#action cards: weapons | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mooishbeam · 2 months ago

Text

『♡』 Country Honey

♡ featuring: ranchhand!toji x richgirl!reader

♡ synopsis: a spoiled, wealthy college senior is forced to spend her summer at her father’s rural farm as punishment for her reckless behavior and slipping academic performance. unbeknownst to her, a bigger storm awaits just around the corner.

♡ wc: 16.5k+ (AHHHHHH)

♡ cw/tw: afab!reader, enemies to lovers if you squint, hurt/comfort kinda sad toji, feral toji, spanking, overstimulation, edging, sadism/masochism, throat fucking, cock worship, m/f receiving, doggy style, degradation kink, brat taming, dumbification, reader is a spoiled brat a lot of the time

notes: oh god, where do i begin...i know ive been gone for so long. firstly i want to apologize, and secondly ill explain my absence in a second post. not proofread so i apologize, honestly i shouldnt have tried a long fic for my comeback bc it took way too long to finish, but either way i hope you all enjoy! art by moonlessoul on ig! comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

“Almost there.”

The sleek luxury car your dad drives grumbles at a rocky pace over an evidently gravelly road. If you can even call it a road—rather the patchy fragments of flattened dirt eroded by heavy traffic from a forgotten time. It’s a path shrouded by southern live oak, canopying its leaves and spearing sharp rays of summer daylight through the sunroof.

You’re feeling every second of this bumpy ride. The wheels hop over an unsteady rock and your knees jab into your sternum. You’re pressed into an unfortunate position, with your legs pinched to your chest and the bright pink suitcase you insisted on bringing sandwiching you to the leather seat. You struggle to wiggle to a decent side that spares your sweltering face from the sun, but the other seats are also occupied with your luggage. And the front seat. And the trunk.

Maybe that’s why you were brought here in the first place. You’re well off to a sickening amount and you’ve made no efforts to conceal your wealth. Your dad sacrificed his golden years to foster an agricultural business in the rural south, and now you reap the rewards of his labor. You know it and spend it as such. You’ve collected a textbook of names throughout the years—spoiled, bratty, coddled, pompous—each insult savored more than the last. You embraced being a spoiled rich girl and all it had to offer. Top notch schools, waitlisted parties, designer bags, and just about any opportunity you could get your greedy hands on.

High school left like the wind and before you knew it, the 4.0 extracurricular weapon you used to be devolved into a nightlife college senior, more invested in the extravagant yacht parties than your academic probation. It was a risky misstep, but you didn’t have the heart to care when your dad could easily pay your way to graduation. At this rate you’d be a couple years behind your peers. Your dad wasn’t having any of it.

The festivities stopped. No unlimited debit card and especially no spending. This could possibly be your final senior summer, and instead of celebrating with friends you’re making up for your transgressions. The worst part is the rural retreat he’s currently driving you to with no sign of civilization for miles.

You could die right now.

“How much longer?” You drawl on the last syllable, flicking your phone on and off in hopes that a bar or two will magically appear in the top right. He glances at you through the rearview mirror, a tinge of southern, "Just a few more minutes.”

You let you phone fall from your limp hand and lean your head against the open window. Nothing but ancient trees and the occasional berry bush. You’re not sure if you should be more upset by the consequences of your actions or the actual actions that roped you into this mess. Instead of ruminating on your mistakes, you allow your eyelids to droop in the oppressive warmth.

“We’re here darling.” Your eyes shoot open. So soon, and surely not after the forest you’d been traversing moments ago. You’re able to scoot up more, the sound of stone-pathed roads rattling in your ears. You tuck your knees underneath you and lift yourself up now that the terrain was smoother, poking your torso out the window. A bane of light strikes you immediately, and you blink away its brilliance to reveal crystal blue skies.

Your mouth shapes an ‘O’, and you push your designer glasses over your forehead. “...No way” you gawk, taken by the view your father cultivated.

This is nothing like the previous tunnel, and certainly nothing like the skyscrapers you’ve grown accustomed to. It’s an endless expanse disrupted by stone and crowded with overgrown wheat, bobbing in the mild breeze. They travel up the winding hill, ducking under wooden fences to border the farmhouse. The two-story ivory home exudes simplicity, strung with hanging pothos that wrap around the spacious porch and decorative shuttered windows painted like strawberries. From your limited view you notice the large red wooden barn peeking out behind the house, and a dirt trail leading to productive areas; a small stable, cattle, and other farm animals coexist in a sector made for their comfort. Beside the home is the largest Magnolia tree you’ve ever seen, with branches extending over the pitched, fabled roof and overhanging eaves with sweeping petals. It’s purposefully overgrown and homely, a humble size incomparable to the mansion you were raised in.

Your father pulls up to the oak gate with a tattered sign overhead: Welcome to Pleasantview Farms.

The lack of security, never mind the lack of extravagance, is astonishing to you. It’s unexpected of your father—the man that required you have a designated butler all throughout secondary school. “You never told me about all this” you yell from outside the window, still gazing at distant rolling hills of dewy grass. “You never asked” he chuckles, and turns onto another hill leading up to the house. You look beneath you; patches of flowering weeds fighting their way past the pavement.

He parks in an open plot half occupied by a wheelbarrow, packed to the brim with haybales. “We’re here.” He turns the car off and steps out to open your side. Your luggage slams onto the dirt before you do, and you yelp.

“No, it’s gonna get dirty!” He laughs and brushes specs of soil off your precious bag. “And if it does, you’ll be alright pumpkin.” You groan and attempt to get out without sacrificing your hot pink slides, when your first foot gives into silt. You scream and stumble onto dry earth, leaving your phone behind to *splat* in the mud. You kick off the mud barely clinging to your shoes until you catch a glimpse of your glittery phone charm on the floor. It takes you a second to process the mud-covered device slowly descending, but when your brain synapses finally link, you expel an ear-shattering shriek. To which your dad stifles a smile at the dramatic performance.

He picks it up and wipes the debris on his ivory shirt. “One more reason for you not to have it” he says and tucks it away in his pocket while you’re struck with a permanent look of horror.

The front door swings open, and you turn to see a thin older woman. Slightly older than your father, her face is gentle and creased with living. Her hair fades from light gray to dark brown at the very tips, tied neatly into a bun with a coiled band. She removes her pale-yellow gloves and stuffs them into the back pocket of her bleached trousers, jogging up to you. “Good afternoon, Annie” he smiles, and she stretches a wide grin that nearly shuts her eyes. “Hello, sir. Is everything alright?”

“Yup, just kids being kids” he snickers and plants both hands on either side of your shoulders. “This is my daughter.”

“Good afternoon” you meek, devastated and contemplating the status of your phone. She audibly gasps and grabs your hands, and you jolt. “You’re even more beautiful in person. I’ve heard so much about you.” It’s like she’s studying your face with the way she gazes into your eyes, to which they fall onto your cheeks and hair. You’re not one to shy away from flattery, but the direct compliments spread embarrassment across your ears.

“Keep her company while I get these from the car, will you? Maybe show her around.” She nods, and leads you on an impromptu tour through the house.

“There isn’t much to see ‘round here, but I’ll try to make it interestin’ for ya” she jokes. The entryway is quaint, keeping nothing but rubber boots covered in dirt and farming tools used for today’s workload. “This where we keep what we need for today. S’just better to pick it up from the front.” You nod.

Further in, the hallways are decorated with baby pictures of you at various photoshoots. On the left side, she shows you a pastel green kitchen embellished with colorful floral paintings above the handles. Annie talks with her hands, “This is my domain. Damn near painted the whole thing. Took a lot of convincin’, but I got it eventually.”

“Do you live here?” you questioned. “We all do!”

“All?”

“Mhm”, she hums, “Me, Terrace, Lionel, and...” she trails off at the end. You’re surprised that they’re living where they work, and even more surprised that she’s all smiles while doing it. “Do you...like living here?”

“Of course! Pays well, lots'a vacation time, and everything’s compensated.” You tilt your head slightly, “Where do you guys' sleep?”

“We got our own place out back, all of us. Sweet deal, huh?” she says, patting your back. “And who was the other person that works here?” you ask.

Annie waves off the idea, stating “You don’t have to worry ‘bout him, he’s not really the talkin’ type.”

Perhaps it was her bluntness or her motherly cadence, but you quickly became comfortable with her presence dragging you around like a lost puppy. She showed you the living room that appeared to be vomited on by all things antique and vintage, and the bathroom tiled an ugly orange pattern. She led you outside, where a garden blossoming with peonies and hibiscus was trimmed carefully to adorn the pebbled path and fit around the barn. Far-out past the back gate you saw what you assumed was their living quarters, separated from miles of tillage.

By the time she finished her grand tour, you made it upstairs together to regroup with your dad. The second floor was reserved for your bedrooms and attached bathrooms. Entering your room, there’s nothing special about it. It seems like your dad attempted to buy things similar to your style, but couldn’t quite figure it out. You weren’t expecting much of anything considering this was your first—and most likely last—time being here, but it’s truly mediocre. “Whaddaya think pumpkin?”

“I love it” you choke out a lie and plop onto the red plaid bedding. Your luggage is lined up by the dresser, and you have quite the unpacking session awaiting you. Annie leans on the doorway. “I’ll let ya get settled in. We can do more in the morning.” Your dad leaves with her, and when you’re left alone stewing in the reality, you fall back onto the comforter.

One day is entertaining, you’d even call it an enjoyable experience. But the entire summer? You spend the rest of the day emptying out suitcase after suitcase, and turn in under the heavy blankets starving off a midnight chill.

You’re up before the crack of dawn, contemplating what you’ll wear as if that matters while you’re shoveling shit and carrying chicken feed. You throw on something impractical either way—a plaid button up tied to crop, tight denim shorts, and a brand new pair of shiny cowboy boots you just couldn’t resist buying when the trip was announced. You stomp your way to the back porch and are immediately hit with the bittersweet scent of humid pastures and last night’s rain within the tepid wind. It’s utterly quiet besides the distant echo of cattle and pigs, cicadas humming an airy tune. Your eyes latch onto the barn, slightly parted with a dim light going on the inside.

You recall what Annie said to you during the tour when you asked what’s in the barn: “I suggest you leave it alone, nothin’ worth lookin’ at in there.” Her clear avoidance intrigued you, and the more she dodges actual answers the more curious you become. You tread carefully on the path so you don’t alert whoever or whatever’s inside. As you plant one weightless foot over the other, you stop.

A deep, gritty voice; thick like the bark of an ancient redwood. He grunts then *chop*, followed by something solid rolling on a prickly surface. Another thick groan and another *chop*. You get closer to the barn and slide across it, practically dragging yourself against Annie’s wishes.

*Chop*

You clutch the side of the parted door.

*Chop*

You peak your head in. The two story barn houses an array of soils and tools used for farming on the bottom, and clumps of hay piled high at the top.

The older man with a mop of inky hair hangs his head low, honed in on the objective beneath him. The sharp end of the axe steadies above his head, then cuts through the air as it lands deep within the stump. He goes for another swing, beads of sweat meandering between his pecs, down the carved muscle of his abdominal and disappearing below his chiseled v-line. He digs his thick calloused fingers into the crevice and splits it. It’s as if his physique was crafted by careful hands, weaving marble like silk only Roman gods could mimic.

Your entirely distracted by the unexpected scene before you when the silence is cut by a clatter. His breaths are sharp and purposeful as he kicks it off the stand and trudges to the uncut pile of logs. You watch him with wandering eyes, taking mental notes of scars hiding underneath the fine hair spread across his torso. This isn’t the grumpy old man you imagined when Annie spoke so brazenly about him.

He hasn’t glanced at you once, despite standing right in front of the post he’s chopping on. It’s slightly aggravating. You’ve never had to ask for anyone’s attention before. You bathed in wealth, just enough to make even the snobbiest trust-fund kid turn his head. He must be blind. So, you wait until he comes to his senses, tapping your foot with your arms crossed over your chest.

And you do that...for a while. More than a few minutes pass, and you’re still standing here. You stir in the silence and methodical chopping, feeling flustered at how needy you look waiting for a man's response. A piece of wood—more important than you? Impossible. In a last-ditch attempt, you clear your throat rather dramatically. Nothing. A log rolls by your foot and the older man walks up to you only to kneel down and grab the wood before going back to his task. Heat creeps onto your cheeks. Are you fucking kidding me?

“Are you hard of hearing, mister?” you finally ask, batting your eyelashes at him. It’s a deep contrast to the irritation boiling in your stomach, so much so you have to choke back the vulgar words bubbling at the surface. He glimpses you with frosted olive eyes and swings the axe over his head. In a mild country accent he replies, “No.”

“...Oh.” You’re struck with palpable quiet once again. You’re fixed to the floor, struggling with something to say that doesn’t start with ‘fuck you’. As you’re about to open your mouth, he speaks.

“Heard ya the first time. If ya wanna talk, use your words.” You stare in utter disbelief. Was it audacity or straight stupidity? You can’t imagine anyone disrespecting their employer’s child, let alone commanding them.

“Excuse me?” He tosses the last log in the pile.

“Hm? Should I do it in a way you’ll understand?” he brings his fist to his lips, clearing his throat as you did. There’s a glint through that frost, the twinkle of an obvious shit-stirrer. You’re pissed no doubt, but the corner of your lip twitches at a challenge.

The most important tool to a wealthy family is humility. You can’t be too self-centered or prideful to strangers, dropping hints of sugary kindness as to not sour your perception. Perception is truly everything. Even so, the flowered words you’ve been taught to wield with grace wilt at the sight of him.

“Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, huh?” You scoff, plopping down on the stump. He wipes his dirt-dusted hands on the back of his overalls, straps dangling at his thighs. “Not sure what ya mean.”

“From what I’m getting, you’re a grumpy asshole. That description sound correct?”

“‘M only an ass when trust-fund kids call me like I'm a dog.”

“You know, the way Annie talks about you I thought you’d be some geriatric old man on his death bed! Turns out you’ve still got a couple more months in you—congrats!”

He laughs, “‘Preciate it. If I’m correct you must be papa’s spoiled little brat from the big city?”

“Mhm. Don’t worry, this was your first offense so I’ll let it slide. Remember to get on your knees when you apologize.” He pretends to ponder the idea, “Think I’ll pass. You can pick up one ‘o them bags up though and bring ‘er up to the field.”

You pause for a second, blinking. Instantly you double over with snorting laughter, the kind that tints your face and gathers tears at your lashes. You’re even clutching your stomach from how funny it is. When you come up from your fit, he’s there with his arms crossed under his chest. That’s when you realize he wasn’t joking by any means. You gape in disbelief, a chuckle still caught in your throat.

“Wait…you’re serious?” He walks over to one of the sacks and tosses it at your feet. “Well, get to work. I’ll show ya where to put it.” You purse your lips when a giggle slips, “Do you really think that’s gonna happen? Must be the age catching up with your brain.”

“I think it is gonna happen cause yer in my area. If you wanna be here, you’re gonna work. Nothin’s free ‘round these parts.” You hop off the stump and stand in front of him. Unfortunately, your attempt to size him up fails as your crane your neck to meet his gaze. “You can’t make me do anything. In fact, this is my property, and you’re here to do your job. So go do it” you terse.

“Nah, that’s not how this works. You’re on the farm now, not some bullshit country club you go to on weekends. Take yer ass to that bag and pick it up.”

You feign a pout, “Isn’t a pretty girl in your presence enough hard work already?”

“Not when she has so much mouth. The pretty ones know how to shut up.”

“I wouldn’t have so much mouth if you didn’t back talk.” He gets in close, only inches away from your face.

“Either go pick flowers, whatever girly shit you do, or do what I tell you to do.”

“I’ll tell my dad you’re forcing me into manual labor.”

“Aww, go ahead” he mocks with a smirk. He walks towards the door, wrapped in golden sunlight. Curious, you try tugging on the sack and nearly face-plant over the weight of it. There’s no way he expects you to carry it on your own. He turns back around, laced with mirth.

“By the way, name’s Toji. Welcome home, sweetheart.”

“Go do it yourself since you’re so good at it! You egotistical, selfish, brutish-”

“Pompous ass instigatin’ little-”

“-Callous disrespectful pig!”

“-Brat.”

The words topple over themselves and you both can’t get a full sentence in as insults are hurled like physical objects. The few days you’ve spent on the farm so far have been nothing short of hell, specifically around Toji. You’ve never worked this hard in your life; then again, that’s not saying much. He'd disregard your lack of general strength and enthusiasm. Sometimes he’d hold the underside of the bag to take some of the weight off, to which you often added “why don’t you just grab the whole damn thing?” A smirk and curt response were simply “Nope.”

Most days you merely dragged a few bags to the pick-up truck and spent the rest of the day lounging around the garden. You’d stumble into the kitchen, a bead of sweat barely manifesting on your brow, and complain to Annie about Toji’s evil plan to make you contribute.

Today is no different and you laze on the chair with your back bent over it, groaning in theatrical agony. Annie sits across from you funneling blueberry muffin batter into a silver muffin tin. “Yea, yea, I hear ya” she jokes.

“Annie, do something” you drawl. She throws her hands up, “Can’t. Thats on you, now.” You scrape the side of the bowl and pop a blueberry-dipped finger in your mouth.

“Don’t eat raw egg, hun” she says, turning her back to put the tray in the oven. You unconsciously take another swipe, then the door swings open. Heavy cowboy boots trail to the kitchen, and you glance at the doorway. Toji leans on it with his hands in his pockets, white tank sprinkled with grass blades.

“Shit” you mumble.

“’M lookin for ya and here you are stuffing your face.”

“The girl neva worked a day in her life an’ you want her to be your assistant” Annie jests.

“’S about time, ain’t it? We’re not done yet. C’mon.” You let out another reluctant groan and follow behind him. “This is bullshit, nobody does this on a normal day.”

“Yea, nobody you know.”

In front of the wheelbarrow bags upon bags are filled to the brim with juicy red apples and the truck is just a few feet away. Your eyebrow twitches imagining the weight in your arms. “You can go fuck yourself if you think-” before you can finish your sentence, a bag is dropped into your arms that briefly sends you to the ground. Toji picks up two and flings them over his back. “What? Too weak?” He walks to the truck, ignoring the glare burning holes in the back of his head. Too weak, my ass. You definitely couldn’t beat him in a fight, but you damn sure wouldn’t let him talk down on you after proving your competence. You pull it up and haul it backwards, not without a few mild choice words.

“Jerk.”

The pungent odor of slurry and trough feed overcome any habitable air near the pig farm. The clothespin you have clamped around your nose barely blocks the smell. It’s the middle of the day, rays rippling heat off the stench and sending it for miles. Your cowboy boots struggle to sit upright on the uneven terrain blanketed with mud.

You don’t dare to open your mouth and complain in fear of it invading your sinuses. It’s your fault for nagging endlessly about the “back-breaking” work Toji forced you to do. your criticisms were met with some rendition of “suck it up”, and arguing only went in circles. Consistent arguing—from the moment you woke up to the last minutes of your shift, where you mouthed off one too many times for his liking. When you threatened to find another shift with someone else, he laughed in your face, a “good luck” drowning in derision.

Eventually Terrace got word of your grievances and offered part of his work to you. You accepted too soon without consulting Annie, happy to just rub it in Toji’s face that he’d be on his own carrying the bags. Simply the concept of it—Toji hunched over and covered in sweat with heaps of cargo—satiated your pride, and you’d count the days until he groveled and begged for your help again.

Except that’s not the case. As you fight the urge to sink into the mud a seed of regret grows in a more reasonable part of your mind. You could ask for your position back, where he’d probably be waiting with that shit-eating grin of his and “I told you so” written all over his face. Or you could be stubborn and prove whatever point you’re trying to make. Stupidly headstrong, you swallow the urge to vomit and plod into the pig pen.

The squelch of damp earth and God-knows-what underneath your boots is enough to make you sick. You’re balancing two full buckets of pigswill on either side of you, resisting the lack of steadiness that causes you to lean unfavorably. It’s no help that there’s filthy pigs all around you, snorting and trotting along. One bumps into the bucket and you shriek; your foot goes airborne and impending doom flashes before your eyes. Luckily, you gain stability and plant it firmly into the ground with an awful bubbling noise. The mess has soiled your boots coming up to your calves, and you frantically check for mud-to-skin contact. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it’d definitely be the end of your day. Suddenly, a whistle from the other side of the wooden fence grabs your attention.

“Go on then, pig queen!” Toji yells, elbows propped on the edge. His accent gets thicker when he yells. He’s not affected by the smell in the slightest, and it almost looks like he’s breathing in extra hard to taunt the shortage of oxygen reaching your brain.

“Fuck you!” you yell in a nasally tone. He adjusts his cowboy hat, “I’d focus on what’s in front of ya. Wouldn’t wanna slip in shit, right?” You scoff and continue to the troughs.

You can’t imagine how Terrace, let alone anyone does it—from the constant clamor of livestock to sinking in pools of muck for hours. There’s dirt on your knees, clothes, in places you never imagined dirt could reach. The pigs seem excited as you place the pails on the rim, whereas you exert a long sigh for the fulfilled trek. They come running in unison as if something triggered in their brains, pushing past each other to get there first. Once they’re emptied, a partial weight lifts from your shoulders. You shoot an arrogant sneer at Toji, and watch the corner of his scar tip up just a little. You’re still pinned to the side, and a wet snout gently prods your exposed leg. It tickles and you laugh at its cluelessness. “Hey, I’m not on the menu.”

As you slither out the crowd, a sneaky puddle attempts to take you out. You cling to the embarrassment, to Toji standing right there ready to mock you. You won’t give him the satisfaction. From there you take careful steps, one cautious foot after the other. Toji meets you around the entrance, and you’re about to reach the gate. You’re oozing confidence now; you might even brag to your father about the effortlessness of it all, that living on a farm is nothing, that you were able to accomplish anything—

Slip. Crash!

You’re knocked clean off your ass, so fast it doesn’t register until a few blinks pass. You hold a breath and the blurriness fades.

Brown. It’s on your face.

It’s truly everywhere—mud sloshing around in your boots, seeping into your clothes, sticking to the crevices, your fingers intertwined in the mass below.

The emotion you try to stifle boils over into a horrified squeal, a tune that exceeds the pigs. And you scream and scream. Once for the mud and twice for the death of your designer boots. You’re so entwined in your own screams that you barely catch the laughter a few feet away.

It’s him, doubled over with a practically red face. “I get you wanna be one of the pigs but you don’t hafta roll in it too!” Toji chortles. He can’t contain himself, wiping the tears on his glove.

Your ears feel hot. “Shut the fuck up and get me out of here!”

“Relax, relax. Gimmie a second.” The footsteps get further away, and you stumble to the gate to open. It doesn’t matter now that the damage is done, and you look like some terrifying swamp monster from myth. The lower half of you could only be concocted in a child's nightmares.

Something snakes in the trampled grass, then it pauses. “Here.” Sooner than you can turn your head, you’re blasted with water. It rains on you like a thundershower and you cover your face from the assault. Denim weighs heavy, and your hair sticks to your face. You feel the dirt washing off, but now you’re soaked in a mixture of water and sodden debris. Wet, you’re spitting out water and treating your fingers like windshield wipers. The hose finally drops, and your eyes trail from the hand to the face.

That shit-eating grin.

“No need to thank me, miss piggy.”

Your lip twitches. Should you kill him? Absolutely. Is it worth it? In this moment, yes. You’re doused, dirty, nose blind, and no longer hanging on to your act of humility. You have to get him back, at least once. It doesn’t matter if you have to wait all summer for it, creeping in doorways for the perfect time to demean him. There’s no level playing field—either your way or nothing. A smile stretches across your face.

“You’re so right, darling. Now let me show you just how much I appreciate you.” You saunter to him, and he awaits with open arms. Before he can grab you, you dodge him and snatch the hose from the ground.

Aim and fire, full force directly at his face. The blast knocks his hat off and into the air, swaying in the balmy breeze. His arm falls short of snatching it, plopping into the pen to blend with shit. You can’t hear the muffled curses he spouts, but damn is it satisfying to silence him. Then he reaches for you to which you promptly escape his span. You take time hosing down any remaining dry spots, and once the hose is down, he launches. You yelp and return to his face, and the abruptness makes him slip. Right into the mud you just shook off, he lands butt-first. It splatters his cargo pants and creates polka dot patterns on the white tank stretching to accommodate his frame. “You little-”

Another burst of water. He tries to stand on slippery foundation and quickly falls, earth splashing back on him. You understand why he was laughing so hard and you can’t stop giggling at the misery of inescapable rain showers.

“Looks like you needed some too! I can smell you from here!” you laugh. His snicker comes off more conniving than it should, and you brace for whatever hell you’ll have to pay later. He bolts up, and you make a run for it. Just when he thinks he has you, he slips again.

“Poor grandpa! Someone get his life alert!” you cackle, dropping the hose and sprinting for the hills. You’re too afraid to turn around when you know for a fact he is mere feet away from capturing you. You cut through air, nothing but crumpling grass and laughter carried by the wind. It’s exhilarating...fun?

You're confused by your own actions. You smell horrible, your hair is sticky, disgusting slop clings to you like a second skin, the sun is only baking the scent, and your self-proclaimed rival is chasing you.

You should be mortified, and somehow, you’ve never felt better.

Motes of dust scatter within the golden hue of mornings wake. The window’s cracked open, and remnants of last night's chill carry through sunrise. You’ve sat in this claw tub for way too long, melting in steam and lavender bubbles that slowly dissipate the longer you linger. A self-care day is what you need, especially after the “incident” that still makes your skin crawl weeks later. Simply your mud mask, waning candles, and rustling leaves. It’s rare you get silence like this nowadays, with Toji constantly on your back bickering about trivial problems.

You can’t place your finger on what bothers you more, or if you’re really even bothered at all. Ironically, spending more time mulling over what you hate than actually hating him. You can mouth your contempt for him endlessly like an affirmation on deaf ears, but it never truly manifests.

He’s annoying, selfish, crude, and disrespectful.

Oh, and did I mention very annoying?

It’s almost a bonding experience between you two; you’ve memorized the way his lips curve before a snarky remark, the deep crease on one side of his eyebrow when they furrow at something stupid you unintentionally did, his jaw clenching from held back words. His laugh—deep and resounding, unleashing a toxic mix of vomit and thrill in your stomach. You anticipate it, practice your insults in the shower for it, as if...you’re actually looking forward to it?

You steep further into the fragrant bath, hoping you’ll somehow be sucked into an alternate reality where you don’t have to face those conflicting emotions. To your displeasure, the conflict is brought directly to you.

A roaring engine disrupts your personal spa, and you jolt up. It sounds like a monster truck convention decided to congregate right below your bathroom window, and you definitely can’t relax under these conditions. You loosely wrap the towel around yourself and peer out over the windowsill. You can’t see a face, but you see that distinct cowboy hat stained over its silver conchos.

“Hey!” you yell. No response, but how could you expect him to when the hood is propped up. He must be wrenching something inside judging by the way his back muscles methodically tighten.

“HEY!”

“TOJI!” That gets his attention and he squints above, wrench still in hand. “Oh! What are ya doing there?”

“This is my bathroom you idiot!”

He pans between the vehicle and your window. “Oops!”

“Turn it off, I’m trying to have my beauty bath in peace!”

“Welp, can’t do anything about that now, can we?” He makes no attempt to turn it off, nor does he give you any more attention as he turns around and resumes working like nothing happened.

You run downstairs completely haggard, mud mask hardly washed off with a pair of mismatched socks and a baggy shirt. The rumbling gets louder, and you don’t have the patience for appearances when you step into those clod-smeared boots.

The screen door swings open and you march to the side of the house, towel bunched in your arms.

He doesn’t regard you until you launch it at his face, which he promptly catches without looking. “Thanks, needed somethin’ to dry off.” He wipes the oil streaks from his face and neck while you stand there scowling. His eyebrows narrow.

“What’s the problem now?” You should've predicted he’d say this, as every time a dispute arises over his uncivil actions he asks the same clueless question.

“What...God, you’re so annoying sometimes! Do you not understand how it doesn’t make any sense for you to be here and-” He’s spacing off, scratching the side of his head with the wrench. It drives you up the wall when he acts like this.

“Listen to me!” That triggers him back to the present, and the light flickers in his eyes just to deadpan you. “You done?”

“No, I’m not done. Say you’re sorry” you command. He takes the hat off his head and places it on his chest. “My apologies, princess. I’ll be sure to call the company and let them know their machine is too loud for your prissy little ass” he smiles, coy and bowing. You nudge him and the wind rushes from his nose.

“When you call them, let them know their piece of shit junk needs to be out of commission.”

“Well, this piece of shit lasts a lifetime.”

“What even is this?” You’re analyzing it, and it reminds you of the illegal three-wheelers certain people ride through the city. It has no seatbelt or roof, and a row of sharp spinning blades hooked to the back.

“City girl’s never heard of this, huh? ‘Sa tiller. Gets the job done durin’ plantin’ season.” You step towards it, but Toji stops you from going further with his arm. “Don’t go near the blades.”

“Obviously.” You shoo him and climb into the seat of tiller. You sink into the leather seat, lay back, and cross your feet on the wheel. Toji grimaces, but that subtle sign that you’re inconveniencing him eggs you on.

“Get yer feet off the wheel.”

“Mm, nah. It’s not hurting anyone.”

“’S hurting me.”

“Hmph, okay.” You switch your feet to the opposite cross, and he looks up to an invisible God, probably begging it to give him the strength to not throw you off.

“What did I-”

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the engine!” you scream. He sighs and hunches back over the hood. “Jus’ be quiet for me, have to finish this.” Funny how he asks for quiet in these deafening circumstances.

You didn’t plan on watching him work, but you hate to admit it’s kind of interesting. It’s the quietest he’s ever been, sweat trickling down his temples from the apparent heat on the inside. This must’ve been what Annie meant at the beginning, about his silence and reluctance to speak unless being spoken to. The scars scattered on his bicep shift with the cranking wrench, and you can’t help but focus on it. They’re too deep to be cat scratches and healed with a bunched sheen under its darker edges. There’s one under his collarbone, too, peeking past his shirt neckline dark and jagged. Your mind wanders, for the past life he had—what was his family like, why does he choose to live here, why are there so many scars, what led him to-

“You’re staring.” You snap out of it, to him wiping the excess oil on his shirt.

“Sorry.”

“Oh? Where’d that hospitality come from all of a sudden?” You can’t explain why, but there’s a solemn pit burning in your stomach. Perhaps you’d lighten up a bit, at least for now. “Appreciate it while it lasts” you remark. He grins and gets back to work.

“What are you doing?”

“Changin’ the ignition coil. That’s why she sounds like hell.”

Your ears perk up, “She?”

“Yup.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Nope.”

“Can I name her?” He puts the replacement coil on, “Knock yourself out.”

“Hmm…how about….Priscilla?” He can’t purse his lips quick enough to stop the laugh that escapes.

“Hey! I think Priscilla’s a cute name” you add. “Yeah, for an old woman.”

“No way, an old woman name would be something like ‘Gertrude’.”

“Gertrude’s on the same level as Priscilla.”

“Either way it’s fitting, isn’t it? An old woman for an old man.” His scar tips up. “Ha ha. Think I’m pretty fit for an old man, though.”

Your eyes reluctantly snap to his chest muscles peeking through the shirt. “You manage.” He pushes the coil away from the flywheel.

“Maybe Rosy? Oh, or Susie.”

“Think I’ll just call ‘er (Y/N).”

“Huh? Why my name?”

“So when you make me mad, I can curse her out instead of you. Best part is she won’t talk back.” He tightens the last screws and shuts the hood. Immediately the banging stops, and the engine reduces to a whir. You clap sarcastically, “Nice job! You get a C minus.”

“Why not an A?”

“You’ll get an A when you stop pissing me off.”

Sticky sunbeams melt and mold into your pores, stiff from the aftereffects of its suffocating warmth. The sky gives way to a heatwave, where shimmering hot sheets scorch the ground and ripple like a retreating ocean. Lionel taught you how to harvest fruit before the rooster’s crow, and you reaped the rewards of your labor all morning. You’re numbed to the moisture collecting on your face at this point, as its vicious, stuffy humidity swallows your breaths and envelops your bleary eyes. You chose to shut them over battling the sun, bathing in its essence. It would settle in the late afternoon and blend to a forgiving mess of sunset swatches, but in the meantime, you’d soak up a bronzing tan.

You brought a blanket to the nearest tree you could find, an expansive canopy spearheading small manageable daylight. You’re leafing through the pages of a non-fiction novel you never finished with a makeshift flower bookmark tucked under your thumb. You occasionally stop to dive in the compensation for your earlier efforts; a basket of scarlet strawberries twisted around prickly stems.

The book tugs from your grasp and you prop up your sunglasses, gazing at the perpetrator.

It only takes a glance to notice how badly burnt Toij’s body is. Does he really need someone to remind him to apply sunscreen, a basic necessity, or did he get too wrapped up in his work again? Toji was, if nothing else, a hard worker. You caught yourself on more than one occasion observing him. You saw it in the way the other farmers freely asked for his help, and how he’d give it for nothing in return. He moved like the wind, stoic demeanor all consuming, to behave like the rough muteness he pushed upon himself.

A rosy shade diffuses on the apples of his cheeks and clearly separates from the protected and unprotected parts of his flesh. Its shape outlines a tank top he must’ve been wearing with the bottom hiked up, bright rubescent pattern surrounding his surprisingly smooth pecs. You take a mental note to nag him about it next time. The smudged outline of your glasses reflects on his glistening lower abdomen and his chest heaves like a marathon in the desert.

“What ya reading?” he asks. His eyes drag across the page. “None of your business” you retort, hazy and lax from summer’s embrace. He peers over the book and passes it off to you.

“Don’t seem like the reading type.” He plops down on the grass with a basket of dirt and carrots, few contorted to an inedible extent. “Neither do you.” He digs his fingers in the basket and begins fishing out the deformed carrots. The usual banter, macerated by exhaustion, ghosts by with little intent.

“If you’re looking for help, I don’t feel like it.”

“I know.”

You both don’t say anything for a while, taking in the warmth, the cicadas buzzing in a faraway tree, the brewing pause between your bodies, unsaid words binding you to selfish outcomes, depriving you of your deepest hunger. The book is no longer as interesting as you remember. You’re more inclined to watch the sunburnt farmer.

He picks up another clump. Inching along the carrot is a ladybug. Toji regards it for a second with the same eyes that chop trees and drag metal. At first, he does nothing. Then you track the tip of his finger as it prods slightly, goading the ladybug onto it. He carries it with the same unwavering stoicism to a blade of grass, where the ladybug hops off and continues its journey.

Speechless would be an understatement. Truthfully, he’s the last person you’d expect to act that way. Those battered palms, bruised and scarred, tattered with memories, could appear so gentle. Those same hands would afford the fragile beings of mankind a moment of mercy. Only you are granted the privilege of Toji’s micro movements; his shoulders slumping from their usual solidity, his eyelids relaxing, jaw unclenching. Is this what he wanted you to see? Is that why he came here, sitting in the shade of a rival you thought you had? You must be staring for too long because-

“…What?”

“Oh. Uh, nothing.”

He returns to what he was doing.

“It’s about the search for meaning in life. A psychiatrist's perspective.”

“Your book?” He asks, sifting through the sod.

“Yeah.”

“So…did he figure it out?”

“He believes that the primary human drive is not pleasure, but the pursuit of what we find meaningful.” He doesn’t react, but a curious part of you wanted him to respond. Tell you a story or spill his guts, lay bare in front of you so that you may latch on to something, anything that isn’t rumors or hushed whispers for the man unknown to everyone. He checks another carrot—it’s as if he’s looking past it, like a light switched off, engulfed in a reflection pulling him further and further.

You point the tip of a strawberry to him and his attention diverts, “You want?”

“Can’t. Hands full.”

You eye them; thick and calloused, fingernails lined with soil, probably sore along with the rest of his body. You can’t bear to watch—surely not because you care, but because of your sudden aptitude to kindness.

“Just come here.” He leans over cautiously, and the shock is palpable when you press it to his lips. He seems to contemplate the risk of poison for a second.

“If I wanted to kill you, it would’ve happened already. Open.” He obediently parts his mouth, and you feed it to him. Toji’s eye contact stuns like a spell from a Greek myth—devastatingly enchanting and hard to disengage. Just when you think you have the upper hand, you’re quickly reminded that dynamic can easily change. He rolls his tongue over the bite mark and sucks the juices, and you can’t look away—you won’t.

It’s the sun. it has to be. It’s getting to you both.

You flinch when his lips ghosts against your knuckles. Soft and slightly chapped. Sugary liquid pools at the plush center of his lips where your eyes linger for too long, and he licks that up too. It’s over as quick as it began. Then you’re stuck stirring in the disarray of your own deluded thoughts.

His scar curls with a growing smirk. It’s a shallow cut, but sunken, nonetheless. You tell yourself it’s the weather when your thumb moves from the strawberry to his face. Languid, careful motions where the hollow of his cheek would be, like gaining the trust of a wild animal. He doesn’t budge, and you press it to the corner of his mouth.

“How’d you get this mark on your face?”

“Not important” he responds curt.

“Why? I wanna know.” His jaw clenches, reappearing stiff and guarded. “Don’t push it.”

You trace it, fixating, studying the feeling. You drag downwards, tugging it slightly.

“…like someone cut you” you mutter.

Suddenly, he stands up with the basket. His joy fades to indifference; eyes encased in a dense fog. You retreat to your side, and he doesn’t acknowledge you as he starts down the hill.

“I-“

“I have to get this to Lionel. See ya.”

You’re given the back of him, receding into the distance. There’s a dull pounding in your ears, a twitch in your limbs that pleads for you to follow. But what would you say? What could you say? It doesn’t come to fruition.

The space between you widens with each step.

“-we’re expecting to see cloudy skies and storms for the re-” the portable radio buzzes in and out of connection, “-prepare for the weather by-”. Annie fiddles with the tuner to get it back on track. It crackles and scratches, but the connection can’t be regained, finally diminishing to static.

You weren’t listening either way, huddled with your knees close to your chest on the window seat, resting your head as raindrops trickle down the glass and pitter-patter the windowsill. The trees bend to the will of the raging wind, and they’re being pulled every which direction. Ceramic settles behind you, and you crane your neck to Annie, then the novelty mug resembling an orange. You don’t reach for it, but you stare for a while, teabag bleeding burgundy under the millions of candles placed around.

“Thank you for the tea.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You’ve had a hard time sleeping lately. Conflictingly so, since you’d imagine more sleep would be had with Toji coming around less. It’s what you wanted. Him chasing you was exhausting, wasn’t it? His behavior, his manners, him—it was just a bother. You should be glad you haven’t seen him since the incident.

If he pained you, why are you kept awake, fumbling with the covers, incessantly thinking of Toji? You put together witty remarks for when you cross paths again, new creative insults, schemes you’ll act out to piss him off—all of this for someone you tried to get away from for half the summer. You assumed a week would pass and everything would be back to normal. But one week turned into two, then three. Your stay is coming to a close, and as you reflect, you’re forced to reconsider the unspoken reality gnawing at your thoughts since the moment you first met.

That you were free to be dirty, to curse, to learn, to get mud on your face and dirt underneath your fingernails. You could lounge in an outfit from days ago or dance in the fury of midsummer. You were stupid, but not inferior the way wealthy upperclassmen made you out to be. You had the freedom to be stupid. There were no hierarchies or social status between you—simply hard work and hostility. Somehow that, being tangled in the thorns of a never-ending war, felt better than the yacht parties you’d been accustomed to.

He sets your blood aflame, but noting ignites a fire in you like Toji.

Annie sits crisscross on the loveseat, warming her hands with the cup. You return her content smile.

“Everythin’ alright, sugar?”

“Think I messed up.”

“Hm? How so?”

“I feel like...I overstepped. Actually, I know I did, and I feel bad. Even though I think I shouldn’t.”

Annie exhales a soft laugh, “Assumin’ this is about Toji?”

You nod, and she traces the rim of the cup. “If ya don’t care about ‘im, don’t feel bad.” You don’t reply, and she continues, “Though...I have a sneaky suspicion you care more than you'd like to admit.”

You bury your head further into you. “Feelings are weird” you mumble.

“They defnintely are. But sometimes it’s good to listen to ya heart. Take it from an old lady.”

“...”

“When ya feel bad about somethin’ ya did, the best way’s to apologize.”

You peek through your arms, “Has he ever told you? Like, about his life?”

She wanders in thought, recollecting an old memory, “Nope. Youngin’ showed up on the farm one day all scratched up and been workin’ ever since.”

If nobody knew, you wouldn’t expect him to comply with your demands. You’re conscious of what needs to be done, but doubt surfaces. What does my heart tell me?

You start tying your boots and throw on a hoodie in a pile by the door.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Not a clue.” That’s fine. Today, you’d be the one chasing after him.

