much just in the expression of his face.

Maybe I'm just crazy. James's suggestion is constructing prospects in my head that I can only desperately hope for. But it's right there in front of me. This look that Phil is giving me, it only wanes slightly even when I look back up, totally forgetting about hiding my face. As to what my face is doing, I can't even say. I've forgotten about expressions and vulnerability. I'm entranced by the eyes I've seen a thousand times. It's eye contact, but it's like nothing I've ever felt before. We just look at each other.

And he smiles at me.

So I smile back.

And if just for a moment, it's like the pain abates a bit.

Maybe this is what it feels like. For a few suspended moments there's nothing but warmth and two gazes unbroken, it takes another wrestler tackle from James to make me realize Phil didn't look away either. I realize how distracted I am.

Eventually, maybe an hour later, we're still on the swing. Dawn is peeking over the horizon just barely and we're all wrapped up in the blanket again just talking pointlessly, and that's when James gets tired. He dozes off and Phil and I still keep talking softly, a yawn leaving me every so often though I try to hide it.

Nothing seems amiss for the longest time. We keep our voices down so James can sleep and I bask in Phil's nearness to me, conversation drifting from topic to topic and sometimes little more than silence. It's like under the stars still dominating the sky we've entered our own little bubble of ignorance and safety, and for the first time since it happened, we eventually begin to talk in quiet voices about the other part of that night in the confederation bunker, that moment in which I'd held him close to me and pretended we were intimate, throwing off that girl at first when we'd been so scared. After all, why not? We'd never gotten around to talking about it. There was a lot more to that night that we should hold onto, so tightly even that maybe phil won't have to think about how he lost his first kiss.

I'd pretended well, I think to myself, looking back in the memory. Too well. I wasn't technically in love with him then, but that doesn't mean I wasn't. I remember how jealous and protective I'd felt that night, before I'd even known she was a threat. Maybe I was in love with him then. I'll never really know.

I learn that on that night, the brief act of my arms around him and my lips at his neck had actually potentially been one of the reasons he kept a level enough head to get us out of there initially.

Even so, I'm embarrassed at the memory. I try to apologize for what I did, not even sure which part of the night I'm referring to exactly and hoping he'll understand that I'm not just apologizing for those touches, but all these almost kisses and half truths and actions I've subjected him to that he doesn't understand. I don't say it aloud but I hope he knows. In truth, I'm not sure he does.

It happens when we're both finally, finally drifting off. His forehead comes to rest against mine and he meets my eyes tiredly before shifting James and and lowering his voice, doing his best to nestle against me whilst keeping us all wrapped in the blanket.

"It wasn't all bad honestly, don't you think?" He asks in the early hours of the sunrise, a nearly sleepless night that I can't differentiate between being the beginning of the end for us or a new chapter of our life entirely.

I don't know exactly what he means and so I whisper, not wanting to shatter our calm.

"What wasn't all bad?"

"Our... acting. In the bunker, you know?" He elaborates. "That was okay with me."

"Acting." I agree, surprised. "Yeah."

For a few beats, there's silence. I know I wasn't acting, I was dead serious about it all before I even realized I could be. It's interesting to look back on now that so much has changed and we both have our own perspectives. Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to tell him how that night had ended. The time when I'd drunkenly kissed him. The closest I'd ever gotten to his mouth, and he doesn't even know. That's a secret that might never see the light of day.

He looks at me, and repeats the word again. "Acting."

"Mhm." I say cautiously.

He sighs and our eyes meet, and then he looks away, mumbling into my shoulder.

"Me neither."

My heart catches in my throat for a moment I'm thrown and entirely awake, almost waking James as I try to make sense of this in my frazzled brain. "W-what?"

He can't mean what I think he does. He doesn't think about this the same way I do.

"It wasn't bad." He mutters, but he doesn't say anything more. His head lifts once again and though his eyes are tired we sit level, eyes meeting with soft expressions.

Then he leans down, taking care not to jostle James, and I don't know why, but I'm half expecting him to kiss me. My eyes go to his lips and I'm stunned into stillness for a moment as his hand tilts my face, but even though my breath hates expecting it, it doesn't come.

For once though, he does do something. He pushes aside my matted mop of hair and presses a kiss to my forehead, the most carefully tentative thing I've ever felt. I drape my arm loosely over his shoulders and let him, almost not registering his words because my heart is going so fast. I blush and bury my face in his shoulder and when he goes to pull away, I can't make myself let go.

Of course he wasn't going to kiss me, but if James wasn't here, possibly able to wake up at any time, would I risk attempting to lean in to him?

"Thank you." I manage weakly, his heartbeat fluttering against my cheek. It's becoming quickly apparent to him that I'm not going anywhere and he seems to have resigned himself to this fact, because his hands shift to hold me in place in a way that's more comfortable, curling himself around me.

"Goodnight, Bear." He mumbles when he draws away, laughing lightly at his own joke and settling his forehead against my hair.

"Goodnight, idiot." I answer, my heart thudding in my chest and an impossible smile on my face, hidden by the darkness so he can't see. Smiling doesn't even feel real anymore. It's shouldn't be allowed.

"Sorry about the nickname thing." He mumbles.

I shake my head, scuffing the pillow audibly. "I'll get you back for it." I muse.

"How?" He smiles and I can hear him saying the word challengingly, daring me to come up with something that can top what he's done. And oh, I can think of one thing, but that's sure as hell not what I'm going to say.

"James wants us to adopt him." I say instead, laughing as best I can and gesturing downwards. "I'm going to tell him we're his new dads."

