It's not just where you lay your head, it's not just where you make your bed.
As long we're together, doesn't matter where we go.
-Gabrielle Aplin, Home

Dan

Phil makes me happy. That's something I won't ever deny.

But what I want to deny is the effect he's having on me. Especially lately.

He makes me feel comfortable, content to the point where I'm almost getting a little pissed off because I shouldn't be taking so much happiness from a smile or a laugh or a tight, reassuring hug. I'm losing my anger and defence mechanisms, my vulnerabilities clear on display. I'm getting unbearably nicer, I'm smiling far too often. Yes, I tell him so. He thinks it's funny.

"I can't believe you have a problem with smiling more often! You realize it makes you likeable, not weak." He tells me, laughing even though my expression probably indicates I'm not taking this lightly.

We're on our second day of peace and our second walk, feeling much more comfortable hanging out with just one another rather than the whole of the group, which is helped some by the fact that Felix and PJ have gone off for a few days.

Before they left they'd tried for the most part to be respectful towards us, or at least to Phil anyway, but things were and still are undeniably tense. I'm not ready to forgive Felix who is doing his best to stay strong now but for me just seems more fragile than glass. I feel better getting away from them, we even tried to invite Cat but for whatever reason she turned us down. I don't really mind, I'm not one for talking generally anyway. I know every move I make in the camp now is being judged.

"Excuse me," I protest haughtily, "human fucking embodiment of the sun, while I go and photosynthesize off you."  I look at him pointedly, observing his reaction.

I mean it as an insult, trying to make a mockery of his unbearable sunniness. But unbelievably he laughs at this too, tongue poking out between his teeth and blue eyes crinkling happily.We've grown back together fairly easily. It was hard not to, he's so familiar.

"Is that what you call being influenced by me?" he giggles, "Photosynthesis? Dan the edgelord is comparing himself to a beautiful flower? That's an interesting way of putting it."

"For gods' sake." I slap a hand to my face to cover the smile, but it pushes through all the same. I could fight him.

I can't let myself get my guard down like this. I'm setting myself up for destruction, letting happiness come so easily. The more light I let into my life, the bigger the cracks I'm exposing that will make the damage all the more collateral when it's all snatched away from me one day. Phil doesn't worry about these things. He takes happiness for what it is even though there's the risk of being let down or worse, it's all the more reason that I need to stay strong. One of us has to be there so nobody else hurts him.

But it's getting harder and harder to fight it when happiness feels so good.

"You're the nice one." I insist, snapping a twig off of a nearby tree branch and fiddling with it. "I don't want to be likeable. It'll all just backfire when I revert back to myself."

His expression is serious, but I like how it softens a little when he looks at me, like the way he looks at me is different from how he looks at everybody else. I didn't even realize I'd missed him until I'd purposefully cut him out, not wanting my own issues to ruin any good coming to him. Everyone at camp liked him and made him feel welcome, yet even still he focused on me, who was decidedly much more difficult to deal with. I'd always thought in the back of my mind that this difficult life situation would make even him more open to the idea of me being replaceable, especially since we couldn't exactly go on being your average pair of teenage friends. When zombies get involved the stress can make or break even the better bonds, and I'm still on edge waiting for the day when he inevitably ups and leaves, never to return. Because arguably, even if he doesn't know it, he doesn't need me quite in the way I need him. Why is he still here with me? He doesn't know just how disgustingly much I depend on him.

"Maybe this is yourself." He says quietly, unaware of my thoughts. He gives me a soft smile. "At least some of your emotionlessness is a facade, you reserve it for people you don't know as well. I've seen you when you're not frowning."

"Yeah, but that's you." I argue. "You're different. I don't mind being happy for you."

He blushes and I stare him down, wondering why this is so surprising. He looks like I've given him the compliment of the century, when I'm really just saying it how it is. We stop walking.

"What?" I ask him, giving him a light shove. "I'd rather you just be likeable enough for the both of us, that way I don't exhaust myself. It's not like I have any other friends."

He still doesn't say anything and I lean over to obscure his vision, crossing my arms.

"Hello? Are you broken?"