The brunt of the storm smacks you in the face once the door flies open. “Careful out there!” she hollers, and you shut the screen behind you. Your fight or flight refuses to let go of the knob as the squall persists, invoking a shrouded sea of churning clouds and indigo, banging against the foundation of the house. You scale the side and notice the barn, no light inside. You go around the back and it’s the same, wheat failing to resist the storm. However, for a split second you squint and spot a flicker. It’s faint and the size of a firefly from your view, coming from the stables further down. There’s a chance it isn’t him, but you don’t have much room for hypotheticals.

The safety of the overhang leaves you, and you’re in the middle of a downpour. Running, inching the line of being knocked off your feet from an abrupt gust. You’re submerged in seconds, but you don’t stop running. If your heart tells you to endure, then you will. Raindrops threaten to invade your eyes, whacking you repeatedly in the face, but you shut tight and go forward. The last stretch to the stable feels like clawing up a mountain. The flurry hauls your clothes, and your steps get heavier and heavier as nature batters the earth.

Then the sleeve shielding your face grazes something solid. You glue yourself to the side of it and pry your eyes open. An oil lantern, shining bright in the dark. You shuffle around for the sliding door and slip inside. The interior is cozy, haybales piled wherever they could fit and a couple large wooden stables supported by beams. The power must’ve went out everywhere, oil lanterns casting dimly.

Your instinct to breathe ceases when you see Toji. His cowboy hat is tilted back, paisley bandana tied loosely around his neck with an ear of wheat tucked in his teeth. He glances at the sound of the door slamming. You’re blanking, even after you mulled over those sleepless evenings. It doesn’t help that your heart won’t function properly.

“...Hey” he says, a tone unrepresentative of his avoidance. He grins—in the exact way you like—and picks the straw out.

You’re irritated he’s even attempting to talk to you as normal.

“It’s rainin’. You should be inside.” He grabs his shirt and pats your face dry. You don’t complain; a musky scent of cedar and salt when you inhale. “I could say the same to you. Why are you out here?” you murmur through the cloth.

“Horses get a little antsy when the weathers like this. Came by to calm em’ down.” He pets the blonde mane of one of lighter horses, covered in brown spots. They look comfortable around him, loose lower jaw slanting to his touch. You’re forgetting how to talk. There he goes again, subverting your expectations.

“What kind of horse is it?”

“Spotted draft horse. She’s real gentle, wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“She’s pretty.” He flashes his canines, “Her name’s Marie.”

“Old woman name” you say under your breath. He laughs. “Wanna pet ‘er?”

You’re shy but interested, shuffling closer to the stable. The tips of your ears blossom when his palm encloses your wrist, rough skin abrading yours. Then he guides you to the side of Marie’s neck. “You’re gonna pet here. Nice an’ slow, yeah?” he instructs, way too close. It’s silky, and you’re absorbed in the feeling of it on your fingertips. She neigh’s mildly and you jolt. Toji keeps you still.

“Atta girl” he whispers, husky and painfully smooth in your ear. It fills your head like a shot of whiskey and a tipsy glow flows from your face. Your muscles tense, troubled from your anticipated apology and the unforeseen shift in feelings for him. There’s no way you can do this without stumbling.

“I didn’t know you liked horses so much.” He lets go.

“Yup. Used to have one.” You turn to him. His pleasant expression remains, but it’s solemn, bittersweet. You take a long breath and let it spill.

“I’m sorry for what I did before. I realized I made you uncomfortable asking those questions. It won’t happen again.”

He subdues his hum and he’s awkward in his stance, rubbing the back of his head like a guilty child. “I was never mad. I just...” He trails off.

“Never mind that. Big man still pissed at you?” he asks, like mood switch occurred. If he won’t dwell on it, you’ll try not to either. You connect the dots to your father's pet name.

“That’s what you call him?” you giggle.

“Yup, since I got to the farm.”

“I hope not, if he is I’ll probably never leave.”

“Is that a bad thing?” It’s a humorless joke, wavering someplace unsure.

“It would be if I never finished school.”

“What ya majoring in?” You’re hesitant to say for the possible doubt he’ll display. You dance around the answer.

“Promise you won’t laugh.” His expression contorts to confusion. “Fine...I promise.”

“Humanitarianism.” He goes blank like a mannequin, and by the way his lip fights a flit he’s holding in his laughter as much as possible.

“Forget it-”

“I didn’t laugh. What ya gonna do with your degree?”

“I want to help people.”

He folds his arms over his chest, “But you don’t wanna help me?”

“N-not that kind of help. Like, housing help, financial help. No one should have to work as hard as you...”

“So, you wanna help old broke runaways like me, huh?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I mean it’s admirable, darlin’, but I work here cause I want to. ’S a good gig, takes the mind off o’ things.”

Your mouth moves before your brain, “...What things?”

“Thought you weren’t gonna ask me shit like that anymore.”

“My bad.”

“I’ll give you what you want.” He locks the gate to the stable. Your blood feels hotter when he’s fixed on you.

“Y’know...the thing about foster care is you’re never guaranteed a good home, or even a home at all.” Toji simpers out of place, out of tune like a broken piano. “I was one of the lucky few that got sent home to home. Got attached just to get thrown back in the same shithole with the other rejects. It hurt at first, but after a while you get so used to the feeling that you’re not wanted or needed. And when a foster kid grows out of the system and they throw your ass on the street, gotta get it however you can.” Though he tells it like the casual reminiscence of childhood, you know better than that.

“So, I taught myself to survive, no matter the cost and regardless of who it hurt. I’ve done some irredeemable shit. Held people at gunpoint, beat them up for money, stole their valuables, all the shit they worked hard for.”

“I fought for food, shelter. Hell, anything I could get my hands on. I never killed anyone but damn sure got close, all for an overnight motel stay and sometimes a couple cigs.” He ambles to you and you automatically back up. Your space is squeezed to capacity, and whenever you get a portion of relief, he seals it. You take a step; he takes one more.

“You wanted to know how I got this, right?” He taps the corner of his mouth where the scar is.

“I entered a fighting ring for money, the kind that trades boxing gloves for knives. And boy, was I desperate. He chucked that blade at my mouth and I crushed his throat, sliced him across the eyes. I bled for a while but it kept me full for a few days.” Your back hits the door and he cages you.

“‘Ventually the wanted flyers started coming out. Thought about turning myself in, but what kind of asshole admits to his crimes? So, I kept running, running from everything. I can’t remember how long I went for. But then I ended up here.”

Rain pelts the roof. You remind yourself to inhale and exhale. It’s a conscious thought, in and out, processing the secrets revealed. There’s nowhere to hide, yet you don’t feel unease—solely the faint pang of sorrow. Toji appears warm under the rich glimmer. The rugged contours meld to his lowered gaze, lips twisted in a frown you hardly recognize. He looks entirely different, disconnected from your quarrels. To you this feels like it should be an attempt at intimidation, but the way he's boxing you in screams loose and unsteady. A wounded beast bearing its fangs as a defense mechanism. His arms are corded in muscle and riddled with injuries, likely from the upsets, days of begging for food, wondering when his next meal will be or if he just consumed his last, where he will go to survive, how he will survive.

“Are you scared now?”

He’s a vagrant. He lived on the fringes of society, avoiding the law and committing horrific acts for his own benefit. He hurt people. Who’s to say he wouldn’t hurt you next? Annie was right. Toji is right. You need to be afraid.

Instantly, his little quirks made sense. The barriers he built and his hesitation to speak, forbearing and tolerant in spite of the bruises. He was afraid of being thrown away again, to be the same teen casted to the streets—proven useless.

You’re inches away. It’s unsaid, begging you to repel him. There’s no rationale in your actions.

You stand on your toes and catch his lips in a kiss.

Brief, charged with the comfort that got lost on your tongue. His lips requite yours and leave traces of bourbon. You didn’t know he drank. It’s so brief you linger in the aftermath of heat, hoping you can satiate your interest with two, maybe three more kisses.

Your noses graze each other. His half-lidded eyes captivate you, freezing you in time, to plinking mist and airy touches, yearning on the brink of impulse. He hovers over your lips, shuddering on the expel. Then he withdraws.

“Ya have no sense of danger.”

You can’t think straight, haven’t been able to for some time now. “You’re not scary. Just annoying.”

“...I'm glad.”

He grabs his sherpa lined jacket off a haybale and wraps it around your torso. It’s far too big and pieces of hay poke your lower back. He pulls the hood over, “This should be good. C’mon, let’s get ya back in the house.” Toji opens the stable doors. Tiny droplets percolate at your frigid feet, and you stick your head out.

Fog clings to the edge of the horizon. The storm ended, and the land washed anew.

“Ouch.”

“Careful, hun.”

The sewing needle pricks your thumb from the other side of the glove again and you flinch, though you probably have tons of holes in your skin at the moment. You’re by no means the best at sewing, but it’s not like Toji could do any better based on the tears in the leather. You’re curled like a shrimp on the dining chair, weaving the needle through a heavy-duty fabric you found in the sewing basket Annie gave you. Floral pin cushions, yarn, thread, and bunches of fabric are splayed across the gingham table.

It’s likely Toji would’ve slaved it to the bone and never ask for another pair, so when you got to your room and found them in the jacket pocket you felt inclined to assist. Plus, it’s a good distraction from the half-embarrassment half-shock you grieved from your boldness the other day.

A draft pierces the chiffon curtains. It’s getting colder and the final day of your vacation has arrived, both short and torturously long. You think about the things that passed the time, the person that shortened your days to summertime laughter and mischief. Before the farm, you would’ve relished in a going away party with a performer and glittering spotlight. Yet, as cattle moo and land are tilled for the upcoming season, the profoundness of being ordinary is more pleasant than the former.

You pull the last thread through the patch and admire your amateur mend, navy fabric accented amongst the mahogany leather. Vanilla and lemon permeate the house while a bundt cake rises in the oven.

Annie hands you a few stationery notecards smudged with flour fingerprints. “Write somethin’ nice for ‘em. Don’t think they’ll be able to say goodbye before you go. ‘S gettin’ busier and busier nowadays.” You nod and start writing messages of appreciation for Lionel and Terrace, thanking them for putting up with your cluelessness.

“Should I write one for you, too?”

“You can jus’ tell me now” she beams.

“Well, Annie, thank you for everything—for showing me around, cooking for everyone, making sure we’re all healthy and full. Most of all, thanks for treating me like family.”

She tussles your hair, “You’ll always be family, honeybun.”

Hooves on stone trot near the house and your heart skips a beat. You walk to the screen door and see Marie’s long mane, then Toji holding the reins. He looks like a true cowboy, double stitched western belt with a taut plaid flannel and chestnut cowboy hat to match his boots. You open the door and lean on the porch column.

“Wanna go for a ride?” he calls.

“Usually, guys say that when they have an expensive car.”

“Well, this here’s an expensive horse. That good enough for ya?”

“...I guess it’ll have to do” you say, continuing to Marie with a delicate caress on her neck.

He holds his hand out, “Up.”

“To where?”

“Stop askin’ so many questions.” You roll your eyes and grab his wrist. He abruptly hauls your body weight over Marie and you squeak. It's higher than you thought and you struggle to adjust your legs in the right position on the saddle.

“Might wanna hold on.”

You scoff, “I can handle myself.” As soon as you say that, Marie breaks into a sprint. You would’ve flown off the mare if not for your flailing arms finding safety around Toji’s waist. “You did that on purpose, you ass!” you scream.

“I have no idea what ya talkin’ ‘bout.” You can hear the smile when he says that.

Hammered dirt belches behind as you leave a thick forest similar to the one you drove through for your arrival. It’s a scene from a storybook, carving through a colorful meadow bursting with wildflowers. They teeter in the headwind and so do you, hair whipping onto your face from the speed. The canopy that once enveloped you becomes a faint, fading outline against the sky and bushes shrink to specks. The landscape melts like an impressionism painting.

Toji has expert control over the mare and his stature stands tall in spite of haste. You scale the hills, appreciating the natural foundation carving willowy trees, the miles of foliage, the cattails in a small sparkling river etched in a meandering bank. Birds sing their evening songs, and an animal rustles through the grass. Eventually you pause at the summit, immersed in a vast, unspoiled scenery stretching infinitely. Toji hasn’t said much, but neither do you.

“I thought you’d wanna see this” he mutters.

“How come?”

“When ya weren’t working, you’d just climb to the hilltops and... stare. Never knew what you were staring at, but I assumed it was the view.”

“You don’t see stuff like this in the city. It’s so peaceful here.”

“It never gets old.” You look at him, corners of his mouth mellow. You recall the way they felt and butterflies involuntarily bloom from a deep pit in your stomach.

You yank the hat from his head and try it on. “Hey, give it here.” You duck his grasp and push it down.

“It looks cute on me.”

“So what?”

“You don’t think it matches my shoes?”

“I think you’re a brat.”

“Hmm” you say, feigning contemplation. “You should know, women don’t like angry old men. It’s so uncute.”

“Heh, really. I’m uncute?” he laughs. “Yeah, among a few other things.”

“Well I’m sorry, princess, but you’re a real pain in the ass too.”

“The feeling’s mutual” you retort.

“...Is it?” You don’t have a remark for that. The sun recedes into the horizon, radiating burnt orange and red. He uses the reigns to guide Marie back in the direction of the farm. “I’ll miss the countryside.” The brim of his hat dips over your eyes and you don't correct yourself when you lean to his back, calmed from the rocking sway.

Toji pulls the reigns at the stairs and gets off. You impassively accept his aid as he

scoops and sets you down.

The buzzing porch light attracts moths with its fluorescence. Amidst the prolonged awkward silence and clumsy gestures, you’re searching for your soul’s response like Annie mentioned. Whenever you tried, the message got tangled on your tongue. Given another chance, it eludes you again.

“I guess this is it.”

“Yup” he agrees.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

He smirks, “I’ll do my best. Goodnight, little miss.”

He left and it’s time for you to get some sleep. But you can’t. You’re wide awake, glued to the ceiling thinking about him like your life depends on it. Maybe the instigator in you was waiting for confrontation, or the truth hurts more than you thought it would. You sit up like you’re expecting something, like you just lost a long-fought battle. You need the last word.

It’s a quaint home with tawny wood accents. Jacket and gloves in tow, you can’t formulate a single justifiable reason for being at his front door. You lie and tell yourself it’s to return his possessions, as if you ever cared, like his hat isn’t resting on your dresser. You knock twice.

Toji unlocks the door wearing nothing but his jeans, hair shaggier than usual. “Look who’s here” he says, a tinge of shock and something sweeter. You shove the items to him. “Your jacket, and uh…your gloves were bad, so I sewed them up. Try to take better care of your things.” He slings it to the side.

“Heh. Yes, ma’am.”

“So…um.”

“Is that all you’re here for?” Not in the slightest. You’re here to get something off your chest, right? You’re not even sure what you’re mad about anymore.

“Y-yeah.”

“Alright then, see ya in the mornin’.” The door slowly winds closed, but you interrupt, “Were you trying to insinuate something?”

It stops and he cracks it further, smile growing. “Not tryin’ to insinuate anything I haven’t noticed already”

You’re burning under his gaze. “Wha…I swear, your ego is insane. You should be grateful I’ve been so nice-“

“Your eyes tend to…” he regards you from head to toe, “…roam. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Like I wanna look at you.”

“I wouldn’t mind if ya did.”

“God, you’re so far up your own-“

“You haven’t left yet.” His relaxed demeanor aggravates you, as if he's fully aware of why you’re here. He edges closer, chest inches away from yours, voice slow and gravelly in the dead of night.

“There’s somethin’ you want, right? Ask for it.”

Your pulse travels to your ears. Longing teetering on the cusp of fire.

“Fuck this.” You turn to leave, when suddenly your arm gets snatched back and pulled into the room. The door shuts and you’re flung against it, though there’s no room to move when Toji’s pressed chest-to-chest. His breathing heaves, and you can feel it rising and falling laden with yours as he’s loomed over you.

“What’s with the sass, huh?” he chides. His grip is bruising, but the small victory of a sinking composure sends a chill up your spine you’d rather not think about.

“You started it, don’t act so innocent now.” You can tell he’s physically holding back, the shakiness in his little breaths becoming more evident. The wild blaze in his eyes eats you up with greed.

“You really need to be taught some fucking manners.”

“You’re gonna punish me?” You’re both at a whisper, too scared to speak the words you’ve been keeping to yourselves.

“I wanna do so much worse.”

“Then do it.”

He holds your neck in place and you succumb to raw and unrestrained fervor. Rough, uncoordinated kisses being dragged over the expanse of your lips and you’re hardly able to maintain the pace. Your free hand curls through his tresses and pushes him deeper into you. He groans through those rushed, bruising kisses reddening your lips and immediately hunts for more.

You didn’t expect Toji to be a gentle lover by any means, but it’s the way his mouth never leaves yours, a certain thirst that can’t be satiated no matter how much he drinks. You bite his bottom lip, teeth collide and he repeats the feast all over again. You can’t tell if he’s trying to savor it or devour you in one go.

His hands snake from your neck to the fat of your ass, and he delivers a quick smack before hoisting you around his waist. Trails of spit connect where you part for air, but he swiftly chases it with tongue, pushing into your mouth and clouding your head. You intertwine, wet and feverish as it explores your mouth.

He’s ruthlessly scouring fulfillment, drunk off the pleasure he finds in swallowing your moans and traversing your numbing lips. You’re sweating, hot in all the right places, and you return the favor with similar passion. Your lower back aches but he doesn’t give any inclination that he’ll let up soon, grinding on the delicate, sticky lace of your panties exposed from your hiked up dress.

“Fuck, I can feel it through your clothes” he groans, lazily undulating his hips.

“S-shut up- ah!” Your stammering gets caught in a moan when the fabric presses against your clit just right. He wears a sleazy grin, moving slower to coax the barely audible whimper that escaped you a moment ago. “I wouldn’t mind if ya made a little noise” he husks. You’re shaky, trying to compose your trembling vocals threatening to call his name. In regular circumstances, you would’ve let yourself have it. But this is Toji, and the mischievous urge you reserve for him wants to shoot down his boosted ego.

“Maybe you’re not doing good enough.”

“Really...” Toji’s huffs a humorless laugh, and you have half the mind to acknowledge that you just fucked up. He enriches the kiss and movements get a little angrier, bulge rutting into you furiously.

“Then I’ll make it so good for ya, darlin’” he rasps, “So good you’ll hafta beg me.”

It’s impossibly big, and sliding against the aching mess restrained in his pants doesn’t quell your concerns. You swear you can feel the dim thump thump thump through it.

You unlatch again, severing a trail of spit when you briefly make eye contact. They’re crazed, far and near at the same time and somehow sparkling the prettiest shade of hazel green. He immediately claims space on your neck. Sucking and biting, feral groaning between your pulse point that drums whenever his appendage glides along a sweet spot. His teeth graze harsh against your skin and you can feel purple and blue burgeoning like watercolor splotches on an untouched canvas.

And he must be long gone, pinning you between the door and his haughty strength, spit glistening on your neck. You’re using whatever pride you have left to clamp your mouth shut, though it’s obvious to Toji as his lips curl when your breath stutters. He detaches with a wet smack, and you can't angle away from the onslaught of tender kisses along the underside of your jaw.

He lifts you across the room, to the edge of his wooden platform bed draped in a deer pattern quilt. Your knees are wobbly on the descent and it hits when your feet touch the ground, almost slumping onto the mattress. Before you can, he grabs a fistful of hair at the back of your head and holds you upright.

“Stand straight” he barks, dangerously commanding. In one fell swoop, using one hand, he flips the buckle on his belt open and yanks it out the loops. His pants sag at his hips and the tent peaks with more room. He wraps the leather around your wrists and ties it over itself, securing tight—maybe too tight—at the end.

“On your fucking knees.” You don’t drop on the first order.

“Make me.” Typical—but he’s happy to guide you. He tugs your hair to the ground, and you thud onto the hardwood floors by your knees.

You knew Toji was hot, stealing glances of his shirtless torso plowing in the summer rays—but God, he truly is alluring. Straight below him you get the best view of the veins winding down his lower abdomen, the planes of his abs shining in the already low light. Underneath his pecs, full chest pulling taut with yearning, unruly need. In no time he unzips his fly and kicks his pants at his ankles, revealing firm boxer briefs and a dripping, milky stain trailing to the side. Your eyes follow, where his throbbing cockhead peaks out, rosy brown with pearls of greedy precome dribbling down. You can’t resist staring, devouring the sight and adding onto the stickiness coating your inner thighs. You lean in and pepper a few kisses on his tip. He hisses.

“Are you losing your composure?” you ask, reveling in his twitching abs. He grins, and you return the same, “Not yet. You’ll know when I do. I promise.”

You lick a long, mouthwatering stripe on it and he rasps a groan. He’s quick to snatch your scalp and tilt up, forcing you to gaze at him. “Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.” They appear darker, drunken.

He tugs the boxers down and his cock springs out centimeters from your face, glistening and flushed. He taps it on your lip and smears the sheen. You don’t break eye contact as required, especially when you lick your bottom lip to taste him.

“Fuck, such a slut.” He prods at your mouth and you gladly open, closing your puckered lips around the bulbous tip. “Nice and open for me” he mutters. It’s partly a mutter, resembling a hoarse ramble as he slides the length of his veiny, thrumming cock past your cheek fat constricting around him.

“Yeah, t-that’s it—fuck—just like that.” Your eyes water and beaded tears gather at your lashes, but he craves the back of your throat—he’ll make it fit if he needs to. You’re adjusting to his size, forcing yourself to accommodate him and hollowing your cheeks as best as you can, fulfilling a twisted desire to satisfy him. Your palate scraping his sensitive tip elicits a deep, gravelly moan that sends vibrations straight to your clit.

“Mm, that pretty mouth taking it so well f’me.” You open your throat and allow him to push further, swelling a noticeable bulge through your skin. He’s straining your mouth to capacity, and it’s only when your nose meets his pubes and his balls are flush with you that you try breathing.

It’s no use with his cock barreling down your throat. He keeps a firm grip on the back of your head, watching your body retch at the size of him for amusement. Then he pulls out and you dry heave from the sudden influx of normal air in your lungs. You’re soaked all the way through, hazy, hurting, but desperate for more. Too horny to remember your pride. What even is pride when you can’t tell the difference between drool and tears?

You’re French kissing his dick as if he’s not there, slobbering and licking it up, rolling your tongue over his frenulum like an animal in heat. Shame will overcome you by morning; in the meantime, you’ll indulge, drain him so that he can’t fathom speaking the word “brat” again. You loll your tongue and he smiles.

“I didn’t even fuck you yet and you’re already this bad?” He’s one to talk when his comebacks crack at the back of his throat, muscles sweaty and tense from your ministrations. “I’m a good man, so I’ll help ya out.”

Without warning, he drives himself all the way down your throat. You gag, but he’s relentless. He has hands on both sides of your head and he puts his foot on the edge of the bed, angling himself to probe deeper in your throat. Laden balls slap your chin and an amalgam of sloshing and gagging bubbles from the inundated scene in your mouth. Obscene noises cloud your ears. You can only lean on the support of the bed and take every brutal, solid thrust. His groans accelerate, “You’re—hngh—droolin a little bit, huh, princess. Haah—is it t'much for you, hm? T-tell me baby, fuck.”

It really is. It’s so intense; eyeliner smudged across your face, tears shimmering, drool coating your puffy lips and his cock rubbing your voice raw. He uses you like a fleshlight and your panties are soaked through. The twitching gets more apparent and he channels a string of curses as his hips lose coordination. “On your f-face or—ungh, your mouth. Choose darlin'.” You respond by staying still, looking at him with what little eyesight you have through cloudy tears.

“Such a pretty comeslut” he moans, “Don’t be wasteful—hah-ah—you’re gonna be soo fucking good and swallow it all, okay?” He might as well be rambling to himself, mouthing off on questions you couldn’t possibly answer. His bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans and curses at the precipice. Hips stuttering, legs quivering sporadically, “(Y/N), m’coming, coming—ugh, fuck—oh fuck.”

You see the exact moment he disregards ego; head lulled back, lip sagging open while he chases the high. Guttural groans meander in the space, and he pumps enough come from his spit-soaked balls to coat your throat. You wince and fresh tears are stirred from the sheer amount you’re gulping. He lags and finally relaxes, twitching sensitively when you swallow with his half-hard length still inside. Then he shudders once more when he retreats.

Toji leans down to kiss you, wrapping tongue over tongue. You’d hope the kisses soothe your chafed throat, but to no avail. It’s not ideal that there’s a tingle in your knees, and the same position made your legs go numb. Your wrists burn as well, diagonal lines creasing your skin around the leather. Luckily, Toji scoops you and sets you rather gently on the mattress. That’s the extent of his kindness, however, as he begins shredding the straps from your dress. They snap with a pop, the sound of money going down the drain. The luxurious silk is torn from you and you’re indifferent. There’s an unquenchable need for him—everywhere, under you, inside you, however you can achieve closeness. “I need you. Now” he grunts.

He manhandles you on your stomach with your ass raised in the air. Cool wind brushes against the pounding fever between your legs, and the sopping lace hangs by a thread.

“Shit, you’re wet.” It’s obvious from the outside, drenched fabric a shade darker, fused uncomfortably to your pulsing pussy and reflecting on your plush thighs. He won’t take his eyes off it; he stares like he can eat through them. He peels the fabric back painfully slow, watching it furl into itself. “These just get ‘n the way.” Some slick leaves with it and slides down his hand, then he absorbs the main course.

Glistening, syrupy fluid blankets your pussy and forms cobwebs of mess around your inner thighs and taint. You’re so wet it’s uncomfortable, and you shift around on your knees trying to quell the inescapable throbbing in your clit. He spreads your cheeks apart, practically salivating, “Look at ya.”

Your windpipe was ripped from you, but you can scarcely hoarse “Stop staring.” His hot laughter sends shivers through you, but he holds you still before you can move forward. “Aww, too wet for your own good?”

“Must be so sensitive” he coos, veiled in feigned concern. The pad of his thumb hovers, damn near salivating. “Tell me where it hurts, darlin’.” He flicks gently over the bud and you flinch. “Here?”

He rubs calculated, unhurried circles on it. It doesn’t suffice—it couldn’t, because each time you lean to his touch, he recedes just a little. Because of course he wouldn't let you satisfy your desires without paying first. It’s maddening to almost get what you want and fall short repeatedly. You whimper pathetically, and he teases, “I know, darlin’, I know.”

“Hurry up already” you whine. He quickly lands a stern, stinging swat to your ass and you recoil. “No attitude. Had enough’a that.”

He positions two fingers at your glossy entrance, “Want help? Show me how bad ya want it.” You should’ve told him to go fuck himself, or at least you would have if you weren’t trembling with carnal hunger. You turn back to him glassy-eyed and he smiles—sympathy won’t work here. So you slope over his waiting fingers and glide them inside. They’re thicker than you thought they’d be. A delicious burn around the ring of your cunt from your walls stretching, it takes some adapting to get used to it.

Once you do, though, you’re bouncing on them knuckle-deep, coating his palm in juices sluicing down his wrist. He doesn’t move an inch, but he drags his digits in a ‘come hither’ motion that sends tiny sparks bursting through your body. The notion of fucking yourself on his fingers should’ve been obscene, but you can feel yourself climbing to the edge. You’re panting, wiggling your hips with buzzing stars in your vision at the way it scrapes and kneads your walls. “You can’t hate me that much. Suckin’ me up and I’m not even movin’” he taunts.

You don’t realize how loud you’re moaning, how your pussy talks louder than you do, sloppily sliding and squelching. “Fuck—you’re so messy. Where’s your resolve, huh? Nothing mean to say?”

“Hah-ah” You clench rapidly, heartbeat in your ears. Until your stuttering heart and legs get worse, and you’re losing momentum. Your muscles burn from the inside out like a tiring workout, and you can’t keep up the pace that would’ve attained ecstasy. Just like that, it’s ripped away from you.

And you cry.

Hot, frustrated tears spill down your cheeks and you stop moving. He removes his wrinkled fingers. One side of the mattress sinks near you, and he thumbs the tears from your blushed cheeks and nose, your dazed lashes and pouty lips. “S’okay.” He pecks the corner of your eye, prompting a tear he samples. “Done fightin’ me?”

You nod absentmindedly. “What do you want?” It’s simple, but you make eye contact with him. Jaw clenched, huffing as if he’s battling his own assurance. Your eyes water again. “Please...”

You can’t read his face, but he leaves the mattress. It’s eerily quiet.

“Y’know just how to get me.”

A shattered gasp dies in your throat when you feel a warm, cruel stripe from your clit to your taint. Once, twice, his broken puffs fanning the flames. Both hands spread your legs wider and he nuzzles your folds, placing open-mouthed kisses, savoring your arousal. Then he immerses himself.

He put up a good farce for a while, but the crumbling began at his desperate, tangled tongue—ravenous and starving, he ate you like a decadent main course he’d never taste again. He was starved—slurping and sucking, releasing with a juicy smack and diving back in. He’s on his knees, grunting low at your drooling slit. He didn’t care about your quivering thighs, honeyed liquid building in layers on his chin, the weak cries you managed. None of it mattered. Because you—you were heady and sweet, and as he drowned in your scent, he wished to be breathless forever.

“S’fuckin’ good—oh, fuck, make a mess on my face.” He swats your ass, pointed tongue massaging your clit while he gropes the doughy flesh. It’s pliable in his hands and it gives him something to anchor while he drawls lecherous swipes over your swollen gooeyness. “Ngh—p-please—close-” Your stomach turns knot after knot, damp with sweat and sensing a rapid euphoria surging all too fast. Your mistake for announcing it, because he focuses his attention on a self-indulgent make-out session with your clit. “Come. Come on my face, princess—” You start to spasm, and the vulgar noises coming from Toji disperse in your ears.

“Toji” you moan, and sooner fall apart in his arms. White-hot pleasure courses through your convulsing cunt and a chain of violent aftershocks render you silent. What makes you even shakier, though, is that he doesn't stop.

He cleans his plate, imbibing the perfumed essence gushing from you. He peppers kisses around your contractions, deaf to your croaked sobs. If you weren’t bound, you’d push his head away. You attempt to use your foot to nudge him off, but you didn’t expect to make a dent in someone his size. He intertwines his hands with your sweaty ones, calm thumb swaying back and forth; it would be comforting if he wasn’t ruining you at the moment.

The intensity of his deliberate tongue only makes the aftershocks worse, and your hands start to jolt as you cry out, “Ahn--no more, p-please!” You feel his smile on your folds and he persists. His lapping gets more aggressive and so do your tremors, loud and unrestrained moans torn from you.

He finally unlatches, landing a final smack on your puffy pussy. Your heads swimming in an infectious trance, but you’re undeserving of a break as you whirl behind you and see him pumping his flushed cock. It stands at attention and even seems bigger than before, colored deep with need pearling at the divot.

“Need you or ’m gonna go crazy.” Toji keeps a firm hand at the base of your spine—it arches your back and shoves your words into the bed. He drags his bulbous head along your sensitive cunt, collecting the slick trickling onto the damp sheets before rimming the slit. A hint of fatigue crosses your face and he takes notice. “Heh, done already? We haven’t even started yet.”

The image of him entering you for the first time burns into your memory; his brows are knitted, bottom lip tucked under teeth and his breath hitches. If you were fucked out, he was getting there. He presses into your spine like he’s trying to prevent himself from coming on the spot, paused but lingering. Tunnel visioned on your soaked, bulging pussy stretching around him, snuggling his leaden length like a heated blanket. And you drink in the pain, a dulcet blaze engulfing you as sore muscles clench and unclench.

“You’ve been quiet, pretty thing” he muses, “Where’s your resolve, huh? Nothin’ mean to say?” With his veins adorning your walls and your mushy brain bouncing around in your head, you can’t bring yourself to talk shit. He pulls out completely, watching a mix of precome and wetness connect your bodies.

Suddenly, he bottoms out. “Ahn--fu-ah!” It shreds a whimper from you and he mocks your cracking moans, though he seems to be breaking, himself. The sharp snap of his hips contacts skin-on-skin, earning each sloppy slap echoing in the room. His lips are parted, swamped in infinite, unbridled lust. The carnal itch he’d been holding off on for weeks seeps through, satiating his most indulgent appetite. “O-oh, God, shit, look at the m-mess you’re making.” He drives out to his frenulum and shoves it back in with no mercy, no sign of slowing down. Long, deep strokes leaving you slack jawed and teary. Every drag of his dick imprints his name on your tongue, heavy balls smacking your tender clit.

“You hear that? Listen.” He goes quiet, to let the indecent plap plap plap’s resound. Your cheeks turn hot from humiliation. The side rail of the bed screeches the hardwood floors, and the belt buckle you’re secured to clicks occasionally.

“You’re my filthy slut” he grins, striking your rouged cheek. He’s rough, but you weren’t searching for friendliness, neither of you did. At your core, you knew it—Toji bullying himself into your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. A poison so incredibly captivating, you’re burning just to feel his crowning ardor.

He’s sandwiched between your swollen lips and he can’t get enough, virtually drunk from it. He winds another branding swat on your backside, then the other. The crackling fire of his hand thwacking delicate flesh merges pleasure with pain. “You've been such a brat all summer” he taunts, “Needed me to put you in your place, huh, you fucking slut?” Another mean swat, and he laughs crudely at you little gasp. “You like this shit, don’t you? Wanna be manhandled like a fucking whore.” Both cheeks are a severe fiery color, beginning to welt, but he resumes. And you’re drenching him. A creamy, gooey ring forming at the base of his dick, tracing translucent strings when he pummels your poor leaking pussy.

“M’sorry, so s-sorry” you babble. Apologizing for what? You don’t know, but the delirium spills truths you should’ve voiced ages ago. You're utterly incoherent; you might as well stay silent. “Aww, I know” he cloys, soft and sultry compared to the angry strokes he’s delivering. Shockwaves burst and fizzle on your clit and you flutter around him. Your ass ripples against him, hoarse voice funneling strings of curses, scrotum pummeling your overworked bundle of nerves. You want to come so bad it hurts, and you find yourself arching a little harder, spreading your legs a little wider—just begging him to use you entirely, to melt, become his.

“Pleasepleaseplease” you whimper, at the height of your intensity. Then sweltering, frenetic spasms suffocate Toji’s shaft as you ride the orgasm seemingly crashing into you. You shudder violently, pleading with your body to attain some level of poise. It has other plans, however, provoking you to flitting tears from dragged-out, toe-curling tremors. You grip him like a vice and he struggles to pull out, but when does he’s rubbing circles on your aching nub. You’re lost in a bottomless sensation, but you hear his voice in your dampened ears, “Mm, I got ya.”

The pressure on your wrists lessens, and you realize you can move them freely. Your arms are numb returning to a normal position, and you support yourself on your feeble elbows when you feel your legs being parted again. In the fleeting instant you’re allowed to settle, the vast trail of his tongue laps at your shuddery cunt. "P-please wait—ngh, I can’t-” you wail, and you turn to the commotion to see Toji, growling and devouring your silken arousal.

He’s absolutely corrupted, a feral glint in his blearily blinking eyes, chest heaving salaciously as he kneads your thighs. You paw at his hair, toiling to crawl away from his unsparing mouth but he follows. He releases you and you inch away from him. “Where ya goin’? Heh, tryna run?” he teases. You don’t get very far, because he grapples your waist and pulls you back. “Not done ‘till I say it’s done.”

Then he’s climbing on the bed with you, and you can do nothing but snivel in protest as he maneuvers you to hike your leg over his. He lays on his side, locking you in his embrace and smears his cock between your puffy folds. “Am I being mean to you?”, he slides in with ease, savoring the sweet mess spewing on cue, “’M sorry, I’m just an ‘angry old man’, after all.”

He pounds your chubby cunt with wild abandon. You feel each vast stroke pummeling your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. You can’t close your legs—as badly as you want to—and you’re forced to endure frantic twitching from your lit nerves. He strips your breasts of the flimsy lace bra and alternates among pinching your nipple and molding the valley to his palms. He twists it harsh and you muster a pathetic babble, to which he laughs—mocking and unhinged, “My poor baby, you can’t handle it anymore.”

Anymore was an understatement, it was overwhelming—to a degree that you’d gone quiet, enveloped in vehemence. You're scratching up his bicep with the other tangled in the sheets, knuckles turned white and your head thrown back. You want to push him off, but you’re milking his stuttering hips, drawing him closer. It isn’t enough and it’s too much. “F-fuck, it’s so swollen” he moves from your chest to your vulva, “I can touch right? Y-yea, you don’t mind.” His intoxicating voice is at a whisper in your ear, laying like liquor in your cotton-filled mind. With his cock dragging against your walls and hammering your g-spot, mercilessly circling his pads on your clit, eliciting every short “ah, ah” from your swollen lips, you’re far from combative.

He precisely rolls his hips and it’s unbearably hot, broken mewls fleeing you. Your mouth sags, drool shameless down your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. He wraps his hand around your throat, boring into your teary eyes. You can’t escape his overbearing presence, isolated from everything besides his eye contact. He is everything.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He gradually squeezes tighter and you pule in response. Since that didn’t work, he accentuates the words with every tantalizing thrust:

“Who’s”

“Pussy”

“Is this?”

You narrowly choke out, “Your pussy”, and like something snapped his rhythm get faster, nastier. The asphyxiation reaches you brain and floods you, aswoon on a pillowy cloud. He’s faltering, pumps getting sloppier, “Thaaat’s right, ‘nd I’ll use this pretty pussy whenever I need.” His stomach flinches but he doesn’t stop chasing that high, eyes thoroughly glassed, “’N you’re gonna be a good girl and take it—ha, f-fuck—be a good girl, o-okay?” Your pupils retreat to the back of your head, and you arch off the bed as your body begins to tremble. He’s glued to you, “One more, let it out f’me. Please, fuck, I need it—hah—need you to come on my dick—”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and you unravel. A stream of liquid coats the blanket and you’re speechless as you convulse uncontrollably, legs betraying you for strong spasms. You go limp but Toji props you up, bucking his hips when his own legs start to jolt. “That’s a good girl—Ohh yes. Y-you're so good f'me, princess. Coming—hahh—gonna come all over your pretty cunt—”

His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy, vile pumps before he pulls out. He spurts all over your tummy and hypersensitive vulva, painting it in thick white layers. He persists, groaning until he’s fully hollow, emptying his sack in globs. His staggering pants and shaking reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted weight. You weep softly, clinging to him as he presses selfish kisses from your lips to your wet lashes. He caresses your cheek, sweaty and disheveled in the dim light. Then your eyesight starts to blur.

Your sight peels back, permitting warm sunlight basked over the bed. It takes a split second to notice you’re resting on pillows not nearly as comfortable as yours, and the wood paneling was uncharacteristic of your assigned room. It takes another second to notice your galled throat, stinging backside, and the arm loose on your naked waist. You peer over your shoulder, to that mop of ink sprawled on the pillow. He looks peaceful, though you’re not sure how you slept soundly when he snores like a brute.

You slip from his arms to sit up. The floor’s freezing, but by the time you get to stand you’re pulled back into the covers. Entangled in limbs, you gaze at Toji, who still has his eyes closed. His face appears softened up close. There’s a small scar near his hairline that you hadn’t spotted. You trace the scar, outlining it to the one on his lip. He nips your finger.

“I wanna sleep” he grumbles.

“Then you should’ve let me leave”

“No.” You card your fingers through his hair, and he sighs into it. A fine gray strand peaks out amongst the rest. “You’re turning gray, old man.”

“The way I had you last night, I wouldn’t say ‘old man’.” Your remembrance makes your ears hot and you clasp a hand over his mouth. He laughs and pecks it, “You’re leaving today. Let’s get you packed up” he muffles.

Little did he know, you’d talk to your father that afternoon, asking to stay for a couple more months. The countryside welcomed you—and what a humbling experience it was.

