art by catearphanatic I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

Isn't it crazy
That we are born
Only to die?
Oh believe me, I've been counting my stars.
-Imaginary Future, I Will Spend my Whole Life Loving You

Dan

The station is dark and empty.

While the descent itself into it was swift and relatively unproblematic, the reality of being down here is more than a little unnerving, and it isn't solely due to the fact that I can barely see.

The air smells strange; a mixture of mildew, burnt metal, and something musty. The wind whistles through the station's openings into the tunnels, creating an eerie ambiance while the flashlight in Cat's hand casts shadows on the wall. And it's very black. It's dim and there's an entire city above us, and that in itself is causing a tense knot to settle in my chest as a claustrophobic feeling presses in despite the liberal amount of space on all sides.

It's not that I'm afraid of the dark itself, exactly, though the suffocating blackness does make my chest constrict fearfully, but it's rather what lies in that darkness that I find so scary. I've always had an imagination that liked to fabricate things, and with our current situation of being possibly pursued, it feels like danger is just waiting to spring out at us. Each dancing shadow on the wall becomes a zombie that's mutated and evolved, each scuttling sound a cacophony of footsteps. I find myself pressing closer to Phil, his fingers squeezing mine gently because he knows exactly how I'm feeling, focusing intently on keeping my eyes on the tracks.

I like being logical and reasonable, like every outcome to be certain, finite. It's why I'm so existential when it comes to the topic of death; the prospect of dying is so uncertain. You don't know when it'll happen, where it'll happen. And right now I have no idea what to expect.

The other members of our party are very obviously trying to keep each other's spirits up, drifting from topic to topic and often talking about old times. Seeing how we can't really relate to the latter Phil and I remain mostly silent, content to just listen while Cat asks all the questions for us. We just have to walk until the tunnel opens up to the outside again, at which time we'll have made it to another part of the city. It's just this part of London that we apparently need to get out of, seeing how the confederation believes we're still there.

Despite my choice to remain mostly indifferent, there's occasional times where it sounds like our friends want to include me in their quiet discussions, and it's Chris that decides to directly address me after just under an hour of walking.

They're talking about how they met each other, exchanging stories with Cat, and she seems raptly interested.

"I actually met Phil and Dan because Phil hit me with an axe." Cat tells him animatedly, pushing a strand of dark hair away from her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. "They already knew each other when I met them, they were actually internet friends at one point."

"Internet friends?" He asks interestedly.

He addresses me so suddenly I'm snapped from my existential thoughts. As soon as his gaze moves towards us, I feel Phil let go. I notice this more than Chris's focus, my heart sinking.

"How did you meet Phil over the internet, Dan?" He asks me, voice tinged with tentative curiosity like I might snap if spoken to too roughly.

The attempts at conversation are becoming increasingly pitiful, especially as PJ grows more and more pale. I notice this when the flashlight beam crosses his face, the way his skin is drained of colour and his body leans against Chris. Perhaps he's afraid of the darkness too. Or maybe it's being underground. You could be afraid of any number of things down here. Nobody's said anything about an illness, so at least I know he hasn't gotten a bite. I'm aware by the careful tone Chris is using that he knows I still neither trust nor like him, his voice hopeful.

It's so dark in the tunnel that I can barely see him, or any of them. I've been following the silhouette of Mark's back, walking along and desperately wishing we were already out onto the other side. The chamber is wide and round and echoey and I hear all of our steps. The rising and falling of our feet on the concrete are the only things besides pathetic conversation that punctuate the lack of sound, and there's no concealing the fact that getting through this underground pass is our only chance at escaping the new and watchful government.

I still don't trust Chris. I've seen what he can do and what he made Phil go through. To say he had reasons for everything he did would be true enough, but it doesn't mean I have to act like I like him.

"I found him-"

"he found me-"

Phil and I both turn to look at each other and then quickly look away, realizing that we both answered. I shake my head and decide for once that I'll do the talking, I need the distraction. Chris chuckles and turns back around to face forward, still listening intently but focusing on both his footing and PJ. At least he isn't looking at me anymore.

After a few heartbeats I feel Phil's hand slide tentatively back into mine, an offering. I don't dare look at him, probably wouldn't be able to see him anyway really, but despite how nervous I feel and how anxious I'm getting in the dark, his warm hand offers a gentle reassurance. So I close my fingers, holding on to him more assuredly. I try to ignore what this does to my heartbeat, focusing instead on the question that's been presented to me and the inky near-blackness in front of my eyes.

"I messaged Phil first." I explain, thinking back on the moment for the third time this week and how it seems to keep coming back up. "We had... a lot in common, and I decided he was better than most humans, asked to be friends."

That's the simplified version, my mind reminds me. No, scratch that, that's the extremely simplified version. I'm not about to tell any of these people that I'd spoken to him while on the cusp of not wanting to live anymore. That's not exactly something you can just drop, nor do I want to remember that such a time ever existed.

"Wait, really?" Felix asks somewhere off to the right. I can only see his shoulders.

I nod hesitantly, even though he can't see me. "Yes?"

"I can't believe you'd approach anybody first." Mark explains quietly. His voice is teasing but not in a malicious way, and I wonder if he's apologizing for earlier with the dog when he was about as helpful as Phil's winter hat in this summer. Or maybe he's being genuinely nice to me now. It's not a simple thing to tell. "You're a special dude, Phil."

To his credit, Phil hums in agreement and the topic sort of dies, our voices bouncing back at us reminding me why we're here and making me feel like we could be found. The others seem to be thinking along the same lines and so their voices lower again, going back to other things and eventually just lapsing into silence.

The only problem with this is that it leaves me back where I am now, my nose full of the musty underground smell and Phil's hand a very obvious weight against mine once more.

Initially I was the one who reached out and took it, and now I'm afraid that he's uncomfortable. He's too nice to reject me or make me uncomfortable by refusing to do it, but that means he could literally just be holding back because he's obligated to. Because we're just friends, best friends, and friends don't usually do this. All I want is to reassure him, but right now it seems I've gone and flipped it the other way round. Why I thought it was a good idea in the first place is beyond me.

Chris approaches me suddenly, turning with PJ and muttering something to Cat, a sinking feeling already in my stomach as I imagine his plan.

"Hey Dan," he ventures, "do you think I could grab you to scope ahead for a second?"

There are several things that would be much more preferable. There's no way I'm going off by myself, and there's no way I'm leaving Phil alone.

I shift closer to Phil to block Chris's view of our overlapped hands, making Phil tense slightly but not wanting any questions aimed at either of us.

"I'd rather work with someone I trust, thanks." I dismiss him. It's not even a question. I'd sooner scope with a zombie. Chris stiffens but doesn't argue, just deflates slightly while Cat shoots me a look of disapproval. But it's dark and she's a half-life. She can't see me anyway.

I don't even realize that Phil's holding his breath until he releases it, relaxing with a gentle sigh of relief.

I'm not going anywhere, idiot. I think quietly, nudging him with my elbow. I don't know why you'd think I ever would.

He doesn't nudge me back, or even react to the gesture.

If I'm honest I'm not sure where I stand with Phil at the moment, there's no way for us to talk about it and there's a certain tension hanging in the air, totally different to the one that ended up concluding our argument of sorts. For one thing, he isn't speaking. For another, he's not looking at me even though I'm sneaking glances at him every few seconds. He's all I can think about underneath this fear I'm feeling. As much as I hate to admit it, I almost wish he would look at me.

I know that perhaps confronting him earlier was not the nicest way to get him to say what was on his mind, but I honestly thought he'd forgiven me. I'm sure of it, he's the one who came to find me in the attic afterwards and brought me food to make peace, he even lay down next to me with a blanket pillow and everything that basically demanded my attention. I can't remember a time he's ever actually held a grudge against me. So I know at least up until that point he wasn't angry at me, especially once I'd given in and gotten closer, then he'd tried his hardest to make me laugh. Which I did, unfortunately. It led to the both of us smiling, resolution on the horizon, and on that note we'd begun to settle down right there in that dark, stuffy room.

But then Felix burst in, alerting us to all the monsters below and telling me Mark needed me for my gun. It's practically a metaphor for my life at this point, the number of experiences fraught with convenient inconvenience and interruption. The look on Phil's face when he realized we had to separate in the midst of a zombie attack, the fear and the sudden silence that hung over us, it made a lot of it feel pretty pointless. He was unhappy all over again.

I can't really remember everything we said once the reality sunk in. All I know is that I was going, he didn't want me to go, I didn't want to leave him either, and I owed it to him for the secret I was hiding, the almost-kiss in the bunker that I couldn't tell him about. I told him now to worry.

Dan, I'm going to worry no matter what, he'd told me, or something along those lines, in either case the main message was the same.

He's going to worry no matter what. I'd thought. Whatever I do doesn't matter.

And if whatever I did didn't matter, then maybe I could make up for the missing piece of his memory. I certainly owed it to him, and maybe some part of me wanted it, needed it even. Maybe I was imagining I could spark something in his mind and fill in the blanks without speaking a word, I'm not really sure anymore.

I'd clapped my hand over his mouth, cutting of any protest that would prevent me from gathering my nerves, swallowed down my unease at having to be away from him when we'd been so content and happy for once only minutes before, slowly thought it over and then promptly decided not to, and the before I knew it I had his cheek in my line of view and I'd kissed it.

I knew he was conscious of this one. I knew it was a risk to take. It was probably a bad idea considering it was only alcohol that had erased the memory of the previous one from his mind. For all I know, he could have suddenly remembered. But I didn't care, was the crazy thing. I wanted to, I needed to, the urge was overwhelming and I don't know why it was but it was and that's exactly why I did it. I'm becoming the master of almost-a-kiss, that's twice now where I've managed something so dumb.

After that blunder we were separated, it wasn't for that long, but any longer and I might not even have him now. I still remember when I realized something was wrong. I'd been on the upper floor in another apartment with Mark and we were firing at the zombies on the street, kneeling next to the windows in the other apartment, when all of a sudden everything happened at once.

I'm half out of the window, elbows aching from being propped against the rough bricks of the sill. The gun still feels wrong and clumsy in my hands but with all the zombies I've taken out I'm starting to fall into a rhythm, my hands a little more steady and my grip more precise.

I go to fire and the trigger sticks, making me huff irritably as I shift my finger to load the weapon first, earning a much more useful result. I still absolutely loathe having to use it and wish I had my crowbar on me, feeling completely off and useless without it.

"This is the practice you never asked for." Mark jokes, leaning out of the window next to me and taking out the monster lunging at PJ on the street below. It collapses in a spray of gore and PJ glances up at him, grinning and shooting him the thumbs-up before moving on to the next monster ahead. I watch the scene with an odd sense of fascination, just wishing it was all over.

"I fucking hate this." I complain, shooting again and taking care not to hit Chris. "You don't understand how it feels to have to adjust after a year of something else."

"I do in a way, don't I?" He argues. "I mean I'm stuck here watching you go without."

I can hear the sarcasm in his words and I roll my eyes, making him smirk and half-smiling as I turn back to the window. I choose to ignore the jab, opting for actual sincerity while I try to figure out how the hell to aim like Mark's doing from twenty feet in the air. It's easier said than done. "I feel like I've lost a limb or something. We're leaving this position as soon as possible or I'm ditching you."

He scoffs. "You're an asshole, Dan, but you're not that much of an asshole. You're just on edge without your buddy around. I can't believe you even left without Phil."

I can't either, I think uncomfortably.

I've left Phil alone for far too long. I don't even know where he is- what he's doing, and that alone has me far too uneasy. He keeps crossing my mind even though I should be busy gunning down zombies, my heart jumping weirdly whenever I involuntarily think back.

The look on his face when my lips touched him, it was one of shock and complete disbelief. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but even now when I'm preoccupied and trying to distract myself the thought of that expression has me blushing hotly in embarrassment.

A truck suddenly comes racing down the street and from above I see Chris look up at it, confused, before he visibly seems to recognize it and panics, lurching backwards towards the gap in the wall between our building and the adjacent one, yanking PJ out of sight just before the vehicle rumbles into the middle of the road, causing several zombies to whip around in surprise and lumber its way. This is at least good because it means they're drawn away from our friends, but the fact that there's a vehicle means we're involuntarily in the presence of other people.

The truck slows, the men inside sweeping their gazes over the area.

The first thing I notice about it is how familiar it looks. It looks exactly like the one we escaped the bunker in, the exterior black and the grill covered in barbed wire. There's a machine gun mounted on the roof and a symbol sprayed on the door, a man standing up to man it while it hits Mark and I at the same time that we're still within their vantage. Total silence falls as we jerk away from the windows, falling to the floor and not daring to move as the strangers shout something indecipherable down below and slowly scan the area, the engine rumbling as the vehicle passes.

We remain there for several minutes, hearing them strike a few zombies who get too close and confirm that they don't see anybody, listening to the hum as the sound of the roaring engine fades when they finally move on to the next street. My heartbeat has slowed to near nothingness out of sheer terror, visions of alcohol and locked doors and Phil's beaten body rising up as a reminder of what these men can do.

I can only hope that Chris and PJ had the sense to stay concealed. The men are mere metres away, it would all be over if they saw them. As much as I dislike Chris, I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

We wait for a few moments longer, no gunshots ringing out below or any sign that the truck will be returning. It's then that I finally allow myself to breathe. I exhale out of a tense relief, startling Mark so much he jumps and looks at me.

Our eyes meet, his dark irises full of something much more ominous than the light, joking expression they'd held just previously. An unspoken thought passes between us, both of us unsure of how to react to how obviously close the enemy is.

"That's a confederation truck, no doubt about it." He hisses under his breath. That much has become clear fairly quickly, three guesses as to why they're around.

I nod, hazarding a glance down at the street to ensure that they're gone. "Do they know we're here?"

He takes a deep breath and peers out cautiously as if expecting them to come back, shoulders tense and gun held in his fingers.

"I don't know." He admits. "Probably. We should always assume that they do."

There's something about the confederation that makes me think back to every fictional situation that has ever mirrored my life like this. The way their power is so widespread in a world without government, how they seem to have eyes everywhere and sources no matter how far away you feel when you start to think you are safe. They know exactly how to strike fear in other people simply by existing, and it doesn't seem at all ludicrous that that statement could be true.

We sit back up, hands on the sill as we look out the window. PJ's back out on the road again, surrounded still by three or four zombies. However he's not alone with Chris anymore, Felix is down too, joining in on the fight and watching their backs. I don't see anyone else, however.

"That's Felix." I murmur to Mark, who nods. "What's he doing down there?"

"What do you mean?" His tone suggests that I've made it sound like Felix isn't allowed on the street, but that's not the cause of my confusion.

"He said he needed Phil to help him." I clarify, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach at the number of possible scenarios. "He's supposed to be with Phil."

"Oh." He realizes suddenly, understanding dawning on his features. "Felix was supposed to be watching the door. Looks like he got worried about them."