He snaps up violently, like he's just been given an electric shock. "N-no!" He squeaks, shaking his head back and forth. Such a dramatic reaction. I'm wondering if there's still a part of him that's afraid we're walking some kind of fragile line here. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing in case I cut him off again, too angry to speak or to let him in further. If that's the case then I feel majorly bad, personally responsible for fixing this screwup.

He composes himself quickly, letting a hand flutter up to his heart. He gazes at me with an exaggerated sappy smile. "I feel so special." He trills. "You called me different."

"Oh you're different all right." I say sarcastically. "Really something else."

He chuckles and turns to smile at me and I awkwardly return it as warmth seeps into my chest, slowly coming to the realization that he truly has forgiven me. For everything. Damn him.

I don't know why and I don't know how, I truly can't believe it. Sure I appreciate it more than he'll ever see me express, but I really don't deserve that from him. Looking back on my shunning him seems almost childish now, like I was pouting out of dissatisfaction. I know he doesn't want to hear stuff like that, especially when the real reasons extend much deeper, but even so I'm about to say it.

But then I'm distracted by something obstructing the smooth skin of his forehead, which I can suddenly see clearly because we're standing at such close proximity, looking each other in the eye.

A pale pink strip of healed skin, thin and slightly jagged and running vertically from just above his left eyebrow. I don't know how I haven't noticed its prominence before, I know exactly where it came from. It's the last remaining souvenir from the car crash last year, a scar left behind on his gentle face like a symbol of just how unfair the world is to its least deserving inhabitants. It's not that big but for some reason it suddenly seems so monumental- I can't look away from it. It almost makes me a little angry, realizing that I'm not the only one who's been through these unbearably painful events of the past. My best friend is suffering too, more than I've ever been able to realize, and it's scarred him.

It's like a metaphor for this entire apocalypse. Our beautiful, blissfully ordinary lives were marred by the decline of the world the same way his face had been marred by the piece of shattered windshield glass. On the surface not all that much is different, but in the depth of his emotions and the bones of the earth, things are broken and that can never be changed. His smile contradicts the symbol of hurt, but also makes me wonder just how much he too is hiding. There's something unsettling in that.

Before I can think about it my hand has shot out to run a finger along it, touching it lightly so as not to hurt him, as if it still could, just as one of his hands lightly brushes one of the bruises on my cheek. We both stiffen at the same time in surprise and take a step back from each other, immediately receding our respective hands with disjointed laughs. This is not the time for weirdly coincidental happenings.

"Ah-" he stammers as I avert my gaze in embarrassment, realizing how weird that just was. When you see a scar on your friend's head the socially acceptable thing to do would be to subtly glance at it, maybe wallow in your own fascination and not call it to attention. I don't know what inclined me to reach out and basically stroke it, I hadn't even been thinking because the sight had caught me off guard. Seriously, there must have been another time where I saw it. It's been a year. Maybe his fringe covered it. Maybe it was hidden by his hair.

"A-anyway..." I mange to stutter, mind stretching to remember what we'd been talking about, "the point is, there's still an...an element of nihilist in my personality. I don't want all these weird feelings, I really don't need them."

Phil seems a little lost but plows on determinedly, to his credit. "Honestly, Dan. As your closest friend, objectively..." he looks at me as if I might counteract this for some reason, worriedly insecure. "...I think I can ask you to maybe reconsider that. You'll never know if you force yourself to be miserable."

"I'm not miserable," I argue, trying to communicate my point. "I'm careful. Contemplative. It's different."

"Admit it. You want to be happy. You like it." He insists.

"I will do no such thing."

He turns away from me. "Why though? That's a good thing. Besides, you... look really nice when you smile." he mumbles.

I freeze, looking at him in surprise. His eyes widen and he blushes again. That was certainly not the angle I'd been expecting. For a few seconds there's nothing but silence.

I don't know why but I have to fight the urge not to flush stupidly, the compliment has left me feeling warm.

"You have a scar on your forehead." I blurt stupidly, cursing myself immediately when he recoils in confusion.

"What?"

Ever since our conflict of sorts I'm slightly uncomfortable with sentiment, considering how much I let slip out two nights ago. My brain has automatically leaped to change the subject, straight-up rejecting whatever Phil's just said. How can I look nicer just by smiling? At least what I've said is the truth, so I'll have some alibi behind it.

