aka the cheeky bubble bath chapter. This took so damn long I'm sorry it was gonna be a double chapter but I changed my mind so instead there's gonna be 3 updates this week u ready? 1/3

t/w: anxiety, blood

No more dreams
Must I sacrifice
My heart is safe
You'll guard it with your life
-Peter Bradley Adams, My Arms Were Always Around You

Dan

"Wait a second, are you wearing mismatched socks?"

I giggle, actually giggle, a stupid-ass embarrassing sound, making Phil freeze in shock as the unprecedented smile overtakes my face. I immediately lift a hand to hide the dumb expression irritably, but nonetheless my eyes are on his feet, covered by rather worn out socks that belong to one of the few pairs we still possess, for some reason finding it abnormally endearing.

To some degree I think the wine I drank might be partly to blame for this, having taken it much too quickly considering I had to drain a glass and a half before walking off to find our room, but I'm also just in a good mood in general, a rarity for me and a bit strange considering the events of the past forty-eight hours. I'm honestly a bit relieved to be alone with just him. Everyone else is looking at me like a time bomb, not wanting to trigger an explosion or more aptly, expecting me to drop dead at any second and become a zombie. Thankfully, Phil is not this stupid, and thus I am pushing down my unease, just hoping to relax for once, at least for a little while. The alcohol hasn't rendered me incoherent or anything, I'm just comfortably buzzing.

He shifts from foot to foot awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"That's so Phil." I muse fondly, poking his foot with my toe. "Sharks on one foot, stripes on the other. Maybe a few more holes than before, those socks have seen better days, but I guess some things never change."

He smiles softly, making me smile too. Damn him.

There's something calming about seeing Phil reacting to me in this way, seeing his genuinely relaxed expression and having his eyes, grey-blue in this lighting, focused on me so entirely. It's also strange to think that I recognize those socks from back when he lived in London. The shark socks are navy blue and patterned with, obviously, pale blue sharks, the stripes are black with bright block colours. Now we're here again, and my first thought is how oddly full-circle this moment is. The socks are home?

"I guess not." He muses. "It would take more than an apocalypse to make me wear proper sock pairs. Honestly, Dan."

As it turns out, our 'room' turned out to be a fairly bland enclosure with exposed drywall and two cots that don't match, salvaged no doubt from separate areas. Whether from some junkyard or a cheap furniture store we will never know, but it's more than a tarp or a patch of grass with a comforter draped over it. There's nothing to obstruct the blank stretch of incomplete wall other than the door, though it is clean, only a light layer of dust settling in the corners.

The baths, as we were helpfully informed of on the way over here by some passerby who noticed we were new, were apparently down the hall. After dumping off our (now shared) backpack with our combined meager possessions off in the bedroom we went to find them. This building seems to be made of nothing but halls, especially in this area on the second floor where all the offices and storage rooms had once been, but there is one thing that redeems them: the windows.

Just outside the bedroom on the wall parallel to ours is a series of these windows, flooding the hallway with evening light and providing a panoramic view of the surrounding streets, the broken down buildings in the distance. Both Phil and I stopped for a moment upon leaving the room to just linger by the dirty sill for a few minutes, taking in the backlit London that in its decay looked almost eerily beautiful. The lights were off, the city silent. One could look out from the window and never guess that thousands of monsters are breaking it down from the inside out, the colours grey and orange and blurred like an oil on canvas. Like something out of the imagination.

We're at the 'baths' now, a long, wider room that doesn't look wide because of the vast amounts of junk piled in it. Three of the four corners are filled with neatly stacked solar panels, miscellaneous discarded office equipment and twisted metal thrown in the mix haphazardly as if the survivors cared about little more than getting them out of the way.

I'm can tell he's a bit surprised by what a good mood I'm in but he's responding gratefully nonetheless. My legs are covered by jeans right now. I know the bruise is probably still there, I almost want to roll up the corner and tell him to I want to check on it. Would that make me look weak? We've already established that I'm fine. I don't need to go doing that. Truth be told he hasn't moved more than a few feet away from me since the whole incident with the fish happened in the first place and I'm concerned that he's afraid and not telling me. I can't have him worrying, I do it all too often and nothing good ever comes out of it. I need his optimism, rely on it even.

It's somewhat humiliating honestly. Looking back on the attack all I can think is how I basically stumbled like an idiot into the school of zombeasts, as if my life was disposable for a short moment of amusement. Certainly I didn't know they were undead, but it was stupid of me to leave it to chance. The world isn't here to provide fun and leisure anymore, I don't have happiness available at my fingertips. I could have been killed, or worse, Phil could have been. Just like Marzia, it would have been my fault.

I pull off my own socks, black and unassuming with a hole in the left one. I place my feet onto the cool floor tile, shivering a bit as the cold seeps in and watching as Phil approaches the tub. Despite this being called the bathroom, there is in fact, no bathtub to be seen. It looks more like a hot tub, or maybe a single large, squareish whirlpool tub. A wall-mounted faucet hangs over the edge and so he turns it, and for whatever reason I'm surprised when actual water spurts out. The stream is high-pressure but not incredibly large, so it becomes immediately evident that we'll have a few minutes to wait before it's ready to go. He watches the stream for a second, testing it for temperature, then walks back over, sitting down next to me on an overturned wooden crate.

"I didn't realize when they said baths," he murmurs, "that they actually meant bath singular, as in a communal bathtub."

I nod, not exactly thrilled but not hugely bothered either. It's not as if I'm disappointed in what we've ended up with to get cleaned up, I have my new soap and this building has hydro, though I can't imagine how. Well I can, but I'd like to believe it isn't true.

I sigh, letting the huff of air leave my lungs and lacing my fingers together. My knee bounces distractedly as I glance at Phil's worn-out face.

He hasn't slept properly since those few hours when we were on the watchtower that last time, yet at the same time doesn't appear able to. He was awake the entire truck ride, even when he had his eyes closed it wasn't much more than insubstantial drifting. He has them open determinedly now, though there's dark circles under them that stand out like bruises on his pale skin. His hair hangs over the pale irises and casts shadows on his cheeks, and I have the odd urge to push it off his forehead because it makes him look more tired somehow. I don't want that.

"Yeah," I agree.

The water flows musically as the tub fills, thudding against the bottom at first until more water is added and the sound softens a bit. And Phil says nothing, which is abnormal for him.

At first it's a comfortable silence. I sit with my knee vibrating on and off and turn the shampoo bottle over in my hands, noting that the label reads that it's scented like cucumber melon. Then it goes on for a long time, and I realize he's completely spaced out, his teeth sunk into his lower lip as he ponders. I can't imagine what has him this distracted.

"Hey." I say abruptly, making him start. "What are you thinking about?"

He shrugs. "Nothing. I'm just remembering how weird it was to see my face again."

He laughs quietly.

I'm not sure what to say to that.

"Oh. Did you... like it?"

He's thinking about the room with the mirror. Not what I thought he'd say, but interesting nonetheless.

"I mean- I'm not saying I think I'm ugly but I just... I wasn't expecting what I saw. I look so different."

"Of course you're not ugly." I exclaim, surprising even myself. Unfortunately I don't know how to add to that, so I end up clumsily redirecting the topic. Phil certainly looks shocked, as that was probably a really weird thing to say to him out of the blue, not to mention besides the point.

"It's been a year and we've been through hell, all the while living outside." I explain. "I doubt we'll ever look like we did pre-apocalypse."

"You still look good." He counters quickly, avoiding my eyes. Now I'm the one shocked into speechlessness. Then, before I have a chance to react to that his voice softens a bit, his tone shifting to something more existential.

"Has it really been hell?" he asks me quietly. "Would you say that?"

I stare at him in confusion, raising my eyebrows until he explains himself.

"Our lives, I mean." He continues. "Like I know things have been bad sometimes but we've had some great times too." He looks at me sideways and his hand twitches. I'm guessing he wants to hug me but I don't know if I want that. It'd be good to give him something to lean on, but I feel entitled to keep up my guard. I tell myself it's because of the newness of this place. Luckily, he doesn't actually initiate the motion, not inclining me to think about it. I go over the last year and a bit in my head, weighing the two sides.

"I feel like we've gotten closer, in a weird sort of way. Like we're basically bound to each other. It's life and death. If our lives had been mundane and normal, do you think we'd ever be... like this?"

"I'd like to think you'd still be my best friend." I say quietly, mildly offended that he's implying the apocalypse is why we have a bond, when the reality is I have very few binds with anyone at all. It's why he's so frustratingly important to me. It's not often you find someone who likes the same muse albums as you and yet will also willingly take a bullet for you, and you for him. We give best friends a whole new definition.

His eyes widen."No! That's not what I meant. I'm pretty sure we'd be best friends in any universe, it's just- the apocalypse made our friendship... different."

"In what way?"

"Remember the day in the barn? When I was sitting against the wall and you threw my hat at me?"

"What about it?" The hat isn't on his head now. It's been stashed away in the backpack.

"I was having a Dan moment." He admits, and before I can smack him in the back of the head for using that phrasing  he hurries on, smiling suddenly and fending off my hand.

"Hey! You have moments of existentiality all the time, aren't I allowed to have one just once?"

It would be nice to just get to the point but it's calming to tease him.
"Nope, sorry."

"Shut up!" He exclaims, undeterred. "I'll ponder if I want to. Anyway, I remember I was completely lost in thought then, thinking back on that day when we escaped London. And it's making me think now. We've been through a lot, and we've been through all of it together. Now we're back here in the city we ran away from, you know, and it's like we're totally different people."

"So you're saying," I clarify, "we're not two nerds who don't go outside anymore."

"Sort of. I guess that much is obvious. But it's just... it's a bit surreal isn't it? Imagine if Dan and Phil from two years ago saw where we were at now."

