When the evening pulls the sun down,
And the day is almost through,
Oh, the whole world it is sleeping,
But my world is you.
-paper kites, bloom

Phil

The first time we see London again is one of the most surreal experiences of my life.

The train ride itself isn't much at all. We trundle along the rattling tracks and I sit between Cat and Dan, who sleeps soundly on my shoulder the entire time. Now that he has no reason to remain conscious he's given up the effort, letting himself succumb to exhaustion. The breeze from the opened door blows through my hair and cools me slightly in the summer heat, English countryside sweeping by and no signs of life anywhere.

I never noticed while everything was ordinary, but before the outbreak it was like you could feel the living energy of other beings in the air. It's hard to explain- almost like a heartbeat, you could detect the thrumming pulsing of inhabitation or more importantly, you could feel that you really were alone when there was nothing.

Before the outbreak, entering an empty city area or a dark part of the forest would seem ominous- the suggestion that perhaps you shouldn't be here if other things have chosen not to be around. But now that's everywhere. It's hardly surprising at all.

The train is far from luxurious. There's no seats and the floor is made of dirty, worn wood, the other passengers looking only mildly interested in my friends and I. Mark decided to sit a space away with Wirrow and talk to him, giving me time to think without overhearing anything incriminating. After doing so earlier, I'm not sure if I want to anyway.

"So...I still want to know what happened between you two that night." Cat whispers to me at one point, referring to the night following the resolution to Dan and I's conflict. But I just shake my head, not inclined to explain anything while he's literally on my shoulder.

"It's not as exciting as you'd think it'd be." I sigh. "I fell asleep with him. That's it."

It's hardly the most important thing to be thinking about right now. Why that's what she cares about after all this happened is, frankly, a bit insulting, seeing as he almost died today. She can just use her imagination, it'll be less disappointing.

The train rolls along for a while longer with no more sound between us, save for Dan's muted breaths. He's rested his whole side against me, long legs splayed out in front of us while his head rests in the crook of my neck. His curls tickle my cheek and I allow myself to play with his hair a little longer, too tired to care what anyone thinks at the moment. We stay this was until the silhouette of city buildings appear in the distance, and I settle for draping my arm behind his neck, holding him in place by his shoulder.

I prepare myself mentally as buildings begin to crop up on either side and even before Wirrow's telling me I know right away when we've actually reached the city. Fields and rolling hills give way to houses, clustered together in fenced-off neighborhoods that at one time I had aspired to afford one day, not intending to remain in various flats forever. Houses give way to double train tracks and city buildings, tall and narrow with sloped roofs and brick exteriors. We slow as the buildings cluster more closely together along streets, a mixture of apartments and storefronts.

It's the same city. But not.

As soon as we reach the platform the train halts, forcefully so. None of the regular passengers react much, only leaning a bit against the pull of gravity, but as I wasn't expecting it I involuntarily lurch forward, crushing Dan's side and snapping him awake instantly. I apologize quickly and he just stares at me blearily, blinking as he lifts his head off my shoulder and looks out the door at our surroundings.

His eyes widen as he takes in the streets of home.

The city is broken, it's a mess. We appear to be in the southwestern section, only an arm's reach away from my home in central London, to give an idea of the positioning. The roads in this area look to be cleared but the shopfronts, or what little there are- are all dark, gaping and empty with broken windows. Cars are scattered around with heavy coats of rust and an air of abandonment hangs heavy in the atmosphere.

The buildings are the most unsettling part. They loom over us with blank, dark windows like glassy eyes and the streetlamps are all unlit, making everything look washed-out and gloomy. Discarded garbage and scattered debris is littered haphazardly everywhere, ivy climbing up many of the walls and plants sprouting waist-high in some patches. It's exactly how you'd see it in the movies; complete with the smoke and the haze in the sky.

With no one to properly live here, nature is finally reclaiming what belongs to it. People and likely zombies, mass numbers of them have come through here before us, destroying what was left in attempts to loot or escape as society fell apart, and this is all that remains.

"I knew it was coming," Dan mumbles. "Like I knew we'd see stuff like this, but damn, this is horrible."

He doesn't really even sound aware of my existence, rather more like he's thinking aloud. "You lived here, Phil. It doesn't look like London anymore."

I extend a hand and the glazed look clears from his eyes. He takes it, helping himself to his feet.

"Hey look," I say jokingly, hoping to ease some of the tension by squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and pointing to an abandoned Starbucks. "It's our house."

Before the apocalypse Dan and I had a Starbucks tradition. Whenever he was visiting me in the city we always went on a walk to a Starbucks somewhere, taking up two whole sofas and buying a caramel macchiato each. We were there so often, sometimes going three or four times depending in how long Dan visited, and we used to joke that it was our second home. We joked that we would live in a Starbucks together one day, and as memory springs forth without warning, I hope to at least get rid of his lost expression.