"But-" my mind reels, scanning the street below for a sign of black hair  that'll put my mind at ease, but not seeing anything.

"If Felix is there-" I wonder aloud, "then where's-?"

Then suddenly, as if in answer to my troubled thought, from the floor below I hear a sudden and definitely terrified scream.

Mark freezes and looks at me in alarm. There's only one voice that sounds like that and we both know it, it makes my blood run cold.

Phil.

Suddenly the zombies on the street below don't matter. The nerves in my stomach don't matter. I push away from the sill and whip around, and immediately Mark's gripping my arm, but I yank it out of his grasp and break away.

"Dan, wait!" He shouts. "Stop! You don't know what's down there-"

I ignore him, banging my elbow on the outer doorframe but disregarding the pain entirely as I stumble out of the room.

I don't know where he is. He could be anywhere in the building, the only thing I know is that he's somewhere on the ground floor. I'm frantic- that sound was not unwarranted and all I know is that in any case he's in danger.

Someone could be hurting him, trying to kill him-

I take the stairs two at a time and jump the last one, finding myself in the middle of the ground floor hallway with nothing but broken doors and peeling wallpaper greeting me in an ominous silence. It doesn't help that night is falling, the longer I wait to find him the harder it will become, and I don't have that much time.

Mark comes down the stairs and skids into the hallway area behind me. I see a door whose hinges are slightly askew and wonder if Phil is sheltering behind it, slipping my gun into my pocket and grabbing the handle, kicking hard and trying to wedge it open.

"Phil?" Mark calls, but there's no answer.

What if there's someone else in the building? What if he can't speak? He could be hurt, there could be somebody-

As soon as I think this a second scream cuts the air just behind Mark, and it's then that I see him through the doorway.

He's in the other ground floor apartment, the place a decaying ruin and he's sitting with his arms in front of him trying to defend himself on the floor, but that's not what's important.

The problem is the big, black dog has him cornered into the wall, a chair knocked on its side that snaps all the puzzle pieces together at once. He must have tripped over the furniture and allowed the dog made its move, the sagging, matted flesh and breathy growls indicating it is indeed a zombie. I don't even have the time to stop and wonder if it's a shepherd or a Rottweiler, all I can focus on is the undead nature of its body and my best friend that it has pinned, moments away from delivering the bite that could mean his death.

I immediately forget how to breathe. There isn't enough time for me to grab the weapon at my waist, the beast is bearing down.

Mark is frozen behind me and I react without thinking, yanking the gun from his outstretched hand and ignoring his shout of protest,  firing it straight into the back of the monster's head and sending it toppling onto the floor. It knocks Phil against the wall with a slam.

There's one last crack as the monster's head hits the floor, then silence falling over the room. I can hear Phil's rapid, terrified breaths, all too aware that we got there just in time. His eyes are glued for a moment to the beast that has fallen and is now dead on top of him, shrinking into the corner in fear even through there's no need to get away from anything now.

I lurch forward, kicking the chair aside. My heart is beating out of my chest.

I've made it to Phil in a matter of moments, yanking the body of the creature away from him and throwing it to the floor. Then I'm moving forward again, taking his hand and gripping his shoulder to pull him up and trying not to betray his much my hands are shaking, finger still looped around the handle area of the gun.

Fear. That's what the entire memory brings to my present. That was the feeling in the moment, that's another time I can add to the list of times I almost watched myself lose Phil.

Between the dog attack and everything that's happened since there's really been no time to recover. We've gone from calm to storm to a dull, thrumming overcast, unsure of what's about to happen but feeling the brewing of something large that could break loose at any given time. Now feels almost like a grace period, I have a feeling the confederation won't leave us to ourselves if they can help it.

And now we're stuck in a dark train station tunnel at night, which is almost as terrifying as a dark forest at night, an odd but very real thing that was my greatest fear before the apocalypse when more moral things became present in my life. If there's one place where rotted, ravenous zombies could leap out, this would be that place.

I can't help but think that when walking through it, the underground itself looks like a skeleton. Before the end of the world Phil and I took the tube loads of times, never taking the time to look out the window and try to discern the appearance and inner workings of a structure we were sure we'd see a hundred times. For all I know we could have taken this exact tunnel, It all raced by in a blur- grey and black and white and hardly thought about, a stark and vivid contrast to what I'm seeing as I walk along it now.

The chamber is circular and made of concrete, the walls lined with steel bones and structural supports, safety lights embedded every few spaces in the wall. The tracks look similar, metallic and slippery with water that's gotten in, the beams of Cat's flashlight giving me glimpses of the lifelike shaping and crossing of the metal that reaches all the way around. Remembering that the entire city is above me sends anxiety shooting through me and makes me feel tight and claustrophobic, putting my situation into perspective while I grapple with unwarranted fear.

I don't need to act strong down here where no one can see it, for once I can relax and let myself be vulnerable and small. I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly, my mind whirling in a mess of thoughts. Nobody else speaks, leaving me alone with my mind for a little longer then I'd like.

We make remarkable time just walking, at least in comparison to how far we would have gotten sneaking along streets aboveground.

After about three hours of endless tunnel we come upon a slightly ajar steel door set into the wall. It's around one in the morning and with the exception of the two half-lights, we're all  about to collapse, feeling the full effect of the wear, tear, and adrenaline of the day. My eyelids feel heavy and I've long since let go of Phil, though our shoulders bump together as we sway on our feet, exhaustedly trying to stay upright and plodding ahead.

Cat stops us and inches the door open, shining her flashlight into the opening and revealing a square room full of panels, the surfaces covered in lights, switches and dials. The monitors and lights are all dead, devoid of electricity to run them. Not even the confederation could keep the London Underground alive, perhaps they even took the generators. Did London have generators in case the first source of power failed? This and a hundred other unanswered questions are things I'll probably never know.

"Oh thank god." PJ groans. Chris nods in agreement and glances in to check for any monsters, putting a supportive arm out as his boyfriend sways dangerously. "A maintenance room."

He motions us in and we don't object, collapsing immediately to the floor and resting in various positions with our backs against the walls and machinery. The room is about the size of my bedroom back home and is crossed with equipment, Felix no longer in my sight as he moves behind a circuit box to slump against it.

I look to Phil and see his eyes falling shut, his chin rested on his chest.

In light of recent memories the sight of seeing him safe and out of the way of anything dangerous makes me feel immensely calm, and I lift myself heavily to sit closer to him, oddly determined to keep him close after being the one to leave him before. I never should have run off without him back in the apartment. My heart clenches a little when I remember that he's actually been bitten, which makes both of us now. The Rottweiler apparently got his leg. How could I not worry about that?

He blinks when I settle beside him, grunting noncommittally and closing his eyes again. I take this as a good sign that it's okay to at least be close to him, whatever happened before with him and I in the apartment set aside, or more likely being ignored. That's seems to be the theme developing here, he's indifferent. I try to tell myself that I'm okay with this reaction. I'm not sure I want to talk about it anyway. I can't really have him acknowledging what I did when I'm not even sure how to justify it. This lack of any response is acknowledgement enough.

"Try and get some sleep." Chris advises us. Felix looks long past this already and already has his head rested on his pack, face lined and tired and expression full of exhaustion. "The confeds probably still think we're aboveground, so we'll have a couple hours."

I nod and he smiles at me, apparently pleased that I'm responding to him. I don't know if he thinks this simple gesture means we're making some kind of progress, I don't feel any more friendly towards him than I did just earlier. It's all right for him to delude himself as long as he doesn't bother me, and I feel a petty satisfaction when the grin falters slightly at my indifferent expression.

I turn my head away, my gaze going back to Phil. My eyes have adjusted somewhat to the dark and the flashlight illuminates the room softly, allowing me to see the bluish tinge of the bruise that dusts the side of his cheek. It was Chris' fist that put that there back in the bunker, regardless of whether he was acting in in an effort to get us out of there or not he'll never be able to take that back. It solidifies my resolve and my determination not to get to comfortable with him, knowing Cat and Phil might be the only people I really trust.

Just as I'm thinking this, Mark shuffles by tiredly with his pack, and when he sees me he stops. I gaze up at him, seeing the look on his face and wondering if he's judging the way I've chosen to sit by my best friend. I'm about to shift away from Phil defensively, when he stretches out his arm, passing me a water bottle and giving me worried look. I realize it's all in my head, feeling guilty for even entertaining the thought.

It makes me realize that, then again, I'm having less and less of a problem with trusting Mark as well. Not that he'd ever catch me saying that, but as I consider it in the dark, I realize that while speaking to him can be infuriating at times, he's actually a steady, loyal constant. He has a facade in the same way I do and will set aside petty issues to keep us all alive, and really that's more helpful than befriending him would have been in the first place.

"Are you going to sleep all right, tonight?" Phil asks suddenly, features relaxed and eyes still shut, the quiet words leaving his mouth the only indication that he's still awake at all. I know he's barely clinging on to consciousness, but there's something reassuring in knowing his last waking thought is about my being okay, especially when I'm afraid of what he might be thinking. My heart swells because he's still talking to me, even after I made it weird. I look at his tired face and shuffle over gently, just enough to brush my hand over his arm and to make sure he doesn't look too stressed.

His black hair is hanging in his eyes again, covering one of them even though I cut it shorter. It's tangled but it looks soft and I have to pretend I don't see the dark circles under his eyes that it adds shadows to, making me wish I could find a way to give him just one night of decent sleep.

I'm so caught up in staring at him that I don't answer right away, and he frowns, tensing in confusion at the touch and fighting to stay awake. "Dan?"

I jolt back into focus.

"O-oh yeah." I say quickly. "Yeah. It's fine."

As soon as the words leave my mouth he relaxes, slumping over and breathing softly. I tentatively reach out my arm and guide his head over a little to rest against the machine next to him so that he doesn't wake up sore, noting that he's fallen straight to sleep. I'm not sure if he'd want to be placed this way, exactly, but I feel better knowing he's there in the same way my verbal confirmation has calmed him.

I catch Chris watching me silently out of the corner of my eye, or more adequately, watching my interactions with Phil. I feel a sudden defensiveness in the way he observes my actions, looking like he's trying to determine whether I'm thinking more about him or myself in terms of importance. I know he can't hear my internal monologue, but my thoughts are all going in uncertain directions and the timing is all too convenient. All I can see is judgement, like I'm leaving Phil alone when he needs me just because I kissed him and don't know how to deal with it. I take it as a dare, a challenge, pushing down my tiredness and moving over.

Why does it matter what he thinks? Everyone speculates anyway.

I shoot him a pointed look, adjusting the pack in my arms comfortably and settling my head on Phil's shoulder. I wait for Phil to tense or give an uncertain reaction but he doesn't, he just grunts and then relaxes, letting his head rest against mine unconsciously. The unexpected response makes my heart jump and I feel some of the sleep leaving me, replaced by a nervous euphoria as a few strands of his hair tickles my cheek.

I look to Chris pointedly. He isn't watching anymore.

Silence falls over the group as everyone settles into sleep, Cat and Chris murmuring softly while they keep watch for us. I'm exhausted but not sure if I want to rest just yet, sure there'll be nightmares if I do. It pulls at me anyway, sweet and tantalizing and not so terrifying a prospect when Phil is here next to me, gently accepting me even when he'd have all the right not to when I'm acting so strange. If he's truly forgiven me for what I did then maybe we can talk about it eventually, maybe I could do it again.

No, I'm not doing it again, but I can try to fight the demons and be the least shitty version of myself possible for him, that much is probably an achievable thing I could accomplish by morning. I let my eyes fall shut, welcoming the exhaustion and drifting in and out of states of wakefulness. I catch bits of sound and feeling when waking outweighs sleep, a whisper of voice or the warmth beneath my head, a slight soreness in my shoulder that I'm compromising for comfort elsewhere with my best friend. Occasionally a thought will drift through my mind, ranging from the pleasant to the more urgent like our likely proximity to a zombie. The last ones I try to dismiss, letting sleep take over in favor of calming heartbeats and oblivion.

I've been drifting quietly for about an hour or so when I'm abruptly tapped awake, nearly jumping right of my skin when I'm met face-to-face with Chris. His eyes widen when I flail my arm instinctively, still not used to being without my crowbar and very nearly punching him in the face.

"What do you want?!" I exclaim angrily, jerking back before he can touch me again. The loud noise makes a groan emit from the sleeping boy next to me, causing Chris to slap a hand over my mouth and me to stiffen.

"Dan?" I hear Phil mumble thickly, shifting and then turning over, apparently fast asleep still. The last thing I want is for either of us to wake him, especially when he so desperately needs to sleep. I glare at Chris and gently set Phil's head against our backpack, moving a small space away.
Despite the cold response Chris follows me, frowning as I promptly cross my arms.

"What do you want?" I hiss more quietly, shoving his cold palm away where he's still trying to silence me.

"I knew you'd be awake." He mutters in reply. "There's a break in the tracks up ahead that I need to check out. Cat's gonna stay behind to watch over everybody and I need someone to come with me."

Right, that'd be believable except for the fact that he's a half-life. What possible danger could he be in, other than of betraying us at any given point? I shake my head, unconvinced that this is innocent.

"Why do you need me to help you?"

He sighs. "I just told you why. If you want I can wake someone else up but I need someone with me in case something happens."

"You expect me to just leave-"

"Cat's still here." He says pointedly. "PJ, Felix and Mark aren't going either. They'll look after Phil, don't worry."

I nearly groan, irritated at how easy I am to read.

"This had better be quick." I warn him, irritated. "I'm going straight back to bed afterwards. Unlike you, I actually do need the sleep."

"It will be." He says curtly, given me an apologetic look. "Please. I'll have you back in a few minutes. I'm sorry."

I huff out an exasperated breath, getting up heavily. I ignore his helping hand and get to my feet, watching him turn around awkwardly and raise the flashlight,  stepping slowly to the other side of the room.

I cross my arms when I start moving to follow him, hugging them to my chest to ward off the chill. Phil is still asleep and yet I still feel guilty, leaving him alone to sleep on the floor with nothing more than a backpack held in his arms and a machine supporting his relaxed figure. I pass Cat when I maneuver to the doorway, meeting her gaze and giving her a small smile when she looks up at me. Then I'm out the door, following the pale form of Chris and the faded colours of his hoodie lit by light in his hand.

Chris and I don't speak as the dark chamber echoes back our footsteps. The tube had seemed loud when the whole group of us had traversed it together earlier tonight and yet somehow in the middle of night with this man I don't trust it seems even worse, everything colder and draftier, the darkness more imposing. I focus on my feet, taking care to tread only on the area between the tracks and trying to ignore the closed-in, vulnerable fear lest it show on my face. Chris mumbles something about the walk distance not being too long, our destination about five minutes ahead, saying that is what we need to look at.

A few more minutes progress in this way, and just when I've begun to consider changing my mind and heading back to a more comfortable place of sleep and oblivion we reach an unexpected break in the tracks, the chamber breaking off into two separate, gaping tunnels.