"That's a cheery thought."

He shakes his head and laughs humorlessly, which catches me off guard.

"Not really. Is it bad to say I'm surprised we made it this far? Think about how scared we were at first, and how much has happened since."

"It's not that bad." I decide. "I think it's mostly because we just never went near towns or cities."

He nods absently and begins playing with a loose string on his shirt. "Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that we did this, all of this, together. We've lived through all that's happened, when millions of people didn't. I don't care how lame that sounds, that's pretty crazy." He raises his gaze, blue eyes piercing in contrast to the dullness of this room. "You could have ditched me by now, we could have never met Cat or we might have died that very first day when the car crashed. But we didn't, we're both still here."

When he puts it that way it sounds so heroic. It's interesting, the way he chose to word it, and I'm finding myself genuinely fascinated by the way he sees our relationship.

When I take the time to consider what I am to him my mind of course would first say friend, but I can't help but wonder if that's too weak of a term. I don't know what exactly to call it but there's no denying the fact that we're practically symbiotic; one is probably not going to last long without the other. In fact, that mere thought of that concept is frankly very terrifying, because I'm realizing this all at once and I'm not even sure if he knows how very true it is. Or if he realizes what he's implied at all.

Or am I just overthinking, as usual? I refuse to admit my reliance on him. The reality of my life is glaring me in the face but I don't want to think about just how much I'm afraid of losing him, no matter the way. Anyone who knows me knows I can't be liked, definitely can't be loved, and on that basis, why Phil stays around is beyond me. Only a week ago I was blocking him out for things he couldn't change, despite the fact that he just wanted to keep us safe. I've gotten him hurt, both physically and emotionally, and yet he stays by me, just as much my best friend as always.

I don't trust people. I don't want countless others to make advancements past my carefully assembled walls only to have them break them down from the inside out. Friends leave, friends find better friends, or even worse, as it seems to go these days, friends die. Is it shameful to shun emotion, to intentionally lack feeling for the sake of one more day of survival? To me it's always been logical that no, it's not.

When it comes to Phil though, it's an exception. I always find myself making exceptions for Phil.

"Has it been bad?" He asks softly, as if worried I'm still hiding things from him now.

"No." I say firmly, decidedly. "It hasn't been hell, not all of it. I think that's your fault though."

He raises his eyebrows, surprised. There's a small trace of steam in the room now, the water must be warming up. It's pretty cold in here though, it wouldn't take much to make it. "You really think so?"

I look at him sideways. "Yes, what of it?"

He bites his lip, and though he's looking away now and his hair is covering the side of his face, I can still see the faint pink dusting his cheeks. I can't hope to understand it, but I'd certainly give a lot to react to compliments in this gratifying way that he seems to.

"I dunno," he mumbles, staring at his hands. "I'd say the same for you, given the chance. It's not that I want you to have to deal with zombies or live in this shit world but... I'm glad I'm stuck with you, if that makes sense."

I don't agree nor disagree outwardly, but that's the problem though- it does make sense. It conflicts with every fear I've been driving myself crazy with internally. How does he stand me? How have I not driven him away? He could just up and leave and any time and he'd have good reason to. He'd probably even be safer, especially if half-lifes think I'm an object of necessity to the confederation. He can't possibly know the prospect scares me like it does.

"Why are you so open?" I blurt. "You're so honest and you speak to me as if I've done you some great service. You need to get yourself a friend that doesn't get into stupid circumstances all the time."

Sensing the direction I'm steering this in he sighs a little, visibly deflating. "Dan."

"No, I'm serious! How do you do it?"

"What? Stand you? Let people read me like an open book?"

I cross my arms. "Both. Either. Neither. I don't care! Why are you like this?"

"Because... I don't know! I like you as person? Do you really think you're that insufferable?"

"No, I-"

"I'm open because I can't stop myself. I don't know how you do it. No, scratch that, I do know. You feel everything just as I do but unlike me you don't want to feel it. I could ask the same question to you, why are you like this, but honestly your overthinking your emotional range is so- like, I just find it..." his voice trails off, and I see him struggling for the right word. "...endearing?"

Endearing.

"W-what?" I stammer, feeling as though I've just been called beautiful or something. Since when have I ever been remotely close to endearing, even to him? Especially such a shit part of me. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Uh... no." He mumbles, looking anywhere but at me. "There's a lot about you that you don't seem to realize. You're such an idiot sometimes."

I groan, laying back on the crate. My hands plop onto my chest and it's only then that I notice my heart is beating far more quickly than it should be. I can't understand it. My chest feels oddly light and yet a little breathless. I guess that was a nice thing of him to say, it's probably just gratefulness that I'm too inept to accept exists.

"I'll take that as a compliment." I say halfheartedly.

The room goes silent save for the water filling for a few moments, and then Phil answers.

"Good. That's better than like, stabbing me."

"Go turn off the water before it overflows." I huff dismissively, and to my surprise he does get up, moving over to check.

"It's deep enough to use now I think. Toss me the shampoo."

I do, even though I know already that his poor coordination will not allow this to end well. My fears are confirmed when, after sailing gracefully through the air for a moment, the bottle bounces off his palm, slips through his fingers, and clatters to the floor. He bends down to pick it up, embarrassed, and I smirk.

"I can see you doing that." He warns.

I just roll my eyes.

This room really isn't the most well-lit thing I've ever been in. As I sit back and look up at the beams on the ceiling I note that there's only a single fluorescent hanging light in here, providing enough illumination to be discernible but considerably dimmer than daylight.

"I guess we're ready to get in then." He states after a pause. I nod and get up off the crate, moving to my feet so that we're both standing.

"Lets not be too long." I say hastily. "I want to get to bed."

He just stares at me and I turn to lift up the worn-out towels we're planning on using, draping them over a discarded shelf nearby for easy access later. Then the reality of the situation sinks in, something I hadn't even thought about up until this point. I'm suddenly realizing what we now have to do, why he's so suddenly silent. I glance at my friend and see that he looks incredibly flustered, confirming that he's realized as well. I feel a flush creeping up my neck as well, though I have no idea why. Why would I be nervous around him?

We'll have to enter the bath one at a time to avoid seeing the other naked. I don't want to think too far ahead as to when we have to get out, and that begs the question of how exactly this is supposed to work. If I'm perfectly honest it doesn't really bother me, I've seen much worse in the last few months, but at the same time it's a weird feeling.

"Okay...so um, close your eyes?" He mumbles. It comes out of his mouth as a question more than a statement and my expression dawns with realization, realizing how he feels about our situation. I hurriedly lift my fingers, covering my eyes and then even turning around to face the back wall, taking a second to think.

You'd think that in a post-apocalyptic world things like the nakedness of your best friend would hardly seem a huge thing anymore, especially when juxtaposed against all the pressing matters of such a life, but as I've said before, some things never change. We don't want to, we're too awkward to, we've never seen each other any less clothed than in boxers. Some part of our old selves still have a problem with it.

I only hope I'm making him feel as comfortable as possible, making absolutely sure I couldn't even glance accidentally. Just because it doesn't bother me doesn't mean it won't bother him, and there's something about the two of us being naked that makes me feel somewhat shy for whatever reason. I didn't meet to make this situation accidentally weird, but it'll be better to not make a deal of it.

Even so he still sidesteps as far away from me as possible, shrugging off his clothes and from the sounds of it shuffling to the steps leading to the edge.

"Is it really that big of a deal, Phil?" I ask, voice muffled by my fingers. "I mean, we could be dying."

He mumbles something, taking the last few steps over to the sunken pool area and turning on the jets so the water has become churned up and bubbled. I turn the soap bar over in my hands before getting his attention with a flick of my wrist and then passing it over to him, face buried in my knees so I'm holding it out blind. He takes it, fiddling around for a second.

Then I hear a small splash. By the sounds of it he's opted to just break off a piece and toss it into the water, the crude homemade recipe making it dissolve mostly and fill the water with suds at an alarming rate. He's taking much longer than he should be and he hasn't said a word, making me order what's going on.

"Phil? You okay?" My voice sounds sounds mildly irritated even to me with how long I've been kept waiting and I have to stifle a laugh, not sure if this is the time. I can't tell if he's actually seriously bothered by this predicament or if he can't care less, either way I'm just eager to get in and out, but also thoroughly clean. Nicking the soap was in fact a good idea, and I'm dying to use it simply due to having gone without so long.

"Fine." He squeaks, though that sounds like the opposite of convincing.

"Sure? You sound like you just hit puberty again."

"No, don't say that." He protests. "Just give me a minute."

I shake my head, tapping rhythmically on my knees and staring at a patch of floor.

"Okay." He states eventually. I retract my fingers and turn around, taking in the sight before me.

The white bubbles have created a wall that covers him to a decent degree, and I actually sigh in relief as I see it. No accidental glances will be possible, in fact the amount is borderline excessive.

"All good?"

"Yeah, we're definitely fine now." He replies. Despite this claim, he still takes the lid off the shampoo and pours some of it in for good measure, quickly returning the cap while I take in the explosion of fragrant foam this has produced.

I blink. "Holy shit."

He stares down sheepishly at the mound of bubbles around himself, filling every corner and still expanding as the water churns. "Really worried about covering our modesty, are we?" I sigh, though the irritation I'm trying to project into my words never ends up reaching my face. "At least we'll be clean."

The bubbles expand slightly too much, spilling over the sides. His eyes widen and he scrambles to stop the mess, shutting off the tap.

"Okay." He blurts. His face goes red and he looks around wildly, while I try to decide whether to cringe or laugh. "Should I just get clean really quick and then switch with you or are you gonna..?" He meet my eyes and I raises my eyebrows at him carefully.

