Reeves and Cohen

If it was any time except the end of the world, I would not have walked unsupervised with a stranger through the woods.

But in some way or another, Keanu saved my life, so I owed him at least that. We trudged on in silence, leaving my town behind us, before he decided to ease the awkward tension.

"So, how old are you?"

"Old enough," I replied gruffly, as I readjusted my gun in my pocket.

"Old enough to what?"

"Old enough to survive. What's it matter?"

"Just asking,"

We faded into silence. Maybe that was too mean.

"How old are you, Reeves?" I asked him.

He paused a moment before he smirked and replied, "Old enough."

Touché.

A smile almost broke out on my face for the first time, but it didn't manage to appear.

"What did you do to your hand? Did you get bit?" I referenced his bandage on his right hand.

"I didn't get bit. If you're bitten, you have to cut it off," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I sliced it climbing a fence. Now that you mention it, I probably should look at it again."

He found a stump and took a seat on it, and I rifled through my bag for anything I could use to clean a wound with. There was a bottle of water and a small roll of gauze.

I knelt down on front of him and he rested his hand on my knee, palm up.

I reached for him tentatively, almost inaudibly asking if it was okay to touch him. He nodded a little and flexed his fingers, so I gently held onto the back of his hand.

I carefully untied the bandage and pulled the sticky wet cloth from the cut. He hissed in pain as the skin pulled with the removal of the barrier.

"Sorry, sorry," I mumbled. As soon as the gauze was off, it started bleeding again. I was no nurse, but it was very possible he needed stitches.

"Do you have medical supplies where you live?" I asked him, pressing the bandage wad to his hand again to stop the bleeding.

"A bit. Some pills, band aids, nothing major,"

"Needle and thread?"

He scratched his head, "There should be. This needs stitches?"

"If the bleeding doesn't stop, then yes," I grimaced, watching the white cloth stain red. He winced hard and grunted, setting his teeth. Instinctively, I put my free hand on his forearm to try and calm him down.

His eyes met mine at the sudden contact, like he was surprised about it, so I played it off as nothing.

"Want me to wrap this for you?"

"I can do it," he lied. I could tell he most likely wasn't even the one who did it in the first place.

Instead of letting him, I just took over and washed the cut myself, trying to save as much water as I could. He bit his lip as he watched the blood wash away.

I looked up very briefly at his face to see if he was reacting in pain, and I saw him snag his tongue and run it over his teeth. This must be a pretty deep cut, and that worried me. It would be hell to fix it if he got infected. I was no doctor, and I didn't know anyone who was.

"Was there any rust involved?"

He shrugged sheepishly, looking down, "I was running from the dead. I didn't get a chance to see."

"I'll look at this better when we get back to your place, but for now, I'm gonna wrap it up," I told him, realizing now that I'd been holding his hand for quite some time now. Not that it was romantic or weird in any way, just strange to have such close contact with a stranger.

"Good thing I'm left handed," he smiled. I tried to laugh.

I rubbed his old bandages on my pants to clean them off, so I could use my good gauze for when I stitched up his hand. I pressed the end of the cloth to his palm and wrapped him up tight, and I noticed he was watching me with a very intense gaze, like he'd never seen anything quite like this before.

I coughed and pulled my hands away as I tied the knot. He flexed his hand a few times and looked at it.

"Thank you,"

"Don't mention it,"

His eyes flicked up from the bandaged hand and looked me directly in the face. There were discreet crinkles by the corners of his eyes that appeared when he smiled, and his dark irises glinted with hope, his eyebrows knitted together slightly, but still relaxed. I suddenly felt far too close for my own liking and looked down at his hands.

"Where have you been staying?" I asked quickly, to get rid of the growing silence between us, as well as get to know the stranger I'd be surviving with.

"You know those old apartments down on 7th street?"

"Oh yeah,"

"Parts of them were overrun, but if you go in through the basement, you can take the stairs up and avoid the mess. I prefer to stay off the ground, so I'm in 117 B."

"Is anyone else there that you know of?" I moved back a little, because he was still very close to me, his head tilted slightly so that his hair fell in his eyes.

"A few survivors, but not many. They don't live with me, but they're on the upper floors," he replied casually, a fond smile pulling at his mouth.

"Okay, so we're gonna get back to your apartment, I'm gonna stitch up your hand, and I'd like to talk to the other survivors. It's not safe to be alone in this world."

"I don't mind being alone,"

Something in my mind clicked.

"Reeves, are you flirting with me?" I said suddenly, eyes narrowing as I moved back.

"What? No!" He looked offended at my accusation, "I don't mind being alone because then you get to live for yourself."

"If you liked being alone so much, why'd you offer to take me in?"

I felt bad for the miscommunication, but did not move closer to him.

"Maybe you changed my mind is all,"

We faded back into another tense silence.

"C'mon, we should get going before the dead catch up to us," he said after a long time, standing up. He picked up my bag and put it over his good shoulder, and his bad hand went to my back to help me.

"Got any family, Reeves?"

"Somewhere," he whispered, "I believe they're out there. Maybe you should too."

He looked down at my face again when he said that, as though he could sense that my throat tightened again at the thought of my mom and dad.

"There's gotta be more survivors, don't worry. How many bullets do you have left?"

I thought back.

"Five," I answered, excluding the one around my neck."

"Seven," he recalled, "What's that one on a chain for?"

The idea of it was a bit sensitive still, but my encounter made me realize why my father made me wear it.

"It's a swift way out of a sticky situation," I answered.

Keanu paused and pulled his gun out, opening the chamber and sliding one bullet out. He stowed it in his pocket with the intention to do the same when he got a chain.

"It's there, but we're not gonna need them, okay?"

"Dear God, I hope not,"

He smiled hopefully at me and put his bandaged hand in my shoulder.