Aside from that one day in the farmhouse, we've had little to no access to mirrors. If I remember correctly Phil never even stepped foot into the bathroom, too focused on that room with the piano. Maybe he never even saw it; it's a strange feeling knowing I know more about the details of his face than he does. On top of the thoughts of Phil not seeing his reflection, I'm still so flustered by what I've just heard that I'm scrambling to come back from my mistake.

"A scar. On your forehead." I insist. I feel idiotic under his piercing blue gaze, the bright irises somehow making me feel like I'm on the spot in a spotlight. He looks like he'd like to move on swiftly and I've already made the blunder, it's too late now, might as well keep going. "Just- I think it's from the crash. Have you ever noticed it?"

He rubs his hand along his temple, placing his fingers where mine had been as a starting point.

"No, I can't feel it."

"Well, you have it. Right there." It comes out lamely, and he now mostly just looks concerned.

"I do? Is it ugly?"

I shake my head quickly. "Oh god no Phil, that's not what I meant."

Reunited with his winter hat, a black and white thing with a puff on top, he looks anything but ugly actually. It's a familiar sight, the knitted garment hugging his head, his hair pulled out of his face slightly. He looks a lot more like Phil from before the apocalypse, especially paired with his blue hoodie that he used to wear a lot.

Yesterday, our journey back to the barn turned out to be a successful one. Not only did we see only a few zombies (which we carefully avoided), we found our possessions spread out on the floor, a little windblown but looking untouched. While I took the time to fold up the tarp neatly and slot it into my bag, Phil immediately picked up the hat he'd abandoned, thinking then that we'd only be gone for the day. He wedged it back onto his head and I rolled my eyes a little, pleased that something that trivial made him look that satisfied.

It was strange to be back there, to see the abandoned ashes of the old fire and the stack of timbers I used as steps to sit up on that viewing point. It hadn't exactly been a home for Phil, Cat and I, we'd only slept in it a few weeks, but it had been the place where life had been just the three of us, feeling like there was no one else in the world. Now I know there's more than that. I'm still trying to decide whether I'm happy about it or not. We stayed there a bit longer than we should have, enjoying the isolation from the rest of the group. Nobody was watching us here, no one was going to barge in. We just sat in a comfortable silence, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't incredibly nice.

Yet again we had to cross through the town to get back there and we took a different route than normal just for the sake of not having to pass the farmhouse again. At the time we'd been in a hurry, but looking back on it I wish we'd just taken our time.

Against Mark's better judgement, the promised rain never fell from the sky. The clouds built up and grew all through the day and this morning, hanging low and menacingly above us now as we wander cross-country. They emit low rumbles every so often, I doubt we'll have the same luck today. We're staying close to camp today, near enough to the gate that we'll be relatively all right in the event of a storm.

"So it... doesn't look bad?" he asks hesitantly.

"Why does it even matter?" I ask him. "A zombie will still kill you even if you have a nice face."

"Do I even have a nice face though?" He asks rhetorically. "It's hard to make up for something if you don't have anything in the first place."

He smirks at me and finally I crack.

"Damn." I exclaim as flatly as I can, trying to pretend I'm scrutinizing his profile. As if I've reached a profound conclusion about his external beauty I tilt my head and shrug, like all of this is out of my hands. "Yeah, you're screwed."

His eyes widen in offence and he looks at me haughtily, recognizing the jab.

Then we're both laughing, probably harder than we should be, considering it wasn't that funny. It just feels good to laugh. So we do it, long and loud and unnecessarily, till I feel a punch bounce lightly off my forearm.

He looks at me happily, glowing with appreciation and I roll my eyes, brushing off the sentiment. But if only for this moment I'm savoring the feeling of calm and contentment. It almost feels like a normal hangout with my best friend, I'm silently dreading the moment this has to end.

Without warning he stops laughing, the sound cutting off abruptly. I stare at him in confusion, seeing him briefly stop to think before he suddenly lunges forward, throwing his arms around my torso.

Even as I trip back in an attempt to escape his crushing grasp he still clings to me, an inescapable hug that knocks me backward as he resumes his laughter.

"Get off me!" I exclaim, squirming under his grasp and wholly failing to free my pinned hands.

