Chapter Text
Alex wakes to the soft kiss of a gentle breeze.
A heavy sigh ripples through his chest and he momentarily squeezes his eyes shut in protest against the bright sunlight threatening to invade his vision. Already the soft sheets wrapped securely around his waist feel stifling and the breeze floating through the open window offers little relief, but he makes no attempt to move. Eventually his eyes creep open and he blinks the sleep from them, allowing his gaze to linger on pale white curtains swaying in the wind, offering occasional glimpses of a cloudless blue sky beyond his untouched haven. In spite of the threatening heat as the sun rises higher, the urge to get up refuses to take hold. Besides a sheen of sweat coating his tanned skin, he feels perfectly content to lie here for the moment; his limbs still heavy from sleep as he’s weighed down by a warm body sprawled across his back.
The soft, even breaths tickling his neck imply that his partner remains deep in slumber. Alex finds himself held in place by a lone arm draped across his torso as a warm hand rests directly over his beating heart. He wonders if Miles had felt the momentary race of his pulse as the usual uncertainty over where he would find himself upon waking took hold, but his panic has since quietened and Miles remains out like a light. Waking him at this point would feel rather rude, so Alex settles for interlocking their fingers and stroking the smooth skin of Miles’ hand with his thumb instead. No matter how uncomfortable they are likely to become in the growing heat, he knows he will stay put until Miles wakes up. It has become an unspoken rule in the weeks since they found each other; whoever awakens first will still be there to greet the other when they finally emerge from sleep. Usually it’s Alex who wakes to Miles’ gentle smile and crinkled gaze, but he always relishes the opportunity to return the favour.
There has only been one occasion where he woke to find the other side of the bed empty and cold, and the terror which gripped him then had been immobilising. It had still been early days - at a point where Alex was constantly waiting for reality to splinter under the weight of his happiness - and against all logic, he’d allowed himself to believe that Miles had been snatched from his arms once again. Blood had drained from his skull only to be replaced with ice, and his breaths had come thick and fast as he curled in on himself like a child. That was how Miles found him barely ten minutes later; locked inside his own head and unable to move out of sheer mind-numbing grief. Only the tenderness of Miles cradling him close to his chest, stroking the sweaty curls back from his forehead while uttering gentle assurances of, “I’m here, I’m right here love, I’m sorry, I should never have left…” succeeded in pulling Alex back from the brink, by which point both their cheeks were stained with tears.
Alex wipes the memory from his mind, burying any shame at how easily he had crumbled out of fear. They’ve learned their lesson since then. In contrast to the cold terror which claimed him on that particular morning, all he feels now is a warm contentment which keeps him pliant in Miles’ arms.
His gaze drifts to the window and he momentarily wonders when it was opened. It certainly wasn’t left like that overnight. No matter how distracted they tend to become when the moon makes her ascent, neither of them are suicidal enough to leave themselves exposed to the elements. Doing so would only subject them to an icy chill once thought unthinkable in Los Angeles, but which has become an accepted reality in the years since the world fell apart.
The days bring the opposite problem. By the time midday rolls around, the beating sun will undoubtedly be so fierce as to melt the tarmac on long deserted highways and suck all moisture from the brittle grassland. Only the first light of dawn and the violet sunsets bring any form of relief, unless one takes a trip to the coast and dives headfirst beneath the blissfully cool waves.
Alex finally concludes that Miles must have roused once the heat started to become more suffocating than precious; summoning enough energy to stumble to the window and open the latch, before draping himself over Alex like an overlong blanket. The thought sends a sweet ache through his heart, and he squeezes the hand clasped in his own, relishing the pleased sigh Miles releases in his sleep.
He can vividly remember the first time the harshness of the nightly chill became apparent. Once the adrenaline from their horseback trek along the beach fled his veins, Alex had become all-too-aware of the feeble protection his shirt provided as an icy wind sliced through his skin. His muscles had grown taut and numb as violent shivers racked his frame, and under the neon lights of Matt’s jacket he’d watched his breath evaporate into white fog the instant it passed his lips. He’d been forced to imprison Matt in a crushing grip, for fear his weakening limbs would fail him and he’d collapse from Midnight’s back in an inelegant heap.