#jjk toji #jjk x reader #jjk #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut

1K notes · View notes

galedekarios · 6 months ago

Text

Dragon Age: Veilguard | The Ultimate Preview Summary

shinobi602 on twitter shared this amazing in-depth summary of all new information about the game that we have so far:

Coming to PS5, Xbox Series X and PC in Fall 2024

Consoles: Quality and Performance modes (60FPS)

Photo mode is confirmed

Fully offline single player, no EA account linking, no micro-transactions'

Play as a human, elf, dwarf, or Qunari

Choose your backstory, 6 factions to choose from when you create your character, all with "deep roots in Thedas": Antivan Crows, Grey Wardens, Shadow Dragons, Veil Jumpers, Lords of Fortune, The Mourne Watch

Each faction offers 3 distinct buffs each, like being able to hold an extra potion or do extra damage against certain enemies, and the odd reference in dialogue

You can customize your Inquisitor from Dragon Age: Inquisition in the character creator and "make a few key decisions that will impact how The Veilguard begins"

There are some "killer cameos" from past games that show up

Warrior Class: Use a sword and shield or two handed weapon to send enemies flying

Rogue Class: Utilizes quick movement and reflexes. You can wield a bow or dual swords with "powerful, precise strikes for lethal damage"

Mage Class: Use magic to incinerate, freeze, electrocute and crush. Some cast from afar, while others prefer close quarters combat

Each class also has 3 sub-specializations, such as duelist, saboteur, or veil ranger for the Rogue

Classes also have unique 'resource system's, for example, the Rogue has "momentum", which builds up as you land consecutive hits, and each will always have a ranged option

One Rogue momentum attack is a "hip fire" option we saw for the Rogue's bow, letting you pop off arrows from the waist

Another momentum attack for the Warrior lets you lob your shield at enemies

Quests are more handcrafted and mission based, curated with alternate paths, secrets to discover and optional content

There are also open ended explorable areas

Party size of 3 during combat, ala Mass Effect

Combat is focused on real-time action, dodge, parry, counter, "sophisticated animation canceling and branching", using risk-reward charge attacks designed to break enemy armor layers

Enemies have elemental weaknesses and resistances, and you can chain together elemental combos for extra damage

One example is a squadmate using a gravity well attack to suck enemies in, another slowing them down, and the player then unleashing a big AOE attack

You don't take direct control of companions like past Dragon Age games, but you can still pause and issues ability commands for you and your allies

There is a hub area for the player like Skyhold and the Normandy, called The Lighthouse

Companions can eventually start romancing other characters if you opt not to romance them

Each companion also has unique missions tied to them that play into the larger story

Nudity confirmed - romance scenes can get "a little spicy"

"Incredibly deep" character creator: 5 categories including: Lineage, Appearance, Class, Faction, Playstyle

Players can also choose different body sizes and shapes

Dozens of hairstyles to choose from, with "individual strands of hair rendered separately and reacting quite remarkably to in-game physics", pulled from EA Sports

Character creator lets you adjust the lighting so you can be sure your character looks good

The team wanted to balance the look of the game with both light and darkness. "When everything is dark, nothing really feels dark. For this one, we really wanted to build that contrast again."

Skill tree is "vast", you can also set up specific companions with certain kits, from tackling specific enemy types to being more of a supporting healer or flexible all-rounders

There are tarot cards you go through during the character creation process that will let you choose decisions from past games to implement into Veilguard

The team teases you may lose some characters during the story

#i found this super helpful because there was so much that you kind of lose track and get overwhelmed #dragon age 4 #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv #vg: dragon age 4 #series: dragon age

2K notes · View notes

stevie-petey · 2 months ago

Text

episode four: dear billy

“That’s-old!” Nancy digs through her closet, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You walk over to the poster and nod appreciatively at it. “Hey, Tom Cruise is pretty. I don’t blame you.” “Hey!” Steve waves his hands in the air, offended and completely overwhelmed. You shrug at him. “You’re the one who wants me and Max to die, so I get to call an actor hot.”

Summary: steve almost hits lucas with a lamp, you try to trick your boyfriend into a gloomy arrangement, steve and nancy have a Talk, robin suddenly becomes an academic weapon, and max threatens legal action, gets really into hallmark cards, and levitating. all in that order.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, slight suicidal thoughts if u squint

Words: 11.7k

Before you swing in: hey gang !!! im back, wrote this severely hungover, and ive never been more excited to share a chapter with yall. dear billy is my favorite ep from season 4, the ending haunts me, so i hope i can haunt yall too <333 enjoy !

–

Max won’t wake up.

Your fingers grip harshly on her shoulders as you shake her. Her eyes remain vacant. There isn’t any life within them. “Max, wake up, please.”

Dustin grabs your arm, he’s never seen you so broken. “Y/N, you have to tell us what’s going on.”

“It’s–” your eyes sting with tears. The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. You think you’ve bitten your tongue. “I-I can’t.”

You’ve forgotten how to speak, how to say anything other than Max’s name as you plead with her to come back to you.

Steve’s hand finds your other arm. He’s trying to talk to you, telling you to steady your breathing. He tells you that you’re having a panic attack. He’s worried you’ll hurt Max or even yourself if you continue to thrash with blind fear.

“Y/N, angel, I need you to listen to me, alright?” Steve’s breath hits your face, but you refuse to let go of Max. “We can’t help her if you’re panicking–” Suddenly, after an agonizing minute, Max breaks out of her trance. The sound of her sharp inhale echoes off the office walls. Immediately she collapses into your arms, she’s crying and hiccuping uneven breaths.

“Y/N,” she shakes against you, you pull her even tighter into your chest. Her hands grab at your arms, your waist, anywhere they can reach. Almost as if she’s afraid you aren’t real. “Am I-am I awake?”

Your nose presses against her red hair, your arms tremble from how tightly you hold her. “You’re awake, this is real.”

Dustin kneels next to you and Max. His tone is gentle, his eyes fill with concern. “Why wouldn’t any of this be real?”

Max pulls her face away from your body, her eyes look up at you. She’s looking for the answers you don’t have. Her eyes are still frightened, wild with fear. Her body stands on edge. Her spine stiff, her skin cold. Placing a soft hand over hers, you answer for her. “She had a vision.”

Steve’s breathing stutters, Dustin lets out a quiet curse. Max slowly starts to remove herself from you, although her hand never leaves yours. She stands up, albeit with some difficulty, and she tries to wipe away her tears. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur to her, easing her distress. You feel as if you’re talking to an injured animal. “Let’s start with telling us what you saw. Can you do that?”

Max jerks her head, nodding. With Steve’s help, she’s able to take uncertain steps out of the office. She quietly instructs him on where to guide her. He’s careful with her, he takes his time helping her. Dustin walks next to you, his own arm extended towards you to help, but you gently decline him.

At the end of the hallway, Max points her flashlight against the wall. “Here.”

“What was here?” Steve asks.

“A grandfather clock. It was ticking, over and over, but it,” her voice catches on fresh tears. “It isn’t here.”

Dustin looks at you, raising his eyebrows to silently ask you if you understand what Max is saying. You shake your head. There was nothing about a grandfather clock in the files you read, but it’s a detail that you can’t overlook. There has to be a reason she saw it.

Doors burst open behind you, disrupting the quiet of the night. You spin around in alarm, hand finding your knives, but you relax when you recognize the squeak of Robin’s sneakers and the click of Nancy’s heels.

“What’s going on?” Nancy takes in the scene before her. You’re all standing against the wall, flashlights illuminating it. Fresh tears stain your face and Max’s.

“Max, she…” Dustin sighs. He hates not having all the answers. There’s an unease that comes with not knowing. He’s spent his entire life trying to outrun it. “She saw something. A grandfather clock, I guess.”

“It was here. Right here,” Max insists, frustration in her voice.

Nancy tilts her head. “A grandfather clock?”

“It was so real.”

You step closer to Max, your hand finding her shoulder once more. She doesn’t have to explain anything else. It’s clearly hurting her too much to do so. “Hey, you don’t have to give us all the details–”

“When I got closer, suddenly I just…” She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t listen. “I woke up.”

“It was like she was in a-a trance or something.” Dustin mumbles, before he remembers something. “It was exactly what Eddie said happened to Chrissy.”

Unease settles over the group. Eddie had been telling the truth. If there was any doubt remaining of his innocence, there’s none left now. Slowly, you watch as everyone pieces together what you and Max already know. One by one, the light in their eyes dims; Steve’s finds yours.

The look in his eyes shatters you. The brown is coated with anguish, he’s already mourning you. He doesn’t like where this is going.

You look away.

Max turns, her breathing quickens. Dried tears still mark her face. She looks at you, silently asking how much she should tell the others. You’re a part of this, too. It isn’t just her life in their hands. She’s giving you the choice to run, to pretend that everything is fine. To continue what you’ve been doing since senior year started.

She wouldn’t blame you, and you know this.

But you can’t run. Not this time. Not when Max needs you, not if somehow you can figure out a way to make sure that she survives.

You nod at Max.

She inhales, prepares for impact. “That’s not even the bad part.”

–

Everyone crowds around Ms. Kelly’s office. No one dares to turn the light on. A part of you wonders if this is done consciously, if the light would make everything more real.

“Fred and Chrissy, they both came to Ms. Kelly for help.” Max explains to Robin and Nancy, informing them of what you found. Nancy reads over the files, Robin’s eyes don’t leave your body. “Uh, they both were having headaches, bad headaches that just wouldn’t go away. And then…”

“The nightmares.” You continue, gaze not meeting anyone. You stare at the wall ahead of you. There isn’t any emotion in your voice. “Trouble falling asleep, staying asleep.”

Steve tries to get you to look at him. He remembers all the late night phone calls. He’d noticed you wince earlier in the trailer park, how you rubbed your temples and told him it was nothing. His mouth goes dry with every little detail he once dismissed.

“And then they started seeing things,” Max doesn’t look at anyone either. Her voice shakes, she tries to hide the tears that don’t seem to go away. You grab her hand. It’s the only indication that you’re still with her, still listening. “Bad things, from their past.”

Dustin shifts uncomfortably. Last week he’d woken up to you screaming Billy’s name. He had ignored it.

“These visions, they just kept getting worse and worse, until eventually…” Max pauses, the words refuse to come out. Her body freezes up, her stomach clenches.

“Max,” you whisper, only it’s spoken as a promise. As a reassurance.

She inhales again, squeezes your hand so tight that it cuts off the circulation, but you don’t let go of her. “Until eventually… everything ended.”

Robin sees your hand in Max’s. She notes the way it’s held with an understanding, not with a condolence. She swallows. “Vecna’s curse.”

“Chrissy’s headaches started a week ago. Fred’s six days ago.” The air in the room builds into a dull roar. No one moves. Time stills. Max takes another shaky breath. Thunder has sounded, lightning is about to strike. “I’ve been having them for five days.”

Even though you knew what she was going to say, hearing the words come out of Max’s mouth chokes you. The panic from earlier returns. The frantic need to protect her, to pull her into your arms and never let go of her.

“My headaches started two days ago,” your voice is barely above a whisper. It feels more like a confession of a sin, rather than a confession of weakness. “The night of Lucas’ game.”

The moment you’ve revealed this, Steve and Dustin simultaneously whip their heads up to look at you. Panic shadows their faces, the two of them rush towards you and nearly topple over the other to get to you.

“No, something isn’t right.” Steve’s in denial. He doesn’t want to believe it. Neither do you.

Dustin grabs your face, he pulls it down so he can get a better look at your eyes. “You could be dehydrated, or-or tired. Headaches are caused by a lot of things. You’re pale, you’re probably sick and this is all just conspiracy bullshit and–”

“Dustin,” you loosen his grip on you, trying your best to sound as gentle as you can. “You know it isn’t conspiracy bullshit.” His eyes wet with tears, for once in your life you don’t know how to protect him. You choke on your own tears again, breaking. “I-I’m fine, alright? We need to focus on Max right now, she’s the one who had the vision.”

“But you have all the symptoms, too!” Steve exclaims, too scared to look away from you. He can’t believe you’re saying this. He’s always known how selfless you are, but you’re in danger. You could die. Why don’t you care?

Max angrily wipes at her face. She hates that you’re already putting her ahead of yourself. She doesn’t deserve the kindness, the sacrifices you’re already making. “Look, we don’t know how much time we have to argue about this. All we know is that for Fred and Chrissy, they both died less than 24 hours after their first vision, and I just saw that goddamn clock.”

“Max,” you break away from your brother and try to reach for the girl, but she’s crying again and anger clouds her vision. “Whatever you’re thinking, I promise that–”

“I’m going to die tomorrow, Y/N!” She cries out, too tired and devastated for your reassurance.

You tug at her jacket. “You’re not dying tomorrow.”

None of this is fair. Max is too young, she’s been through too much, she’s survived too much to be manipulated like this. To have her life taken away too easily. It should’ve been you. Vecna should’ve targeted you instead of Max. He should’ve shown you the vision, cursed you before her.

Anything to keep Max alive.

She’s about to argue with you, she knows what you’re implying, but a creak down the hall alerts you that there’s something nearby. Everyone turns towards the source of the sound, the heightened energy in the room leaves you all on edge.

“Stay here,” Steve instructs the group, already stalking towards the door to find where the sound came from.

You roll your eyes at him, grabbing his arm before he can leave. He’s an idiot if he thinks you won’t follow after him, fight by his side. “We’re both going.”

Steve narrows his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods reluctantly and points towards your knives. Understanding, you flick your wrist and extend the blades. He nods, satisfied, before he grabs a lamp from the corner and holds it up with pride. The lamp clatters loudly, it’s a stupid weapon, but you suppose it’ll have to do.

Together, the two of you slowly exit the room and creep into the hallway. The school is terrifying at night, the empty halls eerie. You walk side by side while the others trail quietly behind. The sound of footsteps rush towards you, getting louder and louder with every step.

Steve looks at you, raising his lamp to his head, and you raise your knives. You plant your feet on the ground, you brace for whatever is about to round the corner.

A figure emerges, screaming when it nearly runs into you and Steve. The person screeches, cowering, and your knives nearly come down upon a frightened Lucas. Your arm freezes, scream dying in your throat when you realize there isn’t any danger. “Jesus fuck, Sinclair!”

The boy holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s me!”

Steve clutches his chest, pressed against you after jumping into your arms when Lucas appeared. It hadn’t been his manliest moment, he’ll admit. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Lucas pants, and it’s then that you notice he’s drenched in sweat.

“I nearly stabbed you!” You exclaim, feeling horrendously guilty.

Steve sputters. “Even more importantly, I could’ve taken you out with this lamp!”

“Oh, sure. The lamp definitely would’ve helped.” You mutter sarcastically, but Steve is too busy still trying to steady his heartbeat to care.

Lucas apologizes again, hunched over his knees as he tries to catch his breath. “I was biking for eight miles.” He holds a finger up, winces in pain. “Give me a second. Shit.”

Everyone looks at each other, bewildered by Lucas’ sudden appearance. Your worry grows, he’d mentioned earlier how there was something bad happening, you’d heard Jason over the radio. Cautiously you step towards him. “Please tell me you biked eight miles for fun.”

Lucas shakes his head. “We’ve got a code red.”

Your heart drops. “It’s Jason, isn’t it?”

“How do you always do that?” He wheezes, somehow still surprised when you figure everything out first. It’s what you’ve always done. He’s never been able to hide anything from you. Seeing your pointed look to cut to the chase, Lucas turns to your brother. “Dustin, she’s right. I’ve been with Jason, Patrick, and Andy, and they’ve gone totally off the rails.”

He explains the basketball team’s plan to hunt Eddie down and make him pay for what they think he did to Chrissy. When Lucas mentions how Jason is looking for Dustin now because he’s in Hellfire, all you see is red.

“I’ll kill him,” you hiss, fingers scratching over the engraving on your knife hilt. An old nickname resides there, a remnant from an old man who told you to use the weapon with love.

“Y/N, while I’m flattered you’d kill for me, we kinda have bigger problems than Jason now.” Dustin says nervously, turning towards Max. The reminder stabs at your skin, reignites the bitterness and remorse.

Lucas looks between you and the girl, finally realizing how quiet everyone else has been. His head turns to you for some sort of explanation, it’s instinctual within him now to go to you for advice, solace and comfort. It’s what he’s grown up doing.

Except for the first time in Lucas’ life, your eyes don’t meet his.

Max stands apart from everyone. Her eyes don’t meet his, either.

Lucas had biked all this way to save his friends. He thought the biggest monster he’d have to face was Jason and the team. He didn’t think he’d be walking into the final hours of the two girls he loves more than anything.

–

Nancy offers you and Max her house to stay in. Neither of you can stomach the thought of going home, facing your mothers with the knowledge that they might lose their daughters soon.

Dustin, Steve, and Robin refuse to leave your side. Lucas refuses to leave Max’s.

The seven of you stand awkwardly in the Wheeler’s kitchen as Nancy asks her mother permission to have you all spend the night. Her mothers greets you all kindly as she always does, albeit confused as to why half of Hawkins is spending the night at her house. “I mean, do we have the room, Nance?”

“We’ll all fit in the basement.” Nancy reassures. “We just figured it’s safer this way, sticking together.”

Mrs. Wheeler coos with sentiment and relaxes her shoulders. “Oh, alright. It’s scary, what’s happening out there right now. I understand.”

You give a weak smile to her. “We really appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Wheeler.”

She smiles back at you and gently ushers everyone downstairs. As you descend the steps, you realize that she’s right. It’ll be a tight fit with everyone, the couch is barely large enough to comfortably sit three people.

But the smell of the basement is familiar, earthy and safe. It’s been a long time since you’ve been down here. You used to spend countless nights in the basement ever since you were twelve. The boys always insisted you join their campaigns. You’d always drag Jonathan with you. There’s so much laughter within these walls, tears and the hardships of growing up.

“Where are we all gonna fit?” Dustin sits down on the couch, eyeing the space around him.

Conversation breaks out as the sleeping arrangements are assigned. It’s nearly a heated debate, no one wants to be separated from you and Max. The girl stands off in the corner, barely listening, and you can’t help but do the same. As Dustin and Robin bicker over who gets to sleep on the couch, you use the distraction as an opportunity to slip away upstairs.

The night air is cool against your cheeks as you sit on the Wheeler’s porch. The quiet is welcomed, your body aches with the need to have a moment to yourself. You don’t know how late it is, you wonder if your mother is asleep right now. Dustin had called her when you arrived at the Wheeler’s. He had given her the same excuse you’d given Mrs. Wheeler about wanting to stick together in a group.

You wonder if your death will be what finally breaks your mother. The heartbreak of the divorce had weakened her, the death of her daughter would kill her. But Dustin will need his mother; he can’t grieve you alone.

With everything going on, all the revelations and despair, you haven’t had the time to properly come to terms with what’s happening; the weight of it sits deep within your chest.

The target on Max, on you.

Steve finds you on the porch with your knees curled into your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. His heart tightens at the sight. Slowly, he sits down next to you. The warmth of his body simmers your skin, his presence quells the dull roar inside you.

Your head falls against his shoulder. It’s quiet between you. All there seems to be these days between you and Steve is silence.

Fireflies flicker in the distance. You close your eyes, pretending they’re shooting stars, and wish for the end to be kind to you.

“Remember the last time we were on the Wheeler’s porch together?” Steve whispers into the quiet of the night. You shake your head against him. He grabs your hand, plays with your fingers as he watches the fireflies. “Almost four years ago I found you here while I was looking for Nance. You’d been looking for Jonathan, but you tried lying about it.”

You manage a small laugh, remembering faintly the night he’s referring to. Hearing the laugh, Steve feels just a little bit stronger, more grounded. He continues. “You’ve never been a very good liar.”

“No,” you agree.

“That night… well, it was awful.” Faint bitterness leaks into Steve’s words. He remembers how hurt he’d been, finding Nancy wrapped around Jonathan. His girl underneath the creep’s arm. He remembers the anger that quickly followed, how heavily it consumed him. “Thought I’d been cheated on, and it was a pretty shitty feeling.”

Your finger skims over his knuckles. There’s a faint scar on them from his fight with Jonathan. You remember the anger from that night, too. The violence that followed it. You’re not sure why Steve’s is telling you all of this, though.

“Nancy never did cheat on you, you know.” You softly remind him.

Steve chuckles, pulls you closer into his side. “I know that now. But that night, it just-it really fucking hurt, you know? Thought I’d never feel anything shittier, that my night couldn’t get any worse. But then… I saw your face.”

He swallows, shivers at the feeling of your fingers tracing his scars. “When I saw you standing there, all alone, the way your face fell when I told you about Jonathan,” Steve shakes his head. “The heartbreak on your face, that fact that I couldn’t do anything to protect you from it. That’s what hurt me the most.”

A heartbeat of silence, it almost deafens you, before he finally says, “And it’s why I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

Your heart constricts at Steve’s promise. You know he means it, that he’ll die defending his oath, and that’s what terrifies you the most out of everything that’s happened tonight.

Steve and Dustin will do whatever they can to keep you safe. They don’t want to lose you, they can’t lose you. They’ll burn themselves up if it means you’ll survive, but you don’t want them to. You don’t want any of this.

All you want is for Max to survive.

“Steve,” your head lifts up, he turns to look at you. Meeting his eyes, all you see within the brown is grief. It’s a funny thing, feeling someone’s grief for you within their gaze; it burns. “You have to protect Max.”

“Y/N–”

“No, you-you have to promise me, alright?” Your hand rests against Steve’s chest, he tries to cave into you but you won’t allow him any closer. Not like this, not when you need him to make a promise you know he can’t keep.

Steve presses his head against yours and he breathes you in. He’s shaking against you. “I don’t…. I don’t know what you want from me.” He’d do anything for you. Whatever you ask of him, he’ll do it.

“Promise me that if it–” your breath catches, your lips quiver with hesitancy. It isn’t fair, none of this is fucking fair. “Promise me that if it comes down to me or Max, you’ll choose her.”

Steve’s body retracts from yours as if he’s been stung. His heart is racing, a roar deafens his ears. He can’t breathe, his eyes can’t leave yours, he doesn’t know what to do. You’ve already given up. You’ve already decided to give your life in exchange for Max’s, and Steve doesn’t know what to do.

He’s never been able to say no to you.

“Angel,” the cry is so soft, so heartbroken, that for a moment your resolve slips. You almost reach towards Steve, caress his cheek and apologize over and over again for making him do this. Your lips can feel his skin against them, but you don’t press against it; you don’t allow yourself to.

“Please,” You’re crying. The tears fall freely down your face, too tired to stop them. All day you’ve held them in, put up a front for your brother and Max. They can’t know how terrified you are. They need you, they can’t see you like this, but here, alone with Steve, you finally break.

Seeing your tears, Steve finally wraps his arms around your body and just holds you. You cry for a long, long time. Everything comes out, then. The anger, always within you, that threatens to boil over, the heartbreak of losing Jonathan, the guilt of leaving Dustin behind soon, how the guilt intensifies when you think about letting Max die instead.

You’ve been here before.

“I’m choosing you, Y/N.” Steve whispers, lips pressed softly against your hair. Your body stiffens, he feels it, but he holds you tighter instead. “I’ll always choose you.”

“Steve…”

“Please don’t make me say no to you.” He pulls away, grabs your face and makes you look at him. You’re pale, tears wet your lovely face, and all Steve wants to do is fall asleep with you forever. He strokes the crest of your eyebrow, kisses your forehead. “Please don’t make me lose you.”

There’s more Steve wants to say. He wants to refuse you, he wants to scream, he wants to demand an explanation from you. There’s a mark on you that he would give anything to erase. How could you possibly think Steve could ever make a promise like that? To agree to let you die, as if your life isn’t worth everything to him.

The anger in Steve’s eyes startle you. His voice is frail, his body weak, but his eyes are alive with a deep fury as he looks at you. Pleads with you. The anger closes your throat, renders you speechless.

You know that there’s nothing you can say that will change Steve’s mind. You’ve come to a stalemate. A tie between two ends of desperate halves.

“I’m tired,” your voice cracks. It’s the closest you’ll come to admitting anything else. Another headache is forming, all you want to do is sleep in Steve’s arms. “Can we go to bed, please?”

I don’t want to fight anymore.

Steve can see the weight of exhaustion that crushes you, and he sighs, nodding. “Yeah, angel. Whatever you want. I convinced Robin to give us the couch.”

I’ll do whatever you want, as long as I get to hold you in the end.

You nod back at him. The unspoken words settle between you, they linger in the shadows, but for tonight they’re put to rest. Lifting your arms up, you silently demand to be carried, and Steve can’t help but laugh softly. He stands up, bends down to scoop you up, and carries you back inside the Wheeler home.

The basement couch is small, the two of you hardly fit, but neither of you mind. It’s an excuse to be as close as possible, a reason to tuck your chin into the crevice of Steve’s neck, absolving him to wrap his arms around you, as if he can shield you from the horrors that will come.

–

Steve wakes up to whispering.

His eyes blearily open, his body twists in a sleepy haze. He’d been having a good dream. You were in it, you were laughing in his ear. It’d been a warm, spring day. Just the two of you. But he’s awake now, and when he looks down he finds you sound asleep on his chest.

“Do you really think…?” Another whisper, and Steve squints against the dark to figure out who it is. Lucas and Dustin are snoring together on the ground. Max is in the armchair, her small frame wrapped around the cushioning.

“I don’t know,” a different voice whispers, and this time Steve thinks it’s Robin. The dim lighting muddles away and he can see the outline of her nose. He thinks she’s talking to Nancy, she’s the only other person who could be awake right now. “But it’s Y/N, I-I’m worried, you know?”

Nancy nods. “She wouldn’t–” She pauses, sensing that someone is listening. Suddenly Steve can feel her eyes land on him. He’s been caught.

Clearing her throat, Nancy excuses herself from Robin and walks towards the couch. She stops just out of Steve’s reach. He doesn’t move, his arms don’t leave your body. For a moment they stare at one another. Robin busies herself in the corner, leaving the two of them alone.

Steve doesn’t remember the last time he was alone with Nancy. Her presence makes him uncomfortable, the history between them heavy. He still holds so much admiration and love for the girl, he always will, but he doesn’t know what to do with all the excess love now that they aren’t together. They never really got the chance to be friends, and it’s something Steve regrets every day.

He’s sure they would’ve been the best of friends. Maybe similar to you and Jonathan.

The thought startles Steve, almost as much as the question that falls from Nancy’s pink lips. “How are you dealing with, you know…?”

She motions softly towards you, still asleep. Your head is tucked against Steve’s neck and your breathing is steady. He rubs the length of your spine. He isn’t sure what to say to Nancy. How to answer her question in a way that won’t betray your trust. He knows what you’ve told him tonight was meant only for his ears.

But Steve is terrified of what you’ve revealed to him.

“She wants us to focus on Max.” He finally whispers, the confession clings to his lips in deceit. “Not… not on her.”

Nancy nods, as if she was expecting Steve to say this. Her eyes harden slightly, though the crease between her brows soften with understanding. “Y/N already decided who we’ll save, hasn’t she?”

Steve swallows, he avoids her gaze. It’s all the confirmation Nancy needs. She nods again, she stares down at you and is struck by how young you look in the moonlight. She’s older than you by only a few months, and yet tonight Nancy feels as if there’s years that stretch between you.

“She’ll try to sacrifice herself.” It isn’t a question, though Nancy still pauses as if to give Steve a moment to respond. They both know the answer. Anyone who has ever known you would know the answer. When Steve doesn’t say anything, she sighs. “I’m not surprised.”

You’ve always been so devoted to the ones you love.

Nancy remembers the day she met you, how shy she’d been back then. There was a hardness within you, when you first moved to Hawkins, though Nancy never blamed you. Being twelve is difficult, and she saw the softness that was underneath the hard exterior that would one day resurface.

When Mike was ten, a year after you entered his life, he broke his arm riding his bike. It’d been raining and his wheel caught on the curb. Nancy hadn’t been home at the time, spending the day at Barb’s. When she returned home to find you diligently wrapping his cast with plastic bags so that he could shower, Nancy was almost angry to see you taking such tender care of her brother. It was supposed to be her job.

But the anger was gone the moment you smiled up at Nancy and asked if she’d like to help. You’d included her with such ease, made room for her where Nancy had thought there was none.

For years this pattern followed. The boys adored you, you quickly became their favorite sibling out of the party. Often Nancy would find you in her basement, surrounded by the boys as you joined their campaigns or delivered them the cookies they always fought over.

If one of them was sick, you’d spend hours by their side, spoon feeding them medicine. When Lucas chipped his front tooth, you were the first to react and call his parents to pick him up. When Will spilled water all over a drawing he’d spent weeks on, you helped him recreate the art piece. It’d taken you hours, but you never once complained. When Dustin lost his favorite model rocket, you biked two hours to find him a replacement.

Over and over again you gave everything to everyone you’ve ever met.

“She’s always been selfless. It’s what I admire the most about her.” Nancy says delicately. It’s the truth. For years she’s watched you, always at a distance. She’s never understood how you do it, how you can give so much of yourself to others without any cost. “But sometimes, I-I hate the selflessness as well.”

Because the cost has come; the cost will be your life for Max’s.

Steve brushes a strand of hair from your face. Sometimes he hates how selfless you are, too. “I can’t lose her, Nance.”

The pained words litter papercuts into Nancy’s skin. She watches the way Steve’s fingers skim your face with gentle passivity. She’s never seen him so soft with anyone, not even when he was with her. The thought makes her stomach twist.

Jonathan is soft with Nancy, he always has been. For the first time since he’s moved, she’s happy he’s in California. She doesn’t know what she’d do if he were here in Hawkins, marked by some creature in the Upside Down that wants to kill him.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy breathes out. She can’t imagine what Steve’s going through, all the fear and guilt that must burden him. She wishes she could say something else, anything else, but what more can Nancy say? You could die soon. None of it is fair.

Steve is quiet. He still doesn’t look at Nancy, he hardly even acknowledges her presence. She knows he doesn’t do this with malice. He’s overwhelmed, mourning someone who is still alive. Figuring he needs some space, Nancy tries to leave. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, I’m sorry Robin and I woke you up. Go back to sleep–

“I’d follow her to the end of the world if she asked me to.” Steve says, stroking your hair. “Even if that means fighting some asshole in the Upside Down, I will.”

The corners of Nancy’s mouth turn upwards, a small smile that she doesn’t bother to hide. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out, without going to the Upside Down. Stick to our own universe. I’m sure Y/N would agree with me.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles, careful not to disturb you. “I’m sure she would.”

You stir in your sleep. Although you don’t wake up, Steve hums softly. It’s a melodic tune, one Nancy has never heard before, but he does it without thinking. His body eases into the song, your body relaxes again.

“There you go,” he whispers into your ear, tightening his arms around you as you drift back to sleep. It’s an intimate moment, too intimate to watch. Nancy takes it as her cue to leave.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

He smiles up at her, rests his head against yours. “Goodnight, Nance.”

–

Dustin forgets how different he and Steve are.

While he thinks the guy is cool and all, and he can’t deny how happy he makes you, Dustin could really do without Steve’s obsessive worrying. He’s constantly stressed about something, regardless of the situation. He’s all heart, always carried away by his instincts. Dustin is the opposite, he’s logical and uses reasoning to figure things out.

Which means that all morning Dustin has been reading the newspaper printings that Nancy found. He’s been quietly taking notes on Victor Creel ever since the sun came up. He knows that if he does all the research, read in between the lines, that he’ll be able to save you. Dustin refuses to let you or Max die; he’s always been able to crack a complex problem.

Meanwhile, all Steve has done is pace the floor, mumbling to himself, for hours.

It’s driving Dustin insane.

“It’s pretty straightforward.” He says to Steve, who still isn’t able to understand where Victor Creel falls into all of this. “Everyone Vecna has cursed has died, except for this old Victor Creel dude Nancy found. He’s the only known survivor; if anyone knows how to beat this curse, it’s him.”

“Okay, I seriously don’t like talking about the whole ‘death’ part,” Steve rubs his eyes. He hates thinking about it, he hates how apathetic you were last night about sacrificing yourself. When you woke up this morning, you didn’t mention last night to him. Instead, you’d strayed towards Max and haven’t left her side since. “There being only one known survivor really doesn’t make me feel any better about Max and Y/N being cursed.”

He should be doing more. Steve knows he can do better, that he can find something if he just tries harder. Then, skimming the newspaper lines again, his eyebrows draw in. “Which is even assuming Victor was cursed. How can Vecna have even existed back in the ‘50s? It doesn’t make any sense.”

There’s too many unknowns. They drown Steve and pierce his skin.

Dustin explains his theory about how El hadn’t really created the Upside Down but instead opened a gate to it. “I wouldn't be surprised if it predated the dinosaurs.”

Steve scoffs and Lucas drops his own print of the newspaper back onto the couch. “But if there wasn’t a gate in the ‘50s, how did Vecna get through?”

“And how is he getting through now?” Steve adds, nodding at the teen.

“And why now?”

“And why then?” Steve’s arms drop to his side, he’s getting worked up again. Nothing adds up. “Just pops out in the ‘50s, kills one family, and then just disappears, only to return 30 years later and start killing random teens? Targeting my girlfriend?”

Dustin drops his head into his hands. His own head hurts, Steve admittedly brought up some good points. Still, he also doesn’t like the idea of Vecna marking you. “She’s my sister, you know. I could be an only child soon.”

“And yet you’re annoyingly calm about all of this,” sitting down, Steve crosses his legs and sends a pointed look Dustin’s way. “A little humility now and then wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Next time my sister gets cursed by some demonic being, I’ll sob on my hands and knees and get absolutely nothing done like you are!”

Lucas shoves Dustin’s shoulder and motions over towards the corner desk where you and Max sit. “Would you two shut up? They’re gonna hear you.”

Dustin and Steve turn to where Lucas points, the anger in them dies out. All morning you’ve been with Max at the desk. The girl furiously scribbles on paper while you sit next to her, silent.

Max hasn’t said anything for hours, but she also hasn’t asked you to leave her alone. You think she wants you close to her just as much as you want her close to you. The presence of the other is calming, even if you can’t bring yourself to ask what Max is writing. You’re afraid that you already know.

“Did they sleep?” Dustin mumbles, noticing the slouch in your posture and the bags underneath your eyes.

Lucas winces. “I mean, would you?”

“Y/N slept for a little bit last night, but…” Steve looks down at his hands. He’d woken up to you having a nightmare. It’d taken him nearly five minutes to calm you down afterwards. “It wasn’t enough.”

All three boys stare at you and Max. They don’t know what to do, they’ve never had to handle a loss like this before. A silence falls over them, but it’s soon broken by the sound of Nancy’s heels running down the stairs as Robin follows.

“Okay, so.” She beams, so does Robin, and for a moment Steve is foolish enough to have hope. “We have a plan.”

–

As always, Nancy’s plan is brilliant. It’s also extremely illegal, but you’ve come to accept this about the girl. You flit through the fake transcripts she’s presented you. “These are impressive, they look so real.”

Robin taps your nose. “Thank Nancy’s newspaper minions.”

“You think they could make me one?” You ask, eying the high GPA Nancy and Robin allegedly have and their years of research expertise. “Might need it for grad school.”

“Why would you even need one? Nance and I are now rock-star psychology students at Notre Dame. We can just write you a killer recommendation letter as Ruth and Rose.”

You tilt your head at Nancy, a teasing smile on your face. “I take it you’re Ruth, huh?” She shrugs, smiling as well. Your eyes catch on the area of research on the transcripts, and you snort. “Schizophrenia? Y’all couldn’t come up with something less on the nose?”

“You were asleep and it was all we could think of.” Nancy rolls her eyes at you and clears her throat, finally continuing with her explanation. “Anyways, we called Pennhurst Asylum and told them we’d like to speak with Creel for a thesis we’re co-writing on paranoid schizophrenics–”

“And I’m sure they denied you.” Crossing your arms, you lean against the seat you share with Steve. When Robin tells you that they did, you snort. “I would’ve warned you had I known. No way would an asylum let two random undergrads speak with a patient. It violates, like, every patient privacy law there is.”

Nancy crosses her own arms and smirks at you. “True, but we were able to land a three o’clock with the director.”

“I don’t know why I ever doubt you.” You amend, and Nancy laughs. Robin finishes explaining the plan and how they’ll try to charm the director to let them see Creel. Your eyes wander towards Max, who still sits at the desk as she writes. Sighing, you nod at Nancy. “It’s a risky plan that relies heavily on luck, but I think it’s worth it if it means we can get rid of Max’s curse.”

“And yours,” Nancy reminds you gently.

You don’t look at her, pretending not to have heard. An awkward silence falls upon the group. Steve looks to Dustin for help, but the kid can only shrug. Not wanting to burn through the small hope he’s feeling, Steve clears his throat. “Well, we’ve been doing our Victor Creel homework and, um. Have some questions of our own.”

“Lots of questions.” Lucas echoes.

Nancy sighs. “So do we. Hopefully Victor has the answers.”

“Maybe I can help,” you offer, looking between Nancy and Robin. “I mean, I’m kinda the only one here who understands psychology. I doubt either of you even know what the DSM stands for.”

Robin sticks her tongue out at you. “Of course I know what it stands it, obviously it’s the diagnosed s’many m’people.”

You throw a pen at the girl and she dodges, giggling. While the two of you bicker, Steve looks through the fake transcripts and quickly realizes something. “Wait a second, there’s only two in here. Where’s mine?”

Nancy squirms in her seat and avoids his eyes; Robin does the same. You tilt your head at Steve and narrow your own eyes. He recoils slightly, sensing that he’s upset you somehow. Before an argument can arise, Nancy claps her hands and stands up suddenly.

“Alright, I guess that’s settled, then.”

“No, no way is anything settled.” Steve stands up too, now following Nancy as she tries to flee upstairs. They’re gone within seconds, leaving you and Robin alone with the kids.

Picking at your nails, you share a weary look with Robin. “Is it even worth following?”

“Probably not,” she knocks her shoulder against yours and motions for you to start walking up the basement steps. “But Steve will talk Nancy’s ears off if we don’t intervene.”

Knowing she’s right, you tell Dustin and the others to stay in the basement while you try to talk some sense into your boyfriend. The boys snicker at this, though Max is still writing in the corner. Following Robin upstairs, you can hear Steve’s whining long before you get to Nancy’s room.

“Nancy, you’re out of your mind if you think I’m babysitting, again.”

You try really hard not to take offense to this. Steve is being exceptionally difficult this morning and you’re slightly pissed off that he seems so butthurt over Nancy not wanting him to tag along. You’re the one who is cursed and in danger. You need Steve right now. Not her.

Faintly, in the back of your mind you wonder if all this anger within you has something to do with Vecna. The jealous vitriol is foreign, the insecurity that follows it is disarming. You’ve been hurt before, you’ve felt anger before, but never like this.

“Nice to know that you view staying with your endangered girlfriend as babysitting, Steve.” You say as you walk through Nancy’s doorway, highly unamused.

He spins around and nearly chokes when he sees you. “Okay, no. That’s not at all how I meant. I-I just mean–”

“Oh my God,” Robin bursts into the room and immediately rushes towards something on the wall. “You have a Tom Cruise poster!” She admires it for a moment before realizing that this is Nancy’s room, and her interest grows. With a smirk, she turns to the girl. “Wait, you have a Tom Cruise poster.

“That’s-old!” Nancy digs through her closet, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

You walk over to the poster and nod appreciatively at it. “Hey, Tom Cruise is pretty. I don’t blame you.”

“Hey!” Steve waves his hands in the air, offended and completely overwhelmed.

You shrug at him. “You’re the one who wants me and Max to die, so I get to call an actor hot.”

“I never said that!” He shrieks, hands finding his hair as he tugs harshly at it. Everything is coming out wrong. Nothing he does is ever right. Isn’t that what his father always tells him?

Panicked, Steve rushes towards you and grabs your hands. His eyes plead with you. “Angel, you gotta believe me, alright? I-I just don’t want to stand around while you’re in danger. I have to do something, and-and maybe I can be helpful with this asylum director dude, right?”

“Steve…” But he doesn’t hear you.

“I don’t know, I could turn my-my charm on,” he rambles on, pulling you close and closer as he talks. “Just, please don’t think I want to leave you. God, I don’t. But I’m going crazy without answers and I–”

“Honey,” even though Nancy and Robin are watching, you grab the back of Steve’s neck and pull his head down into your neck. Your other hand wraps around his body, hugging him as tightly as you can. He’s spiraling, overthinking everything. “Breathe with me. Can you do that?”

He nods weakly, nose pressed to your skin. In and out he breathes with you. With every breath he exhales, your anger towards him dims. Steve had only been trying to help. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do for you; help you.

“Now,” you gently pull away after his breathing has steadied. “While you’re charming, I doubt your charm will be what Nancy and Robin need.”

“Ouch,” he quietly says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Nancy tries to ease any remaining tension. “She’s right, Steve. I did a little digging last night, and it turns out this Dr. Hatch is a distinguished fellow of the American Psychiatric Association and a Harvard visiting scholar… If anything, we could use Y/N’s charm more.”

“Normally I’d love to win someone like Dr. Hatch over.” You admit, biting your lip. The man sounds incredible. You’d kill to meet him, to actually speak to someone so distinguished in the psychology field. There’s so many questions you have, hundreds of journals and published papers you’d love to ask him about.

Then you remember Max’s messy handwriting and the exhaustion in her eyes. The tear marks on her face, how she hadn’t wanted you to leave her side all morning. You can’t possibly leave her right now.

“But I have to stay with Max.”

Robin, Steve, and Nancy all look at one another. Their expressions are similar, yet unreadable. They’re in some unspoken agreement that you aren’t a part of. Your skin warms with discomfort. Without meaning to, you look towards Steve and silently beg him to stay with you.

Everything is weird and scary and you’ve been marked by some goddamn monster from the Upside Down who wants you and Max to die. Every bone inside you leaks cortisol and your body drips acid terror.

Yet the only thing you want right now is for Steve to be here, next to you, holding your hand through it all.

“If you’re staying, I’m staying.” He finally says, promising you.

You release the breath you’d been holding. He exhales with you and your hand finds his. Lacing your fingers together, the pounding in your head quiets.

“Not to ruin this lovely moment, but there’s a tiny ballerina in here.” Robin opens a jewelry box she found and it begins to play soft music.