"You're so happy!" he cries, a palpable joy in his face. "You're laughing! I love it."

"Yes, yes." I sigh. "No need to remind me."

Phil smells like the outdoors and like wood smoke. The way he's smiling widely into my shoulder is making me slowly more reluctant to keep fighting him, which contradictory to what you might think is actually making me quite mad. This isn't how I handle things.

"Phil!" I protest, slapping lamely at his wrists. "I'm serious. I don't deserve to be happy. I can't be pretending everything's all fine, it's not!"

He breaks his grip a bit, pulling back to look at me with a much softer expression, no longer full of amusement.

"Of course you do." He says seriously. "Of course nothing's fine, this world is a mess now. Bad things happen. People die. But that doesn't mean  you deserve to live your life any less."

"Did Marzia deserve to die?!" I argue. "Did you deserve to get shot by someone you thought was your friend? Of course not. You're both brilliant people who keep sorry excuses for others like Felix and I alive." I shouldn't be saying this. Just when the mood has lightened to something less serious I'm going and ruining it. It seems like something I always manage to do. "What am I doing? All I do is get others killed. Nobody needs me."

"I need you!" He shouts unexpectedly, making me snap out of my self-loathing almost instantly.

"Since when do you yell at me?" I ask meekly, trying to redirect him back to a calm. I try to meet the bright eyes that are burning holes in me, but he's not focused. He grips my shoulders.

"Since now." he snaps in a sharp voice. His hands are shaking; I feel my heart begin to pound as I see how scared he looks, like I might not listen if he words things the wrong way. How could one statement from me have unsettled him so much?

"I don't know how to get it across to you." He says slowly. "I don't care if I have to tell you five hundred times. I know you know better than that. Don't lie to yourself just to keep others from getting near you, because I'm sure as hell not going anywhere."

Thunder rumbles briefly somewhere above us, wind picking up and shaking the branches of the trees but neither of us react to it. I don't know what to say, I wish I could take my words back, because now I don't even know if I meant them. Doesn't he see how much simpler his survival would be if he didn't have to have me around?

"I-" I squeak, intimidated by this strange Phil that has overtaken the quiet, evenly spoken one. "I'm replaceable. You can replace me. Your life would be so much easier if I wasn't dragging you down."

"No."

His stare cuts straight to my heart and he doesn't need to elaborate any further. I know this won't be argued.

"This is stupid." I counter, laughing awkwardly at the intensity of his gaze. He doesn't laugh back. The mood has dropped so seriously. "I don't mean it, Phil." I add hurriedly, "I promise."

He looks down at me. "Do you?"

"Yes!" I push away from him, though his fingers are still gripping my shirt.

"Surely you know how messed up this all is. I can't pretend I knew Marzia all that well but she's the only other person besides you that ever considered that maybe I'm human and not at all pleased with being treated like a bomb that's going to go off any minute. I can tell they're all trying to be sensitive, but I feel like it's my fault."

"Believe me I know what it feels like." He answers immediately. "I know you think that what happened is all because of you. We were outnumbered and there were wolves and zombies. You need to listen to me. It isn't!"

I shake my head stubbornly but it becomes immediately evident that that is a bad idea. He redoubles his hold on me so that I'm actually crushed against his chest, my eyes wide as his fingers dig into my shoulder. He's so unsteady I realize he's actually afraid for me, he's forcing me to pay attention in the only way he knows how.

"Dan Howell, get your head out of your ass and realize that you are amazing. You're the reason that I'm alive, you deserve to be living, and you're the most important thing to me in the entire world. You better think long and hard about whether I'd ever actually leave you, because I'm sure you know what the answer to that would be."

You'd think that being the more emotionally open of the two of us that Phil would be a lot less ashamed to cry. He let his pain show on his face when he was shot and he spoke calm and steady words to me the night I took Marks words a little too seriously. But even on the morning when we were first driven out of London I only saw the remains, the trails on his face that could have been brushed off, debunking the assumed moment as not real. Even months later, he won't let himself do it in front of me. His voice is coming out angry instead, concealing whatever he's feeling by replacing it with determination. He's clearly feeling something deeper, but he doesn't want to let it show.

And do I ever know what that feels like.