Being the angelic creature that he is, Phil is trying to ask without directly asking if I plan to get in too, and have us take this bath together. It's not like it's that big of a deal; we were in the lake earlier today with just our boxers, this is only one clothing article less and thanks to him we don't even have to worry about that due to the bubbles. Despite this, even though my lower half will be well-concealed I still feel self-conscious, and I'm now wondering if maybe he doesn't too.

"You're making this far more awkward than it needs to be." I joke, trying to calm him a little. "I'll wait if you want me to, it'll just take a bit longer."

"I mean it's not like I'm asking you to if you don't want to. It's up to you."

"I don't care." I insist, and for the most part, I don't.

He looks down at his hands and sighs, unable to hold my gaze. "Do you want to wait? I can clean up quickly if you want to-"

I decide to just make the decision.

"Nope." I reply with finality, not even giving myself time to think. "You know what, I'm just going in. I don't want you awkwardly sitting there while I wash myself in a giant tub." I tug off my shirt without even waiting for him to process this and he squeaks in surprise as I turn around. I feel slightly bad for being inconsiderate.

It's true that we could have taken the bath one at a time and left the other to wait in the bedroom, but at this point in time I just don't trust these people enough to let us be separated, and so we've silently accepted that our paranoia comes at a price. If I want Phil here and safe constantly with me, I have to accept that we need to be, well, naked. Compared to being trapped in the half-life camp though, how is that really a bad thing?

As soon as I'm done I'm almost immediately closing in on myself as cool air rushes over me and my bare skin puckers in the cold. I haven't been this exposed in a long time, my hands drifting subconsciously to obstruct parts of myself from view even though no one can see me. I probably wouldn't mind that much, except for Phil's over the top reaction.

"You idiot." I sigh, though he still keeps his eyes stubbornly shut. "Who even cares. If someone comes in here they're gonna be thinking some strange things now, considering this looks like a five-year-old's bathtub."

And that's literally what it looks like. It's like someone decided to up and whack out the Matey, fulfilling every childhood fantasy I ever had as a kid certainly but mostly a very strange picture in the present when it's enclosing Phil. I'm not sure whether I'd rather the awkward clear water or the excessive bubbles. It's a fine line.

I shiver in the cool, open air for a moment and then quickly cross the concrete floor. I stop to brush the dirt and pebbles off the soles of my feet, not wanting to get them in the water, then I step over the edge of the tub to sink into the water, and finally he can reopen his eyes. He's standing over an arm's reach away from me, staring at me discreetly while I'm already scooping up soapy water and rubbing it into my hair. It's not long before I've dunked my head under, shuddering pleasantly as warm water runs down my back.

Of course I've bathed in lakes and rivers since the apocalypse began, but this is the first time in months that I've had soap. Combined with water that isn't lake temperature I'm almost overwhelmed by how nice it feels. A sigh escapes me at the strangely satisfying nature of it all. The water itself is decently warm. I definitely do not want to think about how much solar energy we're definitely wasting.

"My hope is that nobody comes in." Phil admits sheepishly. "I can't even imagine the assumptions somebody would make upon seeing two boys naked in a bathroom, even if we are covered by bubbles."

There was no lock on the bath door. Supposedly nobody will be in anyway since most people like to use it in the morning or at noon but it's an issue all the same. I don't particularly care what people think, or what they possibly would think upon seeing us like this, but if it really bothers him then it warrants my attention.

"This thing has jets." I observe quietly. "When was the last time you were in one of these?" I'm not much in the mood for light casual talk but I seriously think Phil needs to relax, otherwise I'll lose it.

He rubs some shampoo into his hair and then does his best to rinse it off, still keeping as far away from me as he can.

"Never, I don't think." He admits. "Maybe once at a hotel where there was a hot tub, but I don't think this is a hot tub."

"I can't say much for myself either, you know that." I remind him. "You know my family was broke generally. We didn't have anything like that."

He looks at me calmly but I can tell he'd like to say something, as aware as I am that that's not normally a thing I'd bring up.

"At least you had internet." He says carefully. "We wouldn't be here if you didn't."

I appreciate that he's not pressing me. I don't want to talk about my family, I just wasn't thinking.

I nod and he turns away. He shifts to reach for the shampoo again and his stomach becomes partially visible, revealing the the bruised, dark cut that I'd temporarily forgotten was there. Though I shouldn't be worried my heart begins to pound uneasily, remembering how close a call it was and that it exists altogether.

"Your bullet wound." I blurt suddenly. "That doesn't look that great."

He starts, dropping the bottle from his slippery fingers and looking up at me with wide eyes. He goes to run his fingers over it but I step forward abruptly, pushing his hands away before he can touch it.

It's been nearly over a week since we lost Marzia, since Felix blamed Phil and I and attempted to shoot Phil consequently. It feels like ages ago, so much has happened even in this one day that even twenty four hours somehow feels like a lot. I don't know how he managed to evade actually being shot, how it only caught the edge of his hip and went right through. It's just a graze, it could have been so much worse.

"Don't do that." I say hurriedly, not sure where this urgency is stemming from. "Just leave it be, it makes me nervous already."

He raises his eyebrows, surprised at the genuineness of the admission. I collect myself quickly and do my best to wipe my face clean but it's too late- the damage is done. All the same, he retracts his hands.

"It does? Why?"

I frown, opening my mouth and closing it a few times before the words come out. I hardly think it's fair to respond that way. It isn't really that complex of a concept.

"Why not?" I end up protesting. "It's a goddamn hole in your side that reminds me that someone shot you. If you mess with it it might get infected and I don't..."

I trail off mid-sentence, unexpected nervousness bubbling up all at once. He shakes his head. "Dan?" he asks tentatively.

I feel myself flushing under the tension of what's hanging on the tip of my tongue. Surely this is a stupid thing to worry about, and even if it is perfectly valid I don't want to end up frightening him with the indication that these thoughts are entering my head, or worse, that I'm putting myself in a situation that makes him feel as if he should support me. But it's driving me crazy- as long as I'm here I won't be able to stop it, and then the words are tumbling impulsively out of my mouth, weakly and honestly in a way that makes me cringe:

"I don't want you to die, okay? I don't even want to think about it."

I sound so genuinely stressed about the thought- even to myself. I can see it in his eyes although he's trying go deadpan because he knows I hate things like this; he's now clearly worried about me, probably about to ask why my mind is on his injury considering with a flesh wound from a diseased apocalyptic animal to my name you'd think our focus would be on me. Ironically his wound from over a week ago is being treated like the bigger deal. To me it is. It's not a competition, a life-threatening injury is dangerous all the same and I feel that in both instances we got off far too easily.

"You're the idiot." He teases me affectionately.  "I'm clearly pain-free and mobile now and you're still worrying. For such a smart person, you're overthinking far too much."

I look at him incredulously, remembering only under a week ago when he'd been unable to stand. "You don't know that."

"I'm fine. I'm nowhere close to dead yet."

But how can he know that? Yes, I'm aware that this question could be flipped to be directed at me, but I'm not talking about me.

He goes to pull me into a hug and then remembers our situation, just as I've gone to give him something of some sort- a punch on the shoulder, maybe. Anyway, I've taken a deliberate step forward.

For a brief second we freeze, hands hovering awkwardly in midair as we remember exactly why we'd been at such a distant proximity in the first place. I can feel my cheeks flushing red, heart stuttering as I see his face doing the same.

Thinking about the bullet wound has reminded me of something and I cling to the thought frantically, trying to redirect my mind away from...stuff. We both back up almost comically fast, water swishing loudly as Phil propels himself backwards.

"Can I-?" He stammers quickly, hoping to gloss over it and ultimately failing when my eyes widen in confusion, trying to figure out what he's implying with the question.

"No, I mean, your leg." he adds, which isn't incredibly helpful.

"W-what?" It's horrific how much I'm suddenly blushing. This was my idea, yet now I'm realizing why this was such a big deal to him. The situation has become undeniably awkward, both of us likely imagining what would have happened if we'd actually come together.

He gestures downward and I sink down into the water more, not even intentionally but out of sheer awkwardness.

"Your zombie bite." He finally manage to get out, wide bright eyes meeting mine and pleading with me to make sense of the situation. My mind dawns with realization. "S-speaking of injuries."

"Oh. Yeah." I place a hand on the edge of the tub for balance and then lift my heel free of the surface, droplets of water falling free and plinking softly as he steps forward.

I use my other hand to steady myself, being careful not to fall over as I lift the limb slightly into the open air. I also keep well below the bubbles, my cheeks still warm and my mind somewhat unwilling to look Phil in the eye. The crescent is still there, imprinting my skin with a deep purple colour, though the dented appearance has deflated slightly, now resembling more normal heights.

"Is it just me," he asks quietly, "or is that healing really nicely?"

I look down at the marking where the creature left a bite. I remember the feeling as I stepped out of the water earlier today, the tiny, rotting fangs clamping down with a harsh, stinging feeling akin to a needle jab but the animal unable to hold on seeing as I was mid-motion. The pain that made me stumble as soon as I touched land.

Now, though, the only thing strange about the injury is its shape. It doesn't look like a zombie bite, it doesn't even look infected. The inflammation is all but gone and I can't entirely understand how, seeing how we never even treated it. I don't like looking at it for too long, it makes me feel uneasy as my mind imagines the virus in my veins. How it could still possibly infect me.

"It is." I admit.

He smiles softly as I lower my leg back under the water. I wait for him to comment on what I'm thinking, to confirm my fears that surely must have crossed his mind too. His eyes look almost reassuring and I don't want to be told I'm just dying more slowly than a normal person, when he opens his mouth.

"You must have one hell of an immune system." He comments, making me cough.

"I... what?" I furrow my brow, loosely crossing my arms.

"Stop making that face!" He exclaims, laughing suddenly. "You're not about to die anytime soon! I know you're thinking it. Did we not just agree two seconds ago that you're healing way faster than you should be?"