He doesn't laugh but he smiles lightly, giving me an appreciative look. He's trying to conceal it by being passive and quiet but it's clear that he's almost if not equally as nervous as I am. He opens his mouth to say something else but Wirrow cuts over our conversation by clearing his throat, stepping back on the train and deliberately between us, saying the train has to make other stops and we need to move. This caused both of us to frown but we still comply. The only worse thing than being in this London to regroup with friends would be to be stuck in another part of post-apocalyptic London without a guide.

After that, it's all a bit of a blur. Wirrow has us step off onto the platform and nobody else save for Mark and Cat follows, remaining on the train. The pair that had been so nonchalant before are now eyeing us interestedly as the train rolls away, only breaking their gaze when they're so far away they're forced to. It makes me wonder if this area isn't normally lived in. They looked at us like we were doing something crazy by getting off. I'd be lying if I said that's not a bit unsettling.

As soon as we step off and onto the street we're  met with a group of guys who barely even look at us twice, just going right up to Wirrow and talking to him all at once, informing him on what had happened while he'd been gone. Clearly they're from the bunker he lives in.

"Electric's out on the second floor but Rigor and Mortie are working on it." He's told. Dan glances sideways at me and Mark and Cat also exchanges glances, looking perplexed. We have no idea who anyone is.

"We're hosts tonight and tomorrow." Another one says. "We had to go two miles out of the way to find enough drinks for the crew." To this he nods.

"You took your sweet time didn't you, dude?" One guy asks him. "The man's gonna be pissed that you ditched another truck."

Wirrow brushes him off and slaps him on the back affectionately, turning back to us without even looking worried. I have to bite my tongue to not ask who the man is. I thought he'd said they were a group of survivors. They sound very corporate, and apparently even now they have loads of trucks just laying around? Considering all of those would need gas?

Clearly Wirrow is important in this "psuedo-governing system" or whatever he called it.

Speaking of Wirrow, he seems to have finally remembered our presence.

After noticing us standing stiffly he steps up and introduces us, saying our names first and then indicating us to his friends. He names them off and we all nod in greeting at each other in turn but I forget almost immediately who pretty much all of them are. There's five guys in total and I'm terrible at creating links between names and faces. Only a few really stick out, one for example being a more Wirrow-like guy named Ross who seems oddly interested in eyeing up Dan, which makes me wary of him right away, and a guy apparently also named Phil who looks decidedly more intimidating than I could ever hope to be, face chieseled and serious and a gun tucked into a holster at his side.

The latter looks less than thrilled by our appearances.

"What part of the backwoods did they drag you guys out of?" He asks, looking at each of us in turn. "You're filthy. First things first, we're chucking these guys in the baths."

I look down self-consciously and see the mud caked on my jeans and jumper, having never washed them off while I swam in the lake. I run my hand through my hair and realize it's dirty and matted, whereas all of them are fairly clean. I see Dan's jumper with my blood still not completely washed out at the corner. Cat's dirty hands. Mark's untidiness. It's just a part of who we are. We can't help the lifestyle we've been stuck with, we had more important things to worry about like staying alive.

Dan for one looks irritated, exchanging a look with the other impulsive hothead in our group- Mark. Mark shoots him a look back and opens his mouth to say something, but Wirrow has already moved on. "The bunker isn't too much further from here. There might be zombies along the way so keep your arms ready. Soon as possible we're getting you guys guns."

"I have a gun." Mark says pointedly.

"Nice." He answers approvingly, but then indicates us. "But I'm pretty sure they don't. You might need em here."

As we start forward, following behind the men who know where they're going I watch Dan square his shoulders and lift the crowbar up with determined eyes, looking at the road ahead as if it's already teeming with danger. The rolling rumble of the train has finally faded into the distance and now our we are the only sounds. London is silent save for the wind whistling through the gaps.

It hasn't truly sunk in yet. I'm home. This is where I used to live, but how can it be the same place?

I wonder what Dan is thinking. He has his face wiped clean of anything right now, the surrounding strangers making him wary and cautious. I try to meet his eyes in a way that conveys what I'm feeling but he just stares blankly back at me, eyebrows creased in the stress that everybody else might have difficulty picking up on.

Though Wirrow has up until this point been walking up front with his companions he suddenly dips his head down and mutters something quickly to them. A few guys nod, and then he turns back, looking right at me as if he knows something I don't.

"Phil, Dan." He says quickly, gesturing for us to come talk to him. Cat shoots us a confused look and Mark frowns but I feel Dan take me by the elbow and direct us both over, his steps calculated and deliberate.