Chris stops at the split, freezing at the appearance that he hadn't anticipated. For someone who apparently knows exactly what he's doing and has an area in mind of where he plans to be scoping, he seems far too unsure of what to do. I raise my eyebrows.

"Something wrong?" I ask suspiciously. He turns toward me uneasily but avoids meeting my eyes, looking far too invested in the v-shaped divide in the metal.

"Uh, no." He shifts from foot to foot. "It's all right."

If there's one thing I've learned in this near year and a half, especially recently with the half-life camp and Wirrow's betrayal, it's how to tell the difference between a genuine person and a very terrible liar.

I peer exaggeratedly into the darkness. "Well, it looks all clear in here to me."

He doesn't answer.

"No monsters." I add. "Wow, looks like I can go to bed now. That was so worth it!"

I go to turn around and I see his hand twitch, the dead giveaway that there's something he's not telling me. He then of course retracts it hastily, well-aware that I don't want him touching me. We lock eyes for several seconds, and I glare at him irritably.

"Unless you have something you want say now instead of bluffing like an idiot?"

"Okay." He blurts. "Wait. The real reason I picked you is because I figured if we're in this life or death situation, I need to prove to you that you can trust me."

I freeze, snapping my gaze up to meet his and looking at him incredulously. He stares right back, feet firmly planted on the dirty ground and body positioned so that even though he's not touching me, he's still standing just enough in my way to stop me from bailing on him. In regards to what he's doing I feel like I almost knew it already as soon as he'd hesitated and stopped our walking, but that doesn't mean I'm not pissed on how he's done this intentionally.

He's done this to get me alone. Seeing how he has absolutely zero rights to isolate me and force out truths I frankly don't care about, he hasn't really considered that there's no point in being so inconsiderate about it.

"You absolute liar." I say lowly. "No. Let me go back."

I stride forward, but he steps in my way.

"Please, Dan." He pleads. "I just want you to tell me what's wrong."

He can't honestly be that clueless. If he thinks waking me up and dragging me out here on a whim is going to get me to open up to him, especially when he's probably purposefully separated me from Phil to do so then he's delusional, especially when I've made it blatantly clear to him how I feel about him.

"I'm not in the mood for a heart to heart right now." I huff, hoping that might be the end of it. "I neither need nor want to be friends with you."

"I know that." He says gently. "But if we could at least make some kind of peace or something, I'd like that a lot. A truce."

"It's hardly anything of merit to me what you'd like or not." I say stiffly. "No offence."

And of course that's what I'm saying, but my hope is for full offence to be intended. To my satisfaction, he flinches. I go to turn away irritably but he physically grabs my arm, his look imploring.

"At least tolerate me." He pleads. "Or tell me what I can do differently. I want to be your friend, Dan."

"Oh you do, do you?" I go to turn away again and he stops me, again.

"I do!" He protests. "I'll do anything to make you guys trust me."

"That's great."

"I will!"

I look at his worried, childish face complete with the scruffy hair and see the eyes that had narrowed into glares only days ago, the hands now loose at his side that had done so much more in a more dangerous setting. I can't trust him. It's simple as that.

"Then take back the bruises on Phil's face." I snap, grabbing him by the collar and meeting his wide, silvery eyes. "Take back what that drunken confederation girl did to him at that party you trapped us in after giving them to him."

He pales, his features flooding with guilt and simultaneously looking horrified. "What girl?"

"Oh, you wouldn't know her." I quip with a falsely cheery voice. "You weren't there, she was just another face in the crowd that got him alone and tried to fuck him, no big deal."

His expression falls and he backs away from my hold, nearly stumbling when I let him go abruptly.

"What?" He gasps, looking sick. "You didn't tell us that happened to him."

"Did I have to?" I ask. "Did he have to? I don't think he wants to talk about it."

"I never asked anyone to do that. Marcus was supposed to keep a watch on you."

I ignore this excuse and blink my eyes harshly, trying to push down the anger.

"Listen." I tell him. "You seemed pretty confident in front of those guys when you told them to separate us. What happened to Phil didn't have to happen, and I had to fucking watch."

He shakes his head, something far stronger than guilt overtaking his features.

"You know I... acted like that for a reason." He mumbles. "Those guys that were shadowing me, those were real, one hundred percent confederation agents. I was in charge of them, and we had a pact to put a bullet through the others' skulls if we caught them acting even remotely suspicious of betrayal."

"That's nice."

He kicks a stone laying by his feet and then looks back up at me, apparently desperate for me to see his point. "I came up with the idea to trap you at the party until morning on the spot," he admits with a nervous twist of his hands. "It's actually a miracle they believed me since Wirrow wasn't there to confirm it."

I remember swaying painfully through the crowd at that party, feeling hopeless in attempting escape because of the dire consequences it'd have on our companions.

"We went along with it because I thought PJ's life was actually on the line." I tell him. "If we'd known he was fine we might have tried to escape."

And now I'm angry because we could have escaped. I could have taken Phil and ditched that girl, surely a guard by the door wouldn't have been enough to stop us. The consequences of not getting out are awful; Phil's nightmares are getting worse and he's already distanced himself once from me because of how uncomfortable even simple touches suddenly feel to him. I remember him flinching when I'd tried to touch his face and bring him closer. Because of Chris, he's scared.

"He wasn't fine. I wasn't lying about that part. They did have Peej but they let him go when I captured you." He explains, words rushed. "It had to be convincing, which is why I had to do all that you guys. Him being freed was my reward for catching you, and it had to happen to get everybody out. I can't even express how it felt- still feels, to know I put you through that. I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you."

Blind anger is returning at the thoughts of what he thinks he's promising, something that in reality he probably cannot achieve.

"Having the confederation use your best friend as leverage against you." I mumble, sarcasm making my words harsh. "I wonder what in the world that must be like."

His eyes widen. "Oh, god. I know what it looks like, Dan."

"And the whole we-need-him-he's-special shit?" I spit, remembering how the he had referenced my condition when explaining why the guards had to keep an eye on me. "Do you know how much worse it was for Phil because he's not immune and was told by your guys that he's not necessary other than to get me to do what the confederation wants?"

"Remember those words came from me, not them!" He protests. "No one actually proposed that- that's not their actual plan."

"It might be now!" I shout. "It's going to fucking work, after all!"

I have to clench my fists to keep from betraying how much I'm shaking. In a way we are each other's weakness, I don't need Chris reminding me how codependent we are.

"I'm not going to let them find you or him." He implores. "I know what I put you through, all I care about doing now is making sure nothing like it ever happens again. I'm seeing to it. Personally, in case you have any doubts."

I dig my nails into my skin, arms wrapped tightly around myself again as my eyes burn. Phil could be having a nightmare right now. There's no way for me to know or to be there for him.

"What can you possibly do to prove I can trust that?" I ask pointedly, not really ready to accept anything anyway.

"Anything." He says unexpectedly. "Like literally anything. Honestly."

His words are just a bit too intense and I draw back nervously, trying to gauge the expression on his face.

"Isn't that a touch dramatic?"

He smirks suddenly and, of all things, winks at me. "Weren't you a theatre kid? You probably know all about what's dramatic."

I nearly choke on my words. It's not that it's an exceptionally witty comeback or anything, it isn't, but he shouldn't know that. I've only ever disclosed that distant, irrelevant, part of my past to Phil. I narrow my eyes, suspicious all over again.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Cat told me." He explains, his stance nervous.

I shake my head. "I never told Cat."

He looks at me and shrugs tiredly, maybe being annoyingly stubborn on his decision to not disclose this stalkerish bit of knowledge. At least until he opens his mouth, things suddenly making a lot more sense.

"But Phil did."

I stop short at that, his words hanging like a fragile string in the air. I decide to cut it.

"He didn't. He wouldn't have told Cat something like that." My words are venturing, cautious. I could say that this would be a simple detour to take if Chris wanted quick and easy reasoning, except the way he puts it make the words ring strangely true.

"Of course he told Cat." He points out, like this should be obvious. "She's his friend too, and she says it's a pretty common topic. She told me today that he loves to talk about you."

My face heats up and I turn my head, avoiding the flashlight beam even though it's now dangling towards the ground in Chris's loose hold. Phil doesn't love to talk about me. Why would he do that? Just the thought makes my chest feel nervous butterflies, threading to flutter out of my mouth like the words I'm going to blurt.

"He wouldn't." I repeat. "I'm not worth that."

Chris's expression softens. "Do you really think so? I'm pretty sure he thinks you are."

He doesn't know Phil at all. He doesn't know me at all. He could be saying anything, right?

I try to remind myself of this. But then I'm also wondering if Phil actually likes to tell people about me. I imagine his animated face when he gets passionate about a topic, eyes alight and expression happy, talking about me. Talking about my qualities like they're actually endearing or something. It doesn't feel real. It's too good to be true. It's... really nice.

"The point I'm trying to make here is that I'm serious." He says gently. "I did what I could to get both my friends and you two free, and now we all are. I just want to try and help you. We can work together to keep him safe."

I suddenly just feel so tired. I physically want to go to sleep, but I also just want to be away, away from the stress and the bitterness for one single night. I don't care what Chris wants or how real his promises need to be. There's only one thing that really matters, and he's purposefully touching on it repeatedly.

It may be a mistake, I know it will be most likely, but I'm tired of fighting. I decide to drop the argument, thinking about what else Chris has said.

"I... guess it's good that you found a way to let us all go, anyway." I sigh defeatedly. "Should I be worried that you're that good of a liar?"

He stares at me in surprise for about two seconds before hastily rearranging his features into composure, nodding fervently and scratching the back of his neck. I wonder if it's a nervous habit, he can't feel itching anymore.

He shrugs. "What you guys have, I've never seen anything like it before. I've never seen such a perfect friendship. In a world as shitty as this it's kind of hard to believe."

"Who?" I ask confusedly. "Me and Phil?"

He nods. "Yeah. Whatever's going on there, it needs to be protected. You were serious back in the bunker when you said he wasn't your-"

"Yes." I cut him off tightly, head hurting from going over this again. "He's not."

"Oh. There's got to be something." He protests worriedly.

"You said it yourself." I say with a shrug. "Besides Cat he's my only close friend. And I won't deny it, it's a good friendship."

"I'm a gay man with a boyfriend." He reasons. "Even if you're not like, you know- I know love when I see it."

My breath catches.

He doesn't know anything. I remind myself of that again. I don't know why I'm feeling like this. I don't want to think about what it means.

"You're an asshole with too many opinions and nothing else." I say flatly. "Who also thinks he's funny."

Chris winks again, releasing an unexpected soft laugh. "I am funny." He quips. "PJ tells me all the time. It's one of my many fabulous characteristics. I'm also smart, loveable, brave, jaw-droppingly beautiful..."

"-humble." I mutter sarcastically.

He snorts. "Oh, definitely humble. How could I forget that one?!"

He claps his hand to his cheek and makes the most shocked expression imaginable, highly disproportionate to this situation. Despite myself, I feel a laugh and then suddenly a smile pushing through on my features, which I of course promptly cover by rolling my eyes.

Nobody but Phil can elicit that response from me, what's wrong with me? Chris certainly doesn't deserve to know he's having a positive effect, that's staying locked away in a box of secrets.

"What's next on the list?" I ask in mock fascination. "Weedy, sarcastic, or half-dead?"

"Half-life." He corrects with a smirk. "I'll give you a point for being close. I like to describe myself by leaning in the more alive direction."

He grins, observing me with an energetic, keen new interest that had only been subdued until now.

"Wait- what is this?" He enquires suddenly. "I had no idea you could actually joke like that! Is the elusive, mysterious Dan actually as much of a smartass as I am?"

"Are you surprised?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

He laughs. "Well a little, yeah! And yet you know what, it's actually not that far-fetched really. I just don't know you that well."

It's like when I first spoke to Marzia. She'd been keen to listen after realizing I'm less of an asshole than I let on, though I admittedly felt more comfortable around her initially than I do with Chris. He seems to say whatever comes into his head and he says it with brutal honesty, simultaneously a blessing, curse, and something I find mildly unnerving.

"Did you just call me elusive?" I ask in disbelief.

Chris laughs. "Yeah, maybe."

"How are you the one who's dating PJ?" I ask confusedly. "PJ is nowhere near as difficult to figure out."

"Phil is nowhere near as difficult to figure out as you." He points out. "Correlation does not equal causation. Best friends does not equal the same person."

"Okay, okay." I groan. "But you guys are practically conjoined now."

"PJ is my guy." Chris quips proudly. "I've been head over heels for him since we were kids. Younger kids, I mean. We're all still kind of kids."

Something about this statement sits strangely, my mind considering these two very different people who still somehow have so much in common, who adore each other wholeheartedly. It fascinates me, their relationship, I've forgotten what exactly I was saying, the whole thing interestingly familiar.

Phil and I are like that. Maybe it's a best friend trait, mind you Chris and Peej are more than friends. That little thought makes my stomach sink.

"How did you know you were in love with him?" I blurt.

It's a risky question, I hadn't meant to ask it. Considering how he's jokingly twisted my words already, I know exactly what he's going to think.

But the mood is serious, and for once he doesn't- he just seems to contemplate. As it turns out, by his reaction I've apparently touched on one of the things he loves to talk about. His face lights up and he grins at me for real, the expression practically telling me I'm in for a story.

In the back of my mind I wonder if this is what Phil looks like when he's talking about me.

"Well, we've been best friends for a long time." He begins seriously. "So for a while I didn't even realize that it was a crush. People made jokes about us fancying each other and I always shook my head, but honestly I kind of enjoyed it. I had no problem being told we looked good together or spending infinite amounts of time with him, even though with anyone else I always needed to part ways eventually and recharge. So that was the start of it."

I nod interestedly and shift so that I'm sitting upright, giving him my full attention.

"I never expected to be put into a life or death situation with him of course, but I remember looking at him one day and just going like, I would literally die for this boy."

"Really?" I exclaim before I can stop myself. "You feel that way about him?"

"Yeah, I really do." he agrees, nodding. "He seems to know what I'm feeling when maybe I don't even know it, and even now it's like, I always want to do whatever makes him the happiest. I couldn't put my finger on it for the longest time."

Extreme is hardly the word I'd have used to describe it. I know exactly what that feels like. I would do anything to keep Phil alive, sacrifice whatever I can to keep him happy. I don't think he realizes how normal the feeling is. He's right, there's really no way to put your finger on it, to pin down the source, it's just that it's there. That's how it's always been.

I shift slowly from foot to foot, awkwardly shifting between facing him and facing away because eye contact even in the dark is a bit too much.

"-And then it was like I realized what an idiot I was being." He says dramatically. "So I sat myself down one day and, after some deliberation, eventually came to the conclusion and told myself, hey Chris, you're in love with him."

A flicker of discomfort shoots through me and at first I can't figure out why. It's a sweet anecdote no doubt, a lovely best friends to lovers trope that happened to be real life. I'm not sure why exactly it feels so strange to hear him describe it, especially because none of the concepts are exactly news to me.