Nancy glares at her while you laugh. Steve rolls his eyes at his friend. “While I’m all for staying here, how are we going to turn ballerina girl over here into an academic scholar?”

“I might be able to give a brief overview of psychology to y’all?” You offer, but even you know that there wouldn’t be enough time.

“Or, we could do this.” Nancy pulls a frilly, pink dress from her closet. It’s covered in ruffles and she holds it up, pointing towards Robin. Her eyebrows are raised in amusement, she barely hides her pleased snicker.

Robin stares at the dress, utterly speechless. “Oh, please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s very… pink?”

“Shut up, Y/N.”

“At least I tried.”

–

After Nancy and Robin leave for Pennhurst, you find yourself pretending to read a comic while Lucas, Steve, and Dustin stare at you. They sit across from you on the basement couch while Max remains at the desk.

You try to ignore them, but their beady little eyes make your skin crawl. When they aren’t staring at you, they’re staring at Max. You feel their eyes drift from you to her, over and over again.

“Would you guys stop it?” You finally snap, slamming your comic down onto the coffee table.

The boys jump, all grabbing various items to try and appear nonchalant. Lucas holds a newspaper up and smiles awkwardly, Dustin yanks a book from the table and flips to a random page, and Steve tosses a baseball into the air as if he’d been doing so all along. They all look away, heads turned in opposite directions.

“What, did you say something?” Steve asks coyly.

Max turns in her seat. “We know you guys are staring at us.”

“We’re just hanging out,” Steve tosses the ball again and Lucas nods.

You roll your eyes at them. “Yeah, real convincing.”

“How you guys think your eyes boring into our skin is protecting Y/N and I from Vecna, I don’t know.” Max mumbles, collecting the paper she’s been writing on all morning.

She walks over to the sitting area and you poke her shoulder playfully, hoping to get her to laugh. “Ignore them, they’re idiots.” When she stands before the boys and no one lifts their head to look at the two of you, you sigh. “Okay, now you’re taking this too literally.”

“You can look at us now.” Max says, to which all the boys sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” Dustin breathes out while Steve and Lucas mutter quiet apologies.

“Is there anything you need?” You ask the girl, noting that she’s carried her papers over to where everyone sits.

Max nods, taking a deep breath, before extending her arm. “Yeah, I need you to take this.”

In her hand is an envelope with your name written on it. She gives one to Dustin, too. Then Lucas and Steve. The envelope is heavy in your hands. Though you suspected what Max had spent her morning doing, the reality of the goodbye letter in your hand makes your stomach twist.

“Oh, and um. Can you give these to Mike, El, and Will?” Max asks you, handing three additional letters to you. “If you can ever get a hold of them again.”

Your head moves numbly, you think you manage to nod. Nausea wracks your skull.

Dustin goes to open his letter and Max quickly stops him. “Woah, hey. That’s not for now. Don’t open it now.”

Your brother raises his eyebrows but does as he’s told, putting the letter back in the envelope. He squints at Max, confused, and holds up his letter. “I’m sorry, what is this?” “It’s, um…” Max looks down, clearly uncomfortable. Her eyebrows pinch together and she can’t seem to say anything else.

“They’re goodbye letters.” You answer for her, staring down at your own letter. A part of you wants to burn it, to never read its content, but the other, smaller part of you wonders what she could’ve written for you. After all the times you’ve failed Max, you’re sure she struggled to say anything nice about you.

Steve makes a pained, surprised sound. “Goodbye letters?” “It’s more like a fail-safe. For after.” Max tries to amend, as if her explanation makes the bitter taste sting less. “If things don’t work out.”

Lucas sits up in alarm. “Max, things are gonna work out.”

“No!” She exclaims, angry. “No, I don’t need you to reassure me right now and tell me it’s all gonna work out.”

“But Max, we will figure it out, alright? We will, there isn’t any reason to not–”

“People have been telling me that everything will work out my entire life, Y/N!” Max cuts you off. Her cheeks are red, her body is stiff. “And it’s almost never true. It’s never true. I mean, of course this asshole curses me.”

Suddenly all the fight within her leaves. The hurt comes back, the fear. Max looks away in shame. “I mean, for Y/N it doesn’t make any sense. But for me? I should’ve seen that one coming.”

She stands in front of you with tears in her eyes. The deafening silence that follows haunts you. Lucas can’t speak, Dustin and Steve don’t know what to say. And you? All you can do is swallow back your own tears and remind yourself that you’re here for Max. That she needs you.

“You aren’t being fair to yourself.” You say gently, reaching out to grab her hand; but she pulls away instead. You blink away your tears and move towards her, you want nothing more than to wrap her in your arms forever and never let go. “Max, I’m serious. You don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve half of what life has given you. I’m sorry that you’ve come to think otherwise.”

Max turns away as if she hadn’t heard you. Instead of responding, she turns around and walks towards a discarded table. Her eyes land on something. Picking it up, she holds up one of Dustin’s radios. “If we go to East Hawkins, will this reach Pennhurst?”

Dustin informs her that it will while Steve is hesitant. “Why are we talking about East Hawkins?”

Max stares at him, and at the same time, you and Steve realize what she’s asking: she wants to leave the Wheeler home. “No!” You both say, but Max is already grabbing her backpack and walkman. Cursing, you follow after her.

“Max, wait!” She’s frustratingly fast and it isn’t until you’re outside that you catch up to her. Grabbing her arm, you force her to stop. “Hey, listen to me–’

“I’m not driving you anywhere.” Steve cuts through, frantic as well. Lucas and Dustin trail behind, not at all willing to argue with Max.

“If the two of you think I’m going to spend what is likely the last day of my life in the armpit that is Mike Wheeler’s basement, then you’re out of your mind.” Max rips her arm from your grasp and marches towards Steve’s car.

“If you would just listen, I can–” But again Max interrupts you.

“Either take me where I need to go or tie me down, which is technically kidnapping of a minor.”

Steve looks at you in bewilderment at what Max has said, but you’re too busy running after her and huffing with annoyance. “Steve has already kidnapped a minor, he’s a professional at this point.”

“Hey!”

Max continues towards the car. “Well then tell your boyfriend that if I live to see another day, I swear to God, I will prosecute.” She tries to open the door, but it’s locked. “Open the door.”

Steve looks at her as if she’s insane. “Uh, no.”

“I know a good lawyer.”

“Where the hell are you meeting good lawyers in Hawkins?” You shove yourself in between them and glare at Max. You shake your head at her. “Anyways, if you had stopped for five seconds, I would’ve told you that I agree with you and that I would talk to Steve for you.”

Max looks at you, surprised. “Wait, you’re freeing me?”

“Okay, the Wheeler basement isn’t a prison, but yes.” You turn to Steve, who has already started to protest. “And as for you, you’re going to do what Max says.”

“But–”

“No.”

“Y/N!”

“Unlock the car, Steve.”

He stares at you. You stare back, standing your ground. Max crosses her arms and joins you, daring Steve to argue. He sees the tension in your jaw, the determined look in your eyes, and he throws his head back and groans. “God, I hate this.”

You smile at him evilly; you knew he’d give in. “Keys, please.”

Steve digs through his pocket and tosses the keys to you, annoyed. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

You unlock the door and beckon for Max to get in. She thanks you, and you wink at her. Skipping over to the passenger’s side, you get in with grand flourish, leaving Steve alone with the boys.

Lucas smirks and Dustin outright laughs in Steve’s face. “Dude, she so owns you.”

“Zip it,” he snaps his fingers. He doesn’t at all have the energy for this. “Little Henderson, that super walkie of yours better reach Pennhurst.”

And with one last threatening glare at your brother, Steve finally gets into the car. The engine roars to life. Soon, the Wheeler’s home fades into the distance.

–

The air in the car is tense.

Lucas, Dustin, and Max all sit in the back while you sit next to Steve. He’s playing one of his old mixes and the music is the only sound within the car. Max stares out the window, turned away from everyone.

When Steve pulls up in front of her trailer, he parks the car and faces her. “This better be fast, Mayfield.” “Steve!” You hit his arm, berating him. “She’s here for her mother.” “It’s fine, Y/N.” Max unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out. “I’ll be twenty seconds.”

The door slams and you pull out your own walkman. You’re anxious, being alone with the boys. You know they want to ask you a million questions, but for the first time in your life, you don’t think you have it in you to lie to them for their own comfort.

Before you can hit play on Jonathan’s mixtape, you feel multiple pairs of eyes on you. Looking up, you find that you’re once again being stared at by Steve, Dustin, and Lucas. “What?”

Your brother clears his throat. “No, uh. Visions yet?”

“No, Dustin.” Though you both know that if it did happen, you wouldn’t tell him. Putting on your headphones, you push play and allow the music to slowly creep over you. The conversation ends there.

Steve says something to Dustin, you don’t hear nor pay attention to it. The Beatles sing and you can finally breathe. You miss Jonathan more than anything, but the pain of missing him is now tainted with the ache of guilt.

After a few minutes, unable to sit still, you all stand outside Steve’s car and wait. Your foot taps the ground and Steve checks his watch every few seconds. When you see Max round the corner, you sigh with relief.

“Hey, that was longer than twenty seconds.” Steve says, relief flooding his own voice.

You’re about to tease her, but then you realize how pale she is. She doesn’t look good, her breathing is irregular and she’s fighting back tears. Worried, you try to stop her. “Woah, what happened? Are you okay?”

Only Max storms past you and flings herself into the car. “I’m fine, just drive.”

“Is she…?” Steve looks at you helplessly. He doesn’t know what the right call here is. Max is clearly upset about something, she’s visibly shaking, and yet she still insists on pretending that she’s fine.

All you can do is shake your head at Steve, just as helpless. “I don’t know, but we just… We have to be there for her.”

He nods solemnly before getting back into the car. Before he drives away, Lucas asks Max if something happened, and again she lies through her teeth. You try to catch her eye in the rearview mirror, but she adamantly stares out the window once more.

Soon the only sound in the car is Max giving quiet directions. With every instruction she gives Steve, the more the string in your chest constricts. You’re going deeper and deeper into west Hawkins. It’s mostly woods, Hopper’s cabin is closeby.

It’s also where the cemetery resides.

“Turn here.”

Dustin looks at Max, reluctant. “Here?”

She nods as the Roane Hill Cemetery sign greets everyone. Steve inhales deeply, but he doesn’t say anything as he turns. You grip the edge of the seat, bile rising in your throat. It’s been a long time since you’ve been here.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask Max, breathing through your nose to try and settle the ache in your stomach.

She doesn’t acknowledge your question; she jumps out of the car as soon as it stops. Before you can run after her, Lucas is already scrambling to follow her. He chases after her, says something to her, but you can’t hear anything.

“What’s going on, why did Max take us here?” Steve risks touching your arm, seeking any source of solace from you that he can.

Your hands shake slightly. Steve can feel it, and he tightens his grip around you. He tries to get you to look at him, but you can’t face him. Not now. Not yet. Instead, you keep your eyes on Max. “This is where Billy is buried.”

Steve sucks in a breath and Dustin closes his eyes. Neither of them ask you how you know this. They didn’t attend his funeral, but you did.

You’d held Max’s hand as Billy’s casket was lowered into the earth.

You’re torn from your thoughts when Lucas comes back to the car. He’s upset. You look up and see Max walking towards the tombstones. There’s a letter in her hand. You know who it’s meant for.

She’s gone for a while. The minutes go by with agonizing latency. Steve remains in the car, tapping his fingers against his window anxiously. His watch never leaves his line of sight. You stand next to Dustin outside, too nervous and overwhelmed to sit right now.

Lucas sits perched on the hood of the car. He stares straight ahead. Max is just barely visible over the hill. Her back is turned towards you, she faces a tombstone. It’s lighter than the others, not yet darkened by weather and age.

It’s Billy’s tombstone.

The grief of losing a sibling is a chasm, endless and void of everything whole. Without thinking, you reach for Dustin’s hand. He lets you, squeezing your hand, as if thinking what you are.

The rise and fall of Max’s shoulders tells you that she’s talking to someone. That she’s talking to him, and it’s almost too intimate of a moment to watch. You feel terribly guilty, but you also can’t look away. You’re terrified that if you do, she’ll somehow disappear.

After nearly ten minutes, Steve glances down at his watch and curses. “Alright, it’s been long enough.”

He opens the car door and gets out, slamming it behind him. The action startles you, puts you on high alert. Lucas protests, insisting that you give Max more time, but Steve doesn’t listen. “I’m calling it. If she wants to get a lawyer, she can.”

“I’m coming with you,” breaking away from Dustin, you follow after Steve. You respect Max’s wishes, but he’s right. It’s been too long. Turning towards the other boys, you give them a weary look. “Stay here, please?”

Lucas doesn’t like this. “But–”

“We’ll be right back.” You promise him, running after Steve up the hill.

He’s already reached the crest of the hill by the time you catch up. He jogs towards Max, whose back is pin straight. She’s eerily still, almost too still, and immediately you start to feel panic crawl up your neck.

“Max, time to giddy up, yeah?” Steve stops in front of her, but the sincerity in his voice is quickly replaced with fear. Max’s eyes are rolled back, she doesn’t respond to any of Steve’s touches. He bends down, shakes her. “Max? Max!”

She’s in the same trance as last night. You drop down next to her, knees scraping against the grass below you. “Max, sweetheart.” Cupping her face, you gently try to bring her back to you, but she’s as cold as ice.

“Max!” Steve claps his hands in front of her face. He’s yelling now, just as scared as you are. “Hey, wake up!”

“Max!” Over and over again her name rips from your mouth as tears coat your face. You scream and cry and shake her lifeless body, begging her to wake up. To say something, to smile at you, to argue with you and push you away.

Anything. You’ll take anything. Just as long as she’s alive.

Steve shakes her shoulders almost as violently as you do. Choking on terror, you scream down to Lucas and Dustin. “Help! Help us!”

Your hands are joined by Lucas’. The two of you scream Max’s name. Vecna has her. You’ve failed, she’s going to die because of you. You hadn’t followed her, you should’ve made her stay with you back at Steve’s car. It’s your fault, it’s always your fault.

“Max, you gotta get out of there!” Lucas cries, gripping the girl’s skin harshly. But still she doesn’t respond. “Can you hear me?”

“Please.” Your voice is hoarse, you don’t even know what you’re pleading for. All you know is that Vecna has her, that Max is about to die. And you can’t do anything.

Steve grabs Dustin’s jacket roughly and yanks him forward. “Call Nancy and Robin! Go get them, call them. Go.”

You watch as your brother falls, frantically picking himself back up as he runs down to where his radio is. You’re choking on your own breath, hyperventilating. Lucas’ screams deafen you, Steve’s pleas echo your own. It’s a grim, helpless situation.

Nancy and Robin have to know something. They’re the only option you have left. You can’t lose Max. You can’t fucking lose her. Not after everything. She’s too young. She’s too young. It should be you instead.

“Take me,” you scream into the sky, voice cracking. The taste of blood fills your mouth. “Just-just take me! Leave her alone, I’m-I’m right here. Please.”

Steve’s grip on Max loosens slightly, he looks up at you, alarmed, but Dustin suddenly returns with an armful of cassettes and Max’s walkman. “Guys!”

He slides onto the ground, you quickly make room for him even though you have no idea why he’s brought all of Max’s music. “What-what are you doing?”

“What’s her favorite song?” Dustin demands, out of breath.

“Why?” Lucas doesn’t move.

“Robin said if she listens–” He stumbles over his words, his mind is all over the place. “It-it’s too much to explain now. What’s her favorite song?”

Dustin is screaming and in your blind fear, your mind can’t catch up. You can’t think of Max’s favorite song, you know everything about her. What her favorite color is, her favorite ice cream flavor, her deepest fear. And yet you don’t fucking know what her favorite song is.

“I–” You can’t breathe. You wrack your mind, you try to come up with something, anything. But you can’t. Steve and the others rustle through the cassettes, their voices overlap and everyone talks at once.

“Lucas, which one is it?” Steve exclaims, flipping over the tapes in vain. “What's her favorite song?”

Your mind goes back to winter. To when the cold burned your lungs and the snow quieted your fears. It was Christmas, Lucas had wanted you to check up on Max. He’d been worried about her. When you visited her, she’d had her walkman on, volume on the highest setting.

You remember asking what she’d been listening to. It’d been an innocent question, then. Nothing more than a simple formality, a way to get Max to open up to you. Feel more calm around you.

But now it could be what prevents you from losing Max forever.

“Kate Bush!” Screaming, you dig through the cassettes yourself. “Her favorite song is by Kate Bush.”

Lucas finds the only tape by her and he quickly removes it from its case. He screams at Steve to take it and hand it over to Dustin. They move in a blur, Dustin slides the headphones over Max’s ears and your finger presses play.

Kate Bush’s voice erupts from the speakers. Max still doesn’t move, her eyes remain rolled back. But that’s it. The music is all you can do.

Everyone shouts over the music, there isn’t anything else that can be done. Lucas holds her hand, he doesn’t let go of her. “Max, we’re right here!”

“Come back,” you cry, hands pressed against her face. “Sweetheart, Max–”

Her body begins to levitate.

Your entire world collapses.

“No!” You scream, vocal chords tearing.

Your hands grasp at the air, you try to jump, you try to reach her. You try to do something, anything, to save her. Steve clutches you against him, holds you against his chest, scared you’ll hurt yourself. But you don’t care. Lucas screams behind you, Dustin cries for his friend. You throw yourself at Max, over and over again.

But Max is just out of reach, dangerously high, and all you can do is watch.

Her body constricts, her neck snaps back in a sickening manner. She starts to convulse, just how Billy did the night the Mind Flayer killed him. It’s happening again. All the air leaves your lungs. Max’s body dangles before you, taunts you.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, her body falls. You and Steve break her fall as she crumbles onto the grass, just barely managing to protect her head. “Max!”

She’s awake, gasping for air. Lucas cradles her body as she cries. She can’t speak, her hands clutch at any part of Lucas that she can reach. He pulls her close, his head rests against hers. He’s crying, too. “I thought we lost you.”

“I’m still-I’m still here,” Max chokes out. “I’m still here.”

“You’re never leaving.” You gasp out, holding her hand. She’s warm again. Her flesh doesn’t numb yours anymore. “I’m not-I’m not letting you leave us.”

Max cries, your promise heavy against her. You brush back her hair, your tears mix with hers. Steve’s arm wraps around you and Dustin’s head rests against your shoulder. You all hover over Max, almost as if instinctively shielding her.

She’s still here.

The sun begins to set.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ i am no longer doing a taglist, my apologies ! however, please feel free to like, reblog, and comment instead :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #bdyr #m's writing #the ending to dear billy always makes me cry

426 notes · View notes

the-griffons-saddlebag · 2 months ago

Photo

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Alchemy Blade Weapon (shortsword), uncommon ___ This sword has a glass channel running down its length. In place of a traditional pommel, it instead has an open hole designed to fit atop a typical flask or vial. While holding the sword, you can use an action to attach a flask or vial to the pommel and draw its contents into the blade; doing so changes the sword’s properties based on the attached flask or vial. • 𝘼𝙘𝙞𝙙 𝙑𝙞𝙖𝙡. The sword deals an extra 1d4 acid damage to the first target hit by it each turn. When the target is an object that isn’t being worn or carried, the acid damage is maximized. • 𝘼𝙡𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩’𝙨 𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙚. The sword deals an extra 1d4 fire damage to the first target hit by it each turn. If you reduce a creature to 0 hit points using the sword, you can cause a different creature of your choice within 5 feet of the target to also take 2d4 fire damage. • 𝘽𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙘 𝙋𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙣. The sword deals an extra 1d4 poison damage to the first target hit by it each turn. The first time that the target hits with an attack that uses Strength before the start of your next turn, the damage is reduced by an amount equal to the poison damage dealt. • 𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙮 𝙒𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧. The sword deals an extra 1d4 radiant damage to the first target hit by it each turn. The radiant damage is doubled against fiends and undead. You can eject and remove the flask or vial using a bonus action, destroying its contents and leaving the container empty. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

#illustration #digital art #dungeons and dragons #dnd #d&d

422 notes · View notes

genshinimpactresources · 2 months ago

Text

Genshin Impact | Version 5.1 Genius Invokation TCG | Other Cards

#genshin impact #genius invokation tcg #genius invokation tcg card face #genius invokation tcg enemy cards #genius invokation tcg action cards #action cards: events #action cards: dishes #action cards: talent #action cards: constellation #action cards: technique #saurian #enemy artworks #action cards: artifacts #action cards: weapons

40 notes · View notes

genshinresource · 1 year ago

Text

Genshin Impact Genius Invokation TCG Action Cards (51/?)

#genshin impact #character artworks #Genius Invokation TCG Card Face #Genius Invokation TCG Action Cards #Action Cards: Events #Action Cards: Companion #Action Cards: Landmark #Action Cards: Weapons #Action Cards: Artifacts #Yayoi Nanatsuki

63 notes · View notes

prokopetz · 1 year ago

Text

Your long and arduous journey has led you to this, the final confrontation. You thought you knew what to expect, but just as you struck the final blow, your ultimate foe's eyes gleamed with unnatural light as they proclaimed…

THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM

A game for 4–6 players

Introduction

This Isn't Even My Final Form is a GMless tactical minigame for 4–6 players. You'll take on the roles of a party of heroic adventurers nearing the end of a world-spanning quest to defeat a great evil, the Final Boss. Unfortunately for them, each time they think they've won, the Final Boss assumes a new, even more horrifying form, and the struggle begins anew. Is there any end to this conflict? There's only one way to find out!

What You'll Need

This Isn't Even My Final Form requires a dozen six-sided dice, as well as a way of keeping track of a few important numbers – a shared text document or some scrap paper will suffice.

Update 2023-10-30: Print-and-play card decks are available here:

http://penguinking.com/this-isnt-even-my-final-form/

Character Creation

Choose two of the following actions to be your Party Member's Class Actions: Strike, Heal, Buff, Debuff. If you'd rather determine this randomly, roll on the following table.

1. Strike, Heal 2. Strike, Buff 3. Strike, Debuff 4. Heal, Buff 5. Heal, Debuff 6. Buff, Debuff

Give your Party Member's Class a name which suits your Class Actions. Also give your Party Member a name; it is traditional but not obligatory for your Party Member's name to have exactly five letters.

Playing the Game

Play is divided into a series of Phases. During each Phase, one player takes on the role of the Final Boss. That player's Party Member does not participate in this Phase; they're trapped, lost, incapacitated, or otherwise separated from the party or unable to act for the duration of the Phase. All other players take on the roles of their Party Members.

The Final Boss player's first order of business is to describe what the current Phase looks like. The Final Boss player can roll 1–3 times on the following table (re-rolling duplicates) to decide on a theme, or use it as inspiration for their own theme. To use this table, roll a six-sided die twice, treating the first roll as the "tens" place and the second roll as the "ones" place, yielding a number in the range from 11 to 66.

11. Beasts 12. Bells 13. Blood 14. Bones 15. Chains 16. Chaos 21. Cubes 22. Eyes 23. Fire 24. Flowers 25. Food 26. Games 31. Gears 32. Glass 33. Gold 34. Hands 35. Holes 36. Ice 41. Iron 42. Light 43. Mazes 44. Meat 45. Mirrors 46. Music 51. Orbs 52. Order 53. Plague 54. Shadow 55. Slime 56. Space 61. Spikes 62. Teeth 63. Time 64. Trees 65. Weapons 66. Wings

Once the Phase has been defined, set the party's Momentum to zero. Momentum is a value which will increase or decrease over the course of the Phase; it has a minimum value of zero, and no particular upper limit.

Play proceeds in a series of rounds, as follows.

The Final Boss Attacks

The Final Boss always goes first in each round. Roll one die:

1–3: The Final Boss chooses one of the following actions. 4–5: The Final Boss chooses two of the following actions. You may not target the same Party Member twice; however, you may use the same action on two different Party Members if you wish. 6: The Final Boss does nothing this round. On its turn next round, it does not roll and instead uses its Ultimate Attack.

Wound: Inflict the Critical Condition on a single Party Member. If the chosen Party Member already has the Critical Condition, it's replaced with the Down Condition and the party loses one Momentum.

Imprecate: Inflict the Cursed Condition on a single Party Member.

Envenom: Inflict the Poisoned Condition on a single Party Member.

Bewilder: Inflict the Confused Condition on a single Party Member.

Counter: If you're targeted by the Strike or Debuff actions this round, after resolving that action, perform the Wound action on the Party Member who targeted you. You may counter any number of actions in this way.

Dispel: Remove the Buffed and Protected Conditions from any number of Party Members.

Enrage: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the better result on its next action. The party may cancel this benefit with a successful Debuff action; doing so removes the extra die instead of forcing the Final Boss to roll twice and take the lower result.

Ultimate Attack: This action can only be chosen by rolling a 6 during the previous round. When the Final Boss uses this action, choose Cursed, Poisoned, or Confused: you may perform the Wound action AND inflict the chosen Condition upon any number of Party Members, in that order. (i.e., Wound each targeted Party Member, THEN Curse/Confuse/Poison any who remain standing.)

The Final Boss player describes the outcome of the chosen action(s) in as much or as little detail as they like; control then passes to the other players.

The Party Acts

After the Final Boss has attacked, each Party Member who doesn't have the Down condition chooses one of the following actions, in any order the players wish. After choosing any action other than Defend, the player rolls their dice pool, which is a handful of six-sided dice constructed as follows:

Start with a number of dice equal to the party's current Momentum (initially zero, though it will grow over the course of the Phase)

Add one die if you're performing one of your Party Member's Class Actions

Add one die if your Party Member currently has the Buffed Condition

Add one die if your Party Member currently has the Critical Condition

Roll all of the dice together, and find the highest result. Ties for the highest result have no special significance; for example, if you rolled four dice and got 1, 3, 5 and 5, your result is 5. If you'd ever end up with zero or fewer dice for any reason – either because your dice pool was empty to begin with, or because some effect obliged you to discard every die you rolled – you receive an automatic result of 1.

If an action requires you to target a specific Party Member or make other choices, you can wait and see the result of your roll before making those decisions.

Strike: You attack the Final Boss. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: Nothing happens – either the attack misses, or the Final Boss turns out to be immune to whatever you just did. 4–5: The attack strikes true. The party gains one Momentum. 6: Critical hit! The party gains two Momentum.

Special: If you roll triples or better (i.e., at least three of the same number) on a Strike action, the Final Boss' current Phase is defeated, and you move on to the next Phase. It doesn't matter what number comes up triples.

Heal: You attempt to restore the party's strength. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: You may remove the Critical Condition from a single Party Member. If no Party Member has the Critical Condition, nothing happens. 4–5: You may remove the Critical Condition from any number of party members OR you may remove the Down Condition from a single Party Member. 6: You may remove the Critical and Down Conditions from any number of party members.

Buff: You attempt to bolster a party member. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: You may grant the Buffed Condition to a single Party Member OR remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down from a single Party Member. 4–5: You may grant the Buffed Condition to a single Party Member AND remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down from that Party Member, if they have one. 6: You may grant the Buffed Condition OR remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down to any number of Party Members. You may choose a different option for each targeted Party Member.

Debuff: You attempt to weaken the Final Boss. Roll your dice pool:

1-3: Nothing happens – it turns out the Final Boss was immune to that effect. 4–5: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the lower result on its next action. 6: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the lower result on its next action AND the party gains one Momentum.

Defend: You may grant the Protected condition to a Party Member of your choice. Do not roll.

Based on the outcome of your roll (if applicable), describe the outcome of your action in as much or as little detail as you wish.

Once each Party Member has acted, return to "The Final Boss Attacks" to begin the next round.

Ending the Phase

As noted above, rolling triples or better on a Strike action results in the immediate defeat of the current Phase. Alternatively, if all Party Members simultaneously have the Down Condition, the Final Boss player's Party Member suddenly breaks free or arrives on the scene and rescues everyone in a stunning deus ex machina; this also ends the Phase, but does not count as defeating it.

In either case, reset the party's momentum to zero, remove all Conditions, and move on to the next Phase. The role of the Final Boss passes to a different player, with preference given to those who haven't yet had a chance to be the Final Boss; the previous Final Boss player resumes playing their Party Member.

Continue until the party has defeated a number of Phases at least equal to the number of players, or until mutual agreement has been reached that all this has gone on quite long enough.

Conditions

Some actions can impose Conditions upon the individual Party Members. Conditions can be positive or negative, and last until specific conditions for their removal are met.

Buffed: Your strength has been boosted. When rolling your dice pool, you roll one extra die.

Confused: You've lost your wits. When the party acts, your action is determined by rolling a d6 – 1: Strike; 2: Heal; 3: Buff; 4: Debuff; 5: Defend; 6: do nothing this round AND remove this Condition. This Condition is also removed if you gain the Critical Condition while under its effects. You may choose targets normally if the rolled action requires them. Confused Party Members always act before their un-Confused peers; if there are multiple Confused Party Members, the Final Boss decides the order in which they act.

Critical: You are badly wounded. Desperation lends strength, and so this Condition adds one extra die to your dice pools; however, if you suffer the Critical Condition a second time, it becomes the Down Condition instead.

Cursed: You've been afflicted with misfortune. Discard your highest result after rolling your dice pool, but before applying your chosen action's effects. If there's a tie for the highest result, discard all of them; for example, if you roll four dice while Cursed and get 1, 3, 5 and 5, your result is 3. If the Condition causes you to discard your only set of triples of better on a Strike action, the Phase does not end.

Down: You are incapacitated by injury or foul enchantment. When the party acts, you may not choose an action; your action remains lost even if this Condition is removed before the end of the round. When you gain this Condition, remove all other Conditions, and the party loses one Momentum. (This is not in addition to the Momentum loss noted by effects which inflict this Condition – those are just reminders.) You may not gain other Conditions while this one persists.

Poisoned: You're afflicted by a poison, plague, or death-curse. If you have the Poisoned Condition after resolving your action for the round, you gain the Critical Condition. If you already have the Critical Condition, you instead gain the Down Condition, and the party loses one Momentum.

Protected: The next time you would gain any Condition other than Buffed, remove this Condition instead. You also remove this Condition if you take any action other than Defend on your turn.

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #this isn't even my final form #game design #violence mention

2K notes · View notes

dungeon-strugglers · 3 months ago

Text

✨New item!✨ Bandolier of Many Knives Wondrous item, rare (requires attunement)

This leather bandolier has eight daggers sheathed in it. You have a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with one of these magic daggers. A dagger removed (or thrown) from the bandolier vanishes at the end of your turn and reappears on the bandolier, unless you are wielding the dagger as a melee weapon. You can draw a dagger from the bandolier (no action required) as part of making an attack with it.

Fan of Blades. As an action while wearing the bandolier, you can throw all eight daggers at once. You must have a free hand to do so. Each creature in a 15-foot cone must make a DC 15 Dexterity saving throw. A creature takes 8d4 + 8 piercing damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. Once this property of the bandolier has been used, it cannot be used again until the next dawn.

An engraving on the inside of the bandolier reads: “A knife for each of your problems.” - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 200 magic items, printable item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks, and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️ Thank you so much for your support! 💖

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

498 notes · View notes

hongjoongspoetry · 2 months ago

Text

Bones, Blood and Teeth Erode | Jeong Yunho

⚠️ Summary: Taking a child under your wing, tackling complex feelings for a man who didn't make your life easier, and waking up to the entire world wanting to sink their teeth into your skin would make for one hell of a college essay. Too bad you were already done with your studies and working a full time job kicking rotten ass.

⚠️ Pairing(s): Jeong Yunho x F!Reader

⚠️ Genres/Tropes: non-idol AU, zombie apocalypse AU, horror, romance, hurt/comfort, a lot of action, a lil comedy, golden retriever x black cat (kinda, not really)

⚠️ Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), explicit language, reader has a panic attack, derogatory words (bitch), use of weapons (guns, knives), blood and gore (quite descriptive), (probably inaccurate) gun wounds, losing consciousness, petnames (flower, angel, darling, sweetie), zombies, murder, reader is a badass, attempted murder by strangulation, brief allude to suicide and hanging (just a quick mention), medical needles, disagreements, Wooyoung is a menace, jealous!Yunho

⚠️ Wordcount: 39.3K

⚠️ Author's note: This work has been a fun challenge as it's my first time writing a zombie AU. With that, I'll kindly ask you to please be nice if the gore and action doesn't live up to your expectations! I'm also thinking of making a "sequel" as everything I planned couldn't fit here, but I don't know... I'll leave that for future me to decide. Until then, I'm going to focus on finishing Cold Hands, Warm Heart. Plus, who was going to tell me there was a limit to Tumblr?? Wdym I can't exceed 1000 paragraphs? 😭

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes.

AO3 Masterlist Moodboard Click on me!

The most memorable moments of life were limited and a majority of them weren’t even stored in the human’s hippocampus until the ages three or four. First words, first steps, first birthday, first time using the potty amongst other things weren’t memories, but rather snippets of stories retold by parents or other significant individuals. With the years passing and flowers withering as snow spread through the country, the less memorable things became. Birthdays were celebrated every three hundred and sixty-fifth day, but were only really a big deal if it was a big number or when the line of adolescence and adulthood was crossed. After that, no one was eager enough to celebrate the less time they harbored in the world.

Then — in some random order — your wallet would be updated with a shiny driver’s license accompanying your credit card, a few pennies and other meaningless receipts you couldn’t bother throwing out. The desk in your childhood bedroom was cleared of coloring books, instead proudly displaying the evidence of graduating college that would eventually be framed and nailed to the newly painted walls of your first apartment. Those were the more memorable milestones you’d think back to in your senior years while relaxing on your porch with a cup of freshly brewed tea. By that point in life, you’d be free of school, work and other duties. The only worry was when your next doctor’s appointment was or if the neighborhood kids were stealing apples from your garden again.

The universe was known for throwing curveballs when one least expected and no one could foresee the bombshell of death and despair exploding on the green earth, altering everyone’s hopes and dreams to dust. Within hours, the vision of spending your last years alive tending to your garden flowers and watching the sun go to sleep was erased from existence along with your cherished memories, because there was no moment in life you’d remember more than the day the world went to shit.

“How’s little Nari doing? Have you checked the locks?”

“She’s good, as much as a seven-year-old could be. I’ve already put her to bed like half an hour ago. We ate some fruit snacks and watched an episode of Bluey, and poof, she was out like a light,” you chuckled gently. “And yes, I already checked, I double checked even.”

This was your new nightly routine ever since moving miles across the country for more opportunities in the big city. Your mom had yet to accept the fact her baby girl (and only child) wasn’t a baby anymore, but a grown woman with adult responsibilities. Nonetheless, she still called you at least once a day, and as much as you loved her, she sure was getting on your nerves.

“Triple check it… Oh! And see if your windows are locked too. She’s such a sweet little girl. Speaking of, how are the Kangs?”

Leave it to your mom to ask about everyone’s and everything’s wellbeing. It was no wonder she had trouble sleeping at night, the constant worry gnawing on her brain like a mouse with a stolen piece of cheese.

Rolling your eyes, you refrained from chastising her for staying up late watching one too many criminal documentaries. You lived on the fifth floor; what did it matter if your windows were locked or not?

“The Kangs are good too, I believe. They’ll be her first thing in the morning to get Nari.”

“They are good people, those Kangs. I’m happy you have normal neighbors and not some weirdos. Especially when they know there’s a girl living alone, it makes you vulnerable.”

“Because a couple in their early thirties definitely can’t be perpetrators. Bonus points if they have a daughter.”

“I’m just concerned for my little baby girl. You know it’s difficult for us now that you’ve moved out. Your father doesn’t say much, but he hasn’t stepped foot in your bedroom after the last box was carried out.”

And as much as you wanted to tell her, ‘Mom, I’m not your little baby girl anymore’, the words wouldn’t roll off your tongue. Perhaps it was the mention of your father’s somber behavior — someone you never saw without a smile on his face — or you were missing them equally as much as they missed you.

“I know, mom. But it was a question of when I’d move out, I mean, it would happen eventually and here we are.”

“Well, I don’t care. You’ll be my baby until they stuff me down below.”

“Mom!”

“It’s true! Adult or not, I’m still your mother and will always be. Doesn’t matter if you’re five, fifty or five hundred. Now, I don’t want to hold you off any longer, it’s quite late and you have an early start tomorrow. I love you, my sweet girl.”

“I love you too, mom. Hug dad for me, would you?”

“Of course. Good night, sweetie.”

“Goodnight.”

Plopping down on the sofa barely big enough for three, your phone lightened with a gentle tap of your thumb. The wallpaper was a picture of you standing behind your parents with the family cat seated on your mom’s lap. It was taken days before you’d leave for Seoul (your mom insisted you take another family portrait to match the collection of the already existing thirty something photos). Your two hours were spent aimlessly scrolling through various social media apps, seeing what news and events you missed out on while entertaining the previously energetic seven-year-old. Amidst your scrolling, the three full bars of the Wi-F emoticon turned transparent. Not thinking much of it, you opted for resetting your router, but nothing changed. Even your data roaming wasn’t working.

“Huh? That’s weird,” you mumbled to yourself.

The device quickly lost its value and was forgotten on the coffee table as you reached for the TV remote. That proved to be useless too as a multitude of colors covered the screen with the words ‘No Signal’ staring right back at you. Growing up in the countryside, you weren’t all too shaken over the loss of Wi-Fi, but considering you were now residing in the heart of South Korea, where everything was supposed to be ten times better and faster, you were left with a queasy feeling. Giving the government — or whoever was in charge of these operators — the benefit of the doubt, you decided to get ready for bed. The internet would be back sooner or later, that’s how it was in your hometown at least.

You gently peeked inside your bedroom and with the reassuring sight of Nari still in a deep slumber, you resumed to the bathroom.

“Maybe it’s a sign to tune in for the night.”

Watching yourself in the bathroom mirror, you shrugged and got to washing up. As you completed the long list of your skincare routine and dried your face with a towel, you didn’t expect to be met with sudden darkness and nearly fell into the bathtub. Regaining your composure, your feet were glued to the floor and ars extra sharp, listening for anything suspicious on the other side of the door. You couldn’t help but think someone had broken into your flat. To your fear, a silent creak echoed throughout the apartment followed by rapid pattering of feet. A whimper — you would’ve missed it if it weren’t for the complete silence — slipped through the tight space between the door and threshold.

“Auntie?”

The speed you unlocked the door at should be studied by a group of scientists. You wasted no time crouching before Nari which she saw as an invitation to sling herself in your embrace. The few solar sticks shoved into your window baskets provided your apartment with enough light to avoid bumping into furniture as you entered the living room. The TV had gone from a bright rainbow to a void of nothing, enveloping you in complete darkness. A simple fuse going out wouldn’t turn off the power in your entire apartment and you wondered if the whole building was without electricity.

“Why is it dark?” She whispered against your shoulder.

“I don’t know, sweetie. I think the power went out. Wanna see if there are any candles laying around?”

Grabbing your phone from its place, you quickly put on the flashlight and rummaged through your cabinets for anything useful. If you knew your mother at all, you were certain she snuck in some candles or a real flashlight while you were busy carrying boxes with your dad. Opening the second-to-last drawer, you found what you were looking for and in that moment it was a treasure bigger than gold.

“Looks like auntie had some candles after all.”

With the help of Nari — who actually just watched you scatter the candles everywhere — you managed to bring more light into the apartment.

“Isn’t this much better?” You asked and Nari nodded while shuffling to one end of the sofa, her knees brought up to her chest and her hair a mess from the short nap.

“When will the lights be back?”

Honestly, you didn’t know, but sensing it would spread more worry than comfort, you weren’t about to let her know that. She was already spooked from the sudden blackout and you weren’t all that keen on consoling a distressed child a quarter to midnight.

“Soon. I’m sure of it. In the meantime, how about you go bring me your pretty pink hairbrush and I’ll fix your pigtails for you?”

You watched Nari run off into your bedroom and gave yourself a pat on the back for handling the situation quite smoothly. With the power out, you had no option but to save the battery on your phone, thus turning off the flashlight and relying on the candles for guidance. Not to sound entitled, but you truly thought the outages would be left in your hometown and wouldn’t follow you all the way to Seoul. Trying to go against the odds, you checked your phone again and noticed the service was completely wiped out. The top of your screen looked rather naked as the battery percentage glared at you tauntingly.

Now would be a good time to worry. Water seeped through the ventilations in your flat and hastily rose upwards. Parts of your body turned numb at immediate contact and your nightgown stuck to your cold skin. You looked around. Your living room was flooding, but no one did anything. No one came to help. The world was still spinning and you were slowly drowning. As your view was obscured by a beautiful hue of blue everything stopped.

It was quiet, but your thoughts were loud. Submerging underwater was supposed to give a sense of tranquility yet there you were, struggling to tame the voices in your mind. It was first when you parted your lips for an intake of air that they simmered out and a wave of panic washed over you as water gushed down your throat and into your lungs. Your mouth clamped shut and you made grabby motions as if you’d latch onto a plug and the water would magically go down a drain. The lack of oxygen caused darkness to cloud your sight and a force so tight wrapped around your head you thought it was going to explode. Fire burned your lungs and something clawed at your throat, but you refused to inhale again. It was scary. The fight was slowly leaving your body and right when you heard death calling for you, a bubbly call of your name brought you back to reality and suddenly there was no evidence of the translucent liquid ever being in your living room.