Wirrow steps in next me and lowers his voice, gaze flicking between both of us. "Listen. There's a lot of good people in the us city but you have to be careful who you trust. It'll all be better once we reach the bunker but for safety's sake don't mention Dan's fish bite to anyone. I'll explain once we're there."

Seeing how that was not what I'd been expecting I don't immediately reply, confusion riddling my mind. I'm still worried that's the bite is important and it could potentially be dangerous if Dan doesn't get treatment. Even a wipe of alcohol to disinfect it would be good. He pauses for a few seconds to make sure we're understanding him and then he keeps going, looking at the people ahead of us but they don't seem interested in listening.

"I know that last night was chaotic and you're probably hungry and tired but I've been thinking about what the half-life leader said to you specifically. He said this thing and I don't know if you noticed."

"He said a lot of things." Dan mutters. "You'll have to be a little more specific."

Wirrow tenses a bit at the rudeness but then seems to remember who he's talking to, remembering the feelings Dan had about this encounter and the lingering sense of failure he can't seem to shake off. Thankfully he doesn't shoot any scathing remarks at my best friend. I nudge Dan nervously, not wanting to potentially piss off this guy we barely know, but he avoids my eyes.

"It was when he mentioned you killed Borg, their leader. Obviously they're primal and vengeance was going to be on their minds, but he said something along the lines of all this time we have worked to track you, though it seems the Confederation has found you first. Do you remember that?"

Now that he's said it I do, and I shudder slightly at the recollection. I hadn't really been listening to the leader's taunting words, but now I'm pretty sure of what it means. That's a very heavy suggestion.

"I do." I answer carefully. Dan just nods. "Now that you bring it up. But he was trying to scare us into submission- it could've been an empty threat." That's what I'm sincerely hoping it's going to be. I don't want the scientists knowing who we are. They're the invulnerable destroyers of this planet, I can't even bear to think that they might want to hurt Dan.

"But if it's not, we can't ignore it." Wirrow insists. "There are Confederation people all over the place. Not just in the city, they're in the countrysides too. Their objective is to find the cure just as ours is, but it's for a totally different reason. While we're working to defeat the virus, they're trying to build it up to resist the cure. Make more zombies, and make them stronger. Phil I know the leader was after you because you killed Borg but they said Dan was going to be handed over to the confederation. Do either of you have any idea why that would be?"

They wanted Dan to be handed over. They said that Dan was special. The horde was willing to spare all of our lives for his, as long as he went with them. And for the life of me I cannot fathom why.

"I don't know." Dan huffs irritably. "I've got nothing to hide. I don't know what it means."

Wirrow ponders this.

In a world like this, what could it possibly mean to be "special"? In the literal sense I know he's a unique and important individual just as any of us are, I've iterated to him enough times how he is the most important person in my life and how he's worth so much, but surely bloodthirsty half-zombie monsters and faceless scientists don't care about that. What sets him apart from the rest of us? We're just ordinary people.

"In any case," he continues suddenly, "the takeaway here is that we need to be careful. Don't let anybody overhear any conversations relating to this, and like I said, don't mention the bite."

"Why don't you fight back against them?" Dan blurts. "The confederation. There's so many people in this city and they have guns. Isn't anybody doing anything."

A dark look crosses Wirrow's face.

"It's not that simple." He mutters. "You don't oppose the confederation. You either join them, stay away from them, or die. Seeing how you haven't been to the city in a while, maybe you should t question my choices."

Then, as quickly as he's come on that cryptic note, Wirrow turns on his heel and starts back towards his companions ahead. I open my mouth to inquire further, seeing how he's just dropped a serious concept on us and taking off now is in some ways unfair, but he's already rejoined his group. Dan and I hang back a bit and rejoin our friends, who of course want to know what's going on. Once we explain they simply frown, just as perplexed as we are.

"I say you keep it quiet for now." Mark suggests. "You sure you feel fine?"

"Yes!" He snaps. "I'm just tired."

After that we walk in relative silence.

Wirrow's friends talk for pretty much the entire time. But not to us. I pick up some fairly interesting points about where we're going to be staying, though I'm not actually listening too hard. As with Dan and Cat I'm completely absorbed in looking at the broken buildings and the haunted streets, coming to terms with the reality that is right now, breathing in a strangely earthy smell mixed with gasoline and blood, faintly. The warm, humid air has waned slightly now that its later in the afternoon and faintly I worry that we might not make it there before dark. Surely it can't be that far. The heaviness of the air just strengthens the smell, the scent of the apocalypse.

We walk for about twenty five minutes. The buildings change from neighborhoods to warehouses, their innards picked clean of any useful supplies, windows smashed and doors flung open. The area has a distinctly musty smell, which I'm well aware of by this time is the smell of zombies, lots of them. The group conversation, which had been nonstop and purposeful up to this point cuts off abruptly, everyone slowing to a halt as a large grey building looms up in the distance.