And then it hits me why. I relate to this story.

At least part of it. I mean I have a best friend and people make jokes about us being together, fancying each other, even. But Chris is in love with his best friend. My best friend is not in love with me. If I relate to the first part in perfect parallel, than how the hell is the outcome so different? How can the factors be so very similar, yet lead to two different things?

Unless they're not. My mind taunts. I banish that thought almost instantly. My heart has picked up its pace for literally no conceivable reason and I can't look Chris in the eye, trying to think of a way to respond to that that shows I have an intellectual response.

"Nice." I mumble stupidly, hardly aware of what I'm saying. "Cool."

He raises an eyebrow looking slightly confused by my change of diction. Intelligent speak has certainly flown out the window a bit for me, if the last uttering is anything to go by.

He looks off into the tunnel ahead and appears to be lost in memories, a slight smile tugging up his mouth as he thinks back on a past I've never seen.

"It certainly didn't ever seem like love." He murmurs thoughtfully, "and not in a bad way. Do you know what I mean? Like anything him and I did together, talking, cuddling, holding hands, it just felt normal, you know?"

"I do know." I say without thinking, and he stares at me. I see his very blatant confusion and realize what that sounds like.

"S-so what changed it?" I clarify hurriedly. I can't hide the change in pitch that my voice is experiencing, denial racing through my mind that I could even have thought that. "What made you guys cross the line between friends and... ?"

The next word catches in my throat and Chris gives me a weird look, though luckily he seems to know what I'm thinking.

"... Boyfriends?"

"Yes."

Just feign composure. You've done it a hundred times.

He smirks at me and I shake my head quickly, hopefully reminding him that he has the wrong idea. To my relief, he doesn't comment.

"Well I'm a... a man of my word, shall we say." He tells me privately. "A man of impulse, of quick wit. I knew I had to be strategic, yet subtle about my newfound feelings. I had to ease him in slowly, allow us to grow together until we felt the romantic sparks and mutually drifted closer. I had to manage myself carefully, and make sure I did what any sensible intellectual would do best. So you know what I did?"

"No." I breathe, on edge now and raptly fascinated. I can't even hide it at this point, unsure of why it feels so relevant to my own purpose. "What did you do?"

"I was very strategic." he states. "I walked up and blurted it to him one day and then we kissed."

My eyes widen in shock and I feel a wave of exasperation, realizing he'd intentionally been ramping me up just to drop it on me that the situation was actually really dumb. I'm almost disappointed, rolling my eyes and shaking my head slowly. It's not like I'd expected a tutorial or something, but I'm at a loss as to how anyone could be that idiotic. Or that it succeeded, for that matter. PJ seems so quiet and intelligent. Could he really have fallen for that?

"What the fuck?" I exclaim. "And that worked?"

"Yeah."

It doesn't seem like enough. There has to be more to the story, considering how much has certainly come out of it. They've been separated for over a year and nothing has changed. Nothing that simple could have started it.

"There was nothing else you did beforehand-"

"Why?" He asks abruptly, grinning at me and nudging my arm. "You asking for a friend or something?"

My heart rams into my ribs.

"No!" I blurt, biting my lip to keep the heat from rushing to my cheeks. I don't know why I'm feeling so defensive. His tone is just so... suggestive. "There was no reason, I was just... interested."

"Interested." He repeats bemusedly, and I want to implode. "I thought it didn't matter to you. You're sending me some seriously mixed messages right now."

I frown, an uncomfortable thought entering my mind. I know he doesn't mean it in that way, but all I can think of is the mixed messages I used to get from my parents all the time.

It's okay Dan. Dad loves you. Mum loves you. We always will.

...you're a disappointment who's tearing this family apart.

You didn't do anything, Dan. What are you talking about?

...All of this is your fault.

Dan, I think you should just find somewhere else to go for a while.

..It's fine, Dan. I think you should just stay.

They always thought they meant well whenever they spoke, but all it did was make things so much more conflicted and difficult. I can't help but feel like that's what he's implying, no matter if it is or isn't his intent.

"A lot of things in my life are like that." I huff, well-aware of how enigmatic this will sound. "You'll just have to get used to the fact that nothing is going to be clear around me, or either of us, for that matter."

"For the record, I'm gonna put it out there that Phil is gorgeous." Chris says bluntly, giving me no warning to anticipate this unwarranted opinion.

It's lucky that we're having this conversation in the near-dark. The look of shock on my face would have him screaming in laughter, and probably confused as hell given the mixed messages vibe I'm apparently giving. My mouth drops open and my eyes widen, gaze instinctively shooting up to look at him even though I can't really see much more than the glint of his eyes and hair. "What?!"

"You can't deny that, can you?" He continues. "All's I'm saying is you've got a nice-looking best friend and that's obvious. Unclearness aside."

What is he doing? Implying? What on earth is this question accomplishing?

Maybe he wants to make a move on Phil. I don't know enough about Chris to be sure of what his morals are when it comes to being taken, maybe he assumes I won't care. He'd be wrong if he's assuming that.

"Do you have a reason for telling me this?" I ask tensely. "I thought you had a boyfriend."

His eyes widen at the direction my mind has gone in and he rushes to correct it, shaking his head. "I do, but you don't." He teases, raising his eyebrows to assure me he's only joking. "I'm not trying to pick anybody up now. Or hook anybody up."

He isn't, or so he says. But then why is he being so deliberate? Why is he so obsessed with a relationship that quite frankly, doesn't exist?

"You must think you're so original." I sigh, rolling my eyes. "No wonder you and Mark are friends."

"Oh my god, has he actually talked to you about him?" Chris sputters, snorting into his palm.

I stare at him in confusion, not entirely sure why this should be so funny.

"Mark? Yeah, what's it to you?"

"He ships the fuck out of you two." He confesses. "I am so sorry."

He what?

Not that he's mentioned a name, but I'm pretty sure he's talking about me and Phil. But why exactly are Chris and Mark talking about us to each other?

Oh, please no. It's one thing to suspect it in your mind, but a whole other to hear it put into words. I did not need to know this was happening.

"Tell me you're joking." I plead, actually hoping he will.

"For once I'm not." He sighs apologetically. "I have no filter, you've probably figured that by now."

"I wish you did." I growl.

"All I'm saying is, if you need a little help, from one guy to another, I'd never judge you and I'd be perfectly happy to-"

And there it is again. That assumption. That same one that everybody makes, just because I look after my best friend and people are starved to read into it. My life to him is jut a show like Phil's old video blogs. How bored the audience must be if they're prodding me for confirmation.

No. Screams my mind. That's not how it is. He doesn't know you.

"I'm not gay." I blurt, interrupting him in the middle of his sentence.

Immediately any words that he's saying are stopped. His eyes widen. "O-Oh! I'm sorry Dan, I wasn't meaning to assume-"

That in itself tells me everything I need to know. I turn away.

"Well you did, didn't you?" I huff, cutting him off with a curt tone I'm forcibly controlling, the pleasant atmosphere we'd just barely managed to adopt dissolving like fine mist along with any resolve I had to try and actually talk to him.

"Goodnight." I spit decidedly. "I'd say thank you for wasting my sleep to drag me out here and tell me that, but I'm not thankful. You can tell your boyfriend or anyone else who's wondering everything I just told you."

He goes to say something else but I push past, heading back down the tracks. It's a bit of a feat in the dark, not at all helped by the fact that I'm now angry at everyone including myself. Surprisingly Chris doesn't try to follow me, his eyes on my back as I stride away.

I can't see anything since I left without the flashlight, but I feel along the wall until I find the break in the tracks and head back to the right, hands eventually touching on the steel frame of a door. My chest feels tight and heavy, newfound judgements brought to light and nerves on a wire.

My heartbeat is still nowhere near a comfortable level when I re-enter the maintenance room and sit down next to Phil, mulling over Chris's story that I hadn't thought would cause anything like this at all.

Phil looks up at me distractedly and I realize he's awake, roused at some point between my leaving and my conversation with Chris. Upon entering I had assumed he was asleep, but his eyes are alert despite his stilled body.

He meets my eyes when I settle down and motions for me to tilt my head, exposing my neck and revealing the bandaged shoulder where Chris removed the bullet, still inexplicably concerned by it. Why he even still cares about it is beyond me, there's not much I can do besides hope that it heals. He traces his fingers lightly over the area of the wound and I hold perfectly still, face heating at the prolonged contact that seems to spread warmth from every point of contact. I shake my head quickly to clear it, but the warmth doesn't go away.

"Why are you awake?" I whisper, taking hold of his wrist and guiding it away from my shoulder. He drops his hand down to his knees and I hook my pinky through his, fiddling absently.

He looks at me and then looks away, making me nervous.

Is this not okay? I shouldn't have brushed him off, probably. It's not like he has any idea where my thoughts are.

I'm not gay.

Then his hand brushes mine. He doesn't actually take it, but it makes me jump, feeling the soft, reassuring touch. Since Phil has no idea he just shifts back to how he was sitting, looking at me tiredly but with a certain note of affection that assures me he's okay.

"I was talking to Felix, actually." He says softly, taking me by surprise. That was not the answer I'd anticipated.

I lift my head, giving him my full attention, voice concerned. "Is he all right?"

He shakes his head, pressing his shoulder to mine and drawing circles on my palm. He settles back tiredly, breathing out a sigh.

"He's thinking about... Marzia." He admits, making sure that keep his voice low since Felix is in our proximity.

A lump forms in my throat and I can't choke out a reply, my heart sinking as I imagine then quickly try not to imagine that conversation.

"Oh."

He looks at me sadly, shoulders sagging as he settles against the wall. He traces another circle.

"I think it's just fully hit him now that he... that he's never going to see her again." He mumbles roughly. "I asked him if he wanted to talk at all and he didn't, but he told me that much anyway. I think he just needed somebody there."

I close my eyes and shake my head slowly, sadness tightening my chest while I avoid thinking too hard about it. I might lose my mind if I do. The fact that Phil was actually able to go over there and face that with him... how can so much goodness be contained in one person?

"At least you were there." I tell him.

He nods absently. "I guess."

I hazard a glance over at where Felix was sitting and note that he's moved away from the circuits, instead he's laying with his back to us on the other side of the room. Meanwhile my eyes are going back to Phil, a strange feeling in my chest at knowing what he's done in my absence and how it goes beyond words. His undeniable kindness and support towards everyone around him, the uncanny way he realized Felix needed somebody. This boy I have sitting next to me is absolutely beautiful.

And that's the problem.

It's starting to creep into my mind that what I'm feeling for him is something not quite calm enough to deem as platonic, despite my best efforts to deny that this is the case. It's an odd time to realize that, but there's something so raw and bittersweet about right now that has me realizing all the impossibles. It's why my previous conversation had me so angry in the first place, because I'm hoping to god it's just about anything else than feeling.

It's unsettling, too, how similar the circumstances are between Chris's stories and ours. The same feelings and the obvious symptoms, it's like a disease that I'd rather not define. The only difference is that one of us calls it friendship, the other side calls it love. I wonder if he did in fact tell it to me that way on purpose. Maybe he wanted influence my tired mind to think things. He obviously knows how to manipulate very well.

As for Phil, even when I can hardly see him, looking at his current expression only causes memories to flood back. The way he's fixed on me, his face now reminds me of his conflicted one back at the apartment so unexpectedly, his withdrawn expression as I held his attention, quite literally held it by cornering him against the wall. The frustration in both our voices as we kept separate secrets, knowing I couldn't tell him about the alcohol-caused kiss that almost was. The way he'd avoided my eye until I told him he really didn't want to know what happened and then... what came next.

From him.

I love you.

Such a meaningful or banal phrase depending on the context it's used in. For my parents, it was an obligation to say to me. They had to because they were family, and it didn't happen as much as it should have. When my girlfriend said it, I think it was mostly true. I think she meant it, at least until near the end when I couldn't say it back.

But Phil... what possible pent-up thoughts could have caused him to exclaim that, of all things? What reduced his thoughts to that amount of meaning?

The very person who's occupying my thoughts shifts suddenly, lifting up his free hand and brushing the hair out of his eyes, making them more visible without distraction in a way that I can't help but feel is undeniably attractive, his entire profile now thrown into focus. I have to blink multiple times and jar myself black into reality with a shake of my head, realizing I'm taking far too long to respond to him simply because I'm now suddenly distracted, confused by my own completely abnormal thoughts and his sleepy appearance. I have to go back and repeat what I just heard myself think about him abruptly, wondering how it could have crossed my mind.

So I find Phil attractive. I mean I never thought he was bad-looking or anything but I've never really thought about how he is in terms of appearance. He is attractive. Anybody with two eyes and a functioning brain could see that, Chris just said that earlier. But there's something even more important than that, which is his mind. I quite like that too, actually. Chris's words are obviously getting to me more than I thought, and I shake my head to calm myself.

Nobody loves me. Or so I thought. My family was the exception I guess, although as I've said before, they were obligated to love me. And where are they now?

Except, well, Phil said it.

I guess it's always been a given that Phil cared about me more than the average person, but to hear that I'm enough of a best friend to him to deserve such a statement, how could that be? It's not like he's in love with me obviously, the very thought causing heat to rise in my cheeks. There's more types of love than just the romantic, but still. It means more than he'll ever know to hear it, because it's a promise, isn't it? A concrete promise that he's not going anywhere. I can't remember the last time I heard it. So what's with the butterflies in my stomach?

Do you love him?

I shake my head rapidly, forgetting this debate is happening inside my head and that Phil will find it weird if I keep doing it.

I- no, I'm not in love with him. I'm not about to fall at his feet. I just appreciate him, the hugs and reassuring holds and what I did this afternoon just reflex, they're normal, because he's my best friend, the only real person to care about me unconditionally in this world. It doesn't matter that I'm not typically like this. Phil's the exception- he's always the exception. I can appreciate him any way I want. Besides, I've always hugged him. Thats the first thing we ever did when we met. He means a lot to me, but I'm not Chris. There will not be a time where I just blurt everything emotionally and then up and kiss him or something.

Not again, anyway...

"Have you eaten?" He asks abruptly, abandoning his fidgeting completely.

My thoughts are such a whirlwind it takes me a moment to process the meaning of this simple question, and I stare at him distractedly. "Hm?"

"We never did get to eat that spaghetti I grabbed in the apartment." He reminds me. "When was the last time you ate before that?"

I think back, realizing it has indeed been a while.

"Yesterday."

He shakes his head and turns away with a quiet bout of muttering, rummaging around in his pack, our elbows jostling lightly. I realize I'm probably sitting uncomfortably close to him and move to scoot back, an odd sensation in my heart.

But what if I was in love with him? I reason. Like, hypothetically. Or what if he was in love with me? What difference would it make in our lives? What would life be like, if I could hold his hand whenever I needed, sleep wrapped in someone else's arms, be reminded that he loves me. Do I want that?