I blink, running a hand through the back of my hair. He nods encouragingly and I shake my head, turning away and purposefully splashing water over my face for distraction.

"See? You know it."

I lift my hands sarcastically. "I'm a bloody miracle of life."

"Ah, stop." he sighs. "We're all right. I'd give you a hug if I could right now but unfortunately for you that won't be happening."

"I don't want a hug." I huff, sneering at his offer. "You've violated my space enough today." And for the most part I mean it, I'm fine.

I am.

"You love them." He counters, pouting in the corner of my periphery. "Just let yourself not be miserable for a minute and accept that someone, namely me, wants you happy."

For the second time I look away from him, allowing him only a sideways glance at my frown before my expression is concealed, because I just can't let him see what I'm thinking. It's times like this where it becomes painfully obvious just how well he knows me, and it's frustrating.

I do love hugs, under certain circumstances mind you. I don't like arbitrary, unwarranted ones, I don't particularly like Cat's attack ones for no reason, and I don't like being greeted nor sent off that way or anything of that like. I don't like offering them, that suggests a trust in people that I don't have. They're reassuring, yes. They're comfortable and offer a feeling of safety that I crave overwhelmingly at some times, and other times I don't want at all. But like everything else that's tied to my existence it's not that simple, of course there are rules and regulations that make my tolerance so complex.

It's not just anyone's arms around me that I enjoy. When it's someone you don't know that well it's typically a meaningless gesture. In Cat's case, for example, she has a tendency to give them out too much, making the return feel almost obligatory seeing how it would be rude not to respond. No, it's more specifically- god it feels stupid to even think it- it's Phil's hugs that I enjoy. Like hell I'd ever say that to him, I'd probably implode from the self-satisfied or worse, gratified face he'd make upon such a confession. I don't know how he gets so much joy out of a hug from me. I don't get why it feels so strange to admit to myself that I feel like this. I guess it's just because it's stupid. I don't have to explain myself.

Add in the fact that he's blatantly stating that he wants me happy, as if it's within my control and I'm not already well aware. It's impossible not to notice what a disgustingly meaningful statement it is. He really shouldn't bother, my moods aren't going to make his time here any better and his honesty is just embarrassing. I have never felt less deserving of him than in this moment.

I don't need his help right now. I don't want him to try and make the suggestion. We're tired, we're stressed, I need to be steady and independent right now. He'll thank me later when he realizes it's just in his best interests. I'm not at all wanting to wrap my arms around him and just be calm for a bit. I'm fine.

I suddenly just want to dry off and go to bed.

"Someone, namely you, is naked right now." I shoot, turning back around and shaking myself from my thought train. "Wash your damn face, you spoon."

"You're so sweet." He croons, though his face is now flaming and I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

I cup a small amount of water in my hands and turn around suddenly, flinging it at him. He splutters, staring up at me with mock betrayal as his tongue pokes out from between his teeth, a very real smile on his face. He goes to fight back but is intercepted as I then hit him in the chest with the soap bar, redirecting his attention as he scrambles to catch it before it dissolves into the water.

As soon as his head goes down the smile that's been aching in my cheeks breaks free, though I slap my hand over my eyes in the hope of feigning exasperation.

"Ha!" He beams triumphantly. "I can see that! You're smiling! You're smiling!"

"You're stupid." I retort lamely, the grin disappearing stubbornly at once.

We settle into a comfortable silence then, settling against the curved edges of the tub and sitting in opposite corners, letting the warm water surround us and the soap, which smells like lavender (and the shampoo), to float around us. I tip my head back and rest it against the edge, accidentally brushing Phil's toe at one point and making him jump. But it passes, and the only sound is the muted popping of tiny bubbles altogether and the hum of a generator somewhere.

"So..." he ventures after a stretch of quiet. "What now?"

"Hm?"

"Where do you think we're going from here? Like is this bunker our life now?"

I sigh, shaking my head quickly. "No. I don't think so. It's safe but this isn't living. I don't want Wirrow hovering over us with his sketchy friends when he couldn't even respectfully greet you back at camp."

A lot may have happened between then and now, but I still remember Wirrow mocking Phil for shaking his hand in introduction, calling it 'formal', making a show of wiping his hand on his jeans after Phil reluctantly did it anyway. I don't plan on staying here, and if the others are on board, I'd sooner get going rather than stay more than a few days. The cafeteria proved to me that there's just too many people. People don't like me, people could hurt us, we just don't know.

"I bet Mark's happy, being back with Felix and Peej." He says, shifting absently.

"Assuming Wirrow actually took him straight to them."

"I don't think Mark would allow for any detours," he replies with a light laugh. "He was on a mission."

I wonder if Felix and PJ are already aware that their friend Chris is alive, albeit a bit different seeing as he's a half-light. If they didn't know, they probably do now, assuming that Mark hasn't been sidetracked against his will. It bothers me that he could be anywhere in the building right now and we have no idea where he is, especially since we haven't spoken to him yet about wanting to move on. Plus, his temper is as unpredictable as our safety, I can imagine him losing it the second someone in here pisses him off.

"We shouldn't stay in much longer." I decide. "Five more minutes and then I say we get out and check that he's all right."

Phil looks up at me with a strange expression, to which I gaze back at skeptically until he shakes his head and looks away, amused.

I wonder why I'm so concerned about Mark. He can take care of himself and he has Cat with him, and really I shouldn't even care. We never agreed to be friends or anything, I don't owe him that and the guy can take care of himself. So where did this concern come from?

A few minutes later we do ultimately decide to get out. The bubbles are disappearing and the jets won't turn on, suggesting that maybe the power to them has been cut. I wouldn't be surprised. I opt to get out first, stepping out and tugging a towel around my waist before closing my eyes so that Phil can do the same. It's still strange but the weirdness has worn off quite a bit for me now, sitting together with him for that long of a time with the knowledge that we're both equally exposed having worn off the novelty.

Without the warm water or my clothes the air and the floor feels freezing and I'm in a hurry to get dried off, hastily pulling the towel over me and nearly backing into Phil as I step back to grab my sweater.

"Sorry." I blurt awkwardly as he jumps, both of us taking care not to look at each other.

He sighs, tying the towel around his waist. "You're right, Dan. It's not that big of a deal. We're best friends, I don't think I'll die if we see something by accident."

"Oh good. I can relax now." I huff, though I do suddenly feel much more comfortable. I still don't turn around, seeing how I'm not eager to see him unclothed, I just didn't have to be so unnerved by an accidents that might happen.

I've just tied my towel around my own waist in order to locate my clothes with free hands when the door behind us bangs open and a figure strides into the room. Then freezes.

"What." A deep voice exclaims incredulously behind us, "What the fuck."

I nearly fall right over in surprise. As it is, my feet slip on the smooth floor and I stumble backwards, this time definitely colliding with Phil who despite his earlier assurances is now vibrantly red faced as our torsos nearly touch, though he still grips my arms in the least awkward way he can, keeping me steady.

I grip my towel closer to my waist and taken in the muscular, horribly confused figure of the guy we've already encountered earlier in a much calmer, more dignified manner.

"Phil." My Phil greets the intruder in a high-pitched voice. He draws his hands away from my arm and backs away from me, dripping water everywhere. "Uh...hello."

Phil just stares at us, his eyes going up to the tub lined with bubbles and then back to our figures, looking more judgmental than I'd ever thought was humanly possible. If it wasn't me stuck in the situation perhaps I might have found it funny. The guy looks like a policeman, or a drill sergeant. His hair is clean-cut and his outfit black and tidy, and here we are with our emo fringes and half-naked bodies, stumbling out of their community bath that we just dissolved toiletries in. Everything is so regular and orderly around here, his face makes it clear he's not sure how to react.

"The lights are...going out at nine, which is in five minutes." He states after an agonizing pause. "If you're done wasting our water then you should probably get back to your room."

"Right." I reply quickly, my mind repeating abort abort internally at the overly controlled tone. What a great time to remember how I feel about social interaction.

"There's also... clothes for you on your beds." He mutters forcefully. "Wirrow had Chris drop them off because yours are falling apart, apparently."

"Thanks." I blurt.

He just looks at me, curling his lip like he can't stand to be polite to us any longer.

"Didn't mean to interrupt...whatever the hell you're doing."

"I think you've got the-"

He turns on his heel, promptly walking out, not even giving us time for an explanation.

His footsteps echo in the hallway and then fade as he rounds a corner, and for a few heartbeats between Phil and I, there's silence. Then Phil groans, sitting down on the crate with a corner of the towel bunched in his hands.

"-wrong idea." He finishes for me. His eyes go back up to mine and he shakes his head at me, blue irises hidden by his lashes.

"Oh man." He sighs, his face red. "That was embarrassing."

I swallow down the awkwardness I'm feeling and pick up his clothes, unfolded and tangled in a bundle and then carry them over to him. I'd prefer to good-naturedly toss them at him but at this moment that's not an option, and so I settle for just dropping them in his lap.

Without much more explanation needed we turn our backs and quickly get dressed, not wanting to be out here without the lights on when we barely know where we're going. As soon as my shirt is back on and my worn jeans returned I turn and lift up the shampoo bottle, cucumber melon scent rolling off both of us now. Now that I'm clean my clothes suddenly feel dry, they're dirty and musty-smelling after being reworn so much. It's funny how I didn't notice before, but there's new ones waiting for us anyway. I won't have them on for long.

"We did predict that something like that would happen." I remind him, picking up my towel and staring toward the door. "It's probably the most interesting thing that guy's seen in a long time. I'm sure we were doing him a favor."