“Here you go, auntie.”

Nari reclaimed her seat on the couch, the only difference being her back turned toward you. Releasing a shuddering breath, you took the brush from her and tried to differentiate between reality and imagination. This seemed to be real, you thought and got to work, despite your heart banging against your chest. With gentle touches, you removed the ties from her hair and combed it until silky smooth. To your relief and her luck, the strands weren’t tangled together and allowed the brush to run freely. Deeming her hair neat enough, you parted it down the middle and into two sections, and redid her pigtails from earlier. It was an easy hairstyle and suited her pretty face. You looped both your index fingers through each tail and giggled at the cuteness.

“There you go. All done, little flower.”

“Thank you, auntie!”

Nari turned around and wrapped her arms around your waist, her cheek mushed against your stomach and your heart soared with joy. The display of affection was enough to keep your head on and not worry about all the connected dots seemingly leading back to the power outage. Besides, you couldn’t act recklessly. If Nari caught wind of your unease, you could confidently say she’d spiral into a panic of her own.

“Of course… Now I was thinking with the power out, how would it sound if we raided my freezer for some ice cream? I mean, it will turn bad otherwise.”

The Kangs were quite strict with Nari and sweets, in the sense that they didn’t want her over consuming before bed or on weekdays. Something about having a balanced diet. It wasn’t anything you had a say in and if you wanted to be paid at the end of the day as well as avoid a lawsuit, you were going to ensure Nari followed those rules. But considering something was out of the ordinary and with your endless supply of ice cream, you couldn’t bother with what her parents had to say.

While she was shifting between eating the flavors of strawberry, chocolate, banana, raspberry and vanilla ice cream, you pondered over the elephant in the room. Knowing now it wasn’t something solely affecting your apartment complex, but the whole city, you were trying your hardest not to freak out. Perhaps some vigilante had hacked into the government and planned on leaking some top secret files? Were you going to war? A sign of an earthquake?

“Auntie?”

“Yes, Nari?”

“I’m sleepy. I’m sorry your ice cream will go bad.”

“Don’t worry about that. It was too much for just the two of us anyway.” You patted the top of her head and she childishly beamed at you, immediately illuminating the room better than any light source created. “Wanna get ready for bed again?”

As you stood up, you expected Nari to follow, but the child was still seated. Her feet brushed against each other while she picked around her fingernails. She avoided your eyes, her gaze trained on her fiddling hands.

“Is something wrong?”

The mumbled words were far too quiet for you to make sense of and with a polite request to repeat herself, Nari spoke again, a tad bit louder than before. “I don’t wanna sleep in the dark.”

A crack went down the middle of your heart and echoed loudly in your eardrums. Her sullen attitude caught you off guard, but knowing the reason behind it, you now wondered if she was used to being chastised or mocked for her fear in the walls of her home. Whatever it was, you weren’t going to endorse that behavior.

“We could…” You began and waited for her to meet your gaze. Her little eyes carried a plethora of stars and you had to hold back from pinching her chubby cheeks. “Have a sleepover, right here.”

The stars in her eyes grew in size and twinkled brighter than any night sky. Her previously pouty lips curled in a sugary smile that cured any type of sadness. The child was up in seconds, already rearranging the pillow to her liking and claiming her side of the sofa.

“Okay, flower. It’s time for another brushing session.”

Luckily, Nari didn’t appear like a kicked puppy and happily skipped to the bathroom instead. Your phone in her hands lit up her path despite the candles burning for the same purpose. You released a breath of relief and whisked out two blankets from your bedroom as well as one of Nari’s stuffed toys. She had spent enough nights under your watch to know she’d ask for either Sir Fluffington (a rabbit with one of its ears ripped off) or Spiderfrog (a purple ladybug). Coming out of your bedroom, you were surprised to see Nari sitting on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her bum and arms hidden underneath her shirt making her look armless.

“Oh, you’re done already?”

“The water is not working.”

Dropping the soft objects on the couch, your brows scrunched together. “What?”

“I opened the sink and the water didn’t come. It was first brown, like poopy water and then it disappeared.”

Disregarding her easy mix up between a tap and a sink, you flew across the room to the kitchen and as feared, no water came out. Something was wrong. How big of a coincidence would it be that the electricity, internet and water were out of function?

Swallowing the lump growing in your dry throat — a placebo created by the knowledge you had no running water — you faced Nari and ushered her under the covers.

“I’m positive it’s nothing. The water and power will be back when we wake up.” Shuffling beside her, you handed her both Sir Fluffington and Spiderfrog, an easy distraction from the weird occurrences.

“Can we sleep with the lights on?”

“Yeah, I won’t blow out all the candles until you’re asleep. Is that alright?”

Nari nodded and tucked both of her stuffies beneath the blanket then brought it up to her chin. You gave your phone one last glance, sighing at the red battery and lack of a signal. Just your luck, you thought and let it back down.

“Good night, auntie.”

Nari’s breaths evened quicker than you could reply back and soon you too struggled with keeping your eyes open. As promised, you blew out the candles — starting a building fire was not a part of your bucket list — and came back to bed. Fatigue weighing more than three bags of flour tugged on your eyelids and it was easier to give into the darkness than fight it. Besides, you’d rather not stay awake and theorize over all the possibilities as to why the country seemed to be out of function.

“Night, flower.”

The trip to dreamland was short and didn’t last for longer than two hours. You woke with a startle, your body covered in a sheen of sweat and heart loud in your ears. It wasn’t because of your neighbor’s early shenanigans of rearranging furniture or a fast food delivery guy knocking on the wrong door, but people talking, or rather screaming, in the corridor of the apartment building. Nari was still sleeping soundly next to you, seeming nothing in the world was able to disturb her. It wasn’t because of your neighbor’s early shenanigans of rearranging furniture or a fast food delivery guy knocking on the wrong door. Still surrounded by darkness, you hastily grabbed your phone and blinded yourself as — what felt like — a hundred suns appeared right before your eyes. The numbers showed it was a little past two in the morning.

A commotion of multiple bodies running and sharp tones turning into faint screams, had you standing on your feet. The walls of the apartment were thin, but not enough for you to make out what was being said. It couldn’t be a normal argument between neighbors if the shouting went from anger to fear, hands pounding against doors with pleas of being let inside. You didn’t move until a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the stairwell. In all your years on this earth, you never heard a being make such painful and horrifying sounds. Not even movies portraying the most gruesome torture scene could be compared to what your ears were witnessing. You couldn’t describe it even if you wanted to. All you knew was that it touched your core, nearly cutting all mobility in your legs. The screaming didn’t stop for a while, but when it did everything turned silent. The silence in the dead of a night with everyone asleep; no engine rumbling, no people talking and no animals wandering around. Complete and utter silence.

By some miracle, you managed to get closer to your door without stumbling into something and for once in your life you were grateful for your mother’s nagging about checking the locks. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong. You could feel it in your bones, like birds sensing the beginning of a natural hazard. It wasn’t something you could explain either and if you tried, whoever was on the receiving end would probably call you crazy, but it didn’t matter because there was no one to convince of said feeling. Nari was too young to indulge in and she was at the age where children questioned everything. Giving her one last glance, reassuring yourself she was still asleep, you stepped closer to the door and prepared yourself to look through the peephole. It was first then you felt the side effects of not having water as your throat was uncomfortably dry and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Whatever you were going to see — hopefully nothing — on the other side of the door, you weren’t sure if you were mentally prepared for it.

“Auntie?”

Like the hands of a grandfather clock reaching an hour, your heart chimed loudly in your ears, pushing all the air out from your lungs and freezing the blood in your veins. The childish voice didn’t ease your worries and for a moment you thought a scene from the movie Orphan played out in your life. The crazy thought lasted for a split second until you remembered why there was a child in your flat to begin with.

“What are you doing?”

Facing Nari, you exhaled and mustered up a gentle smile. “I thought I… Nothing. I’m not doing anything.”

As you stepped away from the door, an internal battle broke out in your head. The logic in you argued it was nothing but a speck of your imagination while your gut feeling threw all sense out of the window and was ready to die on the hill that something wasn’t quite right.

“Did you hear it too?”

That was all the reason your gut needed to push logic out of the window. Swallowing dry air, your tongue darted out over your bottom lip. Inhaling a shaky breath which was a failed attempt at calming your nerves, you decided to see where the conversation would go.

“Hear what, flower?”

What Nari said next confirmed you weren’t crazy.

“The screaming,” she emphasized, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I… uh…”

As you parted your lips to say something — what, you didn’t know — a faint scratching noise sounded from behind your door. The best way to describe it would be a fingernail being dragged along the wooden surface. It was nearly undetectable, but with the silence in the apartment the sound was loud enough to interrupt your conversation and spread another wave of fear through your body. Nari whimpered, obviously still affected by the screaming from before, and quickly threw the blanket over her head. Sir Fluffington and Spiderfrog squished under each of her armpits.

Hanging onto the thin rope of sanity left in your body, you coaxed yourself into believing it wasn’t anything to be frightened over. The whistling wind could be heard every once in a while, right?

“Don’t go,” Nari squeaked. She was clearly scared of you going out into the hallway and while you admired her thoughtfulness, you had to remind her you didn’t have a single brave bone in your body.

“I won’t,” you whispered back. “I just want to see.”

If the situation wasn’t so eerie, you’d be laughing at her concern. Nari acted as if whoever was out there would grab you through the keyhole and you’d disappear somewhere akin to Raccoon City or The Upside Down. But you didn’t laugh because the possibility of that happening scared even you, a grown adult with her frontal lobe fully developed.

Exhaling, you flicked the metallic cover of the peephole and stared into an abyss of darkness. The green flickering light of an exit sign illuminated the hallway for a split second before everything turned black again. It continued on like that for a moment and each time the light came back on, you expected something grotesque to stare right back at you, but there was nothing.

“Ha, like I thought. There’s no one the–”

Your voice died in your throat as the lightbulb died only to be brought back to life. The only difference being a figure standing in your line of sight. The green light was gone in a second, not allowing you to see who it was, but when one sense was diluted, the remaining four heightened.

“Help.”

The voice, if you could call it that, sounded like it belonged to a chainsmoker of fifty years. Raspy — not in a sexy way — and weak. They were wheezing for air and almost choked on their own saliva. It wasn’t until the hallway lit up again that you could make out what was presented before you. Mr. Shin from the level below you with ears that were good for nothing and his obnoxiously loud Yorkshire terrier. However, you couldn’t recall him being a smoker or having a gruff voice. Thinking about it, the elder hated anything to do with cigarettes. The smell, the long list of side effects and not to mention the higher risk of being prone to lung cancer.

None of those facts were important though, because what you were seeing nearly sent you on your backside.

Mr. Shin’s head was abnormally tilted to the right and something sharp, and white, boney, stuck out of his neck. The liquid he was choking on was in fact not his saliva, but buckets of blood. Dark, thick, blood seeping out of his neck and mouth, making it hard for him to speak.

“Open… Help me.”

Lights off. Lights on.

A big chunk of skin and meat was torn right out of his shoulder, coating his arm in a wine-red liquid nearly having you spilling your guts out. Clamping a hand over your mouth, both to keep your food inside and not to let out a scream of terror, you moved backwards. You felt sick. Your stomach was up to your chest and your pulse was so quick the beats per minute were impossible to count. The few words leaving Mr. Shin became a jumbled mess of groans and growls. His pleas for help and demands of you opening the door were indistinguishable, something not even an aggravated dog would let out. The scratching turned into slamming fists and jerks of the handle.

Your phone was useless and there was no other way to get hold of an emergency service. Mr. Shin obviously needed help. He had always been kind to you; he bought you a fresh basket of peaches each month and collected the morning mail for you. There was yet a moment for you to repay him and now would be the perfect chance to give back for all his numerous favors. Not thinking much, you turned the lock west and the door opened on its own as a stumbling Mr. Shin entered your apartment.

“Mr. Shin what happen–”

It was as if he was possessed. The man old enough to be your grandfather staggered over the threshold and grabbed onto your shoulders, forcefully pulling you towards him. Your left hand pushed against his ribcage as you simultaneously pressed your other hand against his throat, your fingers digging into the open wound and getting coated in red. As the lights seeped into your apartment, you saw his lifeless eyes, red mouth and pale face. Your scream was loud enough to wake the whole of Seoul.

Still struck by the image of your kind neighbor looking like the upper part of him was put through a rusty meat grinder, you stumbled over your own feet and fell flat on your rear with Mr. Shin following in tow. Your throat was turning sore from all the screaming that didn’t reach your own ears. He didn’t stop his advances and his mouth was opening and closing in a biting manner, his rotten teeth loudly chomping against each other snapping you in and out of your screams.

“Stop! Mr. Shin!”

It was as if you said the complete opposite as he fought against your pushing hands. Your hand which was previously on his ribs jumped up to his shoulder and gradually slid further up his neck. In the midst of your fright and panic, you latched onto the bone sticking out of his body. It was cold and sturdy, and so incredibly nasty that you nearly puked all over yourself like a wasted teenager coming home from a night out in the club. The friendly face of Mr. Shin with deep dimples and moon creasing eyes was void of any happiness.

“Please, stop,” you cried out. Hot tears kissing your cheeks and lips wobbly.

You were left with no choice. Using all the strength you could muster, you dragged both hands in opposite directions. Like opening a newspaper with force and not stopping until it tore in half, his skin parted in the middle with more blood and tissue seeped out of him and straight down on you, coating your pink nightgown and bare skin. A modern version of Carrie.

A whispered apology left your mouth and what was once whole was split into two. The body of Mr. Shin slumped down over you while his groaning head rolled across your living room floor. You scrambled away from the corpse and didn’t stop until your back was against the couch, where a crying Nari loomed over you.

“What the fuck? What. The. Fuck!”

Your hands shook uncontrollably. In an attempt to calm down, you weaved them into your hair, gently tugging at the strands while trying to arrange your fleeting thoughts into something rational. It was impossible. There were so many questions and not one answer. You didn’t know how long you sat there for. Maybe ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? Everything blurred together, but it were the wails of Nari that cleared up the mist you found yourself in.

Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you saw her on the complete opposite end of the sofa. The blanket you provided her with was brought up to her chin. She was red as a cherry tomato, presumably from all the crying. As you somehow got up on your feet, her crying turned up in volume and you realized she was afraid of you. Thanks to the red smeared all over your body, that little mind of hers couldn’t differentiate between you and Mr. Shin. Probably assuming what happened to him got you too.

“Nari, little flower.” She peeked between her fingers obscuring her view. “I��m alright. I’m not…”

I’m not like him. I’m safe. I’m well.

“I’m okay.”

Three years had passed since the outbreak started. One thousand and something-something days of moving from location to location, clearing rundown gas stations and seven-elevens, surviving on canned food and dried fruits and nuts. It wasn’t particularly easy surviving an apocalypse with a child. The first month was spent shifting between crying for her parents and then mentally aging half a year every day. You, on the other hand, promised no more tears would be shed ever since you decapitated your sweet grandpa of a neighbor. A decision made for the safety of both yourself and Nari. The girl that was thrust into your care for a few hours turned into a lifelong partner, however long that would be.

Perched on the roof of an apartment building you spent the past month temporarily residing in, you thoroughly examined all the stuff you needed for the long journey waiting ahead. With the little resources you had left, it was safe to say your time in the capital was coming to an end. Every store in a one-mile radius had been emptied and those that were still full of necessities were in the red zone, also labeled a suicide mission.

A shadow loomed over you, obscuring the sun from your view and providing you with a cooling shade. “You tell me not to sit in the sun, but you’re doing the complete opposite?”

You looked up at Nari, your brows scrunched together and mouth pressed into a straight line. It was a poor attempt at a joke, Nari knew that much, but it didn’t stop her from sharing her lame humor with you even if it didn’t go far. Glancing between a packet of bandages and the bottle of alcohol, you weighed your options before throwing in the alcohol. If either of you got hurt, it’d be better to clean the wound with alcohol than to plaster on a bandage and call it a day.

Zipping up your backpack, you got on your feet and threw it around your shoulder. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

“That’s no fun.” She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. The oversized cap you found in a local store shop was one or two sizes too big for her head, but would fit right in about a year.

“Because fun gets you killed.”

You pushed the cap further down on her head and headed for the stairway. The sun was high in the sky and while it would be best to wait for the heat to pass, it would leave you with a lot of walking in the dark. Not the most ideal time to be outside as the biters were more active during the night.

“Okay, so when can I get a weapon? Like a gun-gun. Not a sharp stick.”

“We’ve already talked about this, Nari. The adult has the gun and the child keeps the map.”

“The map won’t help me fight bad guys.”

You clicked your tongue and patted yourself down. The knife was in the holder attached to your hip and your gun was loaded with the safety lock on, resting against your other hip.

“No, but it will help you find safety which means no bad guys to encounter.” You unclasped the big chains looped through the metal handles of the roof entrance and opened the doors. “Ready?”

“As long as we find anything besides chips. Like was there an overconsumption of the salty potatoes in twenty-twenty four or what? Why are the stores full of them? I don’t get it. They taste like eating a handful of salt.”

Inheriting the guardian role of a child wasn’t something you planned to do until much later on in life. You weren’t prepared to take care of another being, let alone be responsible for their growth and not let them take on the personality of a psychopath. Through the long year of parenting and providing shelter and safety, you had a hard time finding the perfect balance between a strict and laid back aunt. While Nari still deserved to experience the life of a normal child, you were aware normal in a world full of rotting cannibals wasn’t the same as a year ago. Instead of playing with dolls and cars, children were taught how to work a gun and where to aim for a hundred percent kill.

Nari knew the theoristics. Their senses were diluted in the day and heightened at night, but a speck of blood would leave you vulnerable at any hour. The heart and brain were the weak points. For absolute certainty it was best to aim for the head even if a bullet was already lodged through their hearts. She knew all these facts, but had yet to take on a biter. Her kill count was a zero whilst you stopped counting after double digits. It was another thing you had taken upon your shoulders. As long as you were breathing and capable of clearing the path off obstacles, Nari’s hands would remain clean.

Before she could walk through the doors and take the lead, your arm shot out and halted her in place. A serious expression took over your features as you held Nari’s gaze.

“Remember; I need to see you and hear you at all times. Don’t stray from my line of vision, don’t just walk away and in case of an emergency–”

“Hide, sit and wait it out or run until my lungs are about to explode and my feet are covered in blisters.”

You inhaled deeply. Future you would either come to regret this decision or thank the heavens. From the pouch wrapped around your thigh, you took out a small switchblade.

“Good. That’s good.”

You flipped open the blade and wiped it against your thigh before folding it again. The switchblade wasn’t much of a use to you, ever since you found the combat knife hidden in the armory of some old man’s apartment. It was your companion for a little more than a year and saved you from a lot of trouble, but it was time to pass it on.

“I’m thinking…”

“Is that for me? Am I finally getting a weapon?!”

“As I was saying before being rudely interrupted, I was thinking of giving you my old switchblade.” You could practically see stars light up in her eyes. “But with the promise you won’t use it unless absolutely necessary, okay? That means it’s in your pockets and I only want to see it in your hand if it’s a life-or-death situation.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Nari shuffled excitedly on her feet and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say your persistent rant entered through one ear and out the other.

Sighing again, you handed it over and watched with attentive eyes as she tested its functions. Then, as ordered, she stuffed it in her back pocket and gave you a determined nod. Leading the way down the long flight of stairs, you shared the plan you put together over the span of three days while Nari was asleep and you kept watch.

“I think it’s best if we head south. Most of the infected have probably been drawn by the loud sounds in the big cities, leaving the countryside vulnerable. The only thing I’m worried about is coming across other humans.”

“Sounds good. We can maybe grow crops and have cows or pigs? Aw, man, now I’m hungry for some pork belly.”

It was in these moments you were grateful for Nari’s presence. Her childish takes and questions were what kept your sanity intact. If it weren’t for her, you’d probably be roaming the infected streets like a lifeless monster gnawing at other humans.

“Sure. We’ll see what we can find, but ideally it’d be best to find shelter and then animals.”

“As long as I get to own a fluffy cow, I don’t care when or where. Don’t you think it’d be cool if I put a saddle on it and killed biters while riding her?”

The glare she received was hotter than the scorching sun and sharper than your knife. It was enough to keep her quiet for the majority of the journey, but it could only last for so long before she started firing questions again.

“Can I make a birthday wish this year? I promise to keep it realistic.”

You spotted a secluded shop that was yet to be raided for its goods. The windows were covered by planks — they seemed to be placed in a hurry — placed askew and barely shielding the glass panes behind the wood. The door was untouched, not a scratch on it besides the color chipping away and rust collecting on the chain tied around the handles. Nari was a smart kid. For her seventh birthday she didn’t ask for anything extravagant. A new pair of clothes, preferably a pink shirt and shoes. Because of safety reasons, the shoes were out of the picture unless you wanted to be an easy target. It’d be like spotting a Christmas tree in the middle of July. It wasn’t until her ninth year came around that she asked for the impossible; a dog. You couldn’t find a group of people that weren't out to kill you, let alone a creature with the appetite of a starving jaguar.

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Teach me how to use a gun?”

The four cans of peaches were placed close at hand and you quickly scooped them into your bag as the question looped in your mind. In a perfect world where people didn’t turn into rotting cannibalistic creatures, you’d never entertain the idea of a ten-year-old handling a weapon. But the world wasn’t perfect and her birthday wish was more logical than her wanting a Barbie doll. You really wanted to say no. Use the excuse of wanting to protect her innocence for a few more years, but what good would that bring her in a moment of desperation? What would be worse, a longer life haunted by nightmares or a short one full of flowers and bees?

“If we find a little one,” you muttered lowly and handed her a pack of sealed batteries.

She squealed and you masked your own smile with a scowl that immediately had her pressing a hand up to her mouth, a futile attempt to suppress the gleeful noise.

“Gotta make sure we don’t die before that though. You keep watch while I scavenge the place for anything useful. We’re leaving in five.”

The shelves were full. It was harder to pick things when you had more to choose from. You wanted nothing more than to stuff everything into two duffel bags and be on your merry way, but it would get you nowhere. The five minutes were spent choosing between bandages and medicine or extra food and nutrition. As you gave in and stuffed the two sealed medkits, the sharp whistle of a bird sounded through the store. Your head snapped up as cans clattered to the ground. Forgetting about the other necessities, you zipped up your bag and hid behind the shelves in the back where Nari too had taken shelter.

“What did you see?”

“A car. It stopped right out front, but I didn’t see who came out.”

The sound of the door opening killed the hushed conversation. Quite some time passed since you encountered other people, but each run-in was always more unpleasant than the previous and it left a sour taste in your mouth. Avoiding biters was easy — the creatures had rotting brains with no critical thinking — it was dealing with other humans that gave you a fright. There were already psychos in the normal world and you didn’t want to imagine what demons you’d be dealing with now.

Nari quietly slid down and sat on the floor, knees pressed up to her chest and a hand over her mouth, while you pulled out your gun and knife. Your wrists connected, making a human cross and the hand holding your gun rested on top of the one clutching the blade. Your finger was on the trigger with no fear of firing a bullet or two; anything to secure your survival.

The footsteps belonged to one person and you hoped whoever it was didn’t bring a friend. In a circumstance with the dead you’d throw something sturdy in the opposite direction of you, but dealing with other humans would take more than some trick. The best would be to avoid any bloodshed, take the car and leave fast as fuck.

As the walking ceased so did your thoughts and you were certain your heart could be heard all through Seoul. A can of pears rolled by, passing your hiding forms and stopped as it hit the wall opposite. Whoever was there seemed to have found the tumbled cans, a give-away that they weren’t alone.

“Come out,” they said calmly. The voice was deep and belonged to a man.

A curse died in your throat. Weighing your options, you glanced down at Nari and signaled for her to stay put. The man was obviously aware of your presence and with you as a distraction, Nari could get out. You weren’t worried about yourself more so over her safety. You could cut and swing and shoot, but Nari could only run and slash, and even that wouldn’t get her far. Left with no choice, you stepped out of your hiding with your arms locked and gun poised straight at the man.

Yeah, Nari would have a zero percent chance of outrunning this guy. He was taller than the shelves and the majority of his body consisted of legs and muscle. Not only that, but his arms were long too and he’d probably get to you in three steps or less, hands quick to grasp at your shoulders and neck. Hand-to-hand combat would leave you with a guaranteed loss and the safest bet would be to keep him at three arms lengths. Speaking of arms, he wore a black leather jacket. In fact, he as a whole was covered in black clothing — except for the white cap on his head — even his hands were adorned with fingerless gloves. Quite strange as you were in the middle of summer, but you had seen stranger things. Trailing downwards, you noticed a gun was semi-hiding beneath his jacket and you wondered what else dangerous he kept out of view.

The cock of a gun snatched your attention. A gun — much bigger than yours — was in one of his hands and he made it out to be the size of a teaspoon. It looked ridiculous. Not only was this man tall as a skyscraper, but his hands were big enough to crush your head in.

Appearance wise — besides the overly traumatic analytic of his body proportions — he was quite handsome for living in an apocalypse, and clean too. Dark brown hair that tickled his nape and a fringe which nearly fell in front of his eyes. A long nose and round, but serious eyes which didn’t leave your figure since stepping in his line of vision. His lips, formed with a cupid’s bow, were pressed together and quite dry. If it weren’t for your unfortunate situation and the fact you didn’t care about him, you’d maybe offer him one of the hundred lip balms hanging by the cash register.

“Who are you?”

It must have been the dumbest question to date. What value did your identity have in a fucked up world?

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“And I asked first.”

You’ve held more mature conversations with Nari than this guy.

Sensing you weren’t willing to give up any personal information, he tried approaching the situation in a different manner. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” you answered without skipping a beat. Your eyes were locked on his, refusing to glance in Nari’s direction.

The silent battle of not moving lasted for a few more seconds until he decided to break it.

“I’m Yunho.”

The muscles of your mouth twitched downward and you tightened the hold on your gun, the trigger still being hugged by your pointer finger. You couldn’t give less of a fuck if his name was Yunho, Bruno or Minho.

“I’m not here to cause trouble, I’m just looking for supplies. There’s a group of us, all very hungry and tired. We could use some of the food in here.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

The corners of his lips curled in an amused grin. “No, they can’t, but all I’m asking for is a bit of compassion. You’re one person. We are a group of thirty-forty people. You surely don’t need all the food in here?”

A silly question. Everyone was either starving or injured, not to speak of completely sleep-deprived. Of course you needed everything. From the smallest piece of crumb to the most out of date canned fruit.

“Compassion flew out the window the moment I was attacked by other people. Who’s to say you won’t do the same?”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d have a bullet lodged between your eyes by now.”

Fuck this guy, you were not giving him shit.

“That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it? However, I don’t think you’d let me leave with anything to be honest,” he chuckled and lowered his gun. A bold move for a guy who was deliberately pissing you off.

“You’re finally getting the hang of things around here. I advise you to leave while I’m still being civil. It’d be a shame to end the life of someone so brave. Risking your life for thirty-something people. That’s hard to find nowadays.”

“Doesn’t take much. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

A comeback rested on the tip of your tongue, but was swallowed with a startle as vehicle lights seeped through the sealed windows and the squealing sound of tires coming to a stop outside. You slid back behind the shelf where Nari was still seated on the dirty floor, but shimmied more over to the left so you could fit better. Both flinched as Yunho rounded the same corner. His eyes grew comically in size at the sight of Nari and if it weren’t for the newcomers, you were confident he’d make a comment about her presence. Probably something about honesty getting you far, which you clearly lacked, and you’d argue it left you with nothing but a broken nose.

As the door opened and multiple footsteps echoed through the store, Yunho stepped closer to you. His right hand came up next to your face as the other raised his gun, ready to attack if given the chance. His right hand was tense against the shelf and the only reason he wasn’t completely pressed up against you. The position was uncomfortable and you could smell a faint fragrance of lavender and some other herb emitting from his wrist next to your face. His other hand was raised up to his cheek, the pointer finger on the trigger and his face turned sideways as if to work out when would be the best time to attack.

“Be careful, that engine was still hot. They couldn’t have gone very far,” a gruff voice exploded through the store. Great more men.

“Looks like this one wasn’t raided, Boss,” another man announced, his voice squeaky and unpleasant for the ears, as a third guy whooped in delight.

Light as a feather, your fingers brushed against his elbow closest to your head and the brief contact was enough for him to find your eyes. You nodded to something behind him and Yunho held your gaze before slightly turning sideways. A door was left ajar. Usually, you’d never enter a space without checking it free from infected or traps, but it was either meeting these strangers head on with a guy you were ready to blow the head off a few seconds ago or going head on into danger.

Yunho prodded the side of his cheek with his tongue and pointed at Nari. He wanted her to go first, but you were quick to shut the thought down. As much as it drove you crazy to leave Nari in his wake for a moment or two, it was safer than having her deal with biters alone. Your pointer finger was driven into his peck and Yunho shook his head. What a gentleman. There was no time to argue so you pointed at yourself, then at Nari and lastly at Yunho. He wordlessly agreed and you gave a quick pat to the top of Nari’s head. As you pushed off the shelf, Yunho grabbed your bicep and it took everything in you not to drive your knife in the side of his torso. It was then you discovered one of the men standing in your blindspot and had you stepped out he would’ve definitely seen you. The man turned around and Yunho’s fingers were off you in seconds, giving you the green light to go. Stealthy as a cat and quick as a bunny, you disappeared behind the door without alerting the men.

You found yourself in a passageway leading to a bigger space which you recognized as a storage room. The rest of the room was bigger than the front of the store and somewhere in the far back, behind stacks of prepackaged foods and other goods, you could see a green emergency sign, probably a door leading to the outside world. Your only concern being if something was against it on the other side. Seconds later, Nari came through and the world spun faster than it’s normal at a thousand miles per hour.

“We have to help him!” She hissed and pulled at your wrist back to where you came from.

“Help who?”

“Yunho! They’ve spotted him or, no, they saw me, but he went out of hiding so they wouldn’t go after me.”

“Nari, stop. We have to go.”

“What!? We can’t just leave him.”

You tore your wrist out of her grip and latched onto her shoulders in return. “The fuck we can’t. He’s not my priority. You are.”

“He tried to help us and even got us both to safety! Please, auntie, it’s the right thing to do.”

“What did I tell you about playing the hero? We’re not in some video game, Nari. It’s the real world. Just because it’s right doesn’t mean you’ll get out of there alive and I’ve done a lot to ensure our safety. I won’t let some stupid men be the reason I lose you, do you hear me?”

She shook out of your embrace and pushed you back. Tears littered her waterline and lips wobbled from holding back sobs. “Why are you so mean?”

No punch to the gut would make you lose your breath the way those five words did. How would you explain to a child that the last years were all for her own good at the same time as you were letting someone else die?

“Fuck,” you whispered and clutched the roots of your hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You checked the magazine of your gun and counted six bullets. All you needed was three.

“Okay, fuck. Here’s what we’ll do. You clear this area. Take anything that’s useful and not heavy, okay? I’ll go check the situation outside. Whatever happens, don’t fucking think of coming for us. Do you understand?”

“But–”

“I said, do you understand?”

Hesitation swirled in Nari’s eyes and she gnawed on her lower lip. Agreeing with your conditions meant she was practically leaving you for the dead and while you always returned, safe and untouched, it made her more aware of this being real with no take-backs. Remembering the kindness Yunho showed within the second he met you, Nari couldn’t take it for granted and be selfish.

“I understand.”

Slamming the magazine back in your gun, you nodded. “Good. If I’m not back in a few, get out and run.”

First, you were unofficially tasked with guarding a literal child, and now you were sent on a rescue mission for a literal stranger.

The door was still not entirely closed and before you dared to peek your head out, a couple voices along with Yunho’s filled the silence. “I’m telling you, I came alone.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that the Wrangler outside is driven by one man only? Be honest, how many people do you have hiding in the storage room?”

Yunho sighed exasperatedly. “Four less than what’s out here, so you do the math.”

“Boss, this guy thinks he’s funny. Want me to take him out or leave him to suffer?” The pipsqueak asked and by his voice alone you could guess he wasn’t much taller than a fifth grader.

“Don’t do shit, Mouse. I want to find that lil girl first.”

The blood in your veins ran cold at the mention of Nari. Now you had to kill them or they’d circle back to you.

“Say less, Boss.”

“Lizard, keep your eye on him and Mouse? Go check that room.”

Changing positions, you hid behind the door, handgun exchanged with your combat knife and raised up in front of you. The heartbeats were loud in your ears and mouth dry from nervousness. All you had to do was catch him off guard and the rest would fall into place.

The door opened inward and you pressed further into the wall, completely disappearing from his line of sight. Gently, you nudged it back in place and stalked behind the supposed Mouse. You were right, the man wasn’t tall and Yunho put him to shame with those long legs of his. Light on your feet almost as if floating through the air, you inched closer to him and advanced. Your hand went over his mouth, index finger and thumb pinching his nose shut, and the knife plunged hard into his back. Mouse barely struggled, which was a given, and you gently let him down. To guarantee he wouldn’t come back and bite you in the ass, quite literally, you allowed the blade to go through his skull, ending any chance of possessed resurrection.

One down. Two to go.

It would only be a question of time until their boss sent out the second guy to look for Mr. Pipsqueak over here and it wasn’t like you could dispose of the body and clean up all the blood. Whatever you’d do next would catch the attention of the leader and you hoped Yunho’s height wasn’t just a show off, but that he could actually take him on. For all you know they could be from the same community. Yunho did mention they were thirty to forty people.

Taking Mouse by his armpits, you dragged the body away from the door and hid it behind some crates. There was still a track of blood smeared all over the tiles leading straight to the body. It was how you wanted it to be. Mouse wasn’t completely useless. A flashlight was attached to his hip along with a fairly bigger gun than your own — you recognized it as a glock — and a taser. These guys were either a part of previous law enforcement or raided the place. You tore the bag off his shoulders and flung it over your own, it wasn’t heavy at all and you hoped he at least had some extra bullets. Feeling like you wasted enough time you hid behind two boxes stacked on top of each other on the opposite side of Mouse. Whoever entered would react to his body first before they’d catch a whiff of you.

Any time now, you thought and crouched into position. As if speaking into existence, the door swung violently and collided with the wall behind, and your muscles tensed. The grip on your knife tightened and you refrained from breathing too loud. You refrained from breathing at all.

“What the fuck?”

Your plan was in motion as Lizard immediately noticed the blood. Anyone cautious enough would think of it as a biter attack and not something created by a pair of human hands. As thought, the man crossed the nonexistent threshold into the actual storage room and immediately saw his comrade in a forever slumber. He hastily turned around, gun up in the air and eyes wide, a wildfire spread in them as he locked gazes with you. His open mouth formed into a mean scowl and as his finger hugged the trigger, you lunged forward with your arms out. They pushed against his and — to your favor — changed the trajectory of his gun. The bullet was fired up in the sky, marking the start of your fight.

Lizard shook you off himself and you fell with a roll landing behind more crates and boxes. As you got up on your feet, a pair of hands grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and smashed you back down. The air was knocked out of you and the telltales of a concussion quickly flooded your body. Your brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen and the world was spinning faster than a thousand miles per hour. Lizard threw a knee over each side of your hips and grasped a firmer hold around your neck. The air you were craving didn’t enter your lungs. Panic and the instinct to survive seeped in your veins as you desperately clawed at his hands.

“You fucking bitch. Think you could take us out, huh?” He hauled you off the floor only to slam you back down. “C’mon, do something now. You can’t, can you? You bitches are good for nothing.” He chucked sinisterly. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it so you feel everything before I let you turn into those devil spawns.”

It felt disgusting. His rough hands on your skin and spit flying in your face. Tears clouded your eyes and the more he squeezed, the more it felt like they were going to pop out of your skull. It wouldn’t surprise you if veins were prominent on your head and neck or your nails turned a creepy shade of blue. You wondered if you looked as scary as the rotten biters.

Lizard was staring into your soul. He made it his life mission to take you out. To see the life slip from you. If you weren’t on the verge of death with hands restricting your vocal chord, you’d ask him what woman rejected him to be calling you a bitch every five seconds. Too caught up with seeing you die, he was completely unaware of anything else. Eyes crazy and mouth pulled upwards, the happy expression scared you more than anything else and perhaps it was what still kept you going. Your arm was extended, fingers fighting to grasp the knife which was just about out of your reach. Black spots appeared in the air and it was getting harder and harder to stay conscious.

“Dumb bitch, do you think I’m fucking blind?”

Your combat knife landed in his hand — the other still pushing at your neck — and came up against your cheek. The sharp point rested against your delicate skin.

“I should leave a mark. What do you think? You’re quite pretty for a bitch.”

Garbled words were whispered out in the open. Realizing you wanted to say something, he let up on his hold. The inhale of oxygen was sharp and hurt more than it did soothe your lungs.

“What did you say, scum?”

“I said,” you inhaled deeply and raspily exclaimed, “go fuck yourself!”

Your thick spit mixed with blood launched and landed straight in his eye. The knife was temporarily off your face as he wiped the saliva off his own.

“Should have picked a better choice of last words.”

A gun went off and your heart stopped. When did Lizard get a hold of his gun?

Warm, sticky blood splattered all over your face and your skin beneath the thick liquid burned. Lizard went limp and fell forward, and you wasted no time pushing him off you. He landed with a thud. The crazy from his eyes was gone and now he was left to stare lifelessly at the ceiling of a random storage room. More blood pooled on the floor and you stared at him, chest heaving and oxygen slowly getting back in your system. Your hearing was overtaken by a buzzing sound, like the whistle of a kettle or the harsh wind of a storm, and didn’t fully return until a few minutes later.

Noticing a figure, you tore your gaze away from the body and it landed on something more lively. In front of you — not a scratch to his face and a few splatters of red adorning his cheeks and forehead — stood Yunho, one hand holding his gun and the other stuffed in the front pocket of his pants. His eyes trailed all over you, but lingered longer at the area around your neck, for what reason you couldn’t bother grasping as you were too busy catching your breath. Done ogling you, Yunho stuffed the gun in the holster attached to his hip and waited for you to accept his hand.

“Is your compassion back now?”

“Auntie!”

The familiar voice of Nari snapped you out of the pain. You whipped your head around and were met with a flash of black hair and thin arms circling around you, pulling you closer to a shuddering body. The smell of rose petals and dirt wrapped around you in a secure blanket.

“Nari,” you croaked out.

“You scared me.”

No words could relay how sorry you were and instead you embraced her in a hug, your hand coming to caress the back of her head as the other was gently laid on her back. Something wet hit your shoulder and seeped into your bloodied shirt.

“It’s okay.”

You didn’t sound okay and your throat may have hurt, and you’d just gotten the cloud of darkness out of your view, but none of it mattered. Having Nari in your arms unharmed meant you were well too. Yunho silently stared at the intimate moment unraveling before his eyes. The forty people waiting for him back at camp were the equivalent of your one niece and he understood that. Everyone had people they’d do anything for, someone keeping them going in this living hell. Nari was your person. She helped you back on your legs. A bit shaky, but up nonetheless. With the back of your hand, you wiped away as much blood off your face as possible, but it felt like you were smearing it around.

“Here.”

You jumped at the four-letter-word and pushed Nari behind you. Yunho, who was holding your knife, gun and a rag you hadn’t seen before, didn’t take offense to your heightened protectiveness. You nearly died at the hands of another man, he’d be worried if you weren’t cautious of him. He gingerly held out your things and planted them in the palms of your hands.

“I didn’t think you’d wait around.”

“I wasn’t,” you confessed and cleaned your face. The rag smelled of oil and tires. “But she talked me into it so if you’re going to thank someone, thank the kid.”

At the mention of her doing, Nari peeked over your shoulder only to retreat as Yunho’s eyes found hers. Cute, he thought and smiled at her timidity.

“I know she makes the last calls, but thanks, kiddo. I’d probably be in a lot of trouble if it weren’t for you.”

A long silence settled over you. The fingers of Lizard still ghosted over your neck, an imaginary pressure squeezing your tendons and making you fight for air. With the expectation to touch the digits of someone else, your fingers ran alongside the tender area and the suffocating feeling disappeared. Yunho followed your movements, jaw clenched and eyes darkening at the sight of gradually growing blue and purple bruises on your skin.

“We part ways here,” you declared and returned the cloth.

“You think that’s a good idea?”

Yunho didn’t mean for it to come out as a threat and he backtracked when your stance grew defensive, your hand armed with the knife and the other thrown protectively in front of Nari.

“It’s dangerous at night and you’re hurt. Come back to camp with me. My people, we could patch you up and give you food and medicine until you’re good enough to go out on your own.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Look, I know you’re suspicious of me. I get that, but I won’t hurt you. If I wanted you dead–”

“I’d have a bullet lodged between my eyes. I know, but I could also get a knife lodged through my back or neck snapped when least expected.”