No. I insist firmly. Friends can do that too. Stop over-analyzing the situation and trying to turn it into something more than it is.

The dark and paranoia is clearly messing with my head. I'm feeling everything to the extreme down here, the dark corners and uncertainty that any number of monsters could be lurking setting my nerves on the sharpest wire. He's allowed to say he loves me without any consequence, he's more a family to me than my actual family ever was, and I said it to them.

And now I feel like the worst person because I realize suddenly, I never said it back.

It's just hard, is all. That's such an emotionally laden sentence to utter. It opens you up in a way totally different to anything you could otherwise offer someone. It means trust, it means commitment to the relationship, whatever that relationship may be. There's been very few people in my life that I've actually uttered those words to, and that was a long time ago. They all left me, they're all gone now. It's not a pain you can just dismiss.

To be honest, I think I've only ever said it to my parents. To think back on my reality and confirm that Phil really has told me this, it makes it so much harder to come to terms with what I've done to him, both what he can and can't remember. How can he stand to look at me right now, how is he being so normal and kind like always when I've been acting so confusing?

I wonder what he meant by it. I wish he'd say it again. I'd be lying if I said it doesn't make my heart flutter to think about.

Oblivious to this, Phil turns around, passing me a packet of crackers, which I hold in my hand absently. "Well, here. Eat this, then."

I'm not exactly feeling hungry in this moment. Sleep feels far more important, especially because of the hour.

"Phil, it's got to be four a.m." I protest. "I'll wait 'til morning."

"You need to eat." He insists, eyes softened in a sweet kind of concern. He's staring at me almost too intently for the purpose the gaze is serving, far unnecessary when he should have greater worries. And damn, being tired and stuck in the dark underground should not be a complimentary feature, but he looks so good right now, so unaware and real in the moment, it warms every icy feeling that's been rooted in since my run-in with Chris.

I sigh, shaking my head fondly. "You need to sleep. I'll eat them as soon as I wake up, I swear."

"No-" he yawns, eyelids drooping and betraying how he's really feeling. "Y- I want to see you have them now."

"Philip Michael Lester." I deadbeat. "Shut up and go back to sleep."

"My full name?"

"I just got up for a bit." I say hurriedly. "I'll share the crackers in the morning and go more in-depth tomorrow. I want you to have enough sleep okay? You've helped Felix and I, now help yourself."

"Okay, mum." He mumbles, confused. "Where'd you even go, anyway?"

"Chris wanted to talk." I say truthfully. "He took me on a proper walk. Apparently he doesn't like how little I want to do with him."

He chuckles, shaking his head at me. Acceptance. I don't think he even realizes the effect he can have, how reassuring it is that he's letting me act however I like.

"Aw, give the guy a chance." He reasons. "He dug a bullet out of your flesh, you know. I'm impressed that he's trying considering how ungrateful you are."

I think back to what Chris and I talked about and blush hotly, glad Phil can't read my mind.

"He's annoying as fuck." I blurt. "That's what I've learned."

"Dan!" He whisper-shouts in protest, reaching over to smack my arm. "Don't say that! You're being an- you're a-"

"A what, Phil?" I tease. He rolls his eyes, attempting to take back his arm as I catch it and yank him over, pulling him into my arms and bringing us both down to the floor like I used to when we had sleepovers in the old days. "An asshole?"

His eyes widen in shock. "Dan!"

I laugh lightly, shaking my head at his feigned innocence. "For god's sake, you can curse at me, Phil."

"I'm not going to-" he squirms in my grasp, stifling a laugh by burying his face in the side of my shoulder- "I'm not swearing at you!"

"Shut the fuck up Dan, you bitch ass." I whisper, knowing it's about the dumbest thing I've ever said but he giggles sleepily, tongue poking out from between his teeth in a real smile even as he kicks me in the shin.

"Stop! People are sleeping." He gasps. "I hate you."

"That's what you have to say!"

He yawns widely and I poke his cheek, making him groan in protest as his eyes flutter shut. I shuffle back a bit and lay us down so our heads are rested on the pack, hugging his exhausted form. I press my nose into the back of his head,

"I know you can swear." I mumble into his hair. "We both do."

"I won't." He replies. "I'm too tired to say harsh words to you." He yawns and leans against me where I've curled around him, taking hold of my arms and pinning them against his chest.

"Harsh words." I repeat. He's so tired he doesn't seem to catch the full mockery in my tone, or the rapid beat of my heart. His features relax and I can conceivably imagine falling asleep this way, nearly missing the retort he has ready.

"Your mum's a harsh word."

I smile, squeezing him gently. "Go to sleep, idiot."

"Eat your crackers." He mumbles. "Tomorrow." But he does relax, probably having been half-conscious this whole time.

I laugh again, relishing in the very real and unexpected happiness that I'm feeling, hugging him tightly while he drops off again and listening to his breaths even out, chest rising and falling as his form goes slack. It's exactly what I needed after being so blatantly put on the spot by a not-so-close friend. It feels like a slap in the face to the speculation. See? Look what I'm doing. Just friends. Just friends can do this too.

Phil and I settle into a silence and as he moves onto his back I shift nearer to him, his warm body dispelling some of the tunnel's chill. I stare out at the empty tunnel and lose myself in my own thoughts for a while, the topics changing more quickly than real conversations ever do.

Cat slides over next to me a little while after he's dropped off, presumably to keep us safe by monitoring us more closely. We are her best friends, after all. She sits there silently for several minutes, eyes on the door while my eyes finally grow heavy again, Phil's soft breaths lulling me to sleep.

I think it's good to know that she's guarding us. The sense of security helps me actually relax, making me wonder if I could actually get to sleep.

It feels nice, so incredibly nice to have Phil here, safe in my arms where I know no one can take him. I'm warm and comfortable, I feel okay, happy even. I shift a bit so that I have my head back on his chest and my arm wrapped around him like back in the attic, a little more comfortable and giving both him and I our own pillows. With my friend watching the area I feel like I might actually be able to get through the night, maybe even nightmare-free, I seem to be on a winning streak.

I'm not gay, I decide, but I can be whatever I want, I suppose. I'm Dan, I'll always be Dan. I'll be myself and I'll have Phil, all that other stuff can wait until later. I hear Cat shift where she's sitting and focus my senses on listening to the heartbeat below me, the stress of the apartment gradually melting away and my arms relaxing comfortably.

I'm just beginning to drop off, tightening my hold on Phil and letting my eyes stay shut when I hear a soft sigh, Cat's voice barely a whisper.

"Aw..."

My eyes are getting heavy but the sound spikes a definite note of confusion. It catches me off guard and I raise my head, blinking at her wearily in the blurry darkness. "Huh?"

She smiles at me apologetically for keeping me up, shaking her head at my curious look.

"You guys." She explains, gesturing to the Phil and I together. I freeze. "I haven't seen him look so content in so long."

I smile at her for that, too exhausted to be self-conscious. "Yeah? You think so?"

"I do." She giggles. "Look at him."

I'm always looking at him. That's the problem, actually. I don't bother to tell her that though, instead I nestle my head into his neck, breathing in the scent that I can't pinpoint the components of exactly, but is still somehow distinctly him.

"Does he look happy?" I mumble, the question feeling important to ask after neglecting him somewhat.

She doesn't answer at first, her expression unreadable and half-hidden in the dark.

"He... yeah, he does." She whispers. "You should see him right now."

I like the idea that I've been able to make him look happy. Maybe I could get used to this, it doesn't all have to be about keeping him at arms length to prevent some kind of vulnerability. I'm in way too deep to ever be able distance us now to protect myself anyway.

I sigh and we settle into silence, my thoughts mixing and changing topic with varying levels of urgency and importance, though the thrill of him close to me is oddly satisfying, I almost want everyone to see.

"Don't tell Chris the shit Phil or I tell you." I tell her abruptly, blushing as Phil's cheek rests against mine at the precise moment I begin speaking and wondering what the hell this probably looks like. He's not awake, so he has no clue.

Cat is typically a master of calm and composure, so it doesn't come as any surprise when she doesn't react outwardly at my pointed order. She's always been like that, an objective personality when Phil and I debated or something semi-urgent happened at our old camps.

As always it's the tone of her voice that gives her away, emphasizing her surprise that she'd otherwise be able to conceal. "What?"

I think, back to Chris's theatre kid comment and reason that it's just a little too personal for him to be knowing, I'd rather get to know him gradually so I can learn to trust him.

"I don't want him knowing personal details about me." I elaborate and she shakes her head, smirking at me.

"I'm serious." I whisper.

She sighs. "I'm not telling him your secrets. I just answer small questions about you guys, since he hasn't really been given the chance to get to know you."

I shake my head. "You didn't see what he acted like back in the bunker."

"The key word being acted." She answers. She moves over and places a cool hand on my shoulder, the motion conveying intention. "What are you worried about him knowing?"

"What are you telling him?"

"Nothing, really." She says honestly. She squeezes my shoulder and then sits back again, wrapping her arms around her knees and sitting against the wall for balance. "Just the odd facts here and there like 'hey, Dan likes his food warm rather than hot' when he's cooking or 'Phil hates spider with long legs.' Stuff that comes up naturally, nothing too deep or personal. He does a lot of the talking in conversations, so it's not like I can really say much."

"He seems to know too much about me though." I explain. "He kept asking personal questions and offering advice, and I didn't even tell him anything. He was just assuming."

"Oh, did he?"

I hum in agreement. "He did."

"About what?"

"About-" I falter and realize I'm not sure if I want to finish that sentence. The things he knew and asked about, beyond just knowing I did theatre when I was younger, were things that flit through my mind internally, things that she's never heard me properly voice.

She doesn't know how I think or the things I feel whenever my best friend is around, she doesn't know that I've never labeled my sexuality or even thought about it much and now suddenly a girl in high school is not the only person I've ever thought of differently. She doesn't know that I'm always so angry because it isn't right to even care about any of that when I could die tomorrow or the day after, at any time depending on how things go. Chris made an assumption and acted on it, telling me his story and hinting in roundabout ways that he knew something.

But he doesn't know anything. I've not confirmed his thoughts but rather denied them, actually I've denied all this to myself because there is nothing going on. That's what I need to do- deny. I'll deny and I'll keep on denying because I know deep down none of it's true. Any weird thoughts and unwarranted feelings, they're just me entertaining my imagination and my thoughts, trying to find some plausibility for the unexpected bits of wholeness in a broken life. It's all ambiguous to him right now, and I can't tell it to Cat because she'll want to talk about it.

I groan in confusion and luckily Cat doesn't suspect anything out of it, the sound is well-aligned with the mood and direction of this conversation and she seems to mistake it for her winning the argument. I'm all right with letting her feel that it happened, it means I don't have to voice this turmoil at all. I decide to do even more.

"Never mind, you're right." I sigh convincingly. "It makes a lot more sense when you put it that way."

"Told you."she mutters, sounding gratified. "Maybe at least try to make peace, PJ says that all Chris seems to care about right now is making you guys trust him. And yes-" she adds, seeing me turn back towards Phil as if brushing off this stupid request, "-it needs to be you who moves first. You know Phil isn't going to relax fully around him until you do, so if anything just do it for him."

I'm well-aware the she has a point there. While he's obviously his own person with his own judgements and opinions, I don't think Phil will ever let himself feel one hundred percent comfortable around anyone before I've agreed with him, whether it's an unprecedented bit of naïveté or an unhealthy amount of trust that's caused this. Mind you Chris's case is probably different considering how much Phil himself went through especially at the guy's hands, but if for him and nothing else it's a step in the right direction.

"Don't worry, we'll be best friends by the end of autumn." I breathe with a light bit of sarcasm. "It'll be great. Goodnight, Cat."

She's silent for a couple of seconds, trying to think of how to respond.

"Are you serious?" She asks tentatively. "I can't tell if you're kidding or not."

I sigh, feeling bad for this girl who's stuck with me and the rest of the group, all guys with stressed pasts and different levels of closeness amongst themselves with each other. I wonder if she ever feels left out, even if she is far more outgoing and easy to be around than I'll ever be. Phil has certainly never told her she's loved, though she probably knows how much she means to both of us. Maybe eventually her and I can talk about him saying it to me, she'd help me figure it out, and set a lot else straight in my mind without even realizing it. It's probably not easy knowing your friends have been closer with each other longer than they've known you, though she takes it in stride. I've certainly been there before, and I mentally note to act more grateful.

I don't want to be close to Chris. But as much as I hate to say it, I really don't loathe him either. He's seen and done things we can't even possibly imagine, knowing all along that it's wrong in the small hope that he'd ever see his boyfriend and best friends again. I forget sometimes that he too knew Marzia, knew her better than me strangely enough. I wonder how he felt to learn that she died. Because he surely felt something. That's not the sort of person you just forget easily, considering I only knew her a few days. I can be decent to him for the sake of my friends, maybe even learn the intention behind his thoughts. He knows a part of me that I hadn't really realized was there.

Cat's still waiting for an answer so I loosen my hold on Phil for a moment, brushing away the hair that's fallen in his face and shifting my head to his shoulder, trying to discern her in the darkness and hide my face. It feels safer that way.

"I'm serious, Cat." I say softly, Phil's sweater fabric muffling my words. I edge my hand across the small patch of floor and find hers, squeezing it reassuringly and not letting go until after I've spoken. "I promise."

She seems surprised to say in the least but not in a bad way, tapping her fingers on the back of my hand and smiling before I've settled back to how I had been, settling against my friend within her eyesight and retracting my arm, not entirely sure that I should be letting her see us. It's okay, though.

Once again sleep tugs at me with gentle tendrils. I could stay like this a long time, nestled against warmth rather than folded into myself and alone, but I know eventually I have to move away before anyone wakes up. It's one thing to lay here with Cat able to see, but I don't want to have have everyone wake up before me and draw their own conclusions. It's strange, that my relationship with my best friend is so different from any of theirs that I should even have to worry about it. There's really nothing I can do to change it and I don't know if I could stand to be alone but it's even stranger to know that none of them have anything the same. I've learned firsthand that life without a close best friend is incredibly far from easy, I don't want to think about how they cope.

As it stands though, I have to dictate my affections carefully. I'm too exhausted to clear the air after a mistake is taken the wrong way, and if I'm going to try and fix things with him, I definitely don't want start it by being caught like this when everyone wakes up in the morning and enduring the endless questions that will surely be coming from...

"Chris." I say suddenly. It's so quiet that my small sound shatters the silence, making Cat jump and stare at me in confusion.

"Yeah?" She asks uncertainly. "We were talking about him?"

I've not been drifting for too long since we've last spoken but she's not the only one that should be here, and he's had plenty of time to return.

"No, no. I left Chris like an hour ago." I voice. "He's still not back."

I sit up, regretting it immediately because Phil's arms immediately reach out to bring me back. I want to lie with him against me and run my fingers through his hair until he relaxes but there's something off about Chris staying gone this long. I know he wanted to talk to me and wanted to give me some space before returning, but he's supposed to be back to do the guard. And he's not.