"So that up there, friends, is home." Wirrow announces. "That's the bunker. I'd advise you to stay close to us city people and take out your weapons, even if you... don't have a gun."

His eyes go straight to us and before I can stop him Dan's stepping forward, finally unable to keep his stress and irritation down any longer. I grab his arm before he can reach them and squeeze harder than I maybe should, keeping him grounded. It works, his breathing leveling before he's even spoken, but he still squares his small shoulders, using his height to appear more confident than he probably feels.

"Listen." He growls. "We're stuck with you. I know you think you're being the bigger person by taking in us poor, helpless people whose shelter burned down after you led those monsters to us, taking us right back into a city we've spent the last year trying to get far away from. But you're not. We can take care of ourselves, so stop telling us what to do and looking down on us like we're stupid."

Wirrow looks shocked for a second, finally getting the unexpected insight into Dan's thoughts. Now we all know what he's thinking. I stare at him in surprise, unease creeping in as a couple of the guys in our company give him scathing looks.

"Sorry." Wirrow replies evenly. For the first time ever his expression shifts into something much less standard than normal, the superiority and the friendliness waning. It seems he too is concealing certain emotions from us, and for whatever reason, Dan has managed to annoy him by stating that we don't have to do exactly what he says.

"I'd just like to remind you that I live here." He says calmly. "It's clear you would have rather stayed behind but for the sake of your friends I'd have thought you'd have wanted to know how we do it around here. Especially with the confeds around."

"I'd just like to remind you that you're not our leader." Dan shoots back. "We're here for Felix and PJ, that's it. We know how to stay alive, thanks."

"Is he usually like this?" Wirrow asks me, still trying to keep a light tone in the air.

"Yes." Cat inputs jokingly, but as I'm not in the mood for harassing Dan, I just shake my head.

After that there isn't much more to be said. We reach a giant concrete wall and a few zombies lurch out towards us, barring our way.

Mark jumps back and Dan and I nearly collide shoulders, stepping deliberately to defend the other. My axe catches on my belt loop and I fumble, trying to get it out.

Before I or any of my friends even have time to react to them Wirrow's crew members have raised their arms and shot each one of them in succession, knocking them all to the ground. I'm a bit alarmed by their exact precision as the monsters thump to the dirt, the sideways glance Ross shoots at us clearly saying you don't wanna get on our bad side. And again he looks at Dan, so I make a not-so-subtle effort to move right next my friend, making him frown while a gate is opened to let us in.

"Sometimes there's zombies in front of the door when we get back from a trip." We're informed as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. "They're drawn to the smell of flesh and blood, so obviously in a building full of people the sense stimulation is overpowering. There's no shortage of zombies in London. More of them than people."

On this cheerful note we're directed past the motionless corpses, all dressed in tattered casual clothes. I remember and then immediately try not to remember that these used to be real men and women. The virus has them now.

Inside the gate is a large patch of yellowed lawn, leading up to the bunker which is large and also made of concrete, the factory rising up behind it like an attachment.
Inside, the bunker itself is surprisingly office-y in appearance. Painted grey walls and linoleum floors line the dimly lit narrow hallways, the whole place smells like outside.  We hook a left through double doors and end up in a room full of tables, an old cafeteria that was probably used when the place was still a factory. There's people- quite a few people sitting at the tables. The age range is mostly people older than Dan and I to about forty; Dan is quite obviously the youngest. It looks like a bomb shelter or something, so many mismatched people all in the same room.

Other Phil is sent off for a moment, and when he returns he's holding armfuls of food. I nearly lose my bearings as I see sandwiches, real bread with chunks of meat and lettuce wedged in between. He hands all of it to the four of us, and then wanders away, disappearing into a hallway.

"God." Mark gasps next to me as one is handed over. I bite into my sandwich the second it's handed to me and I see a lot of Wirrow's counterparts rolling their eyes at us, shuffling off to leave now that they're back at home base. A few people at other tables are casting us glances but oddly enough I don't feel insecure, only relaxed. There had been a small part of me that had worried this might have all been a trick of some kind, a trap. Wirrow's attitude towards us and Dan's injury had me wondering if we weren't just walking right into one, but there seems to be actual survivors here. I vow to go speak to some as soon as we're more settled in. Just to be sure.

"I know." I breathe. I never thought I'd miss the taste of fattening, processed food so much. The bread is like the grocery stuff I bought for myself back in the day and tastes like a gift after going over a year without it, the meat is beef and the lettuce is crisp and homegrown. Dan actually has his eyes closed, making me laugh despite my uncertainty at the sheer pleasure in his expression. It's something I don't see enough.