I can feel the defeat in his shoulders and the reluctance of his contact, knowing full well that it's what I want but will never admit, let alone ask for. I'm not a hug junkie, I don't want reassuring contact, technically. Needing it is weak, certainly?

But Phil gives me more reassurance that way than any way else. Do I think Phil is weak?

Absolutely not. Of course not!

And that's when it all falls into place. That's when I get it.

I don't need anything else. I yank him into me, squeezing him tightly and holding myself in place by gathering up fistfuls of his shirt. A loud clap of thunder sounds but I ignore it, even as he jumps at the sudden noise he doesn't let go of me either. Forget all of this selfish worrying and dwelling on things I can't change from the past. I still have one thing that's keeping me together, I can't hold myself steady if he's falling apart.

I give him a second to realize it, still not sure exactly what I'm doing myself. I've never properly stopped and just attack hugged him like this before, it's not exactly my standard. But if it's not a sign of weakness and it makes the both of us happy, why am I denying either of us by holding it back?

"That's really deep, Philly." I say quietly, feeling him go slack in my hold. I try to let my tone express the appreciation and meaning that I can't put into words, knowing that he knows me better than anyone and must be receiving the message.

"Yeah- yes." He mumbles, dumbstruck. "I suppose it is."

I punch him in the side, the good side, lightly. "I hope you're happy, idiot. I'm giving you a hug, be grateful."

Like the stupidest hallmark moment in the history of ever his face lights up visibly, dimming everything around us in this gray skied scruffy brown woods, diminishing the thoughts of zombies and potentially being struck by lightning as he mutters that he is. The storm is picking up rapidly as the wind tosses his dark hair under his hat.

"Thank you." He breathes, giving me a reassuring squeeze. "Whoever you are."

I try to scoff at his making fun of me but it comes out instead as a laugh.

"I'm still Dan fucking Howell, I haven't changed anything." I argue, embarrassed that he's choosing to point out how unlike me this recent development is.

So he can see it. Great.

I like the feeling of having someone to hold onto, especially because it's him. It's not all that difficult. If he's the reason this is preference is developing in me I might have to fight him. I feel like all my anger and stress is being drawn out of me, replaced with a glowing feeling in my chest that makes me feel, frankly, a little nervous.

He draws back with a chuckle, smiling down at our arms over each other's shoulders and then looking back at me.

"We're acting so manly." He jokes quietly.

This makes me snort. There are many things we could both define ourselves with in the great vastness of the universe, nerdy and tall and somehow still alive just to name a few, but manly is definitely not one of them.

"Nothing quite as manly as two bros stopping a forest walk to hug it out." I reply, trying to find it in my heart to find our behaviour weird but unfortunately falling short.

The first drip hits my shoulder and we both stop to stare at it, watching as more begin to pepper down all over the area, leaving similar circular marks all around.

"You don't see me complaining, truthfully." Phil answers, shaking his head.

Then there's a bang of thunder and we look up to see dark churning clouds above us.

The skies choose to open, pelting us with massive raindrops that make us both scream in surprise.

"Shit!" I shout impulsively, feeling cold water running down my back.

He cries out in alarm, yanking up the hood of his hoodie to shelter his face even though he's already thoroughly soaked. Our hug breaks and like the loyal friend that he is Phil is off and running without me, beelining for the trail back to camp while I struggle not to slip on the wet ground.

"You're just leaving me?!" I shout at him incredulously, seeing his retreating back disappearing into the foliage. I'm answered with silence, and so with an irritable swipe of my hand to get already-curling fringe out of my eyes I push after him, shaking my head at how he'll stand by my side in a life or death situation but is easily deciding to ditch me to escape the rain.

I dart under trees to deflect some of the downpour while trying to keep Phil in sight, yelling curses after him until I realize that's probably a bad idea with so many zombies around and shut my mouth.

Tree trunks rush by and I stumble over branches discarded on the ground. I know the gate is near the taller cluster of trees so that's where I need to be going, focusing on familiar rocks and landmarks while I try to relocate my friend.

The world blurs with cold water and I let some of it run into my mouth, knowing well by now that freshwater can occasionally be hard to find. I likely don't drink enough anyway. After glancing around quickly to assure that no one can see me I stick out my tongue childishly and catch drops in my mouth, getting a strange amount of satisfaction out of doing this.