He doesn't answer that, just laughs tiredly and moves to follow.

~~~

"This is a bad idea."

"We won't get the chance to do it again for a while," Phil reminds me, settling on the corner of my mattress. "We may as well do it now, since I trust us not to stab each other."

His face is partially hidden in the lantern light, the orange glow casting strange shapes on the wall. We'd had to figure out how to light it in the dark, the electric light having gone off while we were walking back.

"If you fuck up, I might just do that." I warn him.

He just rolls his eyes, reaching forward and taking a section of my hair in his hands, brandishing a pair of scissors he stopped to grab from one of the offices along the corridor.

It was Phil's idea for us to get haircuts, a menial task that is long overdue after a year's worth of going without. I hardly remember what it's like to see him with a tidy fringe anymore, his hair has hung almost over his eyes for a while now. It's become normal for me to see his hand lifting to sweep it aside, pushing back the black strands so that he can gaze out at the world in an unbroken way. It's become a habit, though the change won't be unwelcome.

Unlike mine though, Phil's hair is naturally quite straight and so unlike mine his hair, still wet, doesn't need combing to flatten it out for better accuracy.

His fingers comb through the strands on my head, pulling slightly and making me shoot him a look, but he seems weirdly giddy about being able to touch my hair and consequently, he stubbornly ignores me. He laughs as he manually takes a curl between his fingers and then straightens it, only to have it bounce back when he lets go.

He's dressed in the clothes that were left for him, folded neatly on the bed when we walked in. The outfit consists of a black hooded jumper and dark blue jeans, though his worn mismatched socks are back on. It's strange to see Phil in black, though it does suit him. It's just not a typical part of his wardrobe, the same way colour is less prominent in mine.

In addition to that, I've been given a maroon jumper with a grey T-shirt to wear underneath, both of them too small to fit Phil so I couldn't even switch him. It's the first time in a long time that he's dressed in monochrome and I'm dressed in colour, the good side is that at least in comparison to walking through the chilly corridor following our bath with our old stuff on, these clothes are quite warm. It's mildly annoying that the black clothes suit him, even though he's mumbling something about feeling like a vampire.

"Just because you have pale skin doesn't mean you're not allowed to wear black." I tell him after he says this several times, shaking my head as he holds up a hand to compare himself to the fabric.

"Just because you wear black doesn't mean you're as angsty as you look." He counters.

"I say something genuinely helpful to you and you attack me." I state flatly, though there's no actual bite behind my words. "For the last time I'm not angsty, I'm pissed off at the world as a whole."

He lets a hand flutter to his heart. "Look at you. The ray of sunshine we all needed in our lives."

"Hurry up and cut my hair then. I'm tired." I mutter, ignoring the jab.

To my surprise he actually does fall silent, biting his lip in concentration. I feel somewhat guilty at his compliance even though he doesn't seem upset, fully knowing he was just trying to make a light joke. The last thing Phil needs after everything he's gone through in the last week is his best friend being short with him, and I curse myself internally for not being able to control my words and letting my impulse get the best of me. He's the kindest person I know but that doesn't mean I should test what does and doesn't hurt him.

His face takes on a new expression as he focuses on the task at hand, fingers carding through my hair and scissors snipping mutely.  I can't help but close my eyes in response to how admittedly comfortable it feels, despite having never done anything of this kind with Phil before, and the more obvious point that I don't like having to be so still and unobjective as semi-permanent changes are being made to my appearance.

Phil's mostly quiet as he works, only murmuring an occasional comment or asking me to move my head. I flinch a little when I feel a larger section of hair being cut, all-too aware of what botched cuts look like and slightly nervous oddly just because it's change. I wouldn't say that changes are unwelcome but to some extent it can make me nervous, the future never clear anymore. It's strange that I should even care, considering even noticing my appearance hasn't been a point of interest to me for a long, long time. It's just different.

The bunker is mostly quiet, save for the occasional voices that sound through our door as the odd pair of people walk by. I'm sitting with my legs hanging over the side of the bed whilst Phil is cross-legged, hovering over me and snipping away, both of us trying to get used to this new environment consciously and yet at the same time filled with exhaustion.

After about fifteen minutes I can feel the difference. I open my eyes, starting a little at my proximity to Phil which has increased naturally as he worked from different angles. He tilts the scissors and makes one last cut right near the base of my fringe and I watch the coppery strands float to the floor, settling near the rest without a sound on the linoleum. He stretches out a finger and pushes it around on my forehead until it falls to his satisfaction and I shiver, the cold air of the bunker snaking under my sweater and chilling me.

"Not bad." He says decidedly, letting his hands drop to his lap. "The zombies back home wouldn't even recognize you."

I sigh, watching as he turns to let his legs hang over the edge of the cot and his shoulder nudges mine. I know he's generally pretty smart, but I can't help but comment on the inadequacy of this statement. "Zombies don't recognize you by sight, idiot." I jab, running my hand through my shortened fringe. "They follow the scent of blood."

"I don't care. I'm tired." He replies, chuckling. I wait for him to shift so I can cut his hair but he seems to have forgotten, his eyes falling shut and his head drooping slightly. He leans more heavily against my shoulder and I realize with a little bit of amusement that he's running out of energy, staring off into space.

Spurred on by his closeness I entertain the sudden urge to lean against him and use his body heat to dispel the cold, my tired brain noting instantly after that that's weird but mostly just exasperated that I'm uncomfortable.

I shake my head, shuffling over and pulling up my knees, taking the scissors from his hand as an excuse for the motion- he won't catch me doing it out of the goodness of my own heart- and then pressing my shoulder against his, letting our jean-covered knees brush too. It has the desired effect, warmth seeping in at once. Out of nowhere a strange feeling like nervousness hits me, though I don't know why, because at the same time, I like it.

Phil stiffens for a second out of surprise, making the feeling grow, but then he seems to actually appreciate the motion and my mind relaxes, relief replacing it. I can't make sense of why it's such a big deal. The minute amount of alcohol I drank? The lack of sleep? I could see his surprise being warranted, but why I'm worried about how he'd react to a casual motion is beyond me.

I lift a hand and place it on his cheek, lowering his head onto my shoulder so I can stay warm and still manage cutting his hair, and perhaps just wanting to have him close as an apology for anything I've done lately. I've made a lot of mistakes, there's surely something. It's reassuring to have him close by, I almost want him to fall asleep.

He doesn't object, just tilts his head for a second as I push his fringe off his forehead to meet my eyes, laughing quietly at the way I've placed him.

"Hey." He says quietly, sounding so content and just slightly amused enough that it makes a warm feeling spread in my chest, drawing comfort from his genuine happiness. I smile slightly despite myself, raising my eyebrows at him and then taking the sharp edge of the scissors to the ends his hair, making sure to angle the blade so that he doesn't get a horrible horizontal cut to his fringe. I'd never forgive myself if I gave my best friend a bowl cut.

"How does mine look?" I ask him, feeling his head relax and settle against my neck.

He raises his gaze back to his own cutting work. "I'm actually pretty proud of myself." He admits. "I did all right, your hair is shorter but you still have a discernible fringe. We'll know for sure once it starts to curl if I did it evenly or not."

"Hope so."

"It's a bit messy," he confesses carefully, "but I think that's just how it always is. I am not liable."

"Yes you are." Maneuvering the scissors has proven more challenging than it originally looked, and now I'm just trying to get the hair out of his eyes mostly. Aside from maybe the edges, he'll still look all right if I leave it a bit long. "This was your idea. You are totally responsible."

"Nah." He huffs lazily, not even up to coming up with retorts at this point. "M'not."

I take a lot longer than Phil did, my obsessive nature surfacing once again as I maneuver over each section, working to shape the dark strands into sideswept, even lines and taking care not to jostle him as he dozes.

It crosses my mind that there's something oddly pleasant about this, about Phil being willingly relaxed while I alter his appearance, on an angle, even. I remember him calling my asshole-ish personality endearing earlier today and wonder if this is the same thing. It's something that shouldn't really be interesting, but to him and I, these are things other may not even notice, yet we find appealing. I don't know what it is with me and compromising for Phil. I wouldn't be letting anybody else touch my hair, that's for sure.

Eventually Phil drifts back to awareness for a while and begins talking. I'm running out of hair to cut and uneven edges to fix but I keep it up because this is the calmest I've felt in a while and I know the moment can only last so long. We drift from topic to topic, discussing everything and nothing at the same time, reminding me of sleepovers back in the normal days when we shared a queen size bed at his house, laying on either side of the mattress in the dark and just letting the subject change.

It makes me feel a pang for several things at once; his London apartment, the early days, the life I had that was so different from the one I have now. It crosses my mind that there could be someone like Chris for Phil and I, some person we assume now is dead that could in fact be alive. It makes me uneasy, yet uncomfortably hopeful as I imagine my mum and brother hunkering safely somewhere, my old high school girlfriend becoming an unexpected badass and taking down monsters, Phil's brother and parents somewhere, wondering where he's gone...

No.

I can't do this to myself. I can't falsely hope nor can I confirm that anyone is gone. This outbreak, like it or not, has forced me to accept reality, and reality doesn't have room for people whose whereabouts are thus unknown. Phil is here, he is my reality, and that's what's important. We have new friends, new companions, and whoever comes and goes will do so. That's it. I can't dwell on old attachments, it'll only lead to nightmares.

Don't think about it. I'm so sick of telling myself this.

I lower my hands, biting my lip as the sheer number of people remind me they exist in my mind. Family, mutuals, acquaintances. Before Phil I just remember feeling incredibly alone all the time, but now with no one, it's uncomfortably apparent just how many people there actually were in my life, having an effect even in small ways. How devoid of people my life is now. Not that I was particularly close to most of them, but it's highly unsettling to know that in this world, there's a possibility they could all be gone, every last one.

A knock sounds from the door, giving me an excuse not to think about it but raising a whole other concern.

Phil and I both fall deadly silent. His head shoots off my shoulder, I drop the scissors with an alarming clatter and both our eyes go to the door. It's being in a strange place in the dark after waking hours. It's a result of living a years worth of life with the threat of zombies looming imminently over our heads. It's that we can't trust anyone, and that's why we're both edging our hands toward our weapons. Because we haven't lived this long for nothing.

"Who the hell is that?" I hiss under my breath, keeping my voice down though the intruder has surely already heard us.

"I don't know." Phil whispers urgently. "What do we do?"

We stay seated on the bed, frozen in place with weapons in hand because there's too much tension to move.

"Mark?" I ask hesitantly.

The person on the other side doesn't answer, only building up my apprehension.

"Hello?"

A single thought begins to loop in my head, making me wrap my fingers around my crowbar tightly and lift it up as quietly as I can, awaiting the moment when the door opens.

Protect Phil. Don't let them hurt Phil.

I edge my way in front of him, nearly elbowing him as he moves in a similar way. I grit my teeth in frustration, wanting nothing but to keep him safe as he's stubbornly trying to stand in my way.

"Show yourself!" The command is cliche and sardonic, I feel like I'm in a bad movie.

The handle turns, that latch clicks, and I see a figure stumble in all at once. I lurch in front of Phil, raising my weapon and making them immediately scramble back, locking eyes with the person who barrelled in so deliberately, a head shorter than both of us.