"Nice, huh?" Wirrow muses emphatically. "That there was traded for our services. There's people who still want solar panels and since we got here first we have a warehouse full of them. It's a valuable resource to have, you can live almost self-sufficiently if you have a garden and solar on your balcony.

I try to visualize this, imagining my apartment in this deadzone. I can't. Is this what people are doing?

"So people just come here to ask for them?" Cat asks him.

"People don't come here. It's too risky of a walk what with all the zombies and there's a lot of confederation trucks driving on the actual roads. There's a black market not far from here near where the parks used to be. We usually just load up a truck and trade them. The people know who we are by now."

In addition to the sandwiches we've also been given some apples and a small glass of wine, which I stare at disbelievingly as I come to terms with what it is.

"Hell yeah." Mark chuckles, noticing his and picking it up at once.

"We like to give wine when we take in new survivors." Wirrow tells him. "A lot of people are nervous or starving, it helps calm them down. Plus, it's one of the few simple pleasures in life that can still be easily obtained."

I nod, only half-listening. I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip, recoiling a bit at the taste. I've never been much of a wine drinker, having always preferred the frilly, fruity drinks that all the laddish guys in my uni hall would have laughed at, not that it really matters. It was never my job to fit in.

"Oh." I hear Dan muse under his breath. It's so quiet I almost miss hearing it and the others definitely don't. "The infamous wine face. If you don't wanna drink that, maybe don't." He shoots me a careful smile.

Of course he would remember a little thing about me like that. I didn't even realize he was looking at me.

"You remember that?" I ask, surprised.

"Mhm. The Halloween party, remember?"

Sure I remember. One of the few times we'd actually been together outside of my apartment back in the day was the time I took him to a vlogger meetup in the city. I was part of a small community in the UK that actually made a living off of my hobby, since people put ads on our videos and we got a small royalty off of the views. I knew a lot of them and Dan watched most so we were both eager to see them in person, and to lean on each other if things got too socially awkward. We'd gone full out in our costumes and a lot of people thought he was my boyfriend, much to my dismay. There'd also been wine there, and that's when Dan found out about the face. He'd been quick to point it out and laugh at me, the way only he could do.

"I do, and I think I might just take you up on that suggestion. Do you want it then?"

He looks at me sideways, almost scolding in his stare. "I'm young, Phil. It shouldn't be me who does all the drinking."

His tone is serious but I stare for a couple more seconds. He blinks and then his face shifts, cracking a smile. "Of course I do." He smirks as I hand my glass over. "Your loss."

"I knew it."

"Nice job Dan." Mark teases him. "I think I just heard you make a joke."
Dan just rolls his eyes and I shove him.

I catch Cat looking at us out of the corner of my eye and glance at her. When our eyes meet she just shakes her head and smiles as I watch Dan sipping carefully from his second wineglass, courtesy of me the bad influence. It's not like he's gonna be drunk or anything, it's nothing. It's just been a while. He's finally relaxing a bit at least, even if his gaze flickers to everyone around us a lot, and sometimes to the door.

It's oddly nice, being indoors with real food and this room with its plastic furniture. Our food disappears and conversation flows relatively nicely, drifting from topic to topic and punctuated by helpful information, such as where our rooms will be. Wirrow agrees to stick Dan, Cat and I together and suggests Mark's crew take the bedroom next door.

And yet in the back of my my mind there's an uneasy feeling that I just can't shake. I can't put it down to anything in particular, but I find myself glancing at my friends, at other people, trying to see if they feel it too. My mum always said it was good to trust your instincts and I end up watching Wirrow, trying to detect a falter in his words or a slip in speech that could indicate something. As soon as I resolve to do this, he addresses us somewhat stiffly. I feel like Dan with this sort of distrustful nature.

"Just letting you guys know, you might not have been listening earlier but Ross told me when we arrived that our building will be 'hosting' tonight and tomorrow. That means we'll be given a pile of resources and food in exchange for the use of some of our floor spaces, and people from other districts will be here. They'll be gone by tomorrow night but hosting happens for one reason: parties."

Dan crosses his arms, taking another sip of wine before frowning at him. "And what does that have to do with us?"

Wirrow frowns. "It can have as much or as little to do with you as you want. Being from the city I'm guessing you've never been to a hosting before. They're a way for apocalypse survivors to let loose, and I'd be lying if I said they don't get really wild."

His tone sounds far too cool for what he's talking about, and I'm guessing he's not telling us the whole thing.

"So who's going to be there?" Cat asks casually. "I know we don't know anyone but in general where are they coming from?"

"Oh, mostly from-" He's about to continue, when a movement catches my eye.

It's a man, and he's headed our way.

The guy comes striding up to us, looking cool and confident and of course addressing Wirrow, not us. He's on the thin side, almost scrawny, with a sweep of straight brown hair and big, curious eyes. But more noticeably than that, which Cat is quick to elbow us and mumble about is a much more obvious thing:

He's a half-life.