With my head tipped back I can see the treetops being tossed around and lighting illuminating the darkened sky. I always heard that standing under a tree in a lightning storm is essentially the worst idea ever, quickly collecting myself as I realize I'm standing in a forest, full of damn trees.

I stare transfixed at the sky for another moment, not really wanting to go back to camp where it'll all be like none of this ever happened. I move once again past the trunks, starting to shiver a bit from the cold.

As I slip once again I wonder how Phil, the clumsier of the two of us, has not yet managed to fall. I'm expecting to come up on him at any moment, sprawled on the forest floor.

And that's exactly what I do.

After a few more minutes of waking back to camp I begin to get worried because I can't find the path again, and this is definitely not the time to be getting lost. My teeth are chattering and I suppress a shiver, still half amused and half irritated in the absence of my friend.

"Dan!" I hear somewhere off to the right, echoing over the sound of the rain and sounding so unusually loud and urgent that I immediately assume he's in trouble. I panic and sprint through foliage to get to him the short way, crowbar poised for a fight. My mind has chosen to take his words as frightened, and now I'm afraid I won't get there in time. Like the time he was almost killed by a zombie. Like the time the wolf got to Marzia, knocking me uselessly out of the way...

A stick smacks me in the face and I smash straight through it with my crowbar, snapping it right in half as I spot a familiar dark-haired head. I ignore the stinging pain as I scramble over to him, my fears confirmed when I see he's on the ground.

"What happened?!" I shout, raising the crowbar and searching the immediate area for some kind of threat, ready to take the head off of the nearest enemy. "Are you hurt?"

When he doesn't immediately answer I snap my gaze down to look at him, seeing him lying back with his hand over the bullet wound. Fuck.

He's also covered in mud, though that barely registers. I automatically assume the worst, cursing myself for letting us be separated, for thinking I could let him go off on his own in such a dangerous world. I kneel down next to him, looking from one side of him to the other for signs of injury. I'm still on edge expecting an attacker, so I nearly scream when he sits bolt upright, catching me off guard.

"Agh." He hisses painfully, squeezing his eyes shut. "I fell. Tripped over a tree root or something. Landed right on my back, in the mud. That's gonna hurt tomorrow."

My eyes go wide and I splutter incredulously, not sure whether to hug him or smack him for scaring me so much.

"Are you kidding me?!" I shout, making him jump as my arms go limp. The rain continues to pound down on both of us, making his sodden hair droop in straight strands over his face and his hat to flop over. "I thought somebody hurt you! I heard you scream and I couldn't see you and I just-" I trail off midsentence and make a frustrated sound, griping him hard by the shoulder and wrist, standing up and yanking him to his feet. He slips again regaining his footing and my hands are now smeared with mud. He looks up at me, surprised.

"No! I'm okay. Falling hard to the ground is just a really bad idea when there's a hole in your body. Were you worried about me?"

"N-" I start, then realize it's useless to try pretending. "Yes! Why wouldn't I be?!"

I ask defensively, like I'm somehow doing something wrong by freaking out. It's the way he's asking me, like it's something I don't normally do. "Your clumsiness is going to be the death of you, you know that."

"The death of both of us." He agrees, rubbing the back of his neck where it's probably now sore. "Sorry for getting you worked up over nothing. At least I found you."

"You're the one who ditched me, asshole." I retort, heart still going way too fast from the unexpected alarm of the moment. He rolls his eyes and tugs on my sleeve, directing me back to the trail even when I yank my arm away.