"I'm sure he'll be back before the morning." Cat reasons, voice gentle and reassuring because I know all she wants to see me do is sleep. I shake my head, standing up and taking the flashlight from Cat's hand, ignoring her protests.

"There's no reason for him to be staying behind." I say quietly, turning my back. "I'll be back in five minutes, I'm just going to see why he's stayed at the break."

I walk across the small patch of floor and head for the doorway, flicking on the light and taking careful steps.

I slip a little when my feet find the tracks again, taking a few moments to regain my balance on the damp metal before jogging down them with more confidence than I had leaving Chris, the circular beam of light giving me a small radius of visibility.

I turn off the flashlight when I see the break ahead again, starting forward in complete silence and neither seeing nor hearing any sign of Chris. Put it down to months of dangerous living, but an uneasy sensation has settled into my stomach with how eerily quiet it's been and how little we've seen of the confederation since our escape. There's a creeping feeling that they could know exactly where we are, and there's no evidence to prove that they don't. After all, Wirrow found us after presumably being told we were around by someone in the half-life camp. They could be anywhere, for all I know they  could have no idea where we are. There's just no way of knowing.

Thinking of the camp reminds me of what happened the last time we'd gone and investigated a location we knew far too little about. It was because of Dil that we even made it out of there, at the expense of his own safety. Where even is Dil now? Just like Chris, he technically betrayed the confederation. I try to tell myself he escaped somehow, not wanting his death to weigh on my conscience in the same way Marzia is. He was just a kid.

Marzia. My parents. Dil. They're all coming back to haunt my memories tonight, to remind me of the guilt I thought I could keep down and reminding me that I was too late to save them. All of them. I feel awful too for even having the audacity to forget them and hurriedly clear my thoughts, pushing down my hurt and replacing it with indifferent, replacing it with my familiar mask. I'm comfortably numb.

A quick sweep of the flashlight reveals nothing more than the grime on the walls and the divide between the two rounded tunnels, devoid of people or anything, an uncertain atmosphere that has me slowing my steps, stopping after a few paces.

I strain my ears, hearing an abrupt, distorted sound echo out of the tunnel. It sounds mostly like footsteps but yet somehow is vaguely human. I can't tell if I'm hearing movements or voices, can't see what lies ahead of me. It makes me reconsider going alone and being so sure in our being alone down here, backing up a few steps and addressing the tunnels.

Another sound echoes out, confirming that the first was not in my imagination. It's louder this time and so I turn off my flashlight, not wanting to announce myself as a presence to the entire area. I back myself towards the wall and listen closely, noting that the sound is at least small.

"Chris?" I call loudly as I dare, thinking about relighting the flashlight. If this is just him scoping out the area without addressing me or using his light then I'm going to be pissed, considering I'm giving up sleep and leaving Phil alone for this.

"Chri-"

I'm cut off suddenly, my arm yanked from behind and a hand clapping over my mouth.

My heart jolts in terror. I swing around, trying to dislodge my unseen attacker and swinging my fist towards their face, the sound in the tunnel forgotten. They duck out of the way at the last moment and whip us both around fast enough to give me whiplash, slamming my back into the wall and pinning my shoulder, causing a choked sound of pain to escape my mouth as the gunshot wound throbs from the impact.

I groan, pushing against them to attack but a voice shushes me, their palm pressed against my mouth again. The hold is too strong on me and I can't move the majority of my upper body, trying to bite the hand or scream or attract the attention of my friends in any way possible. I know most of them are asleep and are too far down the track for anything to reach them, but I have to try.

"Shh! Stop fighting!" The person hisses suddenly, and I do fall silent, though knowing their identity does not have me in any way relaxing.

"Fucking let go of my mouth!" I spit. I slap his hand away and Chris's eyes widen,  dropping it immediately. When I try to pull away so I'm not stuck so close to him, however, he presses me into the wall harder. 

"Stop." He whispers. "You can't make any sounds right now. I don't want anyone to hear us."

He's got his hands forced against my right side, intentionally avoiding putting any pressure on my wounded shoulder. But he's holding way too tightly, it feels like he's trapping me.

"Why not?" I spit testily. "Where have you been all this time, instead of coming back to the maintenance room? Did you go down the tracks scoping?"

"I was scoping!" He protests, still whispering as if pleading me to do the same. "I walked into the tunnel ahead and I found an exit- it leads out and up into a new part of the city. But that's not what I-"

"Why are you talking so quietly?" I persist, speaking loudly on purpose. "Don't want anyone to know that you're attacking m-"

"No!" He panics, once again silencing me a second time but this time letting go sooner when I yank my head out of his grasp. "I'm not attacking you! Listen, there's something down here, we have to go back and wake the others and get to the exit."

"Right into the arms of the confederation, no doubt." I mutter snidely. He may not think he's all that transparent but I can see right through him. For all I know he could have led them here, whether he meant to or not, and now he needs us out of the tunnel. "You know I don't trust you at all. What are you playing at?"

For a brief moment his face falls, realizing our chat earlier has in no way brought us closer. I'm surprised that he believed it did.

"Nothing!" He cries, whisper-shouting as he glances to the side. "I can understand you, Dan, I'm serious- but I saw something moving while I was down there and I know it followed me. You have to go back there and get everybody out. They're all in the right tunnel, the exit's on the left."

"I don't see anything." I snap, and I see him opening his mouth again, quickly cutting him off. "-And yes, I'm aware that it's dark. I heard you coming when I was walking down here. I don't hear anything now. What exactly do you think you're seeing?"

He goes to speak but then sidesteps suddenly, shoving me several steps back and pulling out his gun. I've barely regained my balance when he's pointing it. I whip out mine as well, pointing it right back at him as betrayal floods my mind.

"What are you doing?!" I scream, in disbelief that he's actually trying to kill me.

I'm second-guessing everything and aiming at his head, but he's not looking at me even as I plan on how to kill him. I'm about to ask again, hoping to distract him long enough to attempt the first shot, when I'm met with a new distraction.

As if in explanation to my question, a zombie lurches into my line of sight.

Then another one. And another one. Low groans and gurgles emit from their mouths and their milky silver eyes flit around blindly, hands reaching as they sense the warm living presence of my body and my blood. And they're pouring out of the right hand tunnel, slow moving but definite groups of them. I've never seen so many in one place, the sheer volume rivalling that of when Phil and I escaped London.

The closer they get the more the air begins to smell of them; sickeningly musty and coppery with blood, heavy with an air of decay and punctuated by the damp, chilly underground scent. It's horrifyingly familiar, bad memories surfaced at once.

I'm transfixed, frozen for a moment, but Chris doesn't falter in any way. Almost immediately he has ahold of my shoulders, pushing me back down the tunnel and standing in between me and the monsters.

"Dan, get back to the room!" He shouts frantically. "Tell everybody all the monsters are here and get them out. The exit is to the left, okay?"

But he doesn't look like he's headed in that direction. I stare at him in confusion and all he does is stare back urgently, as if I'm stupid for not running off right then and there.

"Where are you going?" I shout.

He gestures down the other tunnel, the one filled with monsters. "I think I know what's going on here!" He tells me over the noise. "I know the confederation by now. They're going to try and trap you and then send the guys to capture the living bodies. As soon as they get them, they'll call the monsters off. I'm going right to see if I can stop them."

"You're crazy!" I exclaim, trying to pull him back with me. I can't see a way for him to fight them all. "There's no way you'll make it out of that."

"I'm not even alive." He assures me. "The zombies won't even notice me and I'm invulnerable. I'll be all right. Go."

He pulls away, taking off running into the fray before I can change his mind, so I turn on my heel in the other direction, running as fast as I can while my heart pounds fearfully, the knowledge that the confederation has found present in my mind.

I don't even take the time to consider the fact that he's not entirely invulnerable, nor do I entertain the notion that I'm probably immune. I still forget it for the most part, and leaving it to chance feels ridiculously reckless.

A few zombies try to follow me but they're walkers, slow-moving and lethargic, so I manage to leave them behind. My breaths in the air and the slap of my feet are the only things that punctuate the silence once I've left the divide behind, eerily quiet while my mind fills with nothing but the thought of Phil and Cat and the others left alone in the room without a light, completely exposed to an attack.

I slow to a walk when I near the maintenance room. There's someone standing outside and I wonder uncomfortably if it's Cat, who's stuck relying totally on sense thanks to me. They don't see me coming and it's a good thing too, their focus completely on the inside of the room. There's something odd about the way the person is standing, making me glad I have my flashlight turned off.

I'm quickly realizing they aren't one of us, their form is dead silent and in the figure of an unfamiliar man. I halt when he leans near the opening, suddenly aware that even if I exclude the zombies down the tunnel, we still are not alone.

He's behind the wall. He thinks he's concealed from all of us, has no idea that I'm I'm in the tunnel. He must be confederation, his clothes are too clean and he's looking right at my friends.

They don't know he's here.

I'm standing so close I can hear the man's quiet breaths, his whole focus entirely on the inside.

As if in a dream I see him slip out his weapon, the faint silver glint of the gun confirming my suspicions of his origin. It's the same kind of gun that Wirrow had, the zombie-specific one that supposedly combats both humans and zombies.
He positions it for only a fraction of a moment, and then suddenly, he's pointing it at Phil.

Phil, who's asleep with his head against our pack, with no idea that he's in danger, and Cat hasn't even spotted the attacker yet because I've taken her light and her half-light eyes can't see in the dark.

I don't even stop to debate for a second. My hand shoots out without any actual thought at once and I pull my own trigger, the bang echoing through the tunnels sharply and making the man collapse to the ground with a brief sound of shock and a crimson burst of blood.

Cat freezes in the doorway and my friends snap awake, going upright against the wall or whipping around to face the door, expecting a fight and instead frowning in confusion when their gazes find the man instead.

My hand is still raised, the gun wobbling slightly in my hand. A tiny puff of smoke curls out of the end, reminding me of how fast it's happened.

For a moment all I feel is numb relief, observing the blood and the collapsed body with a detached kind of fascination. The man now lies slightly across the crisscrossed metal of the tracks, his silver weapon forgotten on the ground, jacket hood concealing the actual wound from sight. I'm transfixed by the surreal scene before me and my friends are all stepping down to help me out, seeing the scene that I have just made.

Then, it hits me.

I've shot someone.

I've just killed a man.

"Dan!" I hear Cat shouting through the doorway. She's heard the sound and seen my face, by the sound of it she seems to assume the one who got shot was me.

It was not a crazed half-light that I killed. Not a zombie. A man. A real, living, breathing human man.

I'm suddenly breathing far too fast. My stomach twists and nausea overwhelms me, unable to handle what I've done. Again I think that Cat thinks he shot me rather than the reverse, she's rushing out with the others to see what's going on.

"Who is that?" Mark exclaims, eyes darting down and noticing the body.

But I can't answer him. I can't even bring myself to look down and see what the dead man looks like. I take several steps back, imaginary spots on my hands as if the blood has spattered onto my skin. I swear I can feel it, warm and dark.

"Are you all right, Dan?"

It might as well have.

I shake my head, the gun falling slack in my hand. I don't know this man. He had a name, a family, thoughts and morals and aspirations just like me. The blood doesn't wash out when I rub my hands over it.

"Dan!" Felix shouts, approaching me worriedly. Felix. He's acting strong and concerned for me, pretending the breakdown without Marzia never happened. Someone killed her too. Somewhere the dead man probably had someone waiting for him, someone who'll never see him again, thanks to me.

I've never killed anybody. Never wanted to. Couldn't. Can't.

Did.

The blood won't wash away.

"He's got a strange look on his face." He exclaims worriedly, backing away with some hesitation. He looks to the person behind him. "Phil, what's wrong with him?"

Of course he'd ask my best friend. I'm sure they assume we can read each other's minds.

"Phil." I mumble. I want him now, I'm scared that he could be killed too. He pushes his way over, looking worried, hands stretching out to turn me to face him, and the moment he connects the dots is very evident.

He sees the gun in my hand, the body on the ground, the look on my face. Perhaps he even understands what I did, knows it was to save him. He shakes his head, gripping tighter and grounding me, quickly opening his mouth to speak softly.

"It happens." He whispers quickly, fingers digging into my shoulders, conveying instantly that he knows what I'm thinking. To everyone else it probably makes no sense. "It happens, you know it does. It's all right, you're okay. You saved us."

I squeeze my eyes shut, opening my fingers to drop the horrific weapon in my hand but he catches it, cupping my hand and closing my fingers back over it.

"Look at me." He murmurs. And I try to, but all I can think of is this weapon that I want to throw to the ground. Behind me I see everyone watching, transfixed, vaguely I wonder why. "You need that. This is our world now. Besides, we're okay now."

"We-" my heart is pounding in my ears and I can scarcely hear myself breathe or speak. "We're not."

PJ stares at me in shock, making me think instantly of Chris and jarring me back a bit. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Dan look at me." Phil repeats, rubbing his thumb over my clenched knuckles.

Some of the blood in my vision fades away.

"Please." He says softly.

Looking at him should be a comfort, but all I can see is the pain in his eyes. The pain of seeing me unsteady, the lack of sleep that has caused exhaustion to set in, the wounds, the bruises, and the fear behind the expression that tells me he knows without me even saying it what's going on.

"We're not okay right now." I blurt. "The confederation found us. There's zombies all down the tracks and they're trying to cut off our exit-"

"Shit." Mark spits. He yanks out his gun and then turns around to sprint down the corridor, nothing more of an explanation needed.

PJ's eyes widen, looking to me in a way that is painfully familiar. "We have to help Chris."

"Then let's help Chris." Felix agrees.

"We can't just leave this body here, can we?" Phil asks.

PJ observes the confederation man gravely, setting his hand on Phil's shoulder and turning him away. "We have to, I think."

There's really little else we can do.

"Come on."

It only takes minutes for us to get back, holding guns or in Phil's case his axe, but it almost feels like it's been too long. We're all breathing heavily from running but we immediately run back into Mark, who's shooting left and right as monsters surge forward.

It's chaos.

Zombies have filled the chamber, cutting off the exit that led to the left. There's so many. Too many. They start forward immediately as soon as they sense us and they're blocking our escape, the entire left hand train tunnel completely cut off at the entrance. Chris is nowhere in sight.

Then suddenly the emergency lights switch on, power flooding back to the tunnel because of course the confederation can control that and of course they would bring back the light. It's a showcase of just how much we are at their mercy, and now the monsters aren't guessing at our location. Now, the monsters can see.

"Move, move!" Mark shouts, backing away rapidly and gesturing for us us to retreat back into the opening tunnel.

Immediately a zombie focuses on me, diving for my neck. Its fingers lock on the fabric of my shirt and I fire right at its head, just barely manage to shoot it away. There's no way we can make it out of here if we try to stay and fight. The shot knocks the monster back, but I've evidently missed its brain because it lurches right back. I don't have my crowbar to push it away so I end up kicking it, knocking it into another zombie and stumbling back-to-back with PJ and Mark. I'm still feeling the loss of my weapon, the fighting feels awkward, slower, clumsier, and I'm terrified that in this mess I'm going to make a mistake.