The man himself is weaponless, and as soon as he sees Phil and I, he exclaims in relief, moving forward all at once. "Phil! Dan!"

I take in the small, lean build, the blond sweep of hair and exhausted face, the slight beard and lastly, the pale blue eyes, wide and frantic looking. It's definitely not Mark, but I'm positive we know this face too.

I don't lower my crowbar, certain the dark is playing tricks on me.

"Felix?"

He stumbles forward and grips both our wrists as if all the tension between us is forgotten, as if the attack back at camp never happened. Phil smiles in greeting at him but he doesn't smile back, just stares up at us as if confirming we're real. "I knocked on the door because I thought I heard your voices." He breathes. "I didn't know you were in here!"

His hands are cold and it's slightly strange being gripped onto by this man who has never really come close to us before. The strangest part is that he looks better than he ever has in our time knowing him, clean and decently fed, save for the grim expression on his face.

"We've been here for hours." Phil tells him, "we didn't see you at all today."

"You guys are all right?"

"Fine." I state carefully. "We all are."

"Where's Mark?" He asks suddenly, worriedly.

I'm taken aback by how nervous he sounds. I watch Phil put a hand on his shoulder, tentatively trying to calm him. In the back of my mind I almost want Phil to step away from him, unable to understand how he can forgive just like that even if he is a good person. I lower the crowbar but stay tense, half expecting him to brandish a gun and attack him again, but confusion rules over. Even so, Felix doesn't relax, just stands stiffly.

"He's in the other room." I say cautiously, uneasiness setting in at once. "We just talked to him a little while ago. He's fine."

"How's PJ?" Phil asks lightly, hoping to change the subject and lighten the mood a bit.

Felix's face falters and he shakes his head, stepping away from the touch. "I don't know." he answers darkly. "I haven't seen him since we arrived."

With those few words, the small amount of comfort I've managed to feel dissipates, as well as any exhaustion. I feel awake all over again as my heart begins to pound.

My eyes widen and I stare at him in confusion, nervous tension creeping into my consciousness.

"What?!"

"They separated us," he says frantically. "I've been alone since I got here and they won't tell me anything. I thought maybe you guys knew-"

"Wirrow." I spit. "I bet you anything he's behind this."

I stand up and grab Phil's wrist, tugging him to his feet while Felix looks at us in alarm.

"Wirrow? Did he bring you here?"

My mind is leaping into overdrive and my only thought is escaping, certain that we're walking right into a trap now by staying here. Why did I let my guard down?

"He did." Phil supplies. "Do you know him?"

"We met him in the woods when we were going back for... Marzia." The name comes out of his mouth weakly, as if it pains him to say it. "Him and a bunch of other guys showed up as we were fighting a horde, shot all the monsters in succession and knocked them over all at once. There must be something in their bullets because the zombies just fell."

"He said his group was looking for a cure to the virus." I mutter. "Sounds like they're testing out their stuff on real monsters."

"But did he- wait." Phil intercepts. He glances around, lowering his voice like we're being watched. Perhaps we are. His eyes are awake and darting back and forth now, he's biting his lip nervously like he does when he's under pressure. "What do you mean, they separated you? Did they hurt you?"

Felix shakes his head, though his expression looks oddly blank. "No, they've been giving me food and letting me interact with other people, they just won't tell me anything about PJ. They're being nice but it's stressing me out, you guys are the first familiar faces in... a while."

Just as he says this, the door behind us clicks open again.

"Hey, are you guys all-?"

Immediately we're all scrambling towards the entrance, weapons aimed at the dark opening. Phil and I react like-mindedly, rushing forward and pushing the intruders against the concrete moments after they're in, my hand finding the collar of a man's shirt and knocking aside the flashlight he's holding. He gives a pained 'oof' as his back hits the wall, moving to push me off. I pull back a hand to land a hit when I register just who I've got, meanwhile Felix is stepping in to help Phil.

"Dan!" A girl shouts, her arm shooting across my chest to stop me from punching Mark straight in the face. "Watch it! It's us!"

It's Cat, her pale skin cold against my arm. She pushes me back with half-life strength, nearly knocking me into Phil as we all pack into the tiny bedroom.

I freeze, locking eyes with Mark and letting go at once, stepping back and snapping my head to check that no one has followed. He looks less than amused, rubbing his sore shoulder ruefully and glaring irritably. He clearly was not expecting this kind of reception.

"False fuckin' alarm, boys." He huffs, rolling his eyes at me. "Calm down."

"What the hell." I hiss, not in the mood for this.

Out of nowhere the whole group is suddenly back together- Mark and Cat are near the doorway, Phil is helping PJ apologetically to his feet and Felix is standing between our two beds, all of us crammed into the small enclosure. Their spectacular entrance has left us all red-faced and surprised looking, having nearly taken each other out. I feel a burning irritation starting to seep in even once the confusion evens out.

Felix and PJ catch sight of each other and rush forward, gripping each other's shoulders and then then grinning, bursting into laughter. "There you are!" Felix shouts. "We were just talking about you. Where on earth-"

"Where did they take you?!" PJ exclaims, stopping to nod hello at Phil and I. His curly hair is skewed sideways on his head, making him look wild and excitable, a slight difference to the relaxed, cheery PJ of before. More than anything, he looks massively relived.

"Felix," he breathes eagerly, speaking up before his friend can even answer, "Chris is alive! He survived that attack in Brighton!"

Felix's eyes widen. "He's what?!"

"Alive! Mark and everybody just got here today and ran into him, he had no idea we were here and I got to see him again."

It's bizarre, their reactions, and I can't help but look at Phil to see if he too realizes how they've let the most important notion fly right over their heads. Felix has just been kept apart from everyone for days, and yet they're glossing over it, simply because we're all in the same place now.

"Woah. This is nice and all." I huff flatly, "but do you realize we could be in danger?"

"Dan, this is our friend we're talking about." Mark warns lowly. "Chris is our friend and he's PJ's boyfriend, he came here before you did. Forgive us for being mildly excited."

"But-?" Phil interjects uneasily, an awkward expression on his face. I wonder if I should be mildly offended that Mark is implying that we aren't as worthy of thinking about as a friend from before the outbreak. Then I decide I really don't care.

"You missed it, boys." Cat jokes lightly. Clearly their side of the bunker experience has differed from ours, neither they nor PJ seem to be filled with any type of urgency. She's looking at Phil especially like he's easier to relate to than me. "Chris saw PJ and just about lost it. If cameras were still around I'd have taken a photo."

PJ shakes his head, cheeks reddening as he moves to hide his face.

"You'd be jealous." Mark murmurs to me under his breath, smirking and making me flash back to his assumptions in the half-life camp. I'm glad nobody else has heard him say this, especially not Phil.

"Oh?" I counter evenly, but wanting to punch him internally. "Why's that?"

"He kissed him." Cat blurts, as if this is the most scandalous information. Involuntarily, my face heats up. "Oh, guys it was the sweetest thing ever. Chris was smiling so hard I was awwing."

"He's still my boyfriend!" PJ exclaims, evidently embarrassed by the statement's delivery. "God, I can't believe it still. I don't know what I was expected to do."

"Yeah, gay lovers and their post-I-thought-you-were-dead-makeouts are the best." Mark teases sarcastically, not even wavering when PJ looks at him in protest.

It might be a nice story but thinking about romance isn't the most important thing on my mind right now, seeing how the topic is pretty unrelatable. I look desperately at Phil to share in my discomfort on the whole situation but he doesn't meet my eyes, instead staring at PJ with a strange expression. He looks raptly fascinated, and his cheeks are faintly pink, as if he wants a similar love story.

"What brought you in here anyway?" I ask quickly, trying to redirect the conversation yet again. It's not that I'm unhappy to see Cat, but they still haven't explained why they've shown up.

"We heard you calling out, sounding concerned." Mark tells me. "Figured we should check to make sure you weren't dying."

"Well it all worked out, eh?" PJ inputs, punching Felix on the shoulder. "The family's together again."

"Yup." He answers. For a moment everyone lulls into silence, the sense of danger slowly dissipating.

"Do you guys wanna come join us in the room next door?" Cat asks suddenly. "There's an extra stack of mattresses in the corner, we could lay out two and stick you on the floor. Unless you'd rather the peace and quiet."

I imagine spending the night in a room with Mark in close quarters. My mind immediately rejects the thought. I know they're all alive and reachable now, so I'd be content to be separate for sleeping purposes. My eyes got to Phil before anything though, because if he's not comfortable staying here than I'm just going to have to tough it out.

Luckily, when he meets my eyes though, he looks just as hesitant to accept as I feel.

"Don't know why," Mark ventures, noticing this, "but I'd reckon for some reason Dan wants the room to himself."

I stare at him incredulously, unsure as to what he even thinks he's even accomplishing here. On the surface the comment sounds fairly harmless, but it's something about his tone. His comment from earlier comes back to me. You'd be jealous.

He thinks... I don't know what he thinks. In the back of my mind as I hear this teasing, I have a sneaking suspicion that I've heard him say things like this before.

I don't know if it's just because he's dealing with the loss of the camp in his own way and is taking to aggravating me, but he seems to think it's worth mentioning in his own roundabout way that I'm gay again. The more uncomfortable part is the second half of the suggestion, which is that he thinks I'm not only gay, but gay for Phil.

I see Phil's eyes go to the floor and realize that while everyone else is clueless, he has clued in to what Mark is insinuating and worse, is clearly uncomfortable about it. I'm not sure how to tell him hey, it's okay, I'm not secretly in love with you because nobody else has noticed and it's awkward anyway to voice aloud.

Surely I'm not. Of course not.

"Sorry?" I ask angrily, offering up one chance to retract the testing statement.

"That's fine if you don't want to." Felix says kindly, obliviously.

"Come out and say it, Dan." Mark says loudly, a humorous glint in his eye, but at this moment I don't have the patience. He's still bringing that up. He thinks he's being really funny, but one look at Phil's face and I'm beyond toleration.

"I don't have fucking time for this!" I snap, and his jokey expression finally wanes. Cat sighs, and I frown deeply as I imagine the thoughts regarding me going through everyone's minds at the moment. Phil won't be able to turn this one around for me, but everyone's missing the point. "It's not strange to you at all that Felix and PJ were separated?" I press on determinedly, looking between the two whose smiles falter.

It's fine I think as a mixture of expressions are sent my way. Someone needs to be the group asshole. It's thanks to Mark that I'm less comfortable than I already was.

"I saw a lot of people when we walked down here, all pretty paranoid." He answers, surprisingly sounding apologetic. "They wanted them apart until we showed up, just in case they were secret confederation members or something. It sounds mean, but keeping them uncertain of our whereabouts and unable to converse meant they couldn't plot anything. So it was a safety precaution."

"That's stupid." I protest, but Phil puts a hand on my arm, urging me to say nothing.

"City life for you." He sighs. "I guess it's only fair when we're strangers and everyone knows each other."

"Whatever." Mark huffs. "Wirrow apologized to us for all the confusion, he wasn't going to keep them apart forever."

"I guess we're all okay then!" Phil breathes cheerfully, though I can hear the underlying strain that no one else seems to pick up on.

"Seems that way."

"Chris has invited us to the host party tonight." Mark announces. "They have drinks and music and everything. It's happening in the caf and we're going down there probably soon."

That's all I need. I remember hearing them talk about the hosted party earlier. Or specifically, Wirrow talking about it. It sounds like a lot of alcohol and strangers, and like I've already said, all I want to do is sleep.

"If that's the case," I mumble, "then I'm going to bed. I'd rather not deal with you when I'm tired." I turn my back on the group and unceremoniously slip under the covers of my cot, not even able to look at Phil at the moment.

"Goodbye to you too." Cat huffs, offended.

"I'm literally seeing you tomorrow morning." I argue, not wanting to upset my friend but also pretty positive she knows who I'm referring to when I say you. "Have fun at the party."

"See you." She says softly. And then she's separated from us once again.