He's focused on navigating back to our destination which is still a ways away and consequently not looking at me, so I feel safe as I allow myself the look of affection in his direction that has unfortunately pushed through. I'm glad that he's completely oblivious, glad that he's fine and that no one has hurt him. Is this how I'm going to be now? Am I just going to panic every time we're apart like some clingy idiot? I've never worried so much before, but I guess apparently it's going to become normal now if he's gonna go do stupid stuff like that.

~~~

We walk mostly in silence after that, only stopping briefly to make sure we're going the right way.

When we finally reenter the camp the onslaught has waned a bit but not completely, and we eagerly make our way over to where Mark and Cat are gathered under the rock shelf.

It's only when we get closer that we see there's a strange man sitting by the fire, and he's deep in conversation with both of our friends.

Phil stops at the same time as I do, shooting me a look as we stand there shivering in the rain. We're not about to introduce ourselves to this new person, yet unfortunately he seems to be the only one aware of our arrival. He stops his gesturing and mutters something to Mark and Cat, who turn around to look at us, finally noticing that we're here.

"Hey guys!" Cat shouts over at us excitedly. "Welcome back, and good timing. This is Wirrow, he's met with Felix and PJ."

The man nods at us and Phil steps forwards to shake his hand. We both congregate under the shelf's shelter, moving closer to the flames. "Phil." my friend says simply, trying for a shy smile.

"Hey, hey." The guy says, taking Phil's hand quickly but letting go almost straight away. "This is the apocalypse, no need to be so formal." He wrinkles his nose a little at the mud that has touched his hand, not-so-discreetly wiping it off.

"Oh." Phil exclaims somewhat awkwardly, taking an uncertain step back. "Sorry."

Mark smirks at our sodden figures. "Looks like someone got caught in the rain. I did tell you it was gonna happen."

I just shake my head, eyes observing the man's confident-looking figure. He has very short hair and a slight beard, definitely older than me by a bit. He looks unusually clean and well-fed, making me wonder where he came from. He's dressed in a nicer black windbreaker and black pants, well-suited to the outdoors.

"What about you?" Wirrow asks pointedly, shooting me a charming look. "What's your name?"

I frown at him, not at all pleased with the rejection he treated Phil to. I open my mouth and Mark seems to sense how that reaction will go, hurriedly speaking over me.

"That's Dan. He's a delightful character. Likes warm, fuzzy moments and thunderstorm walks. Might rip your head off if you offend his best friend."

I raise my eyebrows at his sarcasm, now definitely not pleased, but Wirrow just laughs at it.

"Doubt that. I'm guessing you're more like me. Like to stick to the logics of survival. People aren't exactly your thing, are they?"

"No." I answer evenly. "They're not."

"Good to know we have that in common. Cat's already told me a bit about you."

I can't pinpoint what it is about him that's bothering me, but something about him seems strangely unsettling. Maybe it's the way he's already using my friends' first names, even though he can't have been here for more than a few hours. I'm not sure I like that they've just accepted him, especially since our arrival was met with so much resistance. He smirks at my hesitation to respond again, so in retaliation I step closer to Phil. He doesn't get the satisfaction of talking to him, not until he explains who he is.

"I take it that him there is your best friend?" Wirrow asks me, gesturing to Phil as though I need a visual for this question. I nod silent and quickly, letting Phil answer for himself.

"That would be me." He agrees carefully, still with a friendly edge to his voice. I don't know why he bothers. I suppose it's good that at least one of us is likeable.

"What's he doing here?" I ask Cat and Mark pointedly, enjoying the irritation that crosses Wirrow's  face upon realizing I've decided not to directly ask him.

"He ran into Felix and PJ while they were heading back to the half-life camp." Cat informs me, not noticing my blatant rudeness towards the visitor. "Wirrow lives in a bunker that's located near the edge of the city. He's working with a group of other people trying to locate and house survivors."

I see Phil's eyebrows go up and I try not to betray my sudden interest.

"Yes," Wirrow says emphatically. "I had my friends take your two companions back to the city and get them cleaned up. We asked if there was anybody else traveling with them and they mentioned you. I just got done telling your friends that I'd like you to join us, especially since the other two are already there."

"They've been working all year to come up with a cure to the bites of zombies. The place has running water and electricity. Some of his friends are engineers." Cat enthuses.

The guy leans back with an experienced casualness to his tone, but it's clear we don't really have a choice.

"If you come with us, I promise you we'll give you the cure when we find it. You can travel in relative safety all the way into the city, all I ask is that you stay within the walls of the safe area once we get there. Your other friends have already seen enough, surely you know our cause is worthy. They're waiting for you right now."