Yunho sighed. “If you don’t think you need the help, at least think of your niece. A week or two where she doesn’t have to wake up wondering if you’ll have enough food and water to last you for the day. Don’t you think she deserves to have a break too? Where she can act her age and not be alert every waking hour of the day?”

What kind of question was that? Of course you wanted Nari to have a normal life. Where she could meet friends, go to the mall after school, have boyfriends and girlfriends — whichever she was into — experience her first heartbreak whether it be romantic or platonic. You wanted it all for her. You’d hand pluck each and every star in the sky if she asked you to. What you weren’t going to do, was put her in harm's way.

“You’re asking me to do the impossible… Choosing between living and surviving.”

A small hand came to rest on your lower back, fingers weaving into your shirt and anchoring you. It didn’t make you flinch, the contact was an all too familiar occurrence by now. A wordless reminder to take a breather and actually think things through. To not make decisions based on what was right or wrong, safe or dangerous, life or death. Throwing a glance over your shoulder and seeing the sullen expression on Nari’s face was enough of a reason to accept Yunho’s offer.

This girl would be the death of you and you’d have it no other way.

The ride to Yunho’s camp lasted for well over a day, but you didn’t set off until the sun peeked over the tall buildings of Seoul. You were already taking a risk trusting Yunho, the last thing you needed was a run in with the biters at night. On the bright side, it gave you more than enough time to search the store for necessities. There was little to no space left in Yunho’s Jeep and you were assured, if rationed sparingly, the supplies would last his group for a week or two.

Beautiful scenery of abandoned farms and vibrant, lively forests passed in blurs. You couldn’t remember the last time you were out of the city. Away from skyscrapers, ditched vehicles and hoards of biters. At some point you passed a group of horses that once belonged to humans, but turned wild. Yunho switched the blinker to the left before turning, a built-in reflex from years of driving in normal traffic. He glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. Nari was sprawled out in the backseat, her bag sufficed as a pillow and a purple stuffie — which Yunho had a hard time figuring out the species of — was trapped in her arms. He wondered how a girl seemingly his age and a child lasted so long without a network to lean back on.

“What did you do? You know, before everything went to shit?”

The greenery was replaced with Yunho’s profile. You lingered a little, taking in the slope of his nose, pouty lips and pinkish ears. The ends of his hair curled, tickling his nape and falling over his eyes. As he averted his gaze for a split second, you hastily looked back out the window.

“Nothing. I had recently moved to Seoul with a fresh diploma. The plan was to find a job and save up for traveling and other shit, but job hunting didn’t go as expected so I worked part time babysitting my neighbor's daughter until an opportunity would present itself. The outbreak happened before I could put my education to use.”

“She’s not your niece?”

“Not by blood, no, but she’s the closest thing to a family I have left.”

It took a while until Yunho said something else. The running engine and the crunch of tires on gravel mixed with the stillness of the countryside. The conversation sent you down memory lane. Images of your dad teaching you how to ride a back and then a car popped up like an ad that shifted to one of your many girl’s days with your mom. Not bearing the cumbersome memories, you rolled down the window and aired the car out.

“What about you? What were you doing?”

Yunho jolted and the car swirled left then right until it was back to driving in a straight line. A loud groan came from the back. Nari sat up, eyes squinted and lips pouting as a hand came up to rub against the back of her head. The driver offered her a sheepish smile and a whispered apology. He cleared his throat and pressed on the pedal, the car accelerated and with enough speed he shifted his right foot on the clutch and changed into a higher gear.

“I was working in a repair shop. School wasn’t it for me and I knew a dude whose father worked with cars so he pulled some strings and before I knew it, boom, I was seventeen and employed.”

For a second, you imagined him in blue working pants, a white tank top and smudges of oil on his fingers and cheeks. Maybe far in the future when you bought a car and it eventually broke down or needed an oil change, you’d stumble into his workplace and meet him there. No threat of having your brains blown out or body gnawed out by the infected, but be welcomed by his cheeky smile and the question of what needed to be fixed today.

“So you can teach me how to drive?” Nari burst your bubble. Her head peeked out between the two front seats, one arm latched onto the headrest of Yunho’s seat and her upper body completely crossed over to the front.

“Car rule, kiddo.”

An annoyed sigh left her lips as she dramatically flung back in her spot. With no hurry behind her moves, she buckled the seatbelt and crossed her arms over her chest.

“And no, he can't teach you how to drive.”

Nari snapped her mouth shut and sank further down in her seat. You’d reconsider if she asked for it as a gift for her birthday, but that wish was already decided. While it could be necessary for survival, most of the cars you found were already emptied of gas and what good would it bring her if she couldn’t see over the wheel? She was already pushing it with wanting to handle a gun.

“I mean, I don’t mind going through the basics–”

Much like Nari, Yunho sealed his mouth shut at the scorching heat of your glare. No more words were exchanged apart from Nari asking Yunho about this supposed camp. Questions about how big it was, were there animals, were there dogs, what kind of rooms they had and other questions reminding you she was just a kid.

“We have a dog.”

“A dog! What’s its name?!”

Yunho hummed, “His name is Heart.”

As the two got into a nice conversation about the dog, stars glimmering in their eyes and hearts overflowing with joy, you caught wind of movement in the distance. A singular figure stopped in the middle of the road and at first glance it was almost mistaken for a biter, but as they raised their arms up and took on the stance of a man you realized you weren’t dealing with the infected. Eyes widening and brain not functioning to produce the words, you rapidly started hitting the dashboard.

“What?” Yunho glanced over at you and then back through the windshield, still not seeing anything alarming.

“Stop the fucking car!”

The bullets moved faster than Yunho could slam down on the brakes and tore right through the glass, piercing him in the shoulder. Nari screamed and Yunho tried avoiding the shooter, but the pain made it hard to maneuver the wheel and he drove into the person, killing them right on the spot. You turned around to check on Nari, hoping not one of the three bullets grazed her skin and as the car swiveled to the sides, you faced the front again. View obscured by cracks in the glass and shards flying everywhere, it was hard to make out the road and it wasn’t until you got closer to the other vehicles that you screamed.

“Watch out!”

The collision sent you into a deep sleep that would last until the sun kissed the horizon and greeted the moon on her way out. Stars twinkled in the sky, no city lights or air pollution there to dim the pretty view. You woke up with a stir. A heavy ache spread through the back of your head and spread to the front. Chirping of crickets and raspy groans filled the silence. You put a hand up to your head, feeling for a cut or blood or any injury to have you lightheaded, but there was nothing.

“Fuck,” you managed to get out through a dry mouth.

Unbuckling the belt, you turned around and were met with a switchblade in your face and Nari’s teary eyes staring at you. Furrowing your brows, a noise akin to a confused hum left you and your gaze ventured to a passed-out Yunho.

“Please, please, please don’t be one of them. Please, don’t make me do this. Anyone but you.”

You glanced back at Nari and saw big, fat tears running down her cheeks. The knife in her hand was shaking and her breathing was unstable. Images of the incident flashed in your mind; the shooting, Yunho’s shoulder, the collision, you losing consciousness.

“Nari, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

As you moved further over the console to see her better, she shimmied backwards and yelped.

“Don’t touch me! Please.”

You weren’t scared of the weapon, but of the one behind it. However, in this situation, you knew Nari wasn’t capable of hurting a fly let alone the one person who cared for her. The knowledge didn’t soothe your mind. Clasping your hands around her shaking ones, you took the switchblade out of her hold and ran your thumb soothingly over her skin.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Yunho,” she started and wiped her nose. “He’s hurt. There was so much blood and, and–”

You couldn’t fathom how you didn’t notice his bare body, the bloodied bandage going around his shoulder and chest, or his faint breathing as if barely there.

“I– I tried fixing it. I used one of our medkits to stop the bleeding, but I didn’t know how.”

Your fingers gently pressed on his bandage and then you hovered them beneath his nose. “No, it’s good, I think you've stopped the bleeding. It’s his breathing I’m concerned about.”

“Why?”

“It’s weak. We have to get him to that camp.”

You unbuckled his seatbelt and moved his chair further back. With gentle slaps to his face, you called his name. God knows what you’d do if he didn’t wake up. There was no way you’d be able to carry him out of the car and into the backseat.

“Come on, wake up!” You hissed and started pulling at his eyelids. It was after the fifth repeat of his name that he fluttered them open.

“Angel?”

“Who’s Angel?” Nari asked.

Disregarding her question, you gave him one more chaste slap to the cheek. “Are you with me?”

Yunho nodded and tried to sit up, only to groan in pain and fall back.

“Yeah, buddy. I don’t know if you remember, but you got shot. It looks pretty bad and we need to get you help.”

“It hurts.”

“I can imagine. Can you hold out until you’re in the back?”

With a determined nod and sigh of exasperation the plan was in motion. Before jumping out into the dark, you scoped out the area and spotted a handful of biters standing quite far from the car.

“We gotta be quick,” you warned and ran over to Yunho’s side.

Throwing open the door and placing his uninjured arm over your shoulders, you helped him — more like pulled him — out of the car. Nari was quick to open the backdoor from inside and move away. Blood drew from how hard you were biting your tongue. He was making quite a fuss and the last thing you needed was to gather the attention of the biters. By the time you were behind the wheel, Nari had jumped to the front from between the seats.

“Will you be able to see?” Nari gestured to the broken windshield.

By some miracle, the whole glass was still intact except for the one hole created by the bullet currently inside Yunho’s shoulder. The other shots probably hit something less vital or completely missed the vehicle.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad. Annoying? Definitely, but manageable. Just put on the seatbelt and give me your map.”

Doing as told, you unfolded the paper and turned to Yunho. “Okay, hey. Hey! Are you with me? Good. Now, point out where we’re going.”

Slow as ever and shaking like a baby foal, he managed to press his finger on the paper and you were quick to mark it down with a pen.

“Good, that’s good. Nari, you keep an eye on him. If he falls asleep, wake him. We don’t want him sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time. If he shows any sign of turning, and I mean any sign, you tell me or we’re all as good as screwed.”

“Got it.”

The most recent time you handled a car, you were still living with your parents and only really used the family car for when going somewhere out of town. Driving was like walking. Once you got it down it was a part of your nervous system. Sure, your skills could get rusty the longer you went without driving, but they sat in the back of your mind like the multiplication table.

You were an hour into the drive and by your calculations, you wouldn’t reach the spot for another two.

“Who do you think Angel is?”

“It’s none of my concern, Nari.”

“No, but I’m curious. Do you think it’s a friend?” Your silence spurred her on. “Or a girlfriend?” She tauntingly wiggled her brows and you had half a mind not to steer the car into a tree.

“Again, it really isn’t my or your business.”

“What Korean person is named Angel though? Isn’t that, like, really foreign?” Nari gasped dramatically. “What if it’s his child? People are more modern with names these days, but he does look a bit too young to be a dad…”

“Nari,” you said, a sternness to your tone.

“Okay, okay… But what if he thought you were an angel?”

It was going to be a long two hours.

Multiple signs with poor writing were stationed with a distance of ten miles between each board. The words were in black — whether it be by paint, a marker or a spraycan, you didn’t know — with an arrow showing what direction to follow.

“Sector one, all survivors are welcome. Doesn’t sound that bad, right?”

You scratched the side of your neck. The consistent position of sitting with your arms stretched out and feet on the pedals was giving you an ache in your back.

“I guess we’ll just have to see. How’s he holding up?”

Nari wiped sweat off Yunho's forehead. “He’s still breathing. A bit sweaty, but he’s not burning up.”

“We’ll be there soon enough. Let’s hope at least one of these forty people is a doctor or something. There’s only so much a medkit can do.”

Noticing another sign, you flashed the high beams and lit up the whole road. The only difference about this poster was the additional wooden plank beneath reading, five kilometers away and an arrow showing left. Doing as the sign read, you turned left and came off the street into a secluded path obscured by trees and bushes. It was big enough for three mid-sized cars, but it was still suffocating. If anything jumped out, you’d only have the option to run them over.

“This is scary,” Nari whispered from the back as if a louder volume would draw an army of people or biters from nowhere.

“Agreed.” You stepped on the gas and advised Nari to hold on as the road was getting bumpier the faster you went. Yunho’s head bobbed to the side and hit the window multiple times until Nari placed Spiderfrog between them.

The forest gradually grew further and further away from the road until a chain-linked fence came into view. What came next was like something taken out of a fairy tale. On the other side stood big cement walls with barbed wire continuing all around the top edge. It was already impossible to climb them due to their height, but the steel spikes made it abundantly clear to not even try. Each corner of the walls had a little house, like a treehouse created out of stone, with a perfect sight miles away. The greenery separated the remaining world from the castle-like building and you wondered where in hell you had arrived. As the magic of a fairy tale evaporated into thin air, it dawned on you where Yunho’s group had taken shelter.

At a prison.

“Look.” Nari’s arm came through the middle and her index finger raised at something so obvious it should’ve been the first thing to catch your eye.

The Jeep slowed down as you lightly pressed on the brakes and shifted down until in the first gear. A sign bigger than all of the previous ones you’d seen combined was nailed to the gates of the chain fence. There were actually two signs, one nailed to each door.

Welcome to Sector One.

Pulling on the handbrake and turning the keys sideways, you breathed out as the vibrations of the car came to a stop. The keys were left in the ignition. You weren’t going to take chances on an ambush happening and you panicking with finding the right key, inserting it and starting the car without stalling it.

Checking your gun and reloading it with the bullets you found in Mouse’s bag, you turned to Nari. “I’ll go first. Don’t get out until I give a signal that it’s clear, alright?”

“Yes.”

You gave them one last glance. Yunho looked peaceful, but lacked the warmness he greeted you with and although you didn’t know him well enough, it was still weird seeing him like that. Treading on the thin line between sleep and death. Then there was Nari. The girl had grown… you wouldn’t say attached, but rather fond of him and his kindness. There weren’t a lot of people who offered you a roof over your heads and food in your tummies, besides, she was still young when the breakdown happened. Not nearly enough time spent in this world to create bonds with more people, especially kids her age. Yunho was — other than you — her closest thing to a friend, someone she deliberately chose to befriend and stand up for. Something was telling you he wasn’t about to leave your lives any time soon and if this place proved to be as good as he was making it to be, you'd be forever in his debt.

You stepped out of the car and quickly surveyed the area. It was still dark out and the moon was high up in the sky. Staying on alert with your gun ready, you stalked closer to the gates. The towers seemed to be empty of watchers and you didn’t know whether to feel happy or wary of it. If the place was safe, shouldn’t someone be on the lookout? The sound breaching your ears seconds before Yunho was upgraded with a new wound to his body went off again and a bullet — you couldn’t see, but feel — skimmed past your toes. If you had a penny for every time you were shot at, you’d have two. Not the biggest number in town, but it sure was crazy considering it all happened in the span of two days.

Clasping your gun between both of your hands, you aimed it high and looked around. The bullet came from a place where the shooter had a perfect view of everything. Your eyes widened as a body that wasn’t there seconds ago stood in the tower closest to the gate. No wonder you didn’t see them, they blended perfectly in with the dark swirls of the sky. You’d argue their black clothes — a hoodie pulled over their head and swallowing them completely — were darker than the background. However, it wasn’t their sudden appearance that had you frozen in place, it was the rifle resting in their embrace.

“Drop the gun and step back,” they shouted and when you didn’t comply, they continued. “Drop the gun or have your brains blown out. It’s your decision, sweetheart.”

Cursing the mysterious person didn’t feel like it would give you free entry into Sector One. Then again, if it meant dealing with armed people shooting without a thought behind their heads then you didn’t want in. For the sake of Nari though, you did as the guy ordered and raised your hands in a mocking gesture.

“Kick it away from you!”

“Are you serious?” You mumbled beneath your breath. The guy was really testing your patience. Playing the part of an obedient dog, you sent your handgun hurling toward the gates.

“Nice Jeep you have there. Where’d you get it?”

“A friend of mine.”

In any other circumstance Yunho wouldn’t be described as your friend. Heck, you couldn’t even call him an acquaintance. The guy was still a stranger in your eyes, but you wouldn’t test your luck with the rifle-guy.

He chuckled — dare you say charmingly — and lowered the rifle so it was resting on the rails of the tower.

“That’s funny because my friend has the exact same car with the exact same logo on the front and last time I checked, my friend went out alone for some dog food and not with some girl. So, let’s try this again… Nice Jeep you have there. Where’d you get it?”

“Yunho. His name is Yunho. A funny guy, quite tall too.”

Rifle-guy moved with such speed that the hood slid off his head. The weapon was raised again and you were certain he was a millimeter away from shooting you dead.

“What did you do to him? You better answer fast or I’ll send so many bullets through you, we’ll alert every biter in a ten mile radius.”

“He’s in the back. Breathing, but barely. He offered me a place to stay and we got attacked on our way here… I stopped the bleeding, but there’s no guarantee of his survival.”

Time seemed to stop as the guy didn’t move. You didn’t dare breathe louder and tensed your whole body from moving an inch. Anyone with a weapon aimed at you and their finger on the trigger wasn’t to be trusted. A bullet could be fired with the slightest of movement and you weren’t about to suffer the same fate as Yunho for breathing a little harder or accidentally losing your footing.

Feeling impatient you cleared your throat and spoke up. “I can show you… Yunho. I can show you he’s in the backseat.”

“How do I know you won’t get something to shoot me with?”

“Because people who have something to lose won’t act so recklessly.”

“And, do pray tell, what is it that you value so highly?”

Letting out a shaky sigh, you slowly turned your head sideways and looked through the cracked windshield. The guy couldn’t see her, but you and Nari made immediate eye contact. You flickered your right hand forward slowly and she caught onto what you were trying to convey. The backdoor opened and with a copy of your stance, Nari exited the car, arms high and vacant of the switchblade you gifted her. She came up to stand beside you, a tight-lipped smile on her face. The guard was taken back as a literal child appeared. Of all the people he encountered over the wall, not once had he aimed the muzzle at a kid. It was usually Yunho or some of the others who brought them in. He dealt with strangers who were lost or searched for cover. Rifle-guy closed his gaping mouth and lowered his weapon again.

“Stay there. I don’t want either of you to move,” he explained and proceeded to talk into a device.

A lamp on the other side of the fence lit up and two figures appeared from a door leading into the building. They were heavily armed, so much you could see, and were of a great build. One was challenging the other with his height — he even gave Yunho a run for it — but the other made up with his broad shoulders. Both carried a rifle each and had thick vests going over their chests, leaving you wondering what kind of camp this was. Were all newcomers welcomed with a rifle straight out of the military embassy and a one-month training program to become ripped?

The pair stopped and just stared at you through the fence. The headlights of Yunho’s Jeep reached to their knees, but made their faces more visible. The first thing catching your attention was the freshly bleached hair on the tall one. It looked ridiculous, but his serious expression scared you into being quiet. Not to mention his sharp yet round eyes which told you he wasn’t amused by your presence. He stuck out like a sore thumb. His companion was more subtle, with parted black hair and a short fringe falling in front of his eyes, but in a fashionable way and not the my-hair-is-a-mess way. Speaking of his eyes, they were sharper than Mr. Snow White over there, but held the heat of a bored tiger. He had very prominent cheekbones and naturally styled brows every model dreamed of having. The sleeveless shirt he was wearing gave a beautiful view of his thick arms, you’d argue his one bicep was the size of your head.

The men were as handsome as they were dangerous and you first realized how unfortunate of a situation you were in. Yunho was a nice guy, but his actions didn’t seem to reflect those of his friends. The sound of the gates opening by a mechanic whirring snapped you out of your worrisome thoughts.

“Don’t move,” said the white-haired one. His voice was deeper than the ocean and struck you to the core.

You wanted to let him know you weren’t planning on it, the threat of rifle-guy hanging over your head. As Snow White advanced to the car and picked up your abandoned gun on his way, his friend held you at gunpoint. You cast a quick glance to the watchtower and saw rifle-guy doing the same thing, his weapon supposedly aimed at Nari. Their positions didn’t change, not even when the car door opened and Yunho was carefully thrown over his friend’s shoulder. The pair shared a look and you were ushered back in the car before you could ask about Yunho’s well-being. Nari followed shortly and it confused you as to why she sat in the passenger seat. When the black haired guy sat right behind you, gun positioned toward Nari, you understood.

“Drive up to the door. Don’t think of doing anything funny and I won’t hurt the kid.”

Through the rear-view mirror you held his heated gaze and he raised a perfectly arched brow as if daring you to disobey. Giving up, you started the car and did as ordered. If you had known you’d be rewarded with your heroism by having a gun presented to Nari’s head, you'd have taken the Jeep and left Yunho on the side of the road. Instead, you listened to a freshly turned ten-year-old and got thrown into a jail cell, all for trying to help a guy not die. It could have been worse, you tried convincing yourself. The guards — is what you decided to call them — could have separated you and Nari.

You didn’t expect much of a prison. The most you knew was from textbooks and documentaries online, and the material didn’t give you the best image of the place. You expected dirt, filth and wickedness everywhere. The prisons you heard of gave nothing to the prisoners, they treated them like animals with shitty food and equally shitty sleeping arrangements. To see your cell furnished with a bunk bed, a table in the corner and blankets, you were bewildered. San — the shorter guy with broad shoulders and a tiny waist — locked you in with the promise of returning shortly. Staying true to his words he came back, but with the company of Mr. Snow White. The only real bad side to this arrangement was them taking away all your weapons. Nari’s switchblade, and your combat knife and handgun were all in the possession of San.

“Up to the wall,” he ordered and didn’t lock up the door until your backs were one with the wall.

Mr. Snow White entered first with two trays in hand. Your eyes quickly scanned what he was holding. It was food and water. You weren’t going to lie, the food looked appetizing and you hadn’t eaten a warm meal in a good while, but you knew better than to accept food from strangers. Mr. Snow White placed the trays on the table and straightened back up.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m Mingi.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his and the neutral expression on your face didn’t falter. He didn’t move and you realized he was waiting to hear your names. You licked your dry lips and glared harder at him. You weren’t going to tell him any–

“Nari. I’m Nari,” she spoke up from beside you.

You whipped your head toward her and she was purposefully avoiding your gaze. You couldn’t believe your ears. There wasn’t a critical thought behind that head of hers. Glancing back at Mingi, he raised a brow and tilted his head sideways. Being left with no other choice, you gave up your name. Just because you were exchanging pleasantries didn’t mean you were going to be all friendly with them though. They literally took you hostage after you helped one of theirs.

“Okay… Uh, eat.”

As San fiddled with the jail doors, you coughed up the courage to ask about Yunho.

The jingling of his keys stopped and San looked up at you. The fierce aura from when he held you at gunpoint and growled threats in your ears was replaced by an unexpected softness. His eyes didn’t send blades your way and the corners of his mouth weren't pulled in a scowl. Everything about him was completely different and for a flicker of a second you could see the same compassion lit in his soul as well as Yunho’s.

“He’s okay. He’s better. You did a good job stopping the bleeding. He’s still… Unconscious, but his breathing is more stable now.” San sighed and stuffed the key back in his pocket. “I’d like to ask what happened, but it’s not… Our Captain wants to talk to you first thing in the morning.”

You weren’t surprised at the alias for their leader, it seemed like a lot of people had a knack for weird names.

“I want to talk to Yunho. He’s the only face I can somewhat trust.”

“And you will, but first you’ve got to talk to the captain and then as soon as Yunho wakes up we’ll bring you to him, so eat and rest.”

Neither of you moved toward the food. It smelled delicious though and your stomach was turning in on itself from hunger. Seasoned chicken and potatoes. How they’d acquire that you had no idea. It didn’t matter though. Everything came with a price, before it was actual money, but now you could be forced to pay in numerous ways. Some which you didn’t want to imagine.

“And the food? What do you want for it?”

“Want for it?” His dark brows scrunched together and a little wrinkle appeared on the surface between them.

“What do you want in exchange for the food?”

As if a light switch went off in his head, he waved his hands around. “Nothing? Nothing! It’s free, I mean, it’s leftovers from dinner… We’re not like that. The thing out front was just a precaution. I promise.”

His gaze shifted from you to Nari and his expression softened into that of pity. You both kept quiet as his somber eyes trailed over her lean body and you were a toothpick away from pushing her behind you.

“You’re too thin for a kid… Please, eat… And when you’re done, I’ll– I’ll, uh, bring you something sweet, okay?”

“I like chocolate,” Nari whispered.

“Well, I hope you like pudding because we have lots of it.” As San closed the last big door separating you from the rest of the camp with the reminder to eat, you wasted no time chastising Nari for her lack of critical thinking.

“You can’t go around and trust people like that. This,” you gestured toward the area outside the cell, “isn’t permanent. We don’t know what they want or what they do to newcomers like us. Not to mention they think we hurt Yunho.”

“But we can’t always expect the worst to happen. They could help, Yunho said they would help.”

“Yunho isn’t here! It’s just you and me locked up. Out there we could at least roam free, but now, we don’t even know if we’ll ever see daylight again.”

Fatigue tugged at your eyelids and all the muscles in your body burned from overexhaustion. You plopped down on the bottom bunk, arms propped on your knees and head in your hands, as you tried assessing the situation. However you looked at it, you were at a disadvantage. Your only hope would be Yunho waking up and even then you weren’t entirely free from harm. The tall man could still lie and put the blame for his wound on you.

The bubble of darkness burst as keys clashed together and the cell door was harshly opened. You didn’t remember falling asleep or laying down in bed, or the feel of your head hitting the plush pillow. It just happened. Rolling off the bed, you took on a defensive stance with your hands coming up to your face. You were ready to pounce at anyone daring to come inside.

“I thought I told you guys to eat?”

Blinking your weary eyes awake, you took in the disappointed look of San. This guy apparently had a thing for promises because he was standing there with a chocolate flavored pudding in hand. The two trays on the side were once filled with warm food and had turned cold from being out in the open for long. Your stomach growled in retaliation and you tried pushing back the thought of regret.

Regret for not eating. Regret for yelling at Nari. Regret for helping Yunho.

“And I told you I wanted to speak with Yunho.”

Additional shuffling footsteps echoed in the empty block and the familiar head of black locks peeking from around the side of your cell grabbed your attention.

“Calm down now.”

“Yunho!” Nari wasted no time climbing down the ladder. Her imaginary tail wagged violently as if an excited dog reuniting with her friend from the park. Thinking about it, you weren’t that far off with the visual imagination. They got into a small conversation about his shoulder that quickly shifted to questions about Heart. You breathed out and slumped down on the chair behind you. Yunho was alright. He was breathing and talking and walking just fine. The chances of your and Nari’s survival skyrocketed by fifty percent. He gently patted the top of her head and a dimple you hadn’t paid attention to earlier formed on his cheek. The ripped pieces of fabric from last night were replaced by a white loose-fitting t-shirt and — instead of wearing his black jeans — a pair of gray sweatpants covered his long legs.

“You’re okay.”

Yunho hummed. “Of course. It takes more than a measly bullet to get rid of me.”

“You were closer to death than life,” was what you wanted to say, but held back. It wasn’t your place to remind him of his state. Besides, he wasn't anyone of importance. Yunho was your ticket to safety until you decided to move along somewhere else.

“Not to interrupt your lovely reunion, but Captain wants to see you soooo,” San interrupted. “Let’s go.”

He proceeded to sheepishly smile as you raised a brow at the loaded rifle in his hands. “I’m sorry, but it’s just a precaution.”

A precaution for what? They already took all of your things. How big of a threat could you pose with your bare hands and a kid against a mountain-shaped guy and his skyscraper of a friend? There was nothing you could do to put a scratch on either of them and you were certain you’d get an arm, if not both, broken in return.

“Can we see Heart after this?”

San’s brows flew up at the question and he turned toward Yunho who was still sporting a bright smile. “They know about Heart?”

The taller of the two men only shrugged, but the gleeful expression gave him away. You didn’t have enough energy to reprimand Nari for her nonchalant behavior. The girl was doing whatever she wanted and you didn’t deem the situation dangerous enough to land either of you in trouble, unless the dog was rabid and attacked at first sight.

“Let’s see what their leader wants first, okay?” You put a hand on her shoulder and guided her out of the cage.

Nothing prepared you for the walk from one empty cell block to another full of people gauging you like circus freaks. It wasn’t that weird considering you and Nari looked to be taking daily baths in the sewers and voluntarily gave each other body altercating wounds, but it annoyed you nonetheless. Fear pooled in their eyes, young as old, and you wondered how out of touch with reality they really were. July turned into August three times since the outbreak started. What kind of rules was Sector One built upon if their people couldn’t hold their own?

It made your blood boil. You wanted to give them a reason to be scared. Bare your teeth at them and ask what they had been doing while you were fighting for your life day by day.

“This is where I stop. Yunho will be with you, so just follow him,” San said from behind you. “Captain’s already waiting inside, Yun.”

“Roger that soldier… Come on, let’s not keep him waiting.”

The room they labeled the ‘Captain’s headquarters’ was probably where the previous warden spent most of their time while working. It looked nice. Classy. You could argue it was a different world than the rest of the jail. There was actual furniture inside, two leather sofas facing each other with an expensive looking table in the middle. To your left was a little window looking out on the common room; the area where people ogled you like nothing. Behind the leather set up was a mahogany desk where a man much shorter than Yunho, Mingi and San sat. Two pairs of chairs were placed across from him, letting you know he was expecting your and Nari’s presence.

The most outstanding detail of his was the white bandage wrapped around his forehead and slightly over his right eye. Captain — as they called him — stood up, a smile taking over his features and his eye creasing from cheesing too much. He had quite a peculiar look to himself; short black hair in the front that grew more at the back and covered his nape like a semi-mullet with the sides freshly shaved. His nose was charming and pointed, quite small too and the lone eye reminded you of a cat’s. Mischievous and cunning.

Unlike the rest of the people you’d met, this guy wasn’t wearing plain clothing. A white button-up shirt clung to his thin frame and a pair of black slacks actuated his well-formed legs. It wasn’t something people wore in the apocalyptic setting as they opted for clothes allowing them more movement. To top it off, a green military jacket reaching above his ankles hid the fancy outfit underneath.

“Take a seat, please.”

While you and Nari did as told, Yunho cleared his throat from behind and the leader’s eyes (or well, eye) lit up with a particular glow.

“It’s nice to see you back on your feet, Yunho, but try not to die when you go out on a mission next time, hm?”

Said man mockingly saluted and leaned against the wall beside the door.

“Want anything to drink? Water, tea, juice?”

Your stone cold expression conveyed your answer and the silence from Nari wasn’t hard to decipher either.

“The offer still stands if you change your mind… Anyways, welcome to Sector One. I’m Hongjoong or as the people call me, Captain.”

You didn’t put up a fight to keep your names a secret. Mingi, San and Yunho already knew of them and it wouldn’t take long until one of the three whispered it in their leader’s ears.

“I already know of you. I talked to San, Mingi and Wooyoung about it and the guys told me fairly the same things, but I’m still curious about what you have to say.”

“Does it make a difference?” You asked and parted your legs, leaning comfortably against the backrest and your arms coming up to cover your chest. “You’re obviously going to believe your little soldiers before even taking into account what I have to say.”

Hongjoong smiled even wider, not taking his lone eye off you and it was slowly starting to bug you out. Especially when he didn’t blink and just continued holding your gaze.

“That’s valid, but I’d rather hear your side before I decide on anything. Think of Yunho as an alibi, plus you look quite young to be fending for your life. For both of your lives, so I’m feeling a bit sentimental.”

The insult of him shoving his dick up his own ass didn’t get to be flung out in the open as Nari took the lead of the conversation. She spilled everything from your first encounter with Yunho to your near-death experience as a person appeared out of thin air and unloaded rapid shots.

“And Yunho said you had a dog named Heart and promised me I’d get to meet him!”

Hongjoong, who was resting his arms on the desk with his fingers intertwined and lips touching the skin, sighed and gently sank in his chair. His arms fell on each armrest and his head lolled to the side as if in deep thought.

“We do have a dog named Heart and that does sound like something Yunho would say… Tell me more.”

Always eager to humiliate you, Nari jumped straight into action. “He called auntie Angel… When he went in and out of consciousness.”

Your body heated at the memory and Yunho’s eyes widened. He had no recollection of that happening. A pink hue which rapidly changed to a darker red settled over his ears and he hastily avoided the curious eye of Hongjoong, much like you. The short man couldn’t hold himself from laughing and you were a molecule away from threatening him.

“Who is Angel?” Nari turned in her seat and stared at Yunho with a curious gaze. She was dead set on figuring out this mysterious person.

Hongjoong recovered, but the yellow glow of happiness didn’t dim from his face.

“Oh, little one. There’s no one named Angel at camp.” He glanced over at you who glared daggers at the pristine white wall. “I’m almost a hundred percent convinced Yunho thought your auntie was an angel coming to save him and I can’t say I blame him for mixing them up.”

“Will you shut up?” You snarled.

“No. I don’t think I will.” He smirked while standing up and averting his attention to Yunho, who wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole. “Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Uh… Ye– Yeah.” Yunho scratched the lobe of his ear, growing uncomfortable as they burned more.

“Good… Now, I’ll consider keeping quiet if you tell me what it is you want. Why did you come here?”

“Yunho offered us a place to rest until we headed back out on the road.”

“So you wanna stay, is that it?”

Hongjoong didn’t like when people circled around things, you mentally noted. He wanted it served straight to the point and you understood; he was a leader with people to look out for, but it didn’t make it less embarrassing asking for help. For the sake of Nari, you swallowed your pride, albeit with difficulty, and nodded.

“Then enlighten me. How many infected have you killed?”

The dumbest thing to come out of this apocalypse — after the biters — would be these questions. You didn’t survive this long by hiding and outrunning the dead, it was a common fact and as far as you knew, Hongjoong couldn’t have talked his way out of an encounter with biters. As for other humans, you didn’t doubt his sharp tongue and talent for outsmarting them in getting what he wanted. It was no wonder Sector One was functioning, the whole organization was under his care.

“Could you answer how many breaths you’ve taken since birth? Exactly. It’s too many to count, but it’s well over a hundred.”

A tense silence spread through the room. You couldn’t decipher the look on his face. He would be an infuriating opponent in a game of poker.

“How many people have you killed?”

“Five…” You exhaled a big gust of air and kept your eyes trained on your shoes.

The memories of each person at the end of your knife or gun weren’t pleasant. They were locked in a chest in the back of your head with no intention to be let out. It took you far too long to get used to their faces appearing in your sleep. Waking up from a rapidly beating heart and heaving chest became a part of your routine until it suddenly stopped. It didn’t mean you weren’t thinking of them whenever you were stuck in a silence too loud for your own inner voice.

“Why?”

Curse Hongjoong’s curious mind and soft spoken tone. You really didn’t want to talk about it, but you also didn’t want to risk being thrown out of the prison — every convicted person was probably turning in their graves — as it was currently the safest place for Nari.

“The first one… It was a mercy kill and the only life I took without the intent of surviving,” you began and avoided Nari’s eyes. No one knew of this. Only you, the victim and whoever was watching above.

“It was still early on in the apocalypse and Nari hadn’t even turned double digits so I rarely ever brought her with me. This was one of the times she stayed in our old base while I went out looking for food. Back then I was scared of searching through stores and my biter kill count hadn’t even gone over five, so I stuck to clearing houses and small corner shops…

“The house was relatively empty and it didn’t take me longer than three minutes to continue upstairs. It was a boy, maybe around Nari’s age now. I found him hiding in his parents’ bedroom, blanket up to his chin and face entirely wet and red from crying. He was bit and yeah… There wasn’t much I could do.”

Casting upwards, you locked gazes with Hongjoong. The stone-hard expression was still there, but a twinkle of sympathy flickered in his brown eyes.

“The most recent one was when Yunho found us,” you continued. “A group of men wanted to raid the same store as us and well… they weren’t the kindest of guys. It was either kill or be killed. Yunho can vouch for that.”

It was quiet after that. You could faintly hear the people going on about their day in the cell blocks and the small details of life around you. Yunho’s shifting in place. Nari picking on the skin around her thumb. The clock ticking above the doorway.

“You mentioned five people, but we’ve only heard about two.”

You should’ve known better than to think Hongjoong wouldn’t ask about the remaining three. It wasn’t something you were proud of, but it needed to happen or everything you’ve based your new life around would go to waste.

Sensing Nari move in her seat, you decided to keep the explanation brief. “Some men… attacked Nari.”

“That’s all?” Hongjoong asked, curious as to why they weren’t getting a lengthy story.

“That’s all you need to know. They put her in danger and I put them six feet under… I protected my own. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

“I have. We all have.”

The reply was instant. So he did kill someone. Not that he’d ever know, but you were intrigued. How? When? Why? In this time and day it’d be more concerning if he hadn’t killed someone.

“I’m willing to let you stay on one condition.”

He brought you out of your bubble. You squinted and folded your arms. “Which is?”

Hongjoong rounded the desk and leaned back on it. Legs crossed and hands coming back to rest on the edge of the surface. “You may stay in Sector One… but because of Yunho’s injury, one of you will have to look for resources in his place.”

To be frank, the offer wasn’t bad. You were already in charge of scavenging and finding safety over your heads. It was a no-brainer Nari would stay inside the four walls of Sector One and you’d take Yunho’s responsibility while he recovered. It would only be for a few days, you reasoned with yourself, and then you’d take Nari by the hand and leave to a new destination.

“Hongjoong! I’m perfectly fine going on my own–” Yunho was interrupted and stopped advancing forward, his hands hovering in the air as your voice overpowered his.

“I’ll do it, but I have a requirement of my own.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll do the scavenging, clearing areas and helping around the prison if Nari stays out of it all.”

“Auntie!”

“Butt out.” You threw her a look and she sank back in her seat, an angry pout taking over her lips. “Do we have a deal?”

Hongjoong smiled and held out his hand that you shook with strength.

“Deal… Yunho, fill her in on how things work around here, would ya?”

“...Yes, Captain.”

The agreement to stay a week or two in exchange for risking your life prolonged to a month. But with a little persuasion from Wooyoung — the guy who nearly shot your toes off — and Yunho, you came to the realization that staying in Sector One until further notice was a better option for Nari than living on the streets.

Week three of temporarily living in the prison was inaugurated by another run for supplies and you were meeting Hogjoong’s demands by going alone. San offered to come with — something he had been every single time — but you told him you could hold your own and that the prison needed him more than you would. He didn’t fight your decision and also refrain from hiding the concern on his face. San was like that, you realized. If he wasn’t planted on the post or following Hongjoong’s orders, then he’d be doing rounds asking everyone if there was anything they needed.

Another sweet guy who wasn’t all content with you venturing outside the prison walls on your own was Yunho. It was his fault you were doing so in the first place, of course he wouldn’t be happy with you doing runs in his stead. He didn’t want to entertain the possibility of you getting hurt or — even worse — bit. Yunho would never forgive himself. You didn’t have time to reassure either of them you’d be fine. They were both old enough to know such promises wouldn’t hold longer than a goldfish out of its tank. You simply collected requests of the people inside and tried to cross out as many things on the list as possible. To keep everything under control, you made up the rule that everyone could wish for one thing each and it had to be bearable otherwise it would be impossible to shorten the list.

Today was a successful day. A toothpick wouldn't fit in your bag from how packed it was. Batteries, hard soap, pads, cigarettes, crayons, dog treats, books, pacifiers, chocolate bars, you had it all and headed home. A blue collar with a silver heart attached to it was stuffed in the back pocket of your jeans. It was dirty, the color barely distinguishable from the dust and stains, and the heart locket started taking on a green hue. It was perfect for Heart and would be a shame to leave it behind. You were usually strict with your rules and rarely brought back things people didn’t ask for or were deemed unnecessary. The only exception was if it were something for Nari (you had to get better with that, but honestly speaking, you couldn’t care less). Back at the prison — one hour earlier than scheduled — you circled cell block two and handed out the goods to the respective person. Soon enough you were left with an empty bag and an unsolicited bag of chips in your hands, the extra salty type that made your mouth shrink and turn back in on itself. There was only one person you knew who was dying to eat these.

“Oh, you’re back already?” Mingi greeted you with a smile as you entered block one.

The giant got up from his seat in one of the round tables and you met him in the middle. “Yeah. I underestimate how fast I actually am on my own.”

“Better that than to have us running around like headless hens thinking something’s happened… Whatchu got there?”

“Snacks… For Nari. She really loves chips.”

“Cool. Ay, don’t let Yunho see you with that, it’s his favorite flavor,” Mingi chuckled and his boxy smile appeared, and as did his dimples.

“What a coincidence,” you murmured and cleared your throat. “Where is he anyways? Shouldn’t he be on… like, some duty?”

“Nah or well… yeah, but nah?”

You tilted your head quizzically and your eyebrows scrunched together like two furry caterpillars. Mingi waved you away as if you were the one spewing nonsense. Was he or was he not on duty?

“You’ll get what I mean when you see him. He’s in his cell doing nothing… something. No-so-thing?”

Twenty-one days. You had known Mingi for twenty-one days and each time you conversed, he didn’t fail to leave you more perplexed than the last time. His white hair should have been enough of a warning he was somewhat weird or at the very least confusing, but the equal amount of kind.