The proximity had forced him to realise that Matt was also caught in the throes of harsh shivers. Even Midnight was flagging, slowing to an unsteady trot as she whickered unhappily, incapable of being comforted by Matt’s gentle apologies. All the while the moon hung overhead, mocking Alex with visions of a warm bed and a steam-infused sauna. A harsh laugh had escaped him as he realised he was destined to freeze to death mere hours after arriving home. All those apocalyptic visions of black smoke clogging his lungs had done little to prepare him for the eventuality that bitter cold could be equally terrifying.
After what felt like an agonising stretch of hours in which Alex’s eyelids had started to flag, he’d been roused by a sudden movement from Matt followed by a weak declaration of “Look!”
Alex lifted his head with painstaking effort, following the line from Matt’s extended finger towards whatever spark of hope had reinvigorated him. It took several exaggerated blinks to clear the bleary film from his eyes. Even then, the coastline appeared to consist of little more than punishing darkness, but before long he spotted what had caught Matt’s eye. A lone flicker of golden light loomed on the horizon, dancing within what appeared to be a floating black square.
As Matt guided Midnight onwards along an overgrown path, Alex started to make out the silhouettes of small wooden cabins lined up along the shore. Any distinguishing features morphed before his eyes as darkness battled for dominance against the moon’s ivory glow. Only one cabin appeared to be occupied of the five that Alex could make out, judging by the firelight dancing in the steamy window. As they drew ever closer, it became clear that the buildings were once rentable holiday homes, likely consisting of a single room and little else, but their oak exteriors offered a taste of shelter from the chill. In that moment, the promise of warmth was so sweet that Alex could have cried.
Matt drew them to a halt with a swift tug of the reins and slid from Midnight’s back, offering Alex a hand down which did little to prevent him from stumbling on trembling legs as he dismounted. With his feet back on solid ground, Alex took the opportunity to study the cabins more closely. On further inspection, the protection they offered appeared to be less secure than he might have hoped. The sleek oak exteriors seemed flimsy in the fading light, consisting of the same material as the creaky verandas guarding each entrance. The thatched roofs looked like they might collapse in the wake of a particularly stiff breeze, and every whistle of icy wind was accompanied by the rattling of windows in narrow frames.
Only the flickering glow from within the nearest cabin promised any illusion of warmth. Despite the bone-deep chill settling upon his bones, Alex found that the shifting light bathing his and Matt’s faces as they crept closer was enough to melt some of the ice on its own. His lungs still burned with every frosty inhale and he unconsciously sought out Matt’s hand in search of precious warmth, but for the first time since the cold had made itself evident, the prospect of freezing to death no longer seemed like a guarantee.
Not sensing the need to be quiet, Midnight shattered the stillness with a stubborn huff which had Alex leaping out of his skin. His newfound terror didn’t have time to abate when another sound invaded his senses; the unmistakable sound of footfalls landing upon a creaky floor. His anxiety must have been pathetically evident, for Matt had given his hand a gentle squeeze before edging closer to the entrance, just in time to be bathed in a warm glow as the door was thrust open with a mechanical whine.
“George?”
A raspy voice dripping with age and several decades of cigarette use emerged from the cabin’s sole occupant, his outline a dark, imposing silhouette against a warm backdrop. “Tha’ you back?”
Beside him, Alex watched Matt steel himself with a deep breath before advancing further into the light, revealing himself to the stranger.
“Afraid not,” he admitted sheepishly, appearing smaller than usual while still retaining an element of self-assuredness. More successfully than Alex anyway, whose tongue appeared to have been swallowed by the numbing chill. “My name’s Matthew. This is my friend, Alex. We, er, got a bit lost as you’ve probably guessed.”
The stranger studied them intently for several seconds, an air of distrust pouring off him in waves and threatening to drown Alex under its weight. As his eyes adjusted to the new burst of light, he found that the man appeared to be in his sixties, with a shock of white hair and an impressive beard sprouting from grizzled, sunburnt cheeks. He was clearly better prepared for the cold than they were, a fact which seemed to amuse him as he scanned their comparatively skimpy outfits in turn. A thick, sheepskin jacket sat atop what appeared to be several layers of undershirts, adding an intimidating bulk to his frame, while his lower half was guarded by tartan trousers and a pair of walking boots which had been liberally caked in mud. A woolen hat concealed the upper half of his forehead, covering his ears so that only the pink lobes were visible, and a streak of jealousy threatened to overcome Alex as he wrapped his own flimsy coat around his shivering frame.