"It's sounds to me like they just assumed we'd say yes." I say testily. Surely Mark is into the idea of joining PJ and Felix, but going back into the city is not top on my list of things I'd like to do.

Cat looks up at me in surprise. "What? Why wouldn't we?"

Even Phil is giving me a weird look, which annoys me so I nudge him. "We don't know him at all. How do we know that we can trust him? How exactly will be safer in the heart of London?" I'm speaking mostly to Phil in particular, wondering how he could have been won over so easily.

"He was sent here by Felix and PJ." Mark repeats pointedly. "He wouldn't have just found us if they hadn't told him where to look. He wouldn't know their names, either. I trust my friends, Dan."

Wirrow looks to me with understanding. "It sounds like you need some time to think about it. The journey back to the bunker should only take a few days maximum, I guarantee. As soon as you get there I'll introduce you to my friends, you can lead a normal life within the bunker walls. It's all made of concrete, you're allowed to go in and out at any time. We're not taking you prisoner, we're just trying to help as many people as possible."

"Here, wrap yourself up in these blankets." Cat tells Phil and I, handing each of us a smallish quilt to wrap around our shoulders. I take the blanket quickly and nod my thanks at her, going over Wirrow's proposition in my head. It's true that indeed the prospect of a life of definite safety and security sounds sorely tempting. But I'm naturally pessimistic, I figure there has to be a catch. I pull the blanket around my neck more tightly, letting the feeling creep back into my fingers before I respond.

"You're certainly going way out of your way for a bunch of strangers." I tell him. "I'm guessing you want something in return?"

Wirrow chuckles and glances up at me, apparently amused by my reluctance to trust him. "I like your way of thinking, man. You can never be too careful. If everyone else in the world was like you there'd definitely be more people alive."

"A world of Dans. That's a depressing thought." Mark mutters.

I shoot him a glare. "Fuck you." I hiss. He merely smirks and Cat giggles.

"The only thing I ask is that you help out the rest of us to stay alive once we reach the homestead. Maybe come along on rescue missions or contribute anything you know in terms of finding the cure. I don't if you know about this, but there aren't...that many people."

Well that's a depressingly accurate summary of the state of the earth. I try not to let my mind dwell on it, instead glancing over at Phil, who just kind of shrugs.

"I'll do whatever you want, Dan." he tells me quietly.

"Just consider it, okay?" Cat presses me gently, glancing up at the sky which is beginning to tinge red. Early evening. "I think it sounds like a good idea, especially with the half-lights possibly knowing about us living here."

I'd like to make a decision now but I'd just rather not think about it, not with all these eyes on me and no real predetermined plan. I know I'm not the one calling the shots and that Mark may even consider going without me, considering his closer friends are both already there. I need some time to think it over, in case this friendliness is in any way a trap. I'll let myself carry it into tomorrow.

"I'll give you the night." Wirrow assures me, practically reading my mind. "Don't feel pressured, I know you just got back. You guys can talk about it, I'm not gonna make you go."

"Thank you." Phil mumbles.

I consider going back to the willow, then realize our blankets must be soaked through with rain. It's not raining anymore and a warm breeze is picking up slightly, but it'll be a while before I can settle down to sleep. In this campsite the number of places to do that is fairly limited, and I'm going to need a lot of time to work on it without being watched. I just want to wander off to a place where I can think about everything alone.

Or maybe not entirely alone.

"Cmon Phil." I turn to him and to try to smile at him reassuringly, even though I'm not sure what to do with this offer that has been laid in front of me. There's only one place I can think of and I snatch up a second, thicker blanket for good measure, warm enough to maybe last me through the night. "We can take tonight's watch."

woowoo a sort of not really (hey two uploads in one week it counts) double update to make up for not posting the last one on time! Better to take some extra time and make the chapter as good as it gets rather than rushing and putting out a half-done work. You know what I mean? I feel like the last two chapters have been sort of boring so sorry about that. It's about to pick up the pace.

Little do you know, I actually have a writing playlist that I listen to while I write this book. It contains an eclectic mix of songs that has everything from Enya to Frank Ocean. You have no idea how many songs I associate with Night now. Or how diverse my music taste is. Try making a writing playlist sometime. It's very liberating.

Congratulations to the real Phil, AmazingPhil, our favourite Philly, for reaching 4 million subscribers. FINALLY! I'm so proud of him.
We all love you Phil! #getPhilto5mil am I RIGHT

~Aly🌙