As you were told, Yunho was in his cell. You moved the white sheet that was covering his cell and admired his peaceful form laying in bed. Arms bent at the elbows and fingers intertwined beneath the back of his head while his ankles crossed over each other. The bed wasn’t quite fit for his tall figure making his feet stick out over the edge. You understood what Mingi meant now. Yunho was put on duty… a duty to rest until healed. Although that didn’t stop him from keeping the positive spirits up in the place. The first few days spent around him and his happy-go-lucky demeanor were enough for you to believe he was putting up a facade. You refused to believe the constant happiness he spread around was genuine. Witnessing even a quarter of the apocalypse was enough to tarnish any positive emotion inside a person and Yunho surely couldn’t be immune to that. But the more you lingered around him, the more you realized he was being himself. His curled up lips and squinted eyes, and a dimple popping out even when sleeping proved to be his true self.

“Are you just going to stare at me or?”

The fabric slipped from your fingers and shielded you from him and his chuckle. Of course he was awake. Everyone who was a part of Hongjoong’s patrol and resource squads was basically walking on eggshells. Slipping in his room, you were greeted with an overly joyous Yunho. A shit eating grin on his face and cheeks puffy and round from the smiling. His brown eyes carried a twinkle of mischief that had you frowning. Not bothering to entertain his poor taste in harmless jokes, you tossed the snacks over to him and plopped on the vacant seat opposite of his bed. A pair of comics were stacked in non-chronical order on the desk — some of which you recognized as Spiderman comics — along with scattered polaroids of him and people from camp, a bag of dog treats and his gun.

“What’s this?” He asked and immediately sat up. The bag was intensely inspected as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. The gasp that left his mouth upon realization told you he knew exactly what it was you tossed him.

You weren’t prepared for his gaze to find yours. A look of gratitude painted his face and a wave of warmth welled over your body and sent your heart into palpitations. The attention was suddenly too much to bear and you averted your focus on the boring cement walls that were much easier to look at. You grabbed the comic at the top of the stack and aimlessly flipped through it, the colorful pages doing little to calm your heated thoughts.

“They are Nari’s favorite,” you began and stopped on a random page. “I found two and she told me to give you the other one.”

“They are my favorite too,” he whispered as if admitting a sin in a confessional.

There was no reason for you to lie, but the emotion in his eyes sent you into panic and it was like he could see right through you. It was embarrassing to admit, but you didn’t want him to think… You didn’t want him to know what you thought about him. Heck, you were still trying to accept the fact Yunho was slowly infiltrating your mind let alone giving him his favorite things like a poor attempt at a courting offer which it wasn’t!

For such a long time, you were only thinking about yourself and Nari. You never thought to fit a third person– scratch that. You never thought there’d be a third person to fit in your already busy mind. Getting attached to people was dangerous, it made you vulnerable and an easy target. The quickest route to your heart would be through Nari and you didn’t need to involve romance in that mess. Love was the greatest weakness of humans after all. Despite that, you couldn’t help but disguise your worry through acts and harsh words. Giving him painkillers in the dead of night, purposely moving peas from his plate to yours as you heard him complain about them once (without anyone seeing you, of course), or keeping an eye out for those comic books he’s into. Instead of asking how his recovery was going, you’d say, “You can’t be in that much pain if you’re laughing.”

Yunho opened the bag and wasted no time stuffing his cheeks with potato chips. The need to chastise him for eating too fast rolled on your tongue. Feeling like it’d be crossing the line of friendship and acquaintances, you hastily stood up and feigned stretching your back. Yunho peered up at you with his round eyes, pouty lips and puffed-up cheeks, and you nearly stumbled over your own feet. It was… so different having to look up at him and having him stare at you from below. He looked so pliant and what would be your drunken mistake after too many drinks on a night out with your friends.

“I’m out,” you announced before you could do something you’d regret and ran to the safety of your cell.

One thing you’d rather do than admit that Yunho made the apocalypse bearable was to take a screwdriver through your eye. Since meeting him, the world splattered in black and white for three-and-something-years was slowly getting back its colors. Perhaps it was his abnormal humor keeping you up way past the curfew set by Hongjoong or his weird faces having you burst out in laughter at the most inappropriate moments. It could also be his natural leadership, taking control over situations and coming up with plans when you were too tired to function. It made you feel taken care of, like you could slow down and breathe once in a while without worrying about what the next move should be.

It was nice. It was good. It also meant your plan of shielding your heart from intruders failed miserably as Yunho slowly, but progressively, wiggled his way through the five hundred locks surrounding your beating organ. The thought hit you on a random night as the leaves changed into an array of more depressing colors and daylight didn’t last longer than until the afternoon for the second time since passing the gates of Sector One. You were used to a vicious cycle of waking up, operating on survival mode and going back to bed with no anticipation for tomorrow. Yunho, with his small talk and respectfully prying questions, changed that and you found him in your thoughts before sleep, during dinner, when washing up and whenever your mind wasn’t occupied with tactics of survival. You wouldn’t say you yearned for his presence, but you looked forward to seeing him, to hear him talk about the newest car parts he found on his latest run or to play another round of twenty questions (which you answered as nonchalantly as possible and asked the most boring questions known to mankind).

For a little less than two years, you worked on gradually welcoming more people into your life. You didn’t feel the need to hide yourself behind brick walls for protection anymore. You’d always be wary of newcomers — that was understandable — but you were done thinking Hongjoong and his crew had ulterior motives resulting in your demise. You could actually fall asleep around them without a knife tucked beneath your pillow and stopped offering to keep watch during supply runs — the fear of being killed in your sleep was built on the lack of trust — as the moon and sun exchanged places. There was still a long way to go until you could call Sector One a home, but at least it was safe and it was mainly thanks to Yunho.

As you loaded the last bags in the backseat of Yunho’s Jeep, he refilled washer fluid in the designated reservoir while shielded by the bonnet.

“Auntie, wait! Don’t leave yet!”

Nari came running down the path, doing nothing to keep her volume down with Heart hot on her heels and his joyful barks mixing in the autumn breeze. Closing the doors, you leaned against them and patiently did as requested. She caught up to you and rested her hands on her knees, air heaved in and out of her chest as she tried catching her breath. She raised a hand, asking for a moment to not sound like she climbed multiple stairs.

“Okay,” she started and straightened. “I have something for you guys. Yunho! Come over here and close your eyes! You too, auntie.”

“Coming,” Yunho muttered and screwed the cap back on and closed the front surface of the Jeep. He did the thing you couldn’t call jogging or walking which did nothing to pick up his pace and came to stand beside you while simultaneously wiping grime off his fingers. He shot you a glance as if to ask what was happening, but you shrugged, knowing as much as he did.

“Close them! And palms up.” She placed something tiny and light in your hands. “And open!”

A smile graced your face. In the palm of your hand was a bracelet. It wasn’t flashy or made out of silver or gold, on the contrary, it was created using two things; a piece of colored garn and the tab of a soda can. Your string was a vibrant red while Yunho got a pastel green. The ends of the garn were tied to each side of the tab thus creating a loop that would go around your wrist. It was simple and probably didn’t take longer than five minutes to create, but it was a gift nonetheless.

“It’s beautiful, flower.” You immediately put it on and showed her.

Nari clapped her hands enthusiastically and squealed. “It looks so good and now you have a piece of me with you wherever you go!”

“That was sweet of you, Nari,” Yunho said, admiring the poor trinket on his wrist. “I’ve always wanted a good luck charm and now I got it so, thanks a lot, kiddo.”

The grin she sported grew bigger at the praise and Yunho couldn’t refrain from ruffling her hair. His attention was suddenly on you.

“You ready?”

“As ready as one can be.”

“Please be careful.” Nari engulfed you in a hug, and you immediately reciprocated.

“When am I not?”

“Don’t worry about her, Nari. She’ll be under my protection.” Yunho’s chest puffed up and he placed a hand over his heart. His lips did that upside down triangle shape making his cheeks look extra squishy while his eyes tingled in the sunlight.

“She better! It’s my family we’re talking about.”

“Okay, Rambo, calm down before you blow a vessel… And who is taking care of who? Last time I checked, I was the one protecting the both of us,” you trailed off and rolled your eyes.

“Are you two leaving soon or are you going to chit-chat the day away?!” The high-pitched voice of the one and only, Jung Wooyoung, came from the tower closest to the gate.

“That would be our cue to get rolling. We’ll see you in a few days, kiddo.” Yunho ruffled her hair again, just because, and hoped in the driver’s seat.

Searching for food and other necessities had become a part of your life long before you joined Sector One, the only difference was leaving Nari behind while you stepped out into the danger zone, not knowing if you’d get to see each other again. You wanted to say it was easier leaving with time, that every departure wasn’t as heavyhearted as the previous, but you’d be lying to yourself.

“Listen to Seonghwa and Yeosang while I’m away. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do and if anything happens to the place, and I mean anything, you take your things and you run. I’ll find you wherever you go, okay?”

Nari didn’t reply. Instead, she wrapped her arms around you and hid her face in the crook of your neck. Thinking back to it, three years ago she could barely reach up to your neck, let alone tuck her head into it.

“I’ll miss you.”

You sighed and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her head. “I’ll miss you more. I’m going to try and see if I can bring you more of those pictures that fit your camera.”

Yunho gifted her a Polaroid camera for her eleventh birthday. It was a present that started her obsession with photography, the downside being the films were hard to find and were almost rarer than medical kits and unexpired condoms. This year he promised her driving lessons, however, they would have to wait until he was back from the mission.

“Thank you.”

Two quick beeps was your signal to go.

“Seonghwa and Yeosang will help you with anything you need. We’ll be back in a few days, behave till then.”

“I always do,” she retorted, brows coming together and nose scrunching cutely.

You smiled slyly. “I know… Oh, and Nari?” She hummed and looked up at you through her lashes. “Tell that Eunwoo kid I have eyes everywhere even when I’m out of camp.”

Blush attacked her cheeks and she pushed you away with a noise of embarrassment. The words ‘we’re just friends’ tumbled out of her mouth faster than lightning.

The engine was warm and rumbling when you got inside. A water bottle rested in the cupholder closest to you along with a granola bar. Having spent a lot of time with Yunho, you grew accustomed to his silent checkups. It was his way of giving you comfort without putting it into words or asking aggravating questions that would have you exploding in his face.

“Ready?”

Singing, you clicked the seatbelt in place and nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

The idea of raiding a mall in central Seoul was suggested by one of the civilians in charge of the prison’s crops. With the years, the member count in Sector One gradually grew. You went from thirty people to fifty in a month and it nearly doubled until the next summer. The number was now close to one hundred and ten. Paracetamol and other medical supplies were starting to run short and it wasn’t such a problem until the stores nearby had all been cleared, one after another the shelves were emptied. It was then that the first meeting took place, followed by multiple others to make up the perfect plan on how, who and when.

What was supposed to be a mission of twenty people was cut down to two. Initially, you told Hongjoong to count you out. You weren’t comfortable with doing runs bigger than a local grocery store or gas station, besides, Hongjoong was bound to give you a pass. It was the least he could do, especially as you searched for resources almost weekly, even going out of your way to take up others' scheduled runs. When the time came to decide who the two (un)lucky participants would be, Yunho took the initiative and your choice to sit on the sidelines was forgotten as you raised your hand up and volunteered. It benefited everyone because, honestly speaking, no one really wanted to put their own life on the line.

The first step of the plan was to find a secure and easy access to the car if in need of a quick getaway. The amount of vehicles aimlessly left by the entrance of the mall clogged up the path. It was best to park the Jeep further away and Yunho contemplated whether to leave it on the road connecting the parking lot to the highway and as you weighed your options, it turned out that would be for the best. The handbrake was pulled up and in a previous life, he’d return to his car already towed away with a ticket waiting for him in his mailbox.

“You nervous?” Yunho asked as he strapped the high-quality vest provided by the prison to his body.

You huffed in reply and did the same. It wasn’t affordable to feel anything beside confidence and even too much of that could get you killed. The best emotion to describe you would be exhaustion. Tired of doing your utmost to survive day by day.

The thick texture of the vest was uncomfortable and quite tight all over, however, you’d rather wear it than take the chances of being bit. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore. I just… want to get the things we came for and go back.”

Yunho checked his gun, although everything was thoroughly looked at back in the base. A small walkie-talkie was attached to his right peck while yours was hanging on the waistband of your pants. It was a precaution if you were to lose each other in the mall or needed to contact Hongjoong back at the prison. Your hair was tied back with the purpose of not falling in your face during hectic situations, but also so it wouldn’t be easy to grab. You had heard too many stories of women dying because perpetrators used their hair against them, latching onto it when they least expected it, not to mention many of the high school fights you witnessed where girls weaved their fingers into each other’s roots, pulling until chunks of hair fell out.

“To be honest, I think I’d get more bored of guarding the post all day. I can’t fathom how Wooyoung does it. Like don’t the trees eventually bleed into each other?”

“Probably. Then again, it’s Wooyoung we’re talking about. He has a freakishly good eye when it comes to intruders so I wouldn’t be too worried, besides, Mingi and San are quick to follow up if he does miss anything. Although it’s highly unlikely.”

Yunho unrolled a map portraying the inside of the mall on the hood of the Wrangler as you brought two empty backpacks from the trunk.

“Remember the first step?”

“Technically, we’re already on step two.”

You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Smartass.”

The remark had his dimple popping out as a cheeky smile stretched across his face.

“So we enter through here.” He pointed at a makeup store. “It’s the only shop we can enter through the backdoor without gathering much attention and the pharmacy is on the same floor. We can look through the salon first and see if there’s useful stuff in there.”

“Like what? I doubt anyone wants cosmetics in a time like these.”

“No, but I’m pretty sure there’s like sunscreen, stuff for the hair and body, shaving things. You know, necessities.” Yunho folded the map back together and slipped it into the back pocket of his pants. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing, I just…” You averted your gaze, but the amused smile was still here. “Didn’t know you were into cosmetics.”

The pink hue of roses didn’t attack his ears, but his contagious chuckle reached yours and a smug smirk crossed his face. “Yeah? I thought it was a given, like, I’m a sucker for blush if you haven't noticed.”

“Oh, shut up.” You shoved him and he flew sideways as if weighing nothing. Trust Yunho into over exaggerating and making the situation look worse than it was. You didn’t wait for him to catch up — not that it would take him long — and immediately headed for the backdoor entrance.

“This should be easy.” Yunho tied a black bandana around his mouth and nose to keep dust and bacteria from entering his system while you pulled up the neck tube gifted by Mingi a while back.

The two of you shared a look and as Yunho nodded, gun in hand and flashlight in the other, you worked the door open and let the darkness of the mall swallow you whole. The storage room was like any other. Full of boxes and crates, and even a few shopping carts containing various make-up products. The layers of thick clothes did little to hold your warmth against the freezing temperature of the storage. Words were exchanged through your eyes, neither taking the risk of alerting potential resting biters or raiders, and Yunho’s light flickered to life.

You sneaked around the space and took time clearing the area of threats. Confirm there wasn’t an unwanted presence with an urge to pierce your skin and feed on your insides, you could breathe a tad bit heavier and relax your rigid posture. Sweat coated your body and your pulse was loud in your ears. However many looting rounds you’d do, you’d never adjust to the adrenaline and fear that came with as a plus two.

A faint whistle traveled through the air and your head whizzed up to see Yunho standing by a door, presumably leading to the actual store. He called you over with a nudge of his head and you tightened the grip around your gun and knife. He put off his torch and raised a finger to his covered lips, and you nodded. Taking a step back and planting your feet wider apart to get a sturdier stance, you raised your gun and used your other arm to support it underneath. It wouldn’t be ideal to fire off bullets inside, but if it came down to it, you’d be left with no choice.

Yunho hugged the handle and held up three fingers — his hand big enough to hold the gun with just his thumb and pinky — and began counting down. With his fingers gone, he gently opened the door and you stuck your head out, coming face first with the register. A big table shielded your view of the complete store and you immediately dropped to a crouch and waddled out, Yunho following close behind. It was much brighter out there than in the storage room courtesy of the light coming from the corridor of the mall, most likely from the windows on the ceiling. As you moved to round the corner of the cashier register, Yunho roughly grabbed your shoulder and nearly sent you stumbling backwards. Throwing him a questioning glance, he pointed to his ear.

Moans and grunts in various tones vibrated through the building. Some were faint, barely there, and others were alarmingly loud. The weight of Yunho’s hand was still there and a soft squeeze of said man was enough to bring you back. He gave you all of three seconds to get your head out of your ass and follow his lead.

Yunho weaved between the aisles — still crouched down — and as you peeked around him, you quickly realized the make-up store was untouched. All the products were in their designated place and it was abnormally tidy inside. No blood coating the white tiled floor or decomposing corpses laying around. The only thing you could think of was that the workers quickly rolled down the sliding grilles before any of the infected could enter and made their escape through the back. The longer you stared at the shutters, the clearer it became how tilted it was. One side wasn’t completely flat with the ground, you presumed it had something to do with one of the cogs being stuck. If it came down to it, the barrier would only hold so long against a horde of biters.

“How are we getting through that?” You whispered and wiped your clammy palms off your pants.

Yunho plopped down on his rear and moved into a comfortable position; his legs were propped up, creating a triangle passageway, and his elbows came to rest on his knees. You were in a similar stance, but with one of your legs flat against the ground and hands on your stomach. The sides of your thighs touched, but neither were distraught by the display of (accidental) skinship. Stealing a glance, you nearly jumped out of your skin as he hastily turned toward you.

“Okay, I got an idea…”

You swallowed thickly and nodded.

“So… I think I could raise the bar high enough for us to squeeze out. You’d go first and keep it up until I pass. The thing is, we need to have an emergency exit if everything goes to shit and I don’t wanna take the risk of us having to pry it open again and getting caught.”

“Yeah, no, that sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen honestly… I’m thinking we can find something sturdy that will hold it for us and we can just slide through if we’re being chased.”

“Let’s hurry.”

You got up and quickly scanned the store for something useful, but all you could see were make-up products, perfume, brushes and other miniature things that weren't good for your issue. You needed something easy to move that wouldn’t make too much noise and cave in under pressure. Looking around, you lingered on the door you came from and everything lit up as if a lightbulb appeared over your head. A whistling tune cut through the store and Yunho’s head popped up from behind a rack, one of his brows raised and you waved him over.

“A shopping cart,” you murmured, a high tilt to your voice. “There are plenty in the storage room, they are easy to handle and won’t falter.”

The smile he showed you could easily be mistaken for his natural cheery persona and you convinced yourself it was just that. Yunho smiled at everyone, especially with those glistening eyes of his as if a brush coated in glitter went over them. You were the first to spring into action and it had nothing to do with the clump of nerves gathering in your abdomen from his soft gaze. It wasn’t the time nor place for confusing feelings, you thought as you grabbed the cart and pushed it out. Coming the closest you’d been to the grilles, you hid behind the trolley and looked through the small holes to assess the situation. Chaos was the first term to appear in your mind.

Broken glass shards littered the previously white tiled floor. It was currently covered in muddy water leaking from the roof, dried blood and weeds sprouting from between the cracks. Rotten meat and rusty metal lingered in the air and it was disgusting, you had never smelled anything like that before. These biters had been there for quite some time, judging by the lack of skin on their decaying bodies and bony figures. They hadn’t feasted in a while and that scared you. Shaking your head clear of such thoughts, you looked in the direction of the apothecary and deflated. A big island of trees, plants and bushes was the first thing you saw. The decorations stood tall and wild, spilling over the fence so you couldn’t see the pharmacy that was supposedly on the other side. The run from point A to B suddenly got overcomplicated.

How would you know if the apothecary was open? And if it was, how many infected were there inside? What if everything was already taken? Then the whole mission was a fail. A waste of time, a waste of gas, a waste of–

“Everything okay?”

You could feel the heat emanating from his body and the aroma of his detergent and pine needle-like scent as he got near. In fact, you could feel him too, where his chest pressed up against your back and his left hand weaved into the grid of the cart, wrist centimeters from touching the top of your head. His close presence was dizzying and attacked your senses at the worst possible time, but at least it overpowered the stench of death. Compelling yourself to get over his spell, you explained the situation and Yunho, ever the optimistic, pointed out the positives.

“At least it isn’t teeming with biters as we thought. Look.” He gestured to the biters. “They are just standing there like statues so we can easily sneak past, plus, we have a few hours until the sun sets, meaning?”

“They are slow as fuck.”

“Bingo. We should be fine as long as we don’t set off a chain reaction and wake the whole building. Otherwise, we’re pretty fucked.”

“It’s risky,” you stated the obvious.

“Everything is nowadays, but don’t worry your pretty little head about that because I’ve got a plan.”

He thought your head was pretty–

“We can use that forest thingy as cover. The bushes and leaves are big enough to cover us completely. I say we use that to check the situation and see where we go from there.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“Which is?”

“I can use the bushes to check the situation and then call you over depending on the situation. Both of us shouldn’t throw ourselves out there. It’s dumb, what if it’s locked? It’d be a waste of energy.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.

“No, I just said I’d do it. Yunho, think about it. I’m quicker, harder to notice and there’s more things I can hide behind. You’re freakishly tall, where would you hide?”

He pondered for a moment and agreed in the end, but not before voicing his distaste for the idea. “I don’t like it when you’re right.”

“I don’t really care, just get the shutters would you?”

You positioned yourself behind the cart and watched as he rolled up the security shutters just enough for you to slip the metal hunk on wheels underneath. Still crouched down, you waited to see if the biters were drawn to the light clinking noises, but — much to your pleasure — it didn’t attract any. Before you could cross over to the danger zone, Yunho grabbed your bicep.

“Be careful,” he whispered tenderly, like talking to a distressed dog. His hand remained until you nodded, but even when he drew back, the warmth spread out through your chest to the very tips of your toes and lingered to what felt like an eternity.

It was pleasant. Safe. Yunho’s arms were safe, you concluded and wished to feel more of. Both his touch and the protection he provided.

“You too.”

You didn’t wait, wholeheartedly believing you’d stay back if you looked at his doleful expression for a second longer, and slid out. The biters were oblivious to your presence, but you weren’t about to abuse that privilege until it had run its final course. Like the existence of a ghost, you floated through the mall on your tippy toes, knife trembling in your tight hold and eyes frantically searching for trouble waiting to pounce out of nowhere. Considering you were always reaching for the short end of the stick or possessed more bad than good luck, it was no surprise you were constantly thinking five steps ahead. There was no need for that now though because you made it to the decorations without getting your knife bloodied. The greenery was bigger than what could be seen from the make-up store, a result of constant sunlight, water dripping out of a broken pipe and no one there to keep it tidy. You just hoped you were alone in the idea of hiding there.

The pharmacy was open to the public. You didn’t know whether to deem it a win or a loss. Easier access was always good, but that included everyone and a bigger chance of the place already being looted. Not much more thinking and strategizing had to be done though, and you immediately signaled Yunho over. The inside wasn’t completely trashed either. It wasn’t as neat as the make-up store, but from what you could see, there were still things that could be of use or it was your wishful thinking kicking in.

“This is good… right?” It was so quiet that you nearly missed it.

“It’s less of a hassle getting in, so I’d say so. Our best bet would be that one keeps watch while the other gathers as much shit as possible, unless we want an early date with death.”

“There’s a pet store behind us too, maybe we can pick something for Heart on our way back.”

“We’ll s–”

A growl was quick to shut you up. The sound sent unsettling vibrations down your spine and you snapped your lips together as a biter staggered right past you. Its sudden appearance reminded you to get your asses moving. Neither breathed until its figure was far, far away from you.

“Fuck…” Yunho exhaled. “Okay, you keep watch and I’ll look around, you know, see if there’s stuff on the higher shelves or something.”

He handed you one of the baseball-sized rocks strewn across the dirt on the island — the kind you’d find at the beach — and snagged one for himself too. In a previous life they were used to make things prettier for the eye, but now it was something you bashed rotten heads in with or threw across the room to distract the biters.

Of everything you've done so far, getting into the cursed pharmacy was by far the easiest and least nerve-wracking.

“Go, be quick!” You hissed and crouched behind a table closest to the entrance while Yunho zoomed past you, hastily unzipping his bag and filling it with things. You had half a mind to chastise him for the rattle of bottles and rustling sounds, but withheld. Your voice would reach farther than objects clashing in his backpack.

Your hyper-focus was glued to the front. You were nothing better than a dog waiting to attack, body stiff and on high alert. Adrenaline coursed your veins and it was hard keeping still, head jerking in every direction and your hand frozen around the hilt of your knife it sent tremors up your arm. Teetering on the edge of control, you struggled not to slash at the slightest of movements and sound. Yunho’s request for your empty bag breached your concentration and the breath you inhaled was like waking up in the middle of the night and clenching your thirst with the glass of water you set on the bedside table hours prior. It didn’t take long before the other backpack was filled too and the curse of being stupid not to bring a third fell from his lips.

“You got everything?”

“Not even close. Come over here.”

And like the good guard dog you were, you heeded his command, leaving the post unattended despite the turmoil in your abdomen.

“Put as much stuff as you can in your pockets. I won’t sleep at night if we leave all this behind.”

The amount of money worth of drugs you had in your pants right now was beyond your comprehension, but you knew the bidding between a local druggie and vitamin obsessed grandmother would be hectic. Glancing in Yunho’s direction, you did a double take at the blue tinfoil packages in his hands and grew hot from embarrassment. Your look was all it took for Yunho to defend himself.

“What? I doubt people want to reciprocate at this time.”

He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make you feel any better or stop the sensual image of Yunho. His naked body tangled in sheets looming over you and the very same condom you just saw in his hands, now stuck between his lips. Then you shook your head, as if to make the thought disappear before it could delve into an even more lustful scenario. The naked Yunho was gone, but the heat burned your cheeks worse than the sun on a summer day.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

If he noticed your flustered state, he didn’t mention it. With bags on your backs and weapons at the ready, you found yourselves in the bushes again.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“What?”

Yunho scratched the spot behind his ear. “That everything is going… smoothly? Like it’s too easy?”

“What?” Your brows drew together. “Do you want it to be difficult?”

“Obviously not. I’m just… pointing out the obvious. It’s never been this easy.”

He had a way with words because not even a fraction of a second after, he jumped out of the bushes and evoked a high-pitched, squeaky noise that reached every nook and cranny of the mall. He breathed out a soft “fuck”, the tone dripping with disbelief. Beneath him, squished and still peeping the more Yunho raised his foot, was a blue, rubber pig. Its mouth pulled in an open smile and snout scrunched.

Fucking petstore. Fucking pig. Fucking Yunho.

You popped out of hiding, knife pulled out but violently trembling in your hold under the gaze of what felt like a thousand translucent eyes peering at your warm bodies. The one watching your life through a squared screen pressed pause on the remote and then when it was resumed, everything went to shit. The biters lunged for the first piece of meat they’d seen in months while you stood rooted to the ground, legs refusing to cooperate with your nervous system.

“Go, go, go! Fucking move!”

You did, in fact, not fucking move. You watched him drive his blade into the head of a biter, blood dripping everywhere as the rotten body slumped down and you fell with it, ass bruised and brain too scrambled to understand what was happening. You were going to die. You were never going to see Nari again. You going to turn into a–

Yunho was there in seconds to haul you off the ground, his hand grabbing the back of your shirt, shouting at you to run. “Are you deaf?! Go!”

It was the harsh push to your shoulder that finally got you moving. Slow and uncertain steps, but moving nonetheless thanks to Yunho barking orders behind you. One would think you had never stepped foot outside the prison walls, let alone gone on numerous resource runs. Everything between his push and you reaching the make-up store was a blur. The blood covering your knife and hands — along with the trail of corpses left behind you — being the only proof you had been involved in the massacre.

“I told you to get inside!”

You jumped as Yunho’s hand landed on your forearm, tugging you toward the store. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you counted over a hundred rotting heads. The shutters would only hold a dozen until it broke and they tore you apart.

Yunho watched the gears turn in your head and got a whiff of what you planned to do. “Don’t.”

The foreign depth in his voice did nothing to change your mind and he noticed it too, thus holding onto you until his fingers turned white and the veins of his hands protruded. You snapped out of the haze as another forceful tug bruised your arm. Determined to see your plan till the end, you used the element of surprise to your advantage and bore your teeth into his wrist, just enough for him to loosen his hold on you and give you the chance to step back. You ripped your bag off your shoulders and slung it at Yunho, who caught it with an ‘oomph’, successfully keeping him down on his rear for a few extra seconds. His raspy call of your name clawed at your heart. Something was eating you from the inside, but you ignored the wails of your soul and kicked the cart with all your might, allowing the shutters to fall with a bang. Your stubbornness wasn’t the sole thing to stand between the two of you anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

You paid little attention to the burning feeling in your chest and the flame dancing across his features. Leaving him there would hurt, but it would be hell to see him get ripped to shreds knowing he had a chance of surviving. Back at the prison, you only had one person to look out for while Yunho was a pillar for many. You couldn’t do that to them. To Hongjoong, Mingi, Wooyoung… Heck, you couldn’t do it to yourself. Angry Yunho was a fleeting image. It would pass, but the Yunho with cheesing eyes and heart-shaped lips pulled in a joyous smile was forever engraved in your memory.

“It’s not going to hold,” you gestured to the stupid shutter. “Get home and make sure the stuff gets to Hongjoong.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving without you!”

“Tell Nari I love her–”

His fist slammed against the metal cover and for a moment you thought it would crumble beneath his touch. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You’re going to tell her yourself because we’re going back together!”

There was so much on your mind. What to say, what message to leave the others; apologies and closure or a last round of advice? What would Nari think? There was no doubt in mind she’d be heartbroken. You were the last piece of family she had left and it would be downright evil of you to make her lose another parental figure.

“I’ll find you. Outside, I’ll find you. I’m not dyi… “ Your throat tightened at the empty promise. You didn’t know if you said that to reassure him or yourself. “Ten minutes. If I’m not outside in ten minutes, you’ll leave. Yunho, promise me you’ll leave.”

If only you knew what you were doing to his poor soul. Asking him of the impossible. He could promise you anything you wanted—anything in this cursed world—and he’d hand it to you on a silver platter. Anything, but that. Leaving you behind was like signing his own death sentence. He’d be nothing, but the shell of a man. An empty, hollow, useless shell with the bitter taste of resentment for both your selfless and selfish sacrifice. Yunho knew agreeing to keep the promise would give you peace of mind, yet if anything happened to you, he’d be haunted by the memories of you until his very last breath.

Across from him, you waited as if time wasn’t about the most sacred thing you could have. A mix of concern and determination wedged in your beautiful features and Yunho knew he had to speak, although he didn’t want to because the words rolling off his dry tongue would be some kind of agreement to your request.

“Yunho, please.”

The burning fire in his eyes dimmed as a wave of tears washed over them. They looked magical, even when obscured by grief and longing for the one still alive. His bottom lip formed into a pout to keep from trembling just as his hands balled into fists for that same reason. The sand continued seeping out of the imaginary hourglass, no matter how much Yunho tried scooping it back inside, the universal clock wouldn’t stop ticking.

With great effort — his lips parted and the shaky breath released aimed straight at your heart as did the tears brimming his red eyes which were a reflection of your own — he nodded. “I promise… but don’t make me fulfill it.”

In another life, the vow would be exchanged in a happier setting, surrounded by friends and family. Vacant of gloomy clouds and death knocking at your door, and filled with belly laughter and tears of joy instead. A time where the promise of sacrifice was made out of love and not for survival.

“Yunho, I–”

The remaining seven letters died in your throat as cold and wrinkly fingers sank into your shoulder. Yunho watched you scramble from the touch, his heart pounding for your safety, and felt completely useless. He couldn’t breathe until your blade was driven into the side of the biter’s head and the creature landed with a thud, blood pooling at your feet. The growling worsened and you needed to get a move on if you ever planned on seeing another shift between the sun and moon.

“Come back to me, do you understand?”

Your eyes met for what could be the last time and you drank him in like he was a part of the seven wonders of the world. His messy charcoal strands falling over his equally dark brows, knitted together with a crease in the middle that you wanted to smooth out. Trailing down to his naturally puffy eyes reflecting a storm of emotions — thundering anger and heavy anguish — threatening to spill over with tears. Your throat tightened. You couldn’t bear seeing the pain you inflicted upon him and hastily followed the slope of his pretty nose, red as a ripe strawberry. A beautiful blush, probably stemming from his anger, kissed his round cheeks and spread to his ears. The need to reach out and touch him, caress him with reassurances that everything would be fine grew at the sight of his trembling lips.

The angel on your shoulder whispered for you to run. Another whisper — this time from the devil — tingled your ears with the statement to stay a little longer. You wanted to heed the little red fella, but what you wanted wasn’t what you needed, so with a final nod, you tore away from his painful gaze and willed yourself not to turn back around because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to leave.

With fear and adrenaline pumping through your veins and the promise of returning alive, you slipped on the mask of a soldier — putting a pause to the war in your head — and faced the army of the dead.

“Come get me, fucking assholes!”

Hungry groans and aggravated snarls echoed loudly around the mall, each vibration reaching your bones, but your loud whoops and hollers didn’t waver. Not even when one of the infected got dangerously close to you, its teeth making a loud chopping sound like a knife violently smashing against a cutting board. You grabbed a chunk of its hair, guiding the monster as close to your skin as possible without it getting to sink its teeth into your neck. You were done being the prey. It was time for a change of roles. The taunting click of your tongue colliding with the roof of your mouth launched into the open as you sinisterly smiled at the biter.

“Go to hell.”

The sharp point of your knife pierced the underside of its jaw until the whole blade could be seen through its open mouth. Your hand, covered in red and wrapped around the hilt, was flat against the jaw and continued pushing upward. The anger, hurt and worry mixed into a new emotion that took over all of your senses. Revenge. With a new force of purpose, you pushed and pushed until the lower half of its face and jawbone ripped from the body like pieces of fabric. There was so much blood, tissue, and muscle beneath. .

Bile crawled up your throat as the corpse stared at you with an open mouth, if you could even call it that considering the nose and jaw were somewhere on the floor. The sight wasn’t for the weak and you were anything but that, yet the amount of blood gushing down and coating both you and the biter would follow you into the grave. It was an exact replica of the oral cavity poster in your local dentist’s office; the tongue, uvula, and tonsils were all in their righteous place. You forced down what was once your breakfast and wiped the blood, or sweat, maybe both, off your face and let the body fall.

The next kills were faster and less gruesome. There were a bunch of them after all and if you did a little show of each and every one, you wouldn’t return home until late into the night. Throwing a quick glance at the cosmetics shop, you relaxed at the empty spot that was once occupied by Yunho. He listened. He kept his promise and now it was your turn. Running for a brief escape, you whipped out your gun — the magazine full and waiting to be used — as you climbed the escalator — taking two steps at a time — just enough to get some space between you and the human eaters. You had both hands on the firearm to keep it steady and fired in quick succession. The first shot was loud and foreign, and the hairs on your body stood up, but you kept hugging the trigger as if it were your one purpose in life. Your ears got used to the deafening crack of thunder after the third round.

You counted five, ten, fifteen, twenty shots before you slipped the hot gun back in your holster. Always keep one bullet for emergencies, you used to tell Nari. Going out with a bullet piercing your brain was less painful than being shredded to death was what you liked to think. A bonus point if you do it correctly; you don’t come back as one of them.

The number was still high and if you were to count, you’d reach at least somewhere up to fifty biters. You didn’t even want to think of those unintentionally hiding or stuck in a store. It didn’t matter though, because you weren’t leaving until every infected was put to rest. For that to happen, you needed to stay alive and from the rapid speed the biters were going up the stairs (one would think they’d lost all sense of coordination when their brains turned into purée), it didn’t look so bright for you.

“Fuck,” you whispered and continued up to the second floor.

It was significantly darker and vacant, but you didn’t want to take your chances of getting cornered in a random shop. Although killing your way out of the mall was taking a toll on your body and sanity, that was something you already lost. The second floor was a completely different world than what was going on downstairs. The windows were intact, not a single speck of blood coated the walls and everything was in its place. It was like the disease stopped spreading after coming in touch with the escalators. A glass railing went around the whole second floor, giving you a perfect view of the chaos downstairs. The height difference wasn’t too big and a jump down wouldn’t cause you any harm, unless you fell unexpectedly. That would be a different story.

Pushing that to the back of your head, you passed a hardware store with a bunch of crowbars set on a display outside. Grinning to yourself like a child on Christmas Eve, you grabbed one of the many crowbars and gave it a swing. It’d be far easier welding a long piece of metal than your four-inch knife. Plus, it wouldn’t just be used to smash the heads in on biters, but to pull shit apart. Like doors.

“I think I’ll call you Maneater.”

The rustle of clothes worked as an alert. Right on cue, an infected staggered out of the very same store you got Maneater from.

“And you’re going to be my guinea pig.”

The loud, sickening crunch of bones breaking was eerily loud as the curved end of the crowbar met with the side of the biter’s head. Now, the second floor was tainted with a splatter of brains, and blood and everything in between. It didn’t disturb you anymore. How could it when the majority of you was drenched in a rotten, red liquid?

Some of the biters that followed you from the first floor had finally caught up. Their spine shaking groans announced their arrival and you gave one more twirl to Maneater.

“I’ve always wanted to try out for the baseball team,” you admitted and swung it again. “But mom said sport wasn’t for girls.”

Another biter fell limply. Its skull cracked open and one eye squeezed out of the socket at collision with the metal rod. You grunted and raised it high above your head. “This is as close to baseball as I’ll get.”

Swinging it down, you screwed your eyes shut to keep the grime and blood from splashing into them. The feel of Maneater plunging into the meat of the biter didn’t vibrate up your arms, but the sharp inhale of air getting caught in your throat did as you were pushed off balance. Tripping over your own feet, you crashed into the delicate railing which broke at immediate contact. Shards descended like snow around you and shimmered like thousands of miniature diamonds. The crowbar slipped out of your hold as you tried grabbing the air for support, but in the end, all you could do was watch the ceiling of the mall shrink while your arms and legs flailed out of your control.

Time slowed down as the realization set in. You were going to die. You didn’t keep your end of the promise and Yunho would return alone.You wouldn’t be there to teach Nari how to use a gun.

As you were falling to your death, a bitter smile took over your lips. You really had no regrets. And it seemed that even with one foot in your grave, you couldn’t stop lying to yourself. There were no regrets when it came to Nari, that much was true. Everything you did was for her safety; the murders, the running, the fights, everything was for her. But what about you?

Did you have any regrets for yourself? The answer was simple and short, only needing five letters to spell it out. Three vowels and two consonants to be exact. Yunho.

A sharp prick seared through your shoulder followed by the ground kissing your back. The pain was unlike any before and you immediately felt yourself losing consciousness. Everything hurt. The sudden headache was worse than any hangover you experienced in your college days and your shoulder burned with the slightest of movements. Lying there unable to move, you fought diligently to stay awake, eventually succumbing to the tired voice lulling you to sleep with the whisper to just close your eyes.

The fog surrounding you was thick and cold to the touch. Wetness seeped into your clothes and hair, and droplets echoed around you, but you couldn’t see a water source anywhere. Just a black void, much like space, that seemed to go on forever.

“Hello?” Your voice traveled through the vast darkness and no reply came back.

You didn’t understand. Where were you? What was this place?

“Auntie… wake up.”

Your head jolted to where the sound came from and your body followed. It was distant, but you’d recognize that voice any time of the day.

“Nari?” You cupped your hands around your mouth. “Nari!?”

“Auntie!” Her childish giggles swirled around you, once coming from your left and then the right. You turned in every direction, but the little girl wasn’t with you.

“Where are you?!”

“You need to wake up.”

“What?”

“Wake up, auntie. They are coming.”

Your brows scrunched together as you tried making sense of her words. “Who is?”

“The monsters. They are coming for you… You need to wake up. Wake up!”

An invisible force with a presence so heavy ran through your body and threw you off your feet. A scream of sheer surprise and fright crawled out of your throat as you fell backwards, the faint presence of Nari standing before you — a dull expression painted on her features — as she did nothing to help you. It was unsettling. Landing in the water again with the darkness wrapping around you like a silk sheet, you woke up with a startle. You felt everything at once. The pain of the sharp object lodged in your shoulder blade and heat attacked your feet while your head was cool. Your throat was parched and hurt as you swallowed to soothe the itch, but it only made you taste dry blood.

Managing to turn your head sideways, you were greeted with a biter and the events from you didn’t know how long ago came surging back. It was the biter that caused all of this, lying face down beside you with parts of its body scattered all over the place. If the situation were different, you would’ve hung the fucker using its own intestines, but it wasn’t and all you could do was give it a glare and send your wish of it going to hell. Sluggishly slapping along your chest, you hoped to grasp the walkie-talkie that was supposed to be attached to you, but the little device wasn’t in its usual place and you cursed at your bad luck. Through your blurry vision, you could see shuffling further in the distance. The imaginary weight resting on your chest suddenly lifted and small gasps of air finally entered your lungs.