As imposing as their host appeared at first glance, however, any sense of danger melted in a heartbeat as amusement glinted in deep blue eyes and his cheeks lifted into what might have been a smile. It was hard to tell underneath the thick beard.
“Figured you’d go for a ride in the dead of night, did ya?” he asked, voice layered with mirth. He followed this up with a shake of his head as though silently decrying the stupidity of youth. Given that he was likely a far greater expert on the current state of the climate, Alex kept his mouth shut even as a blush crept across his cheeks. “I’m sure I’ve heard stupider ideas but there aren’t many.”
“We’d hoped to find shelter earlier,” Matt said, playing along with surprising ease as a weak smile stretched across his lips. “We’re both a little… out of sorts, I guess you could say. We were wondering if-”
“Yeah yeah, ya can come in,” the stranger said flippantly, waving a dismissive hand which instantly silenced any excuses Matt may have prepared. His unprompted invitation left both Matt and Alex dumbfounded in its wake, and despite the allure of the warm cabin, neither could move a muscle even as they continued to freeze in the subzero temperatures. Eventually their host grew tired of waiting, braving the chill himself to step forward and yank Matt inside the cabin, which in turn dragged Alex along with him. “Come on now or you’ll let all the heat out! I’ll get yer horse settled in one o’ the other cabins, don’t want her to catch a chill either.”
They found themselves guided into a toasty living space, with a crackling fire blazing within an ash-stained log burner and a pair of twin beds lined up along the back wall. True to his word, their host shut the door behind him, leaving them alone for a moment. Behind the thick oak door, Alex could hear his muffled instructions to Midnight as he patiently guided her towards shelter. Casting an eye over Matt revealed that he was equally stunned by this stroke of luck, but they recovered quickly and started to explore their temporary shelter.
The cabin resembled a hoarder’s paradise. A tiny kitchenette revealed cupboards packed to the gills with unopened cans and tins of everything from peaches to sardines, while a large pot rested upon a camping stove with its contents bubbling away. Sealed packs of bottled water were stacked floor to ceiling, while a pile of stuffed rucksacks and well-worn fishing equipment lay in a corner. The flickering flames offered the only source of light – no doubt the overhead bulbs hadn’t been functional in years – but the ethereal orange glow they cast over every corner of the room had an instant calming effect; the warmth sending a sharp ache through Alex’s limbs as blood began to flow to his previously neglected extremities. Matt was eyeing the impressive stockpile with what appeared to be a mix of jealousy and hunger, and Alex could feel his own stomach clench as the aroma of warm soup wafted from the bubbling pot.
Their momentary respite was interrupted by a harsh chill which sliced through to the very marrow of Alex’s bones. He couldn’t contain a violent shiver as their host threw open the door and clambered back inside, securing the locks in record time and vigorously rubbing his hands with a loud huff once the cold was finally banished. The man’s plump cheeks were pinched and his fingers seemed almost grey in the flickering light, only regaining colour when he marched over to the log burner and let his hands hover over the open flames. Alex suddenly became aware of the frostbite nipping at his own fingers and he shoved them beneath his armpits in a desperate bid to regain perfusion, still shivering despite the cabin’s warmth. It occurred to him that he and Matt had barely moved a muscle, feeling too awkward to offer even mindless small talk, and he could feel his cheeks going red when the stranger turned to them with one bushy brow raised in expectation.
“That’s yer girl secured,” he declared, his voice harsh with age but welcoming all the same. Seemingly satisfied that his fingers weren’t going to blacken and fall off, he rose from his perch and grabbed a couple of narrow stools which had been stacked in the corner. Alex watched as the man laid them out by the fire, before turning to face his guests and gesturing to the seats as though speaking to a pair of children. “Make yerselves at home, ya must be freezin’. I’ve got some chowder on the boil, I can pour ya some if yer hungry. Made it myself but I won’ mind if ya don’t like it. George certainly doesn’t.”