He makes his way over none too gracefully, tripping over an errant chair and slamming his hand onto the table to catch his balance. He has a small, hyperactive appearance to him, like an energetic child stuck in a grown man's body. The sound of the impact makes me jump so hard my knee hits the table and makes it rattle, causing everybody to jump. I lower my head in embarrassment, though the new guy just looks sheepish.

"Hey!" He greets his friend. "More survivors huh? Welcome to the crew, guys! Y-"

Almost immediately as he's started talking he stops midsentence, his mouth dropping open and a nervous expression crossing his face. His wide eyes are fixed on us.

"O-oh."

I look up at him, confused, noting that even Wirrow himself looks perplexed.

His eyes skim right over Dan and Cat. His glance flickers past me as well, and then I realize he's frozen on Mark, oddly enough. He slowly begins to step backward, but then his position forces him and Mark to lock eyes.

Mark's face has gone blank, he looks completely dumbstruck. Cat nudges him in the side and he jumps suddenly, but he's still looking at this man. It's almost as if they recognize one another.

"Uh... I'll be back, l-later-" the guys stammers, backing up all at once, but Mark stands up, reaching an arm across the table to catch him by the arm.

"Do I know you?" He asks. The guy shakes his head, pulling out of the grasp and continuing to back away.

"No. Definitely not." He says hurriedly, though his tone suggests the opposite. "Good to see you back, Wirrow!"

"Yeah, you too." Wirrow dismisses emphatically, seeming to miss the importance of this exchange.

Mark's eyes go wide. "No- wait!"

But if anything that just startles the guy more. He turns around and strides out, only glancing back quickly before disappearing.

Total silence falls over our group, and I still have no idea what's going on. Seeing how everyone else is at a loss, my eyes go to Mark.

His face is completely stunned, his hands twitching like he's debating getting up and pursuing the guy.

"Chris." He exclaims aloud, looking at us with what I can only describe as shock and disbelief. "That was Chris, PJ's boyfriend. I'm sure of it."

I blink.

No. that can't be possible.

"I thought you said he was...dead?" Wirrow reminds him, looking at him seriously. And that's what I thought too. They'd lost him all the way back in Brighton, it was the reason Mark had seen someone die by a zombie before, the reason PJ didn't have a significant other. They've gone a whole year thinking he's been dead the whole time. He must be losing it internally to find out this is not the case.

Mark closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, his mind clearly clouded with thoughts.

"He- he is! He was! We watched him die!" Mark looks visibly distressed, wringing his hands with a look on his face that I've never seen before.

"Is his name Chris?" Cat asks, gazing at Wirrow.

"Yeah." He replies. "It is. But it can't be the same one, could it?"

Mark frowns. "How else would he know who I am?"

"I guess there's that." He sighs.

"And he's a half-light." I add.

Mark stands up, slamming his palm on the table. "That's it. I want to see PJ now."

His impulse is pushing through again and it's obvious that he's beyond anxious at this point. Despite what he previously said, I don't think Wirrow was right about the wine helping to calm him. He pushes aside his sandwich and Wirrow obliges.

"You sure you don't want to take a bath or see your rooms first?" He asks helpfully.

Mark shakes his head. "No. I want you to take me to my friends."

For whatever reason, Wirrow looks mildly annoyed, but he's doing his best to cover it.

"Have it your way then." Wirrow gets up and gestures for Mark to follow, and to my surprise Cat jumps up as well. Mark looks at her with a surprised expression as she strides over and puts a hand on his shoulder, then looks back to our guide.

"It's not that I don't trust you," she assures him, "but I'm not letting Mark go alone." She shoots Dan and I a look.

"I'll be back, guys. Just wanna make sure there's no trouble. You never know with strangers."

"Too true." Wirrow agrees, though he isn't smiling. He checks the watch on his wrist, which I hadn't noticed before. "You remember where I said your room is, right? The lights go off in two hours, so if you two wanna get cleaned up you might wanna move."