Mark jumps when I collide with him but quickly composes himself, shooting the zombie off to my right and then wheeling around to smash the butt of the weapon into the one advancing on Phil.

"Where the hell did Chris go?" Mark shouts, trying to see over the crowd.

"He went that way." I reply, pointing quickly to where the crowd is still heavy, the right-hand tunnel which I now see has a battered sign above it, reading To Broxbourne.

Broxbourne. The headquarters of the entire confederation operation, the otherwise unremarkable location in the old days that if Wirrow hadn't told us, I'd have never guessed. So that's how there's so many zombies. That's how they're getting here. We haven't gotten farther away, but closer.

Nobody questions me, no one except PJ. He darts around Mark and grabs my arm making my eyes widen as his gentle features contort fiercely.

"Dan, where's the exit?" He asks suddenly, leaping in front of his friend and hitting a zombie dead-on, making blood spatter in the air. I'm frozen as the crimson sparkles in the air, the man I've killed entering my mind again.

I point towards the now lit exit tunnel, trying to force the thought from my mind. "Chris said the way out is left."

And now that the lights are on, I can see it. An opening, a platform from another station about four hundred metres down the line.

"There's a platform, I can see it." He shouts, voicing my observations.

He doesn't look or move in that direction, though.

I realize suddenly why he's so panicked. He can't see his boyfriend. They're separated, the confederation is all around us, and he's assuming the worst. He's afraid.

I look at him worriedly, impulse practically written on his features, and I know there's no use in arguing with him. "PJ?" I exclaim, hand wavering as I see his mind working, "Do you need me to-?"

He shoots me a pained glance and then takes off running, knocking aside monsters as he sprints in the opposite direction. Mark makes a choked sound, watching as his friend pushes through the mass of rotten limbs.

My heart drops. I chase after him, sure he's misheard me and wondering how certifiably insane he is to be throwing himself into the heart of the danger. I take hold of his arm, confused at his blatantly endangering himself, yanking him back into the open. He turns to face me and his eyes widen, darting back to the mouth of the broxbourne tunnel.

"No." He says quickly. "Just go, Dan. I'll meet you there."

He's still trying to move away from me and I can't understand his urgency, he looks like he wants nothing more than to get away from me. With little else to do, I tighten my grip.

"But the zombies-"

His expression falls, he whips around and grips my wrists.

"They're going to go after Phil!" He shouts suddenly, losing patience for the first time in front of me, physically pushing me back as he loses his calm exterior. "Trust me! I know it sounds crazy but go find Phil! I'll be back as soon as I get Chris!"

I look back, but the rest of my friends are preoccupied. Mark is trying to keep us in sight but he's being surrounded, Felix is holding his own and, I realize it suddenly, I can't see Phil. It's just me, PJ, and all the monsters. I don't understand what's happening.

"After Phil?" I try to grab his wrist but he yanks it away from me, firing at a zombie that's gotten too close to him and hitting another one aside.

"I'll tell you when we get back." He gasps. "It's something Chris said. Phil's in danger."

"Does Cat-"

"He hasn't told anyone but me yet. I promise I'll explain, just go!"

"Why would they go specifically after him?!" I protest. "What are you on about?!"

I try to follow him but he pushes me, actually slamming his palms into my chest and making me stumble.

"GO!" He screams. He ducks under a zombie's arm and vanishes from sight. I can tell where he is, though, I can see the monsters all turning to pursue him, dozens of arms clawing to get to him first. But he keeps running, determined.

He's an idiot. He's crazy. He's going to get himself killed.

"PJ!" I'm panicking, shooting at the zombie and fighting to help him, but wherever one falls another just seems to take its place. I'm firing at a tall one, it's taken three bullets and is still on its feet, snarling and raking its nails through thin air trying to hit me,
and it's that the exact moment that the gun in my hand clicks.

I step back in confusion, raising and pointing it again, but the trigger is slack, the click sounding again.

Out of ammo.

"Fuck." It hits me right in that moment, I'm unarmed. I have no way to protect myself, I'm surrounded by monsters, and PJ has just thrown his life away.

"Dan!" Mark shouts, slamming his fist into the face of a zombie and sprinting to my side.

"Where's Phil?!" I shout, holding my gun uselessly and trying to see over the mass.

"Dan, you're out of bullets!" He exclaims.

My eyes find nothing but mottled flesh and groaning monsters, overwhelming fear coursing through me because my best friend isn't among them, not living, anyway. "I can't see Phil!" I scream, voice pitching harshly. "Where is he?!"

His eyes widen and he shoots down two zombies moving in on us. His eyes scan the crowd and he meets my eyes, catching the panic that I can't hide.

"I don't know." He blurts. He yanks a knife out of his belt. "Take this, go after him. I don't know what PJ's thinking but I'm going after his dumb ass. He's not thinking."

I take the knife shakily and tuck the gun in my pocket, and then we separate, diverging in two different directions.

Surprisingly, it doesn't take me that long to find him.

I'm expecting it to be a while, the mass of monsters making even my friends almost indiscernible. At first I'm just blindly running, calling his name. It takes several minutes for me to spot him, and when I do, I've practically passed the mob in the Broxbourne tunnel, the other one way out of my sight. He's fighting with a man who is not zombie but human, the monsters steering clear like there's a bubble around them. Perhaps in the imaginary sense there is. Who knows how the confeds keep the monsters from going after them.

Again, this man is obviously Confederation. I almost wish it were Wirrow or Marcus as I watch Phil drive the butt of the axe into the man's side, making him take a step back for a moment, the slick black jacket and short hair and marking him as someone else.

"Phil!" I shout, hoping to let him know he has backup.

Both the man and Phil ignore me, my voice lost to the wild roars and fighting sounds. I sprint towards them and skid to a stop as the man suddenly darts down and knocks Phil's legs from beneath him, catching him by the arms and pinning them to his back. He slams him against the wall and pulls out his silver gun, breathing heavily as he glares at Phil with determination.

I feel like all the air has been lost from my lungs.

"Get off me!" Phil shouts defiantly, his face creased in pain as he struggles, kicking the man in the shin and earning him a hiss from his opponent.

"It'll be much less painful for you if you don't struggle." The man spits, "after all, you want your friends to get out alive, right?"

"They're getting out of here alive anyway." Phil replies. "Regardless of what I do."

He's trying to be strong, but all I can hear is how afraid he is. It's like my nightmare again but in real life, his life hanging in the balance and me only able to look on. I can't think about attacking yet, they're angled against the wall and I can't get in close. Nor can I try announcing myself, for all I know he could shoot Phil the moment he saw me.

"You're alone, don't you see that?" The man taunts. "They aren't coming back for you. I honestly thought I'd be met with some resistance but they seem to have left you to fend for yourself, haven't they?"

Phil shakes his head and presses his mouth shut. I try to meet his eyes, absolutely panicking because he has no idea that I'm here and probably thinks he's about to die. The man looks evilly satisfied, leaning in towards his ear. He shudders in repulsion, and I realize by his glazed expression that he's being assaulted by memories of the girl at the party, new and old demons coming together in an awful mix.

"Oh, but you're necessary. The confederation will have you." The man hisses darkly. He presses the weapon hard into his head, making him flinch in fear, and that's when something inside me snaps.

"Like hell they will!" I scream, knife shaking in my hand as a totally new feeling courses through me. A relentless, emotionless indifference, a deep-seated rage that has no moral or hesitation at all. It's burning in me like fire, a feeling that promises death. I suddenly do t even care about waiting anymore.

I want one thing. I want to face this man, and I want to kill him.

The man whips around, and before I've even caught what exactly he's planning to do or what he looks like, I've whipped my arm forward without even aiming, flinging the knife into his flesh.

He screams, dropping the gun in his hand and sinking to one knee, gasping as his fingers fly to the area of impact, his shoulder.

I'm now unarmed, but Phil is okay.

"Dan-" he breathes shakily, but he cuts himself off as I step in front of him, glaring at the man whose look is red-hot like fire, rage and pain fighting for dominance on his expression as he pulls the knife out of his shoulder.

Just as I say this it's like a shockwave shoots through the room. The snarls and the shouts and the fighting cut out, a feeling like electricity buzzing through my veins briefly that snaps through my veins.

All at once, all the zombies collapse. They crumple to the tracks with little sound beyond the the thumps of their impacts, features stilled.

No longer necessary.

The confederation man hisses in pain, pressing his fingers over the bleeding wound and turning around triumphantly, grinning at us with a smug kind of stare. "That'd be my cue." He drawls, lifting up my knife and tossing it back to me almost lazily, the blade clattering in front of my feet. He turns around and disappears into the tunnel, a sound like an engine fading away only moments later.

A sinking feeling begins in my stomach. I think of what Chris said.

They're going to try and trap you and then send the guys to capture the living bodies. As soon as they get them, they'll call the monsters off.

"No." I gasp, and Phil looks up at me, alarmed. They've called the monsters off with that shockwave, knocked them all dead or unconscious, I can't tell.

Fear crosses his face. "What's going on?"

They just fell. Collapsed as a mass like a greater force was controlling them.

"Oh god." I breathe. I grab Phil's hand and yank him to his feet, panic setting in and no time to explain. "We have to get back, Phil."

I rush back through the corridors, thoughts racing wildly. Phil follows as well as he can behind me with not a question or a word passing between us, the urgency of the moment practically palpable. I get to the break and find it empty. Zombies lie still, down the tracks I see my friends gathered at the platform, I guess they decided to meet there.

I catch sight of Mark. And then the lights go out.

For a moment I'm disoriented, Phil cries out in surprise and I feel around until I've found him, tugging him relentlessly towards the exit because I'm terrified of why the confeds have let us escape.

All I can think of is how PJ pushed me away in the same way I did to Mark when Phil was missing to go and find Chris, how the engines had roared as the man escaped and retreated back into the tunnel.

Please. I beg silently. Let him be there. Let them be both okay.

Because it was me that let him go.

I break into a run, moving way too fast in the dark and stumbling several times, my arms and legs and heart aching as I run with everything I have, desperate to reach the exit and know that everyone escaped. I need to be proven wrong.

I nearly collide with Mark when I reach it, immediately trying make out everyone's faces in the dark. Nobody says anything beyond my name in relived exclamation, serious tones indiscernible from one another. His expression indiscernible in the dark, a silence hangs over us in an atmosphere thicker than blood. I vaguely remember that I still have Cat's flashlight lifting it up with shaky hands and casting the yellow light on his face. I look at him, heart pounding, ignoring Phil's worried voice behind me or Felix's protests.

He won't look at me. His face is bleeding and bruised, and the light has revealed something else, too.

Two are missing.

"Where's..." I don't get any further.

Mark's shaken stare tells me everything I need to know.

PJ.

Heart beating too fast. Eyes wide.

"Th-they got him." He mumbles suddenly, confirming my worst predictions. "They acted like I wasn't even there. They were looking for two guys who looked in l- like they couldn't be separated. They caught Chris and then PJ came forward and I think they just assumed it was you guys, they said something about your immunity."

I struggle to breathe. "That it was me and-?"

"Y...yes." He sees my expression fall and he shoots out his arm to place on my shoulder desperately trying to console me, but his voice is shaking and my throat is constricting horribly.

PJ knew what he was doing. I realize. He threw himself in there after Chris because he knew what they came for.

"Don't blame yourself." He protests. "He went in there. I couldn't stop them from doing it and they almost killed me when I tried. There's nothing we can-"

PJ pretended to be me. How could I be so stupid.

I shake my head. Denial.

It happened so fast.

The confederation has them both. He lied to me to make me go back so he got captured instead. They could be hurting him, killing him.

I can't do it.

I break away suddenly, backing up the stairs and running because choked sounds are escaping my lips and I can't let them see. I don't know why I can't do it. But I can't. I can't. I can't.

"Dan!" Mark shouts.

Footsteps chase behind me, but that only makes me run faster.

The stairs lead up to a long corridor and another set of stairs to the outside. Just like the one we entered in, it's just another wasted tube station, vending machines broken and water coating the floor, but it all goes by in a blur. I run hard and grit my teeth as I move even faster, trying even harder to get away because I want to be alone and a voice is calling my name.

I emerge into real air and  hear the wind whistling between the tall buildings that are all dark just like the night.

It's because of me. I think angrily. Oh god, it's because of me.

The rushing air cools the wetness on my cheeks, tears escaping so sudden and in mass that my vision is blurring. I swipe at them just as he reaches me, and though I try to yank away at first the gentle hand is insistent and I turn around, my shamefully vulnerable face turning to meet beautiful sad eyes.

And then I'm slamming into Phil, crushing him in my arms and gasping into his shirt, my fists curled and bunching up the fabric at his back. He grips me tightly, brick buildings looming up all around us in a strange part of London we've never seen. We stumble into a deserted side alley, safe for the moment as he pulls me close to him and hides my face from the world, and that's when it all comes crumbling down.

I'm crying. Harsh sobs that rip out of me without any filter. I can't say for certain why I'm so shaken, but I am, and it's not just that it's real, but it hurts. It's hurts because it's all out of our control and we're losing each other one by one. It hurts because I'm scared of so much. I can't face Mark because just like Marzia, this is all my fault. It's worse- so much worse this time. Now the confederation knows we're here, and now we don't have PJ. I made him lose his best friend.

"Dan." Phil breathes quietly, sounding unsure of what to do. "Dan." His hands squeeze my shoulders and he rests his forehead against the back of my hair. I begin to shake but I press myself against him, feeling his heartbeat through his chest and tethering to it. All I can think about is Chris and how he told me about falling in love, about how close they must be to each other in this very moment, yet so far.

"I just fucking let him go, Phil!" I scream. My voice is choked and raspy, but I can't find it in me to care. He feels so thin and fragile against me. I'm afraid my words might actually cause him to break. "He said he'd meet me back there, and I believed him. He knew Chris was going to be captured but he went back for him anyway. I just watched him run. I didn't even try to stop him."

"You didn't know." He murmurs. "You were just doing the right thing."

"No I wasn't. I should have known, why else would he have gone back there!?"

I don't mention that he said Phil was in danger. He'd literally scared me into making sure I didn't follow.

"He could survive. Chris would want him to." He reaches optimistically.

We've already gotten lucky once. Betraying the confederation and escaping is basically a death sentence, there's no way they'll just let him off.

I let a breath out shakily, then loosely grip his shirtfront to ground myself. "We both know he won't."

I didn't know it was possible, but he hugs me even tighter. The wind is howling tonight, possibly a storm might be coming and that's the reason debris is drifting by and there's a strange heaviness in the air. The sky is black but stars peek through all the same, the sky a silent witness to our seemingly meaningless struggle. My dignity is far beyond salvage at this point, I cling to Phil in a way I've never held onto anyone before, hardly caring as the void inside me rears back up once more. He doesn't say anything. There's nothing to say, but his arms keep me grounded when my being is trying to break apart.