The offer didn’t appear to be an optional one. The man marched over to the kitchen, dwarfing Alex and Matt’s skinny frames as he passed them, and lifted the lid from the pot before giving its contents a stir. Much as Alex would have preferred a good arrabiata as his homecoming meal over what appeared to be a mishmash of leftover fish, his mouth watered in anticipation regardless as a surprisingly pleasant aroma reached his nostrils. After a small taste which seemingly assured their host that the dish had been warmed to his satisfaction, he set out a couple of wooden bowls and spooned a generous dollop of chowder into each one, before handing one to Matt and the other to Alex. Both uttered a grateful “thank you” before gathering a couple of spoons and settling themselves upon the assigned chairs.
For the first time all evening, Alex allowed himself to exhale with relief as the bowl’s contents warmed his hands and the heat from the flames washed over him like a gentle wave. At least if their host turned out to be a psychopathic murderer, he could say that he died comfortable.
Nobody spoke for a while. Alex settled for simply cradling his steaming bowl, softly blowing on it now and then to pass the time. Matt had no such reservations apparently, for as soon as the first hesitant sip passed his lips, his hunger awoke with wild abandon. He wolfed down the rest with an eagerness that might have been impolite had their host not been so obviously pleased by his appreciation. Said host quickly set about shedding several layers of jackets and shirts as the cabin finally achieved a comfortable temperature, before pouring himself a bowl and wandering over to join them by the fire, settling on the edge of one of the twin beds.
Once his hunger became too unbearable to resist, Alex allowed himself a small taste of soup only to close his eyes with a pleased groan as the creamy flavour overwhelmed his senses. Whether the dish was genuinely that good or whether it was simply hunger talking, he couldn’t say, but it didn’t take long before he too was massacring his bowl like a boisterous child.
“The name’s Jeremiah by the way,” their host announced calmly as he tucked into his own dinner with considerably more restraint. Kindly blue eyes lifted to acknowledge the pair of dumbstruck intruders, and Alex suddenly found himself transported back to childhood visits to his grandparents’ house. “You said yer names were Matthew and Alexander?”
“Just Alex is fine. Only me mum calls me Alexander,” Alex interjected, finding himself distracted once more as he fought to scrape the final dregs from the edge of his bowl. At this point he was half-certain that licking it clean was no longer beneath him, so great was his hunger. He yearned to ask for more, only to realise that such a luxury was likely to be heavily rationed in this new world.
“Well,” Jeremiah said, a half-smile pulling at his lips as his eyes blazed with mirth. “It’s nice to meet ya, Just Alex. Don’ get the chance to meet many strangers these days.”
There was so much that Alex suddenly wanted to ask him. Questions filled his brain to the point of overflowing and spilling out of his ears. He wanted to know just how rare an occurrence it was to run into another human being in this day and age. He wanted to know how long it had been since the fires had ravaged the city and scorched the earth. He wanted to know every detail of Jeremiah’s life and how he managed to build what appeared to be a relatively comfortable existence in the middle of nowhere. He wanted to know if Jeremiah knew anything about Murphy; if he could offer any explanations behind the creature who stole Alex away from reality for what must have been several years at least.
The words danced on his tongue but refused to emerge, his mind too indecisive over what he should ask first. By the time he managed to arrange his thoughts in a somewhat logical order, the moment had passed; Jeremiah had finished his own meal and was busying himself with collecting their bowls and stacking them by the sink. Silence continued to permeate the cabin, broken only by the crackling logs on the fire. One look over to Matt demonstrated that he was equally dazed, eyes fixed to a spot on the floor as his body sagged with exhaustion. They would both need to rest soon, though it struck Alex with a jolt that Jeremiah had yet to offer that particular comfort.
Before he could so much as open his mouth to ask if they could stay a little longer, a harsh rapping against the door had him leaping out his skin with a muffled curse. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he could feel his heart pounding against his chest as the blows echoed throughout the cabin. Jeremiah showed no such fear at the intrusion. If anything, he looked relieved. As the blows continued to hammer against the oak and a muffled voice emerged from outside, Jeremiah gathered his coat and haphazardly threw it over his bulky frame, before meticulously unfastening the locks and pulling the door towards him.