We nod in unison and stand up, pushing in our chairs and following the group out of the room. At the doorway we branch off, splitting up into two different directions. I go with Dan and everyone else goes off to find PJ, relaying the directions mentally in my mind. Cat looks apologetically at us over her shoulder but I can't say I mind. Being alone with Dan for an hour or so after the events of the last couple of days sounds relaxing, and so I jump on the chance to ditch everyone eagerly. Dan of course has no issue with this, and so we set off almost cheerily even though we're tired.

~~~

Unlike the cafeteria, the hallway is empty. Having suddenly found ourselves alone Dan and I both relax visibly, just like that day in the woods. We maneuver through the corridors, occasionally passing people, though most either pay us no mind or chirp out friendly hellos. For the most part, it's just us. There's no need to speak, it actually feels nice to just drift quietly and unnoticed like two ghosts and look into the rooms dividing off the hallways, which look to be converted offices. Some have doors that are locked, some are empty save for a stray table or chair. We take advantage of not having Wirrow hovering to explore a bit, even if the bunker is just a zombie shelter and most places we find are unremarkable.

Some of the rooms are interesting, so while we make towards our room there's a few that I stop to look at briefly. It's clear that this place isn't a luxury hotel or anything, but there's clear signs of domestic life that make the whole experience a little less strange. Even just seeing furniture is a step up from everywhere we've inhabited lately.

"Nobody's in that one." Dan says quickly when we come come upon one that's just a bathroom. A small sink sits within our line of vision, the shelf behind it bearing a small bottle and a bar of soap. "I say we nick that soap and shampoo. Who knows how much of that is left these days. All I know is, I want it."

I shake my head quickly, the idea feeling morally wrong for whatever reason.

"Dan!" I exclaim. "We can't just do that!"

He strides past me while I hover in the doorway, frantically looking down the hall to see if anyone's seeing this. We won't exactly be making the best first impression by stealing things, but he's clearly on a mission and the more evil part of me is just riddled with amusement.

"We can do whatever we want." He answers simply. "I want to smell clean. Everyone else in this goddamn bunker looks at us like we're gross."

I shake my head slightly. For someone who is pretty fireproof in terms of what others tend to think of him, Dan is exceptionally in tune to negative feedback. I could shower him with praise all day but if one person looked at him the wrong way, that's what he'd bring up to me. It's a side effect of growing up in his parents' house I think. He doesn't talk about them much and though it's clear that he loved them, I do know he developed it as a defence mechanism after certain things got shaky in their relationship. It's also why he's afraid to be vulnerable. Allowing himself to react to the harsh words thrown at him would never have ended well, and it's a totally foreign feeling to me when my own parents were there every step of the way.

Oh well, it can't be changed. I guess that's why he has me.

I watch as he steps in and snatches the objects anyway, sliding them into his jeans pockets and then looking back at me. The linoleum floor tiles make muted clap sounds as he steps across them, fluorescent lights making him look pale in the stark white glow.

"Come in here." He orders exasperatedly.

He slips the shampoo bottle out of his pocket and pops the cap, holding it under my nose the second I step in as if determined to make me support him.

"Smell this shit. It smells better than both of us. I can't handle borrowing it if you're gonna look at me like a disapproving mum the whole time."

I realize he's actually trying to convince me to let him keep the bottle, which is pretty funny honestly. He could take whatever he wanted and I probably wouldn't give a shit. "Dan come on."

"Smell the fucking shampoo you asshat."

I lose it at that, a laugh bursting out of me as I look at him wide-eyed. "Excuse me?" His look is almost comically deadpan.

"Just do it."

His brown eyes are boring into my face and so like the strong, independent, definitely not passive guy that I am I step feebly forward and sniff it, registering a pleasantly floral scent.

"Um, yeah." I agree hastily. "Nice."

He punches me in the shoulder. "I know that was really hard for you. Now let me take it, thanks."

"Do what you want!" I exclaim dismissively. "If soap is that necessary."

"Fuck you." He shuffles back over to the sink feigning grumpiness, and I shake my head in defeat, glancing around the bathroom and wondering if the toilet works, or if the even are functional toilets in this city. That and a hundred other things.

"I'm not gonna lie." Dan mutters irritably as I finally step up next to him. "There are too many people here. I'm not glad to be back in the city. And if Wirrow could stop ordering us around I'd be just peachy, you know especially with Mark thinking he's seen a dead guy and apparently there's going to be a party I just want to get away from everyone and live alone with myself and maybe you for the rest of my-"

"-Hey, shut up." I interrupt him, my face going red as I register the last part of his sentence. I grab his shoulder and yank him to me in a highly resistant and squirmy hug, clinging to him more tightly when's he makes a sound of protest.

"Get off!" He groans halfheartedly. "Nevermind. I'm living alone. I forgot you don't even want soap."

I laugh, smiling with my hands clasped at his back even if he can't see it. "You're stuck with me, sorry."