He makes a weak sound and I grin, stretching out a finger to poke him in the cheek. I feel the hot blush on his face and smile to myself, pulling his head into my arm like a pillow.

He's got his face jammed into the crook of my elbow and I can tell he's flustered and doesn't know what to say. And I kind of really love that.

"Th-that's a little gay, Dan." He stammers.

"I never would have guessed that." I joke. "I hate to break it to you Philly, but we both are on some level."

"I guess so."

It's an oddly toneless and empty statement. He lowers his head onto my arm, closing his eyes as I press my lips into his hair. Onto his forehead, then the corner of his cheek again, like that time in the bunker that he forgot so at least he'll remember this one. He's exhausted, we both are, it's barely a press at all but more a wish, the promise of something I can't have.

"Know so." I say firmly.

It feels like a lot. It is a lot. This isn't an ordinary conversation between two normal friends. Any argument to counter that would be me deluding myself, I'm not stupid enough to miss this. I think back to my conversation with James, with these thoughts of what just friends are and what they aren't. And we aren't just friends.

And maybe it's because I'm tired. No, not tired, I'm exhausted. Maybe it's because just like this time here where I took so much out of him coming closer, I can't stand to keep this to myself anymore. Phil is my entire mind, my worries and my dreams and my fear and my happiness, and the thought of him consumes me. My mind is playing tricks on logical reasoning and even though he's half-asleep this conversation has my mind racing far to thickly and confusingly. In any case, it just sort stumbles out of me.

"Hey, Phil?" I ask, my heart lurching in my chest.

"Hmm?"

Don't ask it. Don't you dare fucking ask it.

My mind isn't aware of the consequences anymore. Now that I've explained how I feel to someone else, it's just a question I have.

"What if I kissed you?"

His eyes immediately open. He draws away from me and I look determinedly back at him, meeting his shocked stare with curiosity at what he'd actually answer to that question.

"What?" He's blushing and I'm already jumping to conclusions, even if the question is more forward than anything I've ever asked in my life.

Before I can even think about it I've leant right into his space, this time definitely moving James but it's like I'm somewhere far away and for once, I don't even care wha he thinks. I just need to know, even if the answer is a joke. I don't know how Phil sees me anymore. And I don't care how he takes this.

"If I kissed you." I repeat, turning his face with one hand. It's like I'm drunk. Sleeplessness does funny things to the mind. "What would you do?"

Our eyes lock and for about three seconds we're dead silent, I can see his eyes darting as he thinks about how to respond to that.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. He pushes me back down whilst ignoring my protests, hugging me to his chest making it obvious that he isn't taking this seriously.

"I'd be surprised." He says dismissively. His tone is frantic though and I realize he's just trying to end the conversation, thrown by the fact that I'd make a not-joke about this. In a way he's just being considerate to me just as he always is, not forcing me to clarify if I don't want to. My heart is racing and my courage dies fairly quickly after that and so I don't speak any longer once the pause has grown too long to be normal. He keeps his arms around me to make sure there's no awkwardness in the aftermath of what I've said, but that just makes me aware that he knows there's awkwardness.

"Why would you kiss me?" He asks me.

"I'm not." I say quickly. I don't want to think about how ludicrous it must seem to him.

He sighs. "I know."

His voice is clipped and then when nothing else is said, I realize my mistake.

The silence makes me feel the full impact of my regret, the realization that I've just said something so incredibly stupid. I don't know what reaction I'd been expecting and I don't know what to feel, a weight sitting in the pit of my stomach just overthinking all of it and wondering where Phil's mind is at.

That's not the only thing that hits me. A truth strikes me quite harshly, near knocking the air from my lungs.

Slowly but surely, I am falling more and more in love with him. Really, it's like that's all I have now. I have him in my arms but it's not enough. I want it to be out there, want both of us to know so it could be ours to share, rather than just my own. I want to kiss him so badly that it really does hurt.

I think back to our dance last night. The way it had ended so abruptly, both of us on the floor. We were so stupidly, deliriously happy. We pretended we were just doing it because Cat thought we couldn't but I know he enjoyed it as much as I did, and when we'd fallen over it was something different. The mood had felt so different. He told me he loved me and at that point I didn't even care if he meant it romantically or platonically or as nothing at all, he'd said it, and I didn't even want to hear whatever he was saying to contradict himself.

I'd leant in genuinely to kiss him then. I wasn't even thinking about what came after. I didn't even consider whether or not he was doing the same, and now it doesn't matter.

I know it. He doesn't. My heart sits heavy in my chest.

And I've had enough of it. I've always been one to procrastinate but it's twisting up in my chest, thrashing like a storm I can't keep still. I can't just have Phil close to me without him knowing. This is all I can think about when it goes quiet. I can't laugh off what I've done with him because it's not innocent. He can assure me all he wants that it's nothing, he just thinks that's what I want to hear. We're in a goddamn broken down house with the confederation looming over us and little to no hope let in the world. So what if I'm in love with him? I think maybe it's time that he deserves to know.

Tomorrow. This is the parting thought I fall asleep with. I'm going to tell him tomorrow. I guess technically it's today, I'm falling asleep as the sun rises on the morning. I'm telling him before the sun goes down tonight and I know for a fact I'm terrified- we both are- but no matter what, I'm going to do it.

Because fuck it, I don't know how much longer I have left.

five. thousand. reads. I don't even know what to say.

Thank you, thank you so much. In two weeks and a few days (December 26) it's going to be one whole year since I started writing this, and I'm just... feeling a lot. I remember when I made it to a hundred reads after four months of writing and it seemed like such a massive number when I thought nobody would see it. This is... crazy.

I hope you enjoyed the mess that was this chapter.

~Aly🌙