A rush of cold air invaded their haven, though the effect was mediated somewhat by Alex’s proximity to the flames. He barely had time to shiver before the chill was banished behind a thick door and rusty locks. In its place stood a new stranger decked out in thermals. A woolen hat and scarf concealed his features from view and a packed rucksack added an intimidating bulk to his frame. The presence of the latter seemingly wasn’t enough to discourage Jeremiah from pulling him into a firm hug; nor did the loaded shotgun cradled in the man’s arm act as any form of deterrent against their host’s warm welcome.
The weapon was set aside swiftly, much to Alex’s relief. The new arrival settled it gently against the wooden counter, before shedding his many layers in a meticulous fashion. His rucksack was dumped on the counter first, a loud rattle accompanying its descent, before the hat and scarf were similarly discarded, followed by a thick waterproof coat and leather gloves. Over time, a gruff, lined face was unveiled, with chapped lips tugged down into a permanent frown and grey irises squinting against the sudden brightness. Balding grey hair had been cropped short and the man lacked the full beard that Jeremiah had adopted, electing instead for a salt and pepper grizzle which did little to hide the fierce sunburn on his cheeks.
“Sorry Jerry, had to detour around that damn pack of coyotes again,” the man said with a heavy sigh, gratefully accepting the unopened bottle of water thrust at him by Jeremiah before gulping half of it down in one go.
It struck Alex that this must be the elusive George. The man had yet to acknowledge their presence and Alex couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably on his stool, feeling like a child caught in an elaborate game of hide and seek. His discomfort did not appear to be unwarranted, for when George’s eyes finally did land upon him, his expression darkened and his frown became impossibly deeper.
“Speaking of which, I see you’ve been bringing in strays.”
“Ah, don’ be like that George,” Jeremiah teased, turning to regard his stunned guests with his characteristic warmth. Looking at the duo was like seeing night and day personified in a pair of grizzled pensioners. “They mean no harm. Jus’ need a place to stay for the night.”
George scoffed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. If anything, it made Alex wonder if braving the cold would be preferable to spending a night in the man’s company. Something about the sheer disdain buried in his pale eyes reminded him of Murphy, and despite the nearby flames, he was unable to contain a shiver.
That minute action drew George’s attention towards him specifically, and Alex could feel himself shrink under the weight of his gaze. His eyes were drawn to the discarded shotgun and he couldn’t help but wonder if George was currently enjoying the mental image of emptying its contents into his face. His expression seemed to be suggesting as much, though Alex was willing to believe that that was merely projection on his part. Unless his judgement of character was way off base, a man as good-natured as Jeremiah did not strike Alex as the type to willingly bunk up with a killer.
The moment passed. George huffed another weary sigh before shedding the last of his thermals, revealing only a white vest underneath which showcased impressively muscular arms for a man of his age. The freedom from his gaze had Alex releasing a sigh of relief. One glance at Matt assured him that he too had been left daunted by the attention, for his blue eyes had suddenly become very alert and were warily following George’s every action.
“We could do without having more mouths to feed,” George hissed at Jeremiah, just loudly enough for Matt and Alex to hear. No doubt that was intentional on his part.
He set about unzipping the rucksack ruthlessly, digging through its contents before freeing a small tin and chucking it in their direction without a word of warning. Despite his earlier daze, Matt’s arm shot out with impressive speed and intercepted the object mid-flight, turning it in his hand to reveal a faded tin of peach slices. Alex’s stomach unleashed another traitorous growl at the sight.
“Might as well make a start on draining our resources if you’re staying,” George said, not bothering to look at them as he poured himself a helping of the chowder he supposedly detested. In contrast, Jeremiah visibly brightened at his friend’s sudden acquiescence. “You’ll be sleeping on the floor mind you, and if I hear one complaint you can brave the cold instead.”