"We can rescue them. We'll find a way." He says softly. "We got away once when the confederation captured us. Who's to say we can't do it again? This time we're on the outside." He sounds so convinced in this, so confident in himself when the confederation itself has them. I shake my head, sighing defeatedly.

"You're s-such a bloody optimist."

I close my eyes. My body shifts a little to get into a steady position but soon I'm settled against him, laying for the most part on the ground with legs folded in front of me but my head against his shoulder. He drapes his arm behind me and holds me to his side, keeping me in place, and I'm thankful. I take soft, slow breaths and listen to his heartbeat, clinging to the notion that at least he's alive, a reassurance that never fails me.

"Just breathe." He tells me, a piece of advice I used to give him from time to time when he got especially anxious. "That's all we can do right now."

I remember his hand in mine earlier and I so badly want to take it, but at the same time there's no plausible way for this position to allow that, even if it was comforting. I sniff harshly, hating the sound of it but too exhausted to care. "Okay."

"We just need some time." He says quietly, squeezing me just enough to calm me down. I don't have the energy to protest. "Everyone else will find us soon enough. We'll be okay."

I lean into him then, taking care not to fall over because for the moment I just want to be still. Damn Phil and his always knowing what to say, his calm, positive outlook on life that I could never achieve in a million years. His existence is a glitch in my contentedly closed-off and well-guarded existence, I don't need this reminder of how very much he means to me. I can't think about it.

My eyes, though closed, are still burning and I fight silently to ignore it, trying to remember that we're still together, that we survived a fight, that I can cling to false hope that PJ and Chris could make it out of this. Chris knows those guys better than anyone and PJ is tougher than he looks. They're both with the one they love, maybe they can hold out until we can get to them.

The air is slightly too warm and the wind too cold, making me shiver in addition to the shock, and it's then that I feel Phil's hand push aside my hair, likely checking the bruises that seem to be becoming a permanent feature on my face now.

It feels nicer than I would have expected it to, the motions warm and soothing whether he meant it to be that way or not. A sigh escapes me before I can stop it and he seems to understand, using a thumb to brush away the wetness on my face that I don't want to admit to and then lifting his hand back to my hair, brushing his fingers through intentionally. I don't know how he always knows what to do when I don't even know how to help myself but just as always he's doing all he can, and it's just what I needed. It feels right. Though I wouldn't say I'm happy, I know at I least can stand to face this night, my terrified heartbeat calming.

We stay like this for a long while, the rest of the group maybe emerging from the tunnel as their voices carry from a distance away. But we're alone still. They have yet to find us.

He continues his pattern, his movements becoming more gentle as my breathing slows to a steady sound again. Without the adrenaline to spur me on all I feel is empty; exhausted and emotionless just as I often seem to revert back to these days. My eyes feel heavy and my head settles more securely in the dip of his shoulder, and as the voices draw closer I mumble tiredly into the fabric of his shirt.

"Don't let them see me like this."

I can't take the thought of my weakness being so obvious to these people who have far more cause to be upset than me, this moment they could quite aptly be pinned on me. I know that what I'm saying is stupid, but with Phil I have no fear of being judged.

He stops his motions for a second. His hand pulls away from my hair and he sighs almost sadly, hugging me against him and settling his face in the crook of my neck for only a moment so as to keep his balance. Then he shifts, doing something with his free arm that I feel but obviously don't see,  at least until I feel his stupid pom-pom hat being tugged over the back of my head, my hood being pulled to cover my face only moments later. I realize then what he's doing, relishing in the odd sense of sudden security this brings me as my heart warms out of nowhere, being hidden away from the world all at once.

"I won't, it's okay." He assures me. "I promise."

He shifts his shoulder so that we're back to how we were before, not saying anything but letting me lean against him all the same. He brings his hand back to my curls again and I savour what I'm guessing will be only a few more minutes alone together.

His fingers card through my hair for a blurry few minutes, I'm so distracted I couldn't name you the exact passage of time. He's calming himself too, I realize, warm fingers brushing through in swirling motions long after the tears have dried from my face. He continues even as I slowly sink into willing unconsciousness, just not wanting to be awake anymore, probably assuming I'm either asleep or basically there.

In a way, Phil has his own methods of pushing down emotions too, I realize. He's not as inward as me, seeking physical rather than mental distraction. He's acting calm and strong because I'm not, and that worries him. He must be under so much stress right now but I just don't know what to do to help him, so somehow he's helping us both.

Or maybe he's learning to repress things just like me. It's like an emotional exchange. In return for becoming a better person by picking up some of Phil's traits, Phil in turn has received some of my flaws. It's bittersweet, honestly. I reflect on this while he fiddles distractedly, the thought that maybe Phil is learning to be more guarded after everything. I honestly don't know if I want that. Phil always seems to know what to do to handle any given situation, unlike me who specializes in little more than grand escapes. Do I really want to miss all the things that he brings to both our lives in exchange for a bit of strength? Who knew a hug could be so complicated.

His hand pushes all the strands back, letting cool air wash over the open skin in a way that's really nice. He flattens it back so as not to let anything fall forward and I sigh in response, causing him to hesitate in whatever he was doing and still for a moment. I had no idea letting Phil play with my hair would be so comfortable and reassuring. If he didn't stop I'd be totally fine with that, so I shift myself ever so slightly and exaggeratedly groan in a tired way, nestling my face into the crook of his shoulder and curling my hands at my chest. I'm hoping that he'll see it as encouraging and continue, the boundaries I'd set earlier forgotten and a fondness for him like never before warming me from the inside out even as a stray tear slides down my cheek.

He seems to relax at my outward approval and my apparent lack of wakefulness, because his tense arms have now relaxed in favor of pulling me close. He twists a curl around his fingers and then brushes it back with the rest off of my forehead, and then he does something I'm not expecting.

He lowers his head and presses a kiss to my forehead.

The touch is soft and gentle, lingering for a moment before it's drawn away. Perhaps I've imagined it and it hasn't happened at all, it makes my eyelids flutter and my heart feel strange things, exploding with odd, fluttering beats.

I wonder if I was meant to feel it, if he assumes I'm asleep and doesn't expect me to react to this at all. It's not an uncomfortable touch, not all too different from what I did yesterday, it's just sudden, and I find that despite the way my heart has begun racing against my chest, it feels oddly nice. He quickly reverts back to brushing through my hair a moment later, hand shaking a little before it steadies and starts swirling rhythmically, my breath lost for a moment in disbelief.

I lie still for a moment, letting my heartbeat calm in my chest, and then I turn my head to blink at him sleepily.

"Was that payback for back in the apartment?" I murmur, referring to my impulsive motion that felt almost as right as this gesture just now.

He jumps, blushing fiercely and coughing to cover his surprise. Now it's very obvious that I wasn't supposed to be conscious and notice this, but somehow that just makes it more endearing. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out and I let out a watery laugh, squeezing his arm to my chest. I let my eyes fall shut again and relax into his hold which is slowly beginning to surround me, arms snaking around my stomach tentatively so he can tug me close.

"I-I'm sorry." He says weakly, sounding genuinely scared like he's just done something wrong.

"No, it's okay." I mumble hurriedly. "I... thank you."

He seems unsure of what to say to that, his heartbeat quickening beneath my head and betraying what he can't voice. I shake my head, taking a deep breath to calm my own.

"Was it payback?" I ask carefully. "I guess I was a bit unwarranted. But I... I don't mind, okay?"

Yes, it was unwarranted, and now I'm finding myself indirectly apologizing for what I've done shortly after telling him not to do the same thing. Call me a hypocrite, but I feel like he deserves it for my lack of self-control or consideration for him. Either way, he doesn't point it out. He just breathes out, long and slow.

"Of... of course." He teases in a soft voice, recovering quickly. He wraps his arms all the way around me so that I'm sheltered completely, burying his embarrassed face in my shoulder. "You didn't think you could just get away with it, did you?"

So we are talking about it. His arm dangles in my immediate vision and all at once I can't take it anymore,  the stress of the evening and night building up on my mind.

Impulsively, I slide my hand down and once again take hold of his, thinking oddly in this moment that it feels so right to have our fingers woven together. They slot together easily right before my eyes, his fingers more pale and delicate and completely encircled by mine. I'm transfixed by how they look, melded so cautiously well. I hadn't realized how much I needed it.

Immediately he freezes, but somehow even though I'm not even looking I know it isn't a bad thing. My thoughts are confirmed when he holds back, shifting my fingers so he can squeeze them tightly before letting go, returning his hand to my hair.

"I guess not." I mumble shyly. "Does that mean we're even?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "I don't even know what that means."

The poor, sweet fool is so shy and flustered it makes my heart swell and tempts me to do all sorts of dumb things. Things like throwing my arms around him and poking his sides until he giggles, the area just below his ribs the most ticklish part of his body. Things like sobbing into his shoulder on a dark abandoned street in London after so many disastrous thoughts regarding our relationship have flitted through my head and I've shot a man dead to save his life. Things like reassessing it all right here and now. I don't even know what to think about him anymore.

"We're idiots." I laugh softly. "It means we're idiots."

He's quiet for a moment.

"Yeah." He says eventually. "I guess we are."

So much has gone on. So much hurt and fear and mistrust. So much loss. I'm nowhere near what I was two years ago, that boy a stranger to me now. But here's Phil, the same Phil in body as before. He's seen all of it, he knows as well as I do that I can never take this back. But he's here. He's speaking assurances. He's holding me. How can I ever repay something like that?

I savour the last few minutes we pass in silence, the pain and terror abating slightly in the light of what we've said and done. It's a different kind of feeling, I'm too afraid to put a name on it yet, but I can't help but wonder if there's a reason for Phil to make me feel this way. He's made it all fade away for this brief, inexplicable moment, reducing me to thoughtlessness with nothing more than a calming gesture. He's holding me close and I can feel myself slipping, but for once it's on my own terms, the stress and regrets and negative emotion can come tomorrow. Now I'm just empty.

He does move away from our embrace a bit once Mark, Felix, and Cat move into our view. I remember I'm supposedly sleeping and so I don't outwardly react to their joining us in the alley, and it doesn't really matter. I don't care, because there's nothing to show on my face.

He wiped all the tears away before the three were there to see them evident. All they see is my sleeping face, leaning against him like I do, like I can. And it too feels right to me.

I desperately want to run away and never see Mark or Felix again. I don't want them to look at me right now. I realize there are bits and parts of ourselves that we're hiding from them right now. I wonder what Chris would say if he saw it. I know what it looks like, and oddly enough I don't give a shit. It's what I almost want it to look like.

You're not in love. I tell myself tiredly. That's where my mind goes first, but I try to dismiss it quickly. That's hard to do though when I remember the feeling of his lips pressed to my skin. You know you aren't, you just want to be.

And truly I want to be, I decide, because Chris and PJ proved what lengths you want to go to, and despite where it got them, I can't help but want for something like that. I'm obviously exhausted so this kind of musing doesn't carry much weight for me, I just sort of brush it off. It's not the strangest thing in the world to want to be loved.

"Dan?" I hear Cat ask hesitantly. From where I'm sitting it sounds like she's standing slightly to the left of me, probably fiddling with her hair like she does when she's worried. "Is he-"

He's fine, just a disaster. I think ruefully, wiping clean any expression on my face.

"He's exhausted." I hear Phil say, making the nerves in my chest relax out of relief. "Leave him be."

I'm glad I have an excuse to be silent, I don't think I'd be able to talk.

"I think we... all need a little time." Felix murmurs. And I have to admit, his voice is worse to hear. He sounds worn and positively devastated, it doesn't take a genius to know exactly why. First Marzia, then his two best friends. I have to clear my mind and let it wander, clinging to what happened just earlier to keep from letting the guilt eat me alive.

Everybody moves to sit down next to us against the brick wall, stunned silence speaking volumes. I have a feeling nobody's truly going to sleep again tonight, and it's a long time before anything happens. I'm purposefully ignoring everyone, and no one else knows quite what to say.

"They said they're going to Broxboune." Phil announces suddenly. "The confederation guys. I remember they said that back in the bunker, it's where their entire head of operations apparently is."

I squeeze my eyes shut harder and he touches his hand lightly to my shoulder, the good one, squeezing gently and massaging away some of the tension, the motion so subtle I don't think anyone even notices. He's right though, that's probably where they're taking him.

"If we want any chance in hell at getting them out alive, we'll have to go after them." Mark says determinedly. "The train. That's how we'll have to do it."

"The train is a dangerous option, though." Cat worries aloud. "We could run into any sort, and that excluding all the gangs and other survivors still stuck in this city."

"Well, right now, it's our only option."

"We'll talk about the plans tomorrow." Phil suggests, shifting me on his shoulder and slumping down exhaustedly. "Felix is right, we all need a little time."

"He went back." Mark chokes angrily. "He went back for fucking Chris. For all we know they couldn't have have gotten out of there if he'd just waited."

"Of course he did." Phil answers, as if it should be obvious. I feel him shift and pull me closer to side, hesitating with his words a moment before seeming to collect them, looking at Mark as an unusual tone gently softens his voice. "He... loves him."

He loves him. The phrase hits me like a punch in the stomach and I bite my lip, everyone falling silent from the truth and impact of this statement.

It really is crazy, what sacrifices someone will make when they love someone else. It's painful and terrible, it's something I can't comprehend. It opens you up to so much hurt, because suddenly there isn't one life for you to focus on but two. It's such a vulnerable state of being. How could you live with yourself, knowing someone would rather die than lose you? It's too much responsibility.

It's all-too familiar.

A strange sensation flutters in my stomach and I almost don't hear the next words to come out of Mark's mouth, my eyes burning painfully again and my heart in my throat.
His voice is tight and angry and I know he has no idea of what to do. None of us saw this coming and for all we know our friends could be dead. It's up to is to decide if their potential survival is enough of a risk to take, a decision so awful that it should never have to be possible.

"Well I hope he loves him enough to keep them both alive." He murmurs. "Who knows how long it'll be before we can even hope to get them back."

On that dejected note everyone falls into silence, and it's a long time before I do actually manage to sleep.

a/n GUESS WHO JUST GOT BACK FROM AMERICA

That's right I didn't forget this book existed. I tried to write whenever I could but I was busy vacationing to some degree for two weeks so that only managed to happen at night. (Night at night ayy lmao)

I keep thinking I need a chapter in Mark or Cat's POV. Would that be interesting or does it seem kind of pointless at this point? I have all the chapters of this story in drafts from start to finish (that's right dudes I've already written the ending.) but I feel like it could fit in somewhere?

u ain't even ready for what's coming next

also shoutout to natarthegreatar for letting me ask annoying plot questions and talk about character death. He's the bestest. He also motivated me to update sooner so thanks this one's for u

and Rons_Emotional_Range omg I'm sorry you lovely human here's the thing I promised this ones also for you