~~~

I'm in a room with Phil and Wirrow. There are words coming out of Phil's mouth, but I can't hear anything he's saying. He's looking at me urgently, gesturing as if the point is crucial, and I look him in the eye, trying to communicate that I'm at a loss. I know I didn't sleep well but he's only mouthing, my breathing is the loudest thing in the room.

"I can't hear you." I tell him.

Phil's brow creases, and he opens his mouth wider, indicating that he's speaking even more loudly. I can't for the life of me hear what he's saying. My hands reach forward for him only to be stopped by an invisible wall, flat and cool like a pane of glass. His eyes widen.

Phil runs over and presses his hands against the barrier, our palms only centimetres apart. He has tears in his eyes, and I stare at him in confusion.

Then his head turns, and I see bruises, littering the side of his face and his neck. Suddenly I'm terrified for him. I don't know why, I don't know what's happening, but he only looks more frantic when our palms don't meet. He pushes against the "glass" while Wirrow lurks impassively behind him, his eyes dark and on two of us struggling.

"Phil." I gasp weakly, pressing hands to the wall. "Phil who hurt you?" I look into his eyes and see the blue has gone a duller colour, see the hollow expression he's wearing. What's happened? I promised Phil I wouldn't let anybody touch him.

"Love." A deep voice growls abruptly. "Do you even know what that is, Dan?"

I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest.

"What?" I turn my head, seeking out the source of the sound.

The gray walls echo with laughter. As each throaty, cruel sound punctuates the air I feel the ground shake, and then the room grows darker. Phil flinches, shouting something at me that I can't hear. I strain my ears.

Phil looks at me desperately, his eyes red rimmed and hurt-looking. I can't help him but I need to, I have to.

"Can you hear me?" I ask him, not sure of what else to do.

He nods. Behind him, Wirrow walks up and settles a hand on his shoulder.

"It doesn't matter if he can hear you." Wirrow says, his voice loud and booming compared to the humming silence around me. His fingers dig into Phil's shoulder, pressing into the bruises in a way that looks horribly painful. "You won't answer back, will you?"

My eyes widen. "I just did! Why can't I hear him?"

"Dan doesn't want you." He hisses, leaning into my friend's side the way I had earlier, hovering and whispering wickedly like it's a secret. I gape at them. Surely Phil knows that's a lie, he's my best friend, he trusts me-

Phil's face falls in a look of betrayal.

"Phil no!" I gasp, trying to meet his eyes. "Don't listen to him. I'll always-"

My voice is cut off midsentence, I feel like a hand has clamped over my mouth.

"Love." The deep voice drawls again. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. I try shouting, forcing my voice until my throat is raw but there's nothing. Then, Wirrow pulls out his gun, driving it sideways.

"He won't talk to you." Wirrow taunts him, and Phil lowers his head, dejected. "He's not even trying."

I am! I shriek, but the words don't get past my lips.

"I could just kill you." He muses, and Phil sits still and impassive, though I can see the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"No!"

I surge forward and pound on the barrier. He doesn't lift his head.

"Nobody needs you. Dan is special, he'll just watch you die if it means getting the confederation on his side." Wirrow looks at me as he speaks. "The confederation doesn't need you, Phil. You're going to die for them."

"Phil!" my heart is dropping- he's going to kill him.

Love. The word rumbles like thunder, the gun flits across my vision. Love.

"Please!" I scream, slamming my hands on the wall, punching it even as pain erupts at every point of contact. Wirrow just smirks at me, raising the weapon to Phil's head deliberately slowly as hot tears start to run down my face.

"You can't do this!" I gasp. "You can't... he's all I have."

The world has taken so much from me already. I let it all go, detached and convincing myself that I can live without it. But they can't take Phil, I can't lose Phil. I need him, we need each other-

My hand hangs uselessly against the glass, not even an arms reach away from Phil who's struggling to get away. Wirrow watches with sadistic amusement.

"Sorry Dan." he leers at me. "I'm not convinced. And anyway, that's what makes it so exciting."

Love.

A sob rips out of me. "PHIL!"

Wirrow's fingers close and the bang resonates throughout the room, the wall explodes into shards so all I see is fractured light and blood in the air before I'm knocked back, the ground collapsing beneath me as I drop- all at once, into blackness. I scream but the sound echoes to no one, the sound ripping out of my throat with a grief I didn't know I could feel...

My eyes open wide and I shoot up into a sitting position. My hands scrabble over the flattened mattress but they find nothing but cold fabric- I've forgotten where I am, and all I can see is the same blackness. The nightmare is real- it doesn't have an end.

I begin to shake, my heart pounding out of an inexpressible fear. The light creeping in from under the door suggests dawn is coming, but in here it's still much too dark, and all I can hear around me is static silence. I can still see the broken glass and crimson bursts every time I blink, and suddenly my breath isn't coming. I jolt up, tears surging to my eyes as I look to the cot nearby, desperately looking to see Phil's shape under the covers.

"Phil?" I call weakly. No response. My heart rams against my ribs, the first real tear rolling down my skin.

"Phil."

I hear a groan and see the tip of a black fringe beneath a blanket through the dark and I gasp, terror still constricting my chest as I imagine him sitting up covered in blood.

Please.

"Mmh?" He groans half-consciously, and suddenly my blanket feels too hot. Anxiety shoots through me and I tumble out of bed, stumbling over to his with gasping breaths, barely registering the icy floor.
My heart reacts before my mind does and all at once I panic, and my hands reach for him.

My hand fumbles around blindly at first and I end up hitting him in the face with my palm, but he only recoils for a second before gripping onto my wrist and using it as a guide to find the rest of me. In moments I hear the shifting of blankets and then he's facing me, blearily observing my looming figure for a second before he seems to realize something's wrong. I feel his comforter being thrown around me before the other hand finds my shoulder and I reach out instinctively, and then all at once I've collapsed against his chest, hugging him to me tightly in the farthest from normal way that I have possibly ever done.

"Dan." He says softly. I can tell by his tone that he's surprised. "What happened?"