The thought of arguing hadn’t even crossed Alex’s mind. So great was his exhaustion that he’d willingly have slept standing in the corner if George demanded it. His tongue seemed to have acquired the consistency of sandpaper, but Matt came to the rescue and uttered his thanks in Alex’s stead, before tearing the lid from the can and diving in with fervour. Two peach slices had already been shoved into his mouth before he remembered that Alex was still sitting beside him, and he offered the can with a certain degree of reluctance.
Alex took him up on the offer gratefully, claiming a small handful of slimy peaches before shoving them into his mouth with an eagerness that would have made his poor mum cringe. The texture was mushier than anticipated, but Alex was in no position to complain as sweet juices exploded in his mouth with every bite. He and Matt passed the tin back and forth between themselves until only a puddle of juice remained at the bottom, which Alex stared at mournfully before gulping it down with a shrug.
The warm air of the cabin seemed to have rendered all of its occupants soft and sleepy. It wasn’t long before Jeremiah started fussing about, opening cupboards left and right and laying down everything from thin sheets to jackets to create a somewhat comfortable cocoon for Matt and Alex. He dutifully laid a few more logs onto the glowing embers and stoked the flames until they rose tall once more, promising a couple more hours of relief before the cold would permeate their haven. George offered them no such devotion, electing to retire to bed as soon as he’d swallowed the last of his soup. Not that Alex could complain; he got the impression that conversation with George would not end well and that, by ignoring them, the man had spared them all a world of awkwardness.
Once Jeremiah had collapsed upon his own bed - his deep snores bouncing off the cabin walls - Alex laid down on their makeshift nest and found himself staring at the ceiling. The thin layers of fabric did little to spare his back from the harsh wooden floor underneath, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Exhaustion had wormed its way into every cell in his body. His eyes fluttered constantly no matter how hard he fought to keep them open, and already his breathing was settling into a steady, rhythmic pattern which indicated that sleep was approaching.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d properly slept. It occurred to him that his day had technically started in Room 521; that he’d awoken in his four-poster bed and wandered along crumbling hotel corridors only this morning. Unless time worked differently in the hotel and those memories were actually from years ago. It wouldn’t surprise him if they were; his memories of the hotel seemed as untouchable now as the memories of the events which landed him there in the first place. Any hopes that time spent wandering among the real world would bring clarity to his fate remained unrewarded. No matter how hard he tried to focus his mind, everything that arose after his hand slipped from Miles’s grasp remained lost behind a black void.
He turned onto his side to find Matt in a similar predicament. His blue eyes were staring upwards at nothing in particular, hands clasped loosely over his stomach as though preparing for sleep which refused to come. He looked knackered. The clothes which had once made him appear larger-than-life now dwarfed him, and Alex became acutely aware of the dark shadows under his eyes and the pallor in his cheeks. He couldn’t help but wonder where Matt had awoken that morning. Had his day been as punishingly endless as Alex’s? Had he also been dragged from one reality to another less than twenty-four hours ago? Perhaps with enough persuasion, Matt would be willing to tell him one day.
Sensing that he was currently trapped under Alex’s gaze, Matt took a deep breath before turning to face him with a weak smile which Alex returned to the best of his ability. For a moment they simply basked in the heat blanketing their bodies and the crackling of the flames and the sound of Jeremiah’s snores filling the cabin. The idea of having a roof over their heads had seemed so impossible mere hours ago, let alone the prospect of encountering fellow survivors with food and shelter on offer. Though Alex couldn’t bring himself to relinquish a sense of apprehension over one of their gracious hosts.
“Do you think we can trust ‘im?” he whispered, voice so low that even he barely heard it.
A weak smirk from Matt implied that he hardly needed to specify which member of the duo he was talking about.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” he admitted with a shrug, eyes darting in the direction of the sleeping bodies as though worried they might overhear.
They both remained still for several seconds, as though waiting for the world to end. Alex’s mind filled with visions of George lying awake and eavesdropping on them, combing through their words for any excuse to justify reaching for his precious shotgun. A loud sneeze followed by a set of softer snores eventually served to reassure him that the man’s distrust did not run that deep, however.
“Suppose not,” Alex conceded, before finding himself overtaken by an exaggerated yawn which temporarily knocked the breath from his lungs and reduced his vision to a blurry mess. Message received, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut as he gathered an old leather jacket around his torso and uttered a barely-there, “’Night Matt.”