Muffled moans, something akin to being underwater, were the string pulling you back to reality. The eerie warning of your subconsciousness played in your mind. Grinding your teeth together, you mustered up little of the strength you had left and rolled over on your stomach. Your hands lay flat against the tile, the broken glass cutting into your skin as you lay in a pool of your own blood. Something shifted in your shoulder blade, and a cry of pain and desperation erupted from deep within.

“Fuck!”

Death would’ve been a better outcome than this.

Opening your eyes — that closed without you noticing — and blinking back tears, a laugh of disbelief almost slipped out at the object before you.

A blue piggy.

The blue piggy was staring at you. Its happy expression irked you beyond belief. It was all its fault. The biter and this stupid pig were to blame for everything. Your upper lip curled in a snark as you squeezed the living shit out of the toy and pushed to sit back up on your knees. Heart was getting a gift and you hoped to see the toy shred into pieces.

Commanding your body to stand up was harder than expected and your legs nearly gave out. The searing burn of agony spread like a wildfire all the way down to the tip of your toes. There was no point in trying to feel around as it would only hurt more with every twist and turn of your torso. The exit sign in the far back of the pet store flickered violently, as if it were trying to get your attention, and even though you didn't believe in miracles, you reconsidered your values then and there.

“It’s the only shop we can enter through the backdoor without gathering much attention and…”

Hours later and you still remembered his words. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice. The make-up store was a no-go and you didn’t have the energy to prance around and look for a safer exit. Who even knew how much time you had before your body would give out? The shuffling in the distance paired up with hungry grunts was getting louder, and with your condition, they’d reach you in no time. You had played it safe so far and received nothing but near-death experiences, what was one risk against ten precautions?

You bit into the material of your neck tube to stifle the cries made with each step. Staggering up to the emergency door, you leaned your forehead against the cool metal and jerked the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Of course.”

The one thing you saved for yourself had to be used on something else. Letting the almost empty gun rest in your hand, you stepped back and aimed the muzzle straight at the lock. You had to make this count. You inhaled, exhaled, and pulled the trigger. A loud blaring alarm sounded through the whole mall and you had no need nor obligation to linger around until every biter in a mile radius crowded the area. With the piggy in hand and your other gripping the side of your torso, you limped out of the cursed place.

The weather was dull and gray, but brighter than inside the shopping center and it took a while for you to adjust to the light. Heavy rain pelted from the sky yet, the reason behind your wet clothes wasn’t to be blamed on nature. Standing in the middle of the parking lot, a trail of bloodied footsteps followed you only to be washed away as if they never existed in the first place. Raindrops trickled down your red-smeared face, revealing streaks of your skin beneath. The freezing temperature sweeped over your body, cooling off your muscles and rewarding you with the possibility of a cold which didn’t sound too bad. Glancing up at the gloomy clouds, your hand came to shield your eyes from the rain slapping harshly at your cheeks. It was impossible to tell if the moisture on your cheeks came from tears or the rain.

Your ten minutes were up. Yunho was gone and the weather portrayed your inner turmoil. The emotions you suppressed while on survival mode hit you fast and hard. You were happy he stayed true to his words, but the little part deep in your heart, cried and trashed around, disappointed he didn’t wait for you. At least you were alive. Dirty and hurt, but alive.

The storm would clean you up by the time you got home anyway, if you didn’t die from hypothermia that was. With a weight on your chest, a knife carrying the deaths of many and the will to see your family again, you headed home.

You weren’t angry with Yunho. How could you when it was you who made him promise to leave? When it was you who threw yourself to the wolves, better yet, to the brain-eating corpses and — more or less — locked him in a shop with no way out besides the backdoor. If anything, he had every right to be angry with you.

What if you died in front of his eyes? Or got seriously hurt?

There was no coming back from that, you knew that much yourself. The memory of putting that poor boy out of his misery resurfaced every time your eyes shut. Every thump reminded you of striking his head with the butt of your knife. You still remembered driving that same blade deep through his stomach until your hand touched his shirt, a dog taking up the majority of his tee. It was the first time you felt actual blood. Not the three drops from a paper cut or a harmless sample, but the slimy and warm kind that came in buckets. It was everywhere too; your hands, your clothes, his bedding covered in happy dinosaurs and rainbows. Days passed until your hands returned to their natural hue, but the nightmares never ceased. It was quite funny. You had seen a lot of fucked up shit, but the least violent death was still looming over your head.

Bright yellow lights blinded you. Throwing up a hand to reduce the damage and get a better look at what was happening, you peered between your fingers and saw the shape of a car slowing down. You couldn't find it in you to run. Everything hurt everywhere and your muscles ached with as little as a breath. The emergency alarm hadn’t stopped and hoards of infected would turn up any minute. The rain — which you already thought was heavy — turned harsher and bounced off the pavements like small shining diamonds. The sound of the car door opening and slamming against the metal hunk followed by rushing footsteps frightened you into a defensive stance.

You were tired of death. You were so tired of killing things, but the universe didn’t seem to care as she continued sending you threat after threat. The rope wrapped around your emotions slowly slipped out of your grip. Its rough texture grated along the skin of your palms and frustrated tears coated your waterline. The sob — a wail of utter fatigue — that slipped out was smothered by the rain and ear-piercing siren. You really tried holding on, but you could only suppress your hectic emotions for so long until your hands went limp and everything came crashing down. A tear streaked down your cheek, followed by another and another.

The figure ran head first at you and as you waited for a hard impact to plummet you to the ground, a pair of warm arms wrapped around you instead. Clean clothes and wet trees filled your senses.

“I got you.”

“Yuhn–Yunho?” You sluggishly asked, making sure it wasn’t another trick of your mind.

“Yeah, Yunho’s got you, angel. I’m here.”

You buried your nose in his shoulder and inhaled his comforting scent. Shutting your eyes and curling your fingers in the fabric on his back, holding onto every piece of him for dear life. You released a shuddering breath. The shirt smelled like him and his body was very real beneath your fingertips. That alone proved your subconsciousness wasn’t deceiving you. This was Yunho. The real Yunho. Your Yunho.

“I’m going to pick you up now, alright darling?”

His arms were gentle just like his soul and he handled you with absolute care. It made you feel warm despite the weather only Zeus himself could inflict upon the world, and you were oh-so-tired. Your empty stomach wasn’t a match against your full heart as it was all you needed to fall asleep. The last noise entering your consciousness was Yunho’s frantic voice.

“Hey, hey, hey! Stay with me. Come on, just stay with me!”

Yunho stood his ground as you went limp in his hold and his face paled at what he saw. A shard — not shorter than his palm — protruded out of your shoulder, somehow managing to diagonally cut into your skin and avoid the bulletproof vest. Just your luck. He wasted no time scooping you up bridal style, as if you weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes, and thanked the heavens your head found his shoulder instead of lolling to the side in sync to his fast legs. His mechanic's heart hurt at leaving the engine running, but on second thought after feeling the warmth on his face, Yunho almost praised himself for his unintentional thinking. Despite that, he still stripped you off the first layer of clothing — cutting the shirt right in the middle — and decided to leave your tights on. The heat was as good as useless if you were completely wet. He maneuvered you to the side and covered you with the soft quilt he stored in the vehicle for emergencies like getting stuck in a storm or something.

The ride back home was done in silence minus the rapid patter of the rain and squelching of tires on asphalt. Much against his wishes, Yunho was plagued by the brief image of your bare torso, the black bra that left little to the imagination as well as his concern for your state. The glass was bloody and looked uncomfortably lodged in your shoulder blade. Shaking the beautiful and horrid image of you out of his head, he remembered why you passed out on him in the first place and the anger that disappeared at seeing you emerge from the mall resurfaced. A flurry of emotions swirled in his mind; concern, anger, sadness, relief… He couldn’t pinpoint if his heart beat erratically out of rage or desire.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Yunho sighed as your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. As long as you were breathing everything would be fine. Going under a surgical blade in the hands of Jeong Yunho would do you no good, unless your insides consisted of automotive parts. Spoiler; they didn’t. Pressing his foot flat on the pedal, he broke a handful of traffic rules holding as much significance as the first man on the moon in this time of day.

The next time you opened your eyes wasn’t in the backseat of the familiar Jeep Wrangler, but in the medical wing which was technically just a room not much bigger than Hongjoog’s office, but illusioned to be smaller because of the multiple lined-up beds. Turning your head to the right, you stared confusedly at the IV bag connected to your arm. A sudden coldness swept over you and you instinctively pressed your free hand to your stomach, expecting to meet with a blanket and not goosebump-covered skin. Distraught, you glanced down. Your shirt was missing — that alone should’ve had you on high alert — and in its place was a gauze going around your chest and over your right shoulder. A delicate feel kissed your fingertips as you gently ghosted it over the bandages. The tenderness quickly changed into harsh bites stemming from your back and erupting all over like fireworks.

The mall. The Apothecary. The hoard of biters. Yunho. The piggy. Leaving Yunho. Man-eater. Falling. The rain. Finding Yunho. Safety. Darkness.

It was too much information at once and your back pain was accompanied by a headache growing rapidly. It didn’t help that your mouth was unbelievably dry. The IV-bag seemed to be doing an awful job of keeping you hydrated. Feeling sluggish, but determined to get answers, you freed yourself of bedrest and ventured out in the hallway. Yeosang turned the corner and stopped abruptly. His stoic face fell into an expression of utter panic seeing you out of bed. A chart of some kind and a pencil clattered to the ground as he crossed the distance between you, gentle hands cupping your arm and elbow.

“When did you wake up?”

And when you couldn’t form a response because of your dry throat, he immediately steered you back into the room with strict orders to stay and not move until he was to return. What he failed to mention was the ten-something people he’d bring along, all equally happy to see you awake, but some more furious than others. To his credit, they were forced to wait outside as you got the chance to drink water and change into something more comfortable. The excuse of you needing rest could only hold them off for so long until Wooyoung barged through the doors, an accusing finger finding you like a moth being drawn to a flame. The threats spilling out of his mouth faster than the shots of a machine gun were excused as a waterfall of tears sprung down his cheeks.

The words of malice came from a place of worry and love, and if you reciprocated that by masking your discomfort as he tightly hugged you — nearly opening the wound Yeosang diligently stitched together — no one had to know besides you. The reunion didn’t last long, all thanks to Yeosang’s strict orders that you needed a quiet recovery and Hongjoong’s authoritative voice backing him up. Being left alone with your thoughts was worse than having a group of chatterboxes asking you the same five questions every ten seconds. Because out of everyone there, out of everyone who came to see you, the two faces you searched for weren’t there and you didn’t know how to take that.

You expected it from Yunho. The radio silence and cold shoulder served as a punishment for your careless and considerate acts of heroism. Nari surprised you. More so the lack of her. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting a little. In other words, it hurt a tenfold of the stabbing pain coming from your shoulder. You missed her. A lot.

But like Yeosang said — hours after he came to drop off dinner and medicine — there was nothing you could do but wait her out, quite literally as you were trapped inside the makeshift hospital room. If it weren’t for his unmatched beauty and pleasantly calm demeanor, you would’ve sent him to hell a long time ago. Not only was he forcing pills down your throat and feeding you disgusting celery soup, now he was giving you unwanted advice concerning a child you raised since the stone age. Your agitation went up in smoke as the doors opened and a blur of black strands strode inside instead of Yeosang’s exasperating chestnut hair announcing dinner time in a sing-song voice.

Perhaps Nari missed you too and perhaps Yeosang was right, and perhaps you were imagining things as the girl stopped in front of your bed, both arms crossed over her chest and eyes cutting yours like she wanted you dead. Her sour frown left a bitter taste in your mouth. Soft taps filled the heavy silence and Heart — her true companion — sat down on his rear beside Nari. The blue piggy was caught between his teeth. It was good to know not all of your doing was in vain.

“You’re angry.”

The annoyed scoff and roll of her eyes was the second surprise.

“No, I’m so clearly happy.”

You heard the false chirp in her voice and scrunched the sheet in your hand to keep from snapping at her sudden bratty attitude. It’s justified, you told yourself and let her have her moment.

“I am so happy that the only person I care about nearly died. I am so happy my best friend sacrificed herself without a thought of what it may do to the people around her. I am so happy I almost became an orphan for the second time in my life! I am so happy, happy, happy!”

“Nari–”

“No! Ju–uh– just listen to me! Be quiet and let me speak!” She left no room for negotiation and snapped your mouth shut. The same shame of being reprimanded by your parents settled into your every bone.

“Just so you know, I’m only speaking to you because Yunho forced me to or he’d take away my Heart privileges…” She heaved in a breath of suffocating air and her voice cracked just as the next words separated your heart into two. “I’m so angry with you.”

Staring at Nari was like looking in a mirror. Your lips trembled and cheeks were wet from the salty tears slipping down to your chin and dropping on the pristine covers. You imagined your eyes to be red and irritated from the crying and it was a miracle you could produce more tears.

“I told you to be careful, right before you left. I said, be careful and you said, when am I not? Never! You’re never careful. I ask you to do one thing and you do the exact opposite. How come I have to act like the adult and you the kid? You’re the grown up, not me! I’m not supposed to see you bloody and barely breathing.”

“Nari, I’m sorry–”

“You don’t get to be sorry, okay?! A sorry won’t make things right again. What you did wasn’t fair. Not to me, not to you and definitely not to Yunho. Sacrificing yourself? For what? For who?”

“You,” you wanted to scream at her. Everything was about her. Everything you did was for her. For her chance of living longer, living better.

“Do you know how it felt to see you so, so, so… close to death? Don’t answer that, of course you don’t. I couldn’t breathe. I was in hysterics and it hurt. Everything fucking hurt. I thought I lost you. And I can’t get it out of my head; Yunho screaming and crying, carrying your lifeless body in his arms and that shit lodged in your back… It’s– You’re–”

“I’m alive. I’m breathing. I’m okay, we’re okay.”

“Except we’re not! You don’t get to do fucked up shit and just say, ‘Oh, we’re good’ when giving us a scare. Giving me a scare! Are you fucking dumb?”

“Hey, watch your mouth!”

“I will when you start acting like an adult. So do the adult thing and stop sacrificing yourself for others! I need you, okay? I don’t care about the others. I don’t even care about myself. I need you and only you.

“I– I don’t know what to say to make that go through your head. What? You want to hear about my parents? Do you think I remember my mom? My dad? You’re the closest thing to a family I have left. You are my mom and my dad. I can’t lose my family again. Please, don’t make me lose–”

Nari hid her face behind her hands and let the thundering sobs wreck through her body. Heart whined and nudged his snout against her thigh in consolation. It wasn’t enough. Nothing could be of comfort enough to erase the gut-wrenching image of your limp body or mend her inner wound. Not even when you got out of bed and guided her head into the crook of your neck did she feel better.

“I’m sorry, flower. So, so sorry.” You kissed the crown of her head. “You’re right. It wasn’t… I was in the wrong and I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Not just for you, but for me too, alright? You won’t ever have to worry about being the adult again… Can you forgive me?”

The little nod against your shoulder was delayed, but you didn’t care. You’d wait years if it meant her forgiveness.

The next time Yeosang came to check up on you — a tray of dinner in his hands — he silently backed out of the room as if never entering in the first place. On the hospital bed lay you and Nari, her nose hidden in the crook of your neck and a ticklish trail of air loomed across the exposed skin. Your chin nuzzled her forehead and your hands were light against her head. Nari’s arms were loosely stretched around your waist and would grow numb from the awkward position. Your legs wove into each other like a pretzel. The human-sized golden retriever was also there. His head a dead weight on your calf and the rest of his body pressed up against your back, tail tickling the exposed skin on your bicep. It was cramped and sweaty, but you wouldn’t change it, not even if the world went back to normal.

Disappointment. The bitter reaction of not getting what you expected and hoped for. If green was used to describe jealousy and yellow stood for happiness, then gray would be the color representing disappointment.

The reason for your disappointment? A man with brown hair, warm eyes and a laugh contagious enough to heal a wounded soul. Yunho didn’t visit you for the remaining time you were under Yeosang’s care. He came through stories told by the others, always hovering over whoever was your latest visitor and asking questions regarding your recovery, but never doing more than that. Never actually stepped foot inside the room. The week after you were discharged wasn’t any better. Hongjoong put you under strict orders to not go out on runs until you could move your arm without as much as flinching from pain and everyone walked around you on eggshells. As if you were a delicate piece of glass just waiting to break at the slightest inconvenience. At the news of your freedom, Yunho vanished into thin air. It was quite amusing how he was both the yellow you desperately wanted to see and the gray standing (figuratively) in your way.

The loud clanking against your cell diverted your attention from the cement ceiling to whoever felt the need to disturb your peace.

“He still hasn’t talked to you?” Wooyoung asked and sat down beside your feet, which you kindly shuffled more to the left.

“Talked? I haven’t seen him since I passed out in his arms. I don’t think talking is an option considering he’s a walking ghost.”

Wooyoung moved further up your bed. His back pressing up against the wall as his hands weaved together over his stomach. You laid your legs over his lap and breathed out a frustrated gust of air.

“I’d say give him time, but it has been, what? Two, three weeks since you got back. He’s just being petty at this point. Wasn’t it him who forced Nari to speak with you again?”

You nodded and Wooyoung huffed out a dry chuckle. “Very mature, Yunho… So what’s the plan?”

“There is no plan.”

“Oh, come on! You both can’t be self-deprecating, it’s only somewhat alright if one of you is being stupid, but both! Nuh-uh!” Wooyoung flopped beside you. His chin rested against the palms of his hands with his fingers squishing his cheeks and making them really pop.

“What do you want me to do, Woo? Yunho obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. If you haven’t noticed, he’s avoiding me like the plague. The least I can do is stay out of his way if it means he’ll hang around everyone more. He was here before me, after all. His family before mine, no?”

“We both know that’s not true and if Yunho heard you speak like that, heck, if anyone heard you say shit like that they’d give you hell for it. You’re family as much as anyone else is, old as new members. So stop thinking like that… As for what you can do, how about you just, oh, I don’t know… Talk to him!”

You averted your gaze as the words wrapped around you like a hug. The rational part of your brain knew Wooyoung was right. That you weren’t intruding on anything. It was your family, your friends and your space as much as Yunho, Wooyoung and everyone else’s. However, the stubborn part of your brain feasted on your self-deprecating thoughts. It was why you didn’t fight Wooyoung on these matters because somewhere down the line of getting to know everyone, you realized Wooyoung wasn’t just a package of teasing and mischievous remarks. When he wanted to, he could say the things one needed to hear the most.

“We’ve already ruled that one out. The talking won’t happen until he wants it to.”

“Well, he’s acting like a loser, a really sore one at that.”

And as much as you wanted to agree with Wooyoung, to call Yunho a few mean words of your own, you couldn’t find it in you to voice those thoughts because they didn’t exist in the first place. All you saw was Yunho who took on the qualities of a golden retriever. The Yunho who would go up and beyond to turn a frown into a smile. The Yunho who would adopt every dog he came across and name them something sweet like Cheesecake or Muffin.

“I don’t care. Everyone has a right to process things in their own way, even Yunho.”

“I wish he didn’t. It’s dumb. Yes, you kind of messed up by putting yourself in danger and whatnot, but it wasn’t like you did it for shits and giggles! If it wasn’t you, then it’d be him. Trust me, I know that guy better than myself.”

You kicked Wooyoung’s thigh and sent him a teasing smile. “Yeah, because you’re always in everyone’s business but your own.”

The dramatic gasp filling the room was followed by your laugh.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” You knew Wooyoung only meant well, but his well wouldn’t bring anything good to the situation. Yunho wouldn’t give in and there’d be just one extra person involved in the war of cold shoulders and purposeful absences.

“Don’t bother. He’ll seek me out when he’s ready to hear what I have to say. I’ll just… lay low and give him space.”

“You do know you don’t have to sit here and hide all day, right? You can always come and hang out with me or San at the towers. Jongho could use some help in the weaponry, counting bullets and other boring shit if that’s more to your liking.”

“I know, Woo…”

As the silence took over, Wooyoung patted your calf and got up on his feet, simultaneously throwing a finger gun in your direction. “Well, duty calls. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

“Hey,” you called out after a second of contemplation and he arched a brow in question. “Thank you… Umm, for being there… For being my friend, I mean.”

“Brother would be more fitting. We’re way past being friends, but I get what you mean and don’t mention it. We’re family, that’s what family does.”

Damn Wooyoung and his heartfelt words. The tears made an appearance as soon as he disappeared behind the corner and you wiped them away, not up to explaining why you were crying if someone were to pop out of nowhere. For so long, Nari was the only person you could call family. She was your home, your rock and your will to move forward. Your new family expanded to a little more than a handful of people ready to help you in their own peculiar ways. Your home still didn’t take on the form of a place or a building, but another person. Someone who couldn’t stand in the same room as you for the time being.

Turning over, you buried your nose — much like Wooyoung did with others’ businesses — in the pillow and threw the thin blanket over your head. Sleep was a great activity to make time pass faster, something you discovered while being chained to the hospital bed in Yeosang’s unit. For what you didn’t know, it didn’t seem like Yunho would search you out in the near future and it was alright. You had plenty of time to think over what to say. Until the options became too many and you couldn’t decide which was the best one. Apologize and admit your mistakes or reason for your actions and die before you ask for forgiveness. It was like Wooyoung said, Yunho would have done the same thing if you hadn’t beaten him to it. Then what? Would you treat him with the same coldness he showed you or would you stick to him like the gum on school desks?

The question was constantly on your mind and you were at war with yourself. In this moment, you liked to believe you’d forgive him, but there was no saying you wouldn’t be absolutely furious with him either. It was better to sleep on it, you consoled yourself and you closed your eyes.

Your dreams were scary and although that wasn’t anything new, it was unsettling. Instead of reliving the day you took an innocent life, you watched the mall mission like a movie. The only difference was you never made it back alive. Everything was the same up until the fall, because the moment you landed on your back, you startled back to consciousness. Drenched in cold sweat and a concerningly fast beating heart, you’d use the first few seconds awake to take in your surroundings. To remind yourself you were very much alive and in the safety of your room. It had been your routine for, give or take, two weeks. Sleeping was both a blessing and a curse. Escaping one reality for another — arguably one of the worst coping strategies you could choose from — wasn't something you’d ever get used to, and if it was your way of punishing yourself for hurting Yunho so much that he couldn’t stand breathing the same air as you, then so be it. Wooyoung called it self-deprecating, you saw it more as reaping what you sowed.

The moon was halfway up in the sky when you awoke from your rather restless sleep. Swirls of purple, yellow and orange mixed beautifully on the baby blue canvas wrapping around the earth. It was Wooyoung who, once again, came to check on you with the news that Mingi and Yunho were back from their weekly hunt and had actually managed to bring something back. A stew of deer meat cooked over the fire outside and the whole prison stood in line waiting for their share of the food. You soon joined them with a bowl of your own.

“Next!”

You shuffled over, your gaze unfocused and glued to the ground as you handed over the bowl. When they still hadn’t taken it out of your hands, you looked up with furrowed brows and a questioning tilt in your eyes only for it to be replaced with pure chock. Yunho looked as pretty as the day you last saw him.

You were just staring at each other, both surprised by the sudden encounter that neither showed signs of sweeping the awkward tension under the rug and getting on with the day. The people around you grew irritated at the uphold, the hunger and standing in the cold weather getting to their heads, and you — wanting to get out of there as soon as possible — literally pushed the plastic bowl in his hands so that he was left with no choice but to pour the stew and watch you disappear somewhere far out of his reach. If Yunho wanted space then space was what he’d get, you thought as you spotted the familiar head of Yeosang sitting around a fire. Hauling your ass over there, you occupied the empty spot beside the self designated nurse. He was startled at your sudden appearance and took in your disheveled state.

“Why does it look like you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have?” Yeosang asked hesitantly and sipped on his water.

To put it bluntly, Yeosang was very observative and a great friend of Wooyoung. Whatever Wooyoung knew, Yeosang did too, including your and Yunho’s feud. Trying to stall for more time, you scooped up a mouthful of deer stew. What you didn’t take into account was that Yunho served it straight out of a boiling pot. It burned your tongue and all of your tastebuds. Acting on pain and panic to stop the fire in your mouth, you snatched the paper cup right beneath Yeosang’s nose and downed the whole thing. Yeosang, being an angel in disguise, gave you his second glass too.

“You want more?”

You shook your head and set down the stew, deciding it was better to let it cool off first.

“So… What happened?” He tried his luck again.

“What do you mean, ‘What happened’? I just burned my tongue off!”

“Not that, you idiot. I’m talking about you running here like your ass caught fire.”

The glare you scrutinized him with did nothing to change the topic, instead he challenged you with a quirk of his brow.

“I saw Yunho.” The words were barely audible.

“What did you say?”

You leaned over to land a punch on his shoulder, but missed with a narrow distance as he moved.

“Think of your stitches, think of your stitches!”

“Whatever…”

Yeosang sheepishly smiled. “I’m just messing with you. So you finally met the guy and… how was it?”

“Good, we were actually talking about the rising economy. How do you think it was?”

“Awkward, probably.”

“Bullseye. I ran away after.”

“I noticed.”

“You know, for being a nurse who’s supposed to have some therapy knowledge, you really do suck.”

“Thanks, I’ll jot that down for our future sessions.”

Your next punch wasn’t futile.

As the sun gradually descended and a darker quilt laid over the green earth, more people joined you around the fire. You saw Nari and Eunwoo share a blanket further away from the group, pointing toward the sky full of stars as their sweet giggles weaved through the talking voices of the adults. They did sit a little too close for your liking, but you let it be. She couldn’t experience the normal sneaking around with a boy phase and that would be the closest she’d get to it.

Some time between the laughter and conversations shared with Yeosang and the other people, Yunho was added to the mix. He sat right across from you between the broad shoulders belonging to Mingi and San. You didn’t utter a single word in his presence and moved in on yourself to appear smaller, an attempt at going unnoticed by him. He sipped on the whiskey bottle being passed around the circle while giving Seonghwa his full attention and you took the chance to stare at the side of his face. He was absolutely ethereal. The orange glow of the fire kissed his cheeks and his eyes were even warmer, more inviting.

He looked happy.

Your eyes went wide as he suddenly turned to you. The smile fitting him perfectly dimmed and was replaced by a neutral expression. You pictured yourself reflecting that same blankness. He was the first to break contact and the corners of his mouth went up again as he re-entered the previous conversation. You let out an anxious breath, wondering if you really brought him that much misery. An arm laid over the bridge of your shoulders, the palm attached cupped your bicep and pulled you toward them. Glancing up, you were met with the side profile of Wooyoung. You must’ve been too caught up in your own thoughts to notice him slipping in beside you. The faint, barely-there squeeze was him letting you know he bore witness to the wordless exchange between you and Yunho. The top of your head touched his neck and he nuzzled his cheek against your hair, soft puffs of air going over your strands. And while you were usually opposed to skinship, you let Wooyoung spoil you with it, not having the mental energy to push him away as well as you found it to be quite comforting.

“You alright?”

“It’ll pass. Just like it always has.”

Although Wooyoung wasn’t really in tune with what you were referring to, he still nodded and gave you another supportive squeeze. Sadness, grief and anguish. All the emotions belonging to the color blue would resurface every now and then. The last memory of your parents, failing your math tests in high school, breaking up with your first serious boyfriend… Those were all sad occurrences in life that left a scar in your heart, but were somewhat mended with the essence of time. Some took longer than others and some never really healed, but either way, they passed. The brief moments of blue passed. Thus, you were certain this thing with Yunho would pass too. The question of whether you’d remain friends or go back to strangers wasn’t something you wanted to entertain with the heat of the flames caressing your cold skin so you left it for the future you to mull over.

The warm meal and nice company completely drained everyone as they just sat and enjoyed the stillness of the night.

Hongjoong, always having everyone’s best in mind, clapped his hands together. “We should call it a night.”

Albeit everyone would rather stay out more and bask in the comforting atmosphere, Hongjoong’s words were law and no one wanted to disobey the law, not even in a raging apocalypse. You took it upon yourself to collect the quilts while someone else put out the fire or cleaned up the stray dishes. A bunch of knitted quilts were swung over your left arm and as you bent down to pick up another one, your knee buckled making you lose your footing and head into the blazing fire.

Yunho scooped you up, his arm circling around your waist and flinging you off the ground to face away from the fire. Your back was pressed to his front and the rapid pounding of your hearts synced. Yunho’s hot breath curling over your ears and the sudden close proximity sent your body into overdrive. The autumn wind was useless against your burning skin. Your chest deflated in disappointment as he let you down, not a word of worry or comfort leaving his lips. Desperate and tired, you swung around and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, stopping him in his fleeting movement.

“Yunho, wait!”

Perhaps it was the honey dripping of your plea or the soft and delicate touch of your skin (that he missed so much, but would never admit) or it was simply him being curious as to what you had to stay. Whatever the reason, Yunho did as told and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t come to regret it for the second time around. But now, with his eyes on you and his pretty lips pressed in a determined line, you forgot what you wanted to say.

Hearing Wooyoung’s half-hearted advice from that evening echo in your mind, you cleared your throat and–

“You know, if you wanted to talk you could’ve just done so. There’s no need to bring a third party into,” he gestured between you, “this.”

“What?”

“Wooyoung.”

You kept replaying his words in your mind, dissecting each term, putting them together and so forth until they lost their meaning and you were back to the start trying to figure out what he meant.

“What?”

“Nothing, forget I said anything.”

Seeing him roll his eyes and hear his tongue click the roof of his mouth was your breaking point. Smoke huffed out of your nostrils as you grabbed the blankets from the ground, marched in front of him and stopped him right in his tracks with a hand on his chest. It was one thing to ignore you for weeks, but it was a whole other pain to hear him say demeaning shit to your face.

“You don’t get to do that,” you furiously spat. “You don’t get to disappear and then tell me I should have just talked to you. Yunho, I couldn’t find you even if I turned the whole prison inside out! An– and– and Wooyoung?! What the hell?!”

Your emotions were a tangled mess that not even the most talented hairdresser could unknot. Hurt, sadness, anger, disbelief, everything bled into each other until you couldn’t put a name to them anymore.

“Listen here. I don’t know what you think you saw, but it’s not like that and even if it was, why the fuck do you care?”

Your question was met with silence, but a wave of fury swayed in his eyes and you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. You expected to hear a lot of things the day either of you confronted each other, but nothing could’ve prepared you for that wild and disrespectful assumption.

“I wanted to apologize for my selfish actions back in the mall, but I don’t think I’m sorry at all… Actually, I’m sorry I wasted my blood on you. I’m sorry I sacrificed myself for a guy who can’t bring himself to check up on me while bedridden or– or that the first thing he says to me is that I’m making ‘moves’ on his friend, on his brother! From the bottom of my heart, Yunho, go fuck yourself.”

You threw the blankets at him and walked off. Your job there was done. You heeded Wooyoung's advice only to have it all blow up in your face, although you weren’t going to fault him for the loose mouth of Jeong Yunho. The roles reversed as your wrist was trapped between Yunho’s slender fingers and the roots of the grass twined around your ankles keeping you in place. The grip tightened as a result of you fighting back, yanking and shaking as if touched by something poisonous.

“Don’t… Don’t go,” he pleaded. “That was stupid of me. I didn’t mean it. I just…”

Lost my cool. Got jealous. Missed you.

“You just what?”

You spun around and a fuming swirl of wind slapped him in the face. The growl ripped out of you drilled shame and guilt into his bones, and although the angry load Yunho carried for weeks evened it out, he couldn’t feel his blood boiling without red tinting his ears.

“I’m talking to you now, am I not? Are you going to answer me or stand there doing nothing, because I really have no issue with going back to you forgetting about my existence. I know I sure won’t have a problem with it.”

“You think I forgot about your existence?” He asked in disbelief, a broken expression lacing his features. “It was the only thing I couldn’t do. I could blame you and think of you as selfish, stupid, reckless, immature, irrational, anything, but you were still there. You occupied my mind every hour of the day, every dream and every nightmare… And when I wasn’t busy…” Yunho paused, seemingly searching for the right word. “Blaming you, I was turning gray from worry. So no, I can’t go back to ‘forgetting about your existence’ because I never did nor could forget about you!”

“Then what was it? You were too busy worrying about me to take a quick peek in the hospital wing? You couldn’t put your hatred aside to ask Nari, Yeosang, Wooyoung or whoever the fuck about my well being? You think I’m going to believe you cared when you couldn’t even show it? That on our first encounter since a month ago you couldn’t even say something simple as ‘Hi’ without looking absolutely shell shocked at my presence. I haven’t forgotten about you my ass, your face told me everything I needed to know.”

“If I fucking forgot about you, would I be dying to do this?”

Yunho stepped forward, determined to show you just how wrong you were. The feel of his hands — large, warm and slightly callused — cupping your cheeks was unexpected. The yelp of surprise died in your throat as he forced your face up to his and slothed his lips against yours. They were as chapped as they usually looked, but soft and carrying a hint of chocolate and whiskey. Your own arms hung limp by your sides, eyes wide and heart thumping against your ribcage. There was nothing besides Yunho, no anger baiting you to clamp down on his lip or a spiral of sadness telling you to push him away. You were completely consumed by him. His scent, touch and taste. It was all just Yunho.

As you failed to respond, he slid his thumb over your cheek and drew back. Before he could get as much as a centimeter of air between your mouths, you latched onto his wrists and lifted your chin to properly meet his lips, and closed your eyes. It was the most beautiful and tender first kiss you had ever shared with anyone before. It was innocent and sweet, a bit rough as you pushed your heads as close to one another until you were on the brink of hurting. You poured your all into it and broke it off as the need for air somehow grew bigger than your need to feel him on you. Chests heaving and lungs burning from the oxygen shortage, you didn’t dare to look away, afraid either of you would disappear.

“I could never forget about you,” Yunho breathed out, his hands gliding down to adorn your neck like a 24-karat gold necklace. His thumbs found your pulse point while his pointer finger caressed your nape in a slow manner, treading lightly on the strand between teasing and adoring.

Words failed you in the moment you needed them the most and to add fuel to the fire, your internal thoughts were a jumbled mess of nothing. You kept replaying the feeling of Yunho’s lips on yours, the heat that prickled your mouth after and how you wanted nothing more than to do it over and over again.

“Please say something.”

Realizing Yunho was as far gone as you was the push of confidence you needed to fulfill your wish. Using more force than intended, you tangled your fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss with mouths smashing and teeth clicking together. It was a stark contrast to the first one; needy, searing and desperate to reciprocate Yunho’s cryptic confession. You took Yunho's bottom lip between yours and worshiped him as if your life depended on it. His hands trailed gently all over you; waist, hips, even daring to give squeezes to your ass. You didn’t know how long you stood there, exploring each other like horny teenagers, but by the time you parted for air — hair messy, lips swollen and glossy, eyes intense with a burning desire — everyone had escaped inside.

The fire was long extinguished, but you were still warm all over and a different kind of flame ignited inside of you, born in your core and pulsed harder each second you weren’t touched by Yunho. The scorching hot butterflies fluttered more violently as his thumb swatted over your bottom lip, spreading the spit — his or yours, it didn’t matter — more, but he stopped as the weight of the situation dawned on him. Jumping right into bed after the agonizingly long weeks of ignoring each other and brewing an irritation that could only be cured by talking didn’t sit right with him.

A pregnant pause filled the space between your spit-swapping action and the beginning of Yunho’s next words.

“I really need you to say something or I’ll go crazy. I don’t think you understand how much you mean to me, so please, say something. Anything.”

“I… You– uh…”

It was so much easier to act than to speak. Why must he torture you? Wasn’t the kiss enough? Didn’t he feel your desperation seeping into his bone and very being? What more did you have to say for him to get it through his head that you were honestly, truly, completely in love with him?

You grabbed his amusingly large hand and placed it on your chest, right over your beating heart. As if feeling Yunho’s touch, the thumps came stronger and quicker. The chance to explain yourself wouldn’t come at a better time than this.

“You mean everything to me, Yunho. That thing back there in the mall? I did it because…”

“Because what?” His whisper was delicate like a summer breeze filtering through your hair and swooshing the seam of your sundress.

“Because I didn’t want you to die. Fuck, I didn’t even care what would happen to me, I just needed you to be safe and– and–”

“What about me?” He interrupted. “Did you even think what it would be like for me if you wouldn’t have made it out of there alive? Watching you hobble out, bloodied and looking more dead than alive hurt like a blade through the heart. I thought I lost you…”

“You didn’t though. I came back. Barely, but I did come back… To be honest with you, I didn’t think I’d affect anyone with my passing. Nari is an exception, but that’s about it. You’ve known them for longer than I have and… I thought it would hurt less if I was the one to go and not you.”

Tears filled his eyes and grew red at the saltiness. Yunho pressed his palms against them and breathed irregularly. Through his soft sobbing, his words came out drenched with disbelief. “How could you say that?! How could you–”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“You can’t say sorry. That’s so fucked, why would you even think like that? Fuck, I felt like dying just looking at your limp body in my arms and you were the one on the verge of death, not me. Yet I couldn’t breathe until I got you to Yeosang.”

Yunho’s cries were loud and it was getting harder to understand him. You think you understood what he meant by feeling the pain of a blade through the heart. You closed the gap and circled your arms around him. He fell into you, his tears soaked through your shirt and his fingers almost tore holes into the material from how hard he was holding on. You rubbed soothing patterns into his back and patiently waited for his crying to subdue with a few reassuring pecks left along his shoulder and collarbone. When the silence was filled with his light sniffles and shuddering breaths, you continued from where you last left off.

“Is that why you didn’t come to visit?”

Yunho nodded and cleared his throat, but his voice was still raspy and muffled from crying and being pressed against your skin.

“I did come. I stayed the whole time you were unconscious, I was right there. That chair might have fucked my back forever, but I vowed not to move until you were stable…”

“I didn’t know,” you lamely admitted.

“I’d kill them. I said, if word got out that I was there, they’d wish a biter got to them before me.”

You cradled Yunho’s face and firmly pried him out from the comfort of your shoulder and directed his focus to your eyes. A watery smile curled your lips as the threat sounded so foreign coming from him. The Yunho who wouldn’t dream of hurting a fly, and who the children adorned and pets seeked out for comfort. Then a snippet of your first encounter flashed before your eyes and you remembered it to be the same Yunho who didn’t think twice when putting a bullet through the head of your perpetrator. Suddenly, the threat sounded more promising.

Yunho grew shy at the intense eye contact and enveloped your hands in his. He ran his thumbs over your knuckles in various patterns to divert the attention elsewhere, a coy trick to easier say what was on his mind without having your beautiful eyes dissecting him for his thoughts.

“I wasn’t angry then either. For those two weeks I felt nothing but fear for your life and it wasn’t until you came back that I let everything wash over me. That’s why I didn’t come after. Because I was so angry with you, but I need you to know I never, never, hated you… There’s another thing too, but it’s stupid.”

“Tell me,” you demanded.

It took a while. He managed to circle a couple of figure eights on the brass skin of your hands before revealing the embarrassing secret that tugged at his heart every night prior to falling asleep.

“You got hurt because you were trying to protect me so I thought, if I wasn’t there– if I wasn’t in your life anymore, you wouldn’t have the need to put yourself at risk for me ever again.”

“You’re so stupid, Yunho. That would never work. You could literally hate me, wish me dead–” You ignored the glare he sent you, “But it wouldn’t matter because I’d do it again, over and over again if it meant you’d be alright.”

Yunho deeply sighed. Your words made him hot and he was trying hard to ignore the heat fluttering inside of him. “Don't say stuff like that, it makes me want to kiss you.”

Always putting others' needs before yours was the path you molded for yourself and reaching for what you wanted wasn’t something that came naturally. But as the stars cheered you on with their soft twinkles of encouragement, you did the unimaginable and connected your souls for the third time that evening. The hour long nights spent talking about one another with the moon as your only witness paid off as she lovingly gazed down on your beautiful rendezvous.

“I guess there’s going to be a lot of kissing then,” you breathed out and moved a few stray hairs out of his eyes.

Since the outbreak started, you never once entertained the idea of finding a romantic connection. Your main focus was providing Nari with a safe future ensuring her a life where she could at least live past the age of thirty. Even if it meant sacrificing a few things. You didn’t realize how miserable you were until you crossed through the gates of Sector One. There was only so much you and Nari could do to quelch each other’s needs. Your start at the new camp was rocky. It was tough, yet you broke through everyone’s prejudice and showed them you weren’t just a suicidal bastard, but a woman with interests and feelings like everyone else. The apocalypse hadn’t erased the person you were before, it just took soft spoken words, gentle touches and a whole lot of understanding for you to come out of hiding.

In the meantime, you’d patiently wait. Maybe the world wouldn’t ever return to what it once was and maybe it would only go further down hill from there, but standing in front of Yunho as his eyes darted all over your face — the challenge of trying to figure out what part of you he wanted to admire the most was impossible to solve — melted away those worries. As long as you were surrounded by people keeping the flame of survival alive, you’d be fine.

366 notes · View notes