He says something else but I'm distracted by movement in my line of vision, nearly jumping out of my skin when I lift my eyes from Dan's shoulders only to see a black-haired boy staring back at me. His skin is very pale and bruised a bit on one cheek, wide green-blue eyes peering out at me from behind long strands of hair and a slightly beaked nose. His eyes widen in alarm at the same time as mine do and an embarrassing shriek escapes me as I lurch away, making Dan stumble back before it hits me what I'm seeing.

"What?!" Dan exclaims, yanking out his crowbar and snapping his head from left to right, preparing to defend me. My hand flutters to my heart and I choke out a laugh, gripping his shoulder to steady myself while my heartbeat returns to normal. He looks at me wildly and seems to notice the look on my face, still standing defensively like a demon's about to pop out.

"Oh my god." I breathe. "Dan, you're not gonna believe this but I just saw my reflection and nearly shit myself."

"You saw your-?"

"There's a mirror there!"

He looks at me incredulously. "I thought there was a zombie or something, the way you reacted!"  His expression is full of irritation but I can see the relief in his eyes. He steps over next to me to peer curiously at the glass surface, which is so dirty I hadn't even noticed it was there upon walking in. He stops his motion to look at his own face for a second, brown eyes meeting the cloudy ones looking back from the glass.

"I haven't seen my face in months!" I don't even realize the truth in that statement until I've said it, pushing past him to wipe the grime off with my sleeve. I hadn't even recognized myself when I saw it, and now for whatever reason I just need to look again.

We stand there side by side for a second, just looking in the mirror, and for whatever reason I'm overwhelmed by the sight of the two of us together. I don't know when it became so important, but suddenly knowing what I look like seems like such a monumental thing, especially with both of us in comparison. Dan's gotten taller since 2009 and he's now almost over me, though he's still physically smaller than I am with narrower shoulders and slender hips. I was never fat to begin with but now I've definitely lost weight, a result of my lifestyle. My hair looks longer. My lips are dry. I look wild and unfamiliar, like I've grown up before I was meant to. We both do, and maybe we have.

"Look right there." Dan mumbles, extending a finger and tapping my forehead. I start a little at the unexpected gentle touch, but I'm pretty sure already of what he means.

I lean closer to the glass.

And there I see the little scar on my forehead. It's not exactly ugly or incredibly deep, more of a pale pink line that's slightly jagged at the edges.

So it is there. It bothers me that I don't have much of a memory of that car crash, especially because it's how it all began. Even the moments before are hazy because I was so terrified and all I could do was maneuver my crappy car, totally focused on keeping Dan and I alive. But then we broke the barrier, and after that... I don't know.

The car lurches over the edge. There's a sensation of falling.

The last thing I see is the ground racing up to meet us, the car rolls.

Crash.

Then the fear dissolves. The pain dissipates. There's nothing. Nothing but a blank mind and blurred darkness. I don't know if it's been minutes or hours. All I know is when I'm conscious again I'm on the ground, and someone is calling my name.

"Phil." Gentle hands are pressing something to my face, the other one gripping my shoulder fearfully. The pain in my skull is unreal- splitting my being in a throbbing, aching way. I can feel blood on my forehead.

"Phil!" It's Dan. But why does he sound so afraid?

"Wake up! Please!" and with everything in me I want to. The moans of zombies in the distance are not a familiar sound to me yet, so they don't spike the urgency that in a year's time would be typical. Dan's breathing is terrified. Does he think I'm going to die?

"Please. Oh god. Phil."

I take a deep breath and groan, unable to do much more but wanting to comfort him because it's all coming back to me. It's clear that he's somehow freed me of both my seatbelt and the car, maybe he dragged me across the forest floor to safety despite the injuries he must have suffered too.

When I open my eyes I see a bruised face with a split lip, feel hands positively shaking against my head as he tries to staunch the blood with a balled-up T-shirt. My eyelids flutter but I fight until they stay open and meet his wide brown eyes. The second I look at him he chokes out a weak sound and throws his arms around me.

Shaking. We're both shaking...

I clench my fists. I don't want to stress about what I can't change in the past. Dan for one seems to be dwelling in it more than I am, for some reason he's obsessed with it and his face has changed to something much more serious than his shampoo-scent appreciation face. I decide to make light of it, knowing as well as he does that that was the day we realized we were the only thing the other had left.

"You're a wizard, Philly." I breathe, back in reality, and he smacks me in the arm.

"Idiot." He turns his back on me before I can see him smile. I hope he does.

"Let's go find our room?" I suggest.

He nods and we go to leave, leaving the mirror behind.

This chapter killed me.
But there's a reason for that. This one took a lot longer than usual (which I'm sorry about!) Because a lot is about to happen in the next couple of chapters so it had to lead up just right. I feel like actual Dan with his quality threshold standards and stuff, everyone just wants the damn chapter Aly stick to the schedule for once. This one was so bad and I bet you miss Dan's perspective :/

Also heads up I'm submitting a Phanfic I wrote on here as an English assignment (names and all) so I'll let you know how that goes. We got to write a short story about anything we wanted so I picked a oneshot because idk I liked the way I wrote it maybe she'll think it's good. Ha. Why.

Leave a vote for a free Dan Howell

~Aly🌙