He tightens his arms around me and my heartbeat stutters against him for a second, while I freeze unmovingly trying to draw in normal breaths. It was nothing more than a nightmare, but still I have to remind myself over and over again that he's alive, that Wirrow hasn't killed him. I can't hide the fact that I'm shaking but I take a deep breath and blink away the tears, quickly waking up and trying to get ahold of myself. I settle my head on the edge of his shoulder, breathing in and out and letting his hug remind me that he's there, the scene replaying itself in my mind absolutely horrific. I've never dreamt anything like that before.

"I had a dream." I confide, hating the way my voice breaks, "I- But it felt so real. Wirrow was in it, and he..."

"He what? It's okay, Dan. It didn't happen."

"He-" I whisper, biting my lip. I press a hand to his forehead and nearly collapse at the relief of finding it unbroken and whole, shifting slightly to make the touch seem like an accident. "He killed you." I blurt, cursing myself right away.

It sounds so stupid when I put it that way, like I'm five years old and I dreamt of being separated from my mother. Not that I have a mother anymore, but the blood is still burning against my vision and the emotions I'm feeling just can't be put into words.

Phil sits up abruptly, fully awake now and trying to make out my figure in the dark. "What?!"

"It's so fucking stupid." I gasp, hating myself but unable to stop the confession. "I-I couldn't do anything. I just watched it, it was like I was trapped behind a glass-"

"You had a nightmare that Wirrow killed me?"

"Yes!" I groan, blinking furiously and biting back my emotion. It's all in my mind- it isn't really happening. Phil is right here in front of me, I'm not allowed to be upset and yet there's a lump in my throat. I sit up as well and pull my knees to my chest, burying my head in the space between. "Shut up- I know it's ridiculous, I just hate it here, I think. And the fire and fish made me anxious and I just-"

He cuts me off abruptly, surging forward in a tangle of arms and legs and yanking me to his chest. My words are lost and I rest against him heavily as my fists bunch up the fabric of his black jumper, breathing heavily while thoughts cut through like a blade.

"Stop." He says gently. "Oh, Dan."

Fuck. For god's sake. I can't cry right now. I can't let a figment of my imagination torment me like this. I just won't sleep, I'll stay awake. I'll sit there and watch over Phil and I won't let Wirrow near him, no matter what he wants to do.

The ominous voice haunts my thoughts again:
Love. Do you even know what that is, Dan?

I bite back the gasping breath that would give me away and let the tears slip out silently, taking care to push my wrist to my face behind his neck so that they're dried on my sleeve rather than his shirt. "God, Phil. He said he wanted me for the confederation- that I'd be content to watch you die to get them on my side. It was my fault and it was awful, I couldn't talk to you but I could see everything that was happening and-"

"It wasn't real." He assures me. "You know it wasn't real. Listen to yourself. I'm okay." He laughs weakly and I sigh against his shoulder, settling my hands in my lap and letting him wrap his arms around my shoulders, holding my limp form close.

"I'm an idiot." I tell him, and he quickly shakes his head.

"No- oh my god, you're not." He groans. "It's okay to worry about me. You can't help this at all."

I'm not sure I do know exactly what love is but hell, maybe I don't need it. Whatever Phil and I have here, whatever is causing me to cry silently in the dark in my best friend's arms with the crippling fear that he could be killed before my very eyes is sufficient. Whatever it is I'm suffering, this feeling is pretty damn close. The traumatized mind is a vicious thing, but it's reminded me of what I have.

"We don't know they're working for the Confederation." He murmurs. His voice is desperate, clearly seeking to comfort me, but he's not even comforted himself. "But- you know what- I'm not staying around to find out, not if this is happening to you. Let's leave soon, even if they try to fight us."

I'm caught off guard by the resolve and the seriousness in his statement. We've only been here a night. If Phil's making that resolution, not me, it's clearly too risky to remain here, and the worst part is that I entirely agree.

"We have to get everyone else on board." I sigh, pretty sure that won't be happening. Phil surprises me again.

"No we don't. I'm not keeping you here where you're suffering, fuck that."

I tense in surprise upon hearing him seriously curse.

"I'm pretty sure if we tell them we're going that they'll likely follow. If they decide they won't, we'll just have to leave them. I don't see them being those kinds of friends though. If they have half a mind they'll trust their instincts, and take the time to get out of here."

"You think so?" I ask him, and he nods.

"And I've been thinking-" he says suddenly, choosing his words carefully like he's making an important proposition, "-we've been around London this entire time, and that's where all the zombies are. We should just get out of London- out of England even."

My eyes widen and I look over at him, not that I can distinguish much in the dark. I've spent my life in southern England, the prospect of escaping to a whole other country just... never crossed my mind. It's a huge statement to make out of nowhere. "Really? But we can't just... how?"

"We need to get to the south coast. To the channel. We can steal a boat, a raft, hell, we could even kayak and just get out, away from here."

"Or like, the tunnel to France?" I ask hesitantly.

"There's probably too many zombies." He replies, making me realize he's thought about this in-depth. And when did he do that? "There's something going on here. I'm realizing it the more we stay with other people."

"Even if they're not confeds," I say slowly, taking care to make sure he only hears a steady, albeit tired, voice coming out of me, "they're still strangers, paranoid strangers. One of them could hurt you. Or me." I add as an afterthought.

"Let's just go ask someone." He declares simply. "Ask them what the people here are like."

"But Wirrow said-"

"I know what he said. But he's not telling the truth. So we're asking someone else."

I am in no way willing to speak to anybody right now.
"Lets go ask Mark and them." I decide, assuming it's a good start as any. "We know they're not going to kill you, and they've actually been around."

He sighs at my choice of wording but moves to a sitting position nonetheless, getting carefully out of bed and standing patiently until I do the same.

The light beneath the door turns out to be misleading. It's much earlier than I had originally thought, the glow turning out to be moonlight and the stars still standing out against the inky sky, visible out the window. Midnight has broken but it's before 3am, I recognize the appearance outside from many sleepless night in many other places.

It only takes a few short strides to get to our friends' room, another door to another office that apparently is a bit larger. Phil raises a fist and knocks on the door and when no one answers I just push through, seeing how they did the same thing earlier.

The door creaks open and I distinguish several cots and, as Cat promised, a small mattress stack sitting in one corner to accommodate more guests. Again I wonder how this city group managed to accumulate that much stuff, considering how little we managed to gather in our entire year, and then we're stepping forward into the cool room, the air chilly and smelling like dusty concrete.

The air is practically ringing with a humming silence. I squint to try and make out anyone's figure but I can't see anything at all. I look to Phil and he nods, facing the door carefully in the doorframe to ease my paranoia and letting me approach one of the beds.

I look closer at the pile of bedding and crease my brow at not seeing any discernible figure. I stretch out a hand cautiously, really not in the mood to accidentally brush a sleeping Mark and endure the comments that would spark but also thinking about my nightmare. I need answers.

My hand flattens onto a bare stretch of mattress. Empty. The sheets are rumpled and Mark's gun is set aside on the bedside table, but our friends are gone.

"That's right." I remember suddenly. "They went to the party."

So maybe it is two in the morning. Mark did say there was alcohol, so it seems they're not yet back. And in my teenage years I'm sure something like this would seem perfectly acceptable but after my dream all I can imagine is that demonic version of Wirrow, grinning wickedly as he lifts up his gun...

"I don't know about you," Phil says quietly, "but I don't think they'd stay this long. It's really late at night. Am I just paranoid after the dream you had or-?"

"Don't ask me." I answer darkly. "I'm thinking the same way."

"Cat could be in danger."

"I know that, Phil. I'm seriously not doubting any suspicions right now at all."

"The party's in the caf, Mark said. The least we could do is maybe check on them." He murmurs.

I turn for a moment and meet his eyes, my heart beating nervously at the thought that something could be wrong. If anything out of the ordinary looks to be happening I can't stand the thought of keeping him in this, so though he doesn't hear what I'm thinking obviously, I've begun to make resolutions of my own. He smiles at me reassuringly, blue eyes gentle and sincere an glowing even in this dim light. I shake my head.

"One wrong move," I say quietly, "one person that tries to hurt you, one sneaking suspicion that the place definitely isn't safe, and we're out."

He sighs a little sadly, reaching out a hand to comfort me but not sure where to place it. "Dan... I'll be all right-" he starts, but I just shake my head at him.

"We are not staying if it's a threat to your life."

He chooses my shoulder. "Or yours."

"Or mine." I agree irritably, not sure if he's getting my point. "Sure."

"It'll be okay." He says lightly, ever the optimist in the most uncertain situations. It's really only a quick look into a doorway, a scan around the room for our friends who will surely stand out amongst strangers, I'm just taking precautions. We won't even need our weapons. We won't have to enter the room. I try to shake of the worry that's lingering, brushing Phil's hand off my shoulder as the silence stretches on a little too long. He looks confused but doesn't say anything, just stands ups straighter than before.

"Well what are we waiting for then?" He declares quietly. "I guess we should go."

A/N ~Update: using a Phanfic for English was... idk oh god.

WE HAD TO READ A "SAMPLE" ALOUD. I used a vague passage where they're taking about L'Appel du Vide (the story's called If You Only Had Thirty Seconds and it's in my oneshot book if u wanna see just how gay it was.)

We had to do discussion after, in which people gave opinions, and a girl told me it was 'beautiful'. I cannot believe we had to share it. I don't think she knows it's a Phic but I bet someone guessed.

Ahhh :') Got an A+ tho. She described it as 'realistic pacing', 'heartwarming' and 'sensual' on the mark sheet. Can you believe a Phanfic did that?

This is getting so long but THANK YOU, THANK YOU FOR 1k READS I CRIED I CANT BELIEVE YOURE READING THIS IT MEANS SO MUCH ILY REALLY AND TRULY.

Ok cya leave a vote for a free oneshot read aloud to your English class! ~Aly🌙