“Goodnight Al,” Matthew whispered in return, though by that point Alex had already surrendered to a dreamless slumber.
Chapter Text
Alex awoke to the sight of gentle sunbeams drifting through the window, highlighting floating dust motes as golden light cascaded towards the floorboards.
It was as warm as the clear skies outside would suggest. The logs residing in the extinguished burner had been reduced to mere blackened husks surrounded by papery strips of ash. Judging by the growing discomfort caused by the many layers covering Alex’s frame, the warmth they once provided was no longer an urgent necessity.
It took a couple of seconds for his surroundings to make sense. The unfamiliar sights and smells of the seaside cabin left him drifting in confusion, unable to remember how he wound up sleeping on the floor among a pile of sweaty bedsheets. It was only when his subconscious noted a rather significant absence that the events of yesterday resurfaced with a jolt, and he found himself torn between slipping back into a dreamless slumber and lurching to his feet in search of Matt.
Because Matt should have been there, shouldn’t he? A scattered mess of tangled bedsheets remained in the spot where he had been lying last night, but when Alex placed a hand upon their surface he found that they had grown cold. The cabin remained quiet with the exception of occasional footfalls as someone pottered about behind him, but they sounded far too heavy to belong to Matt. On top of that, Matt’s lurid jacket had been left in a heap atop the pile of sheets, the mass of LED panels dim and lifeless in the absence of power. Alex knew, or he assumed he did, that if Matt had any intention of leaving then he would have woken him first, but much as he tried, he could not remember any attempts to rouse him.
The growing heat was getting to him. Alex groaned in discomfort as he became acutely aware of the sweat gluing his jeans to his thighs, and he kicked wildly at the sheets which had entrapped him overnight. The downside of lying on a firm wooden surface with little padding made itself evident as he sat up, noting every new ache across his body with a groan as the room span in the wake of his sudden movements. Only when the world stilled and the nausea settled in his gut did he acknowledge that he appeared to be the last one up. The only person remaining in the cabin besides himself was a well-rested Jeremiah who - despite being at least two decades older than Alex - appeared to have more energy in that moment than the younger man could dream of having.
Jeremiah had noticed his tortuous awakening, if the amusement glinting in his eyes was any indication. Alex’s discomfort must have been clear as day, for the older man immediately wandered towards the stockpile of water and freed one bottle before chucking it in Alex’s direction. The action was followed by the suggestive rise of a finger to Jeremiah’s lips, leaving Alex with the distinct impression that his partner would hardly appreciate this gratuitous sharing of supplies.
Not that George appeared to be here either.
Alex barely had time to be thankful for George’s absence, for his attention was immediately drawn to the precious bottle in his hands. It occurred to him that his sluggish, pseudo-hungover state could have more to do with the fact that his mouth was as dry as a desert than he’d previously appreciated. Without a second thought, he ripped the lid from the bottle and gulped as much of the lukewarm water as he could manage in one go. He could hear a distant chuckle over the sound of liquid cascading down his throat, but any self-consciousness over what he must look like left him in an instant. He was parched and sore and far too overheated for comfort, and he’d emerged less than twenty-four hours ago onto a planet that had been ruined beyond repair. Shame was hardly an emotion he had the energy to experience.
The bottle was completely drained in record time, and Alex closed his eyes in quiet satisfaction for a moment. Only upon opening them again did he remember what had roused him with such urgency, and he cast his eyes around the cabin as though Matt could somehow be concealed within its walls. The sheer impossibility of this notion became obvious quickly, given how small their living space was, but even the outside world seemed far too quiet for his liking.
George’s absence was equally unexplained, and Alex started to wonder if the two were linked. Much as he liked and implicitly trusted Jeremiah, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy about George. The man had made no secret of his dislike for strangers the second he set eyes upon the pair of newcomers. At one point his manner had even evoked echoes of Murphy, which was hardly a marker of good character in Alex’s book. Admittedly, he knew that Matt had encountered and ultimately defeated worse foes than a grumpy middle-aged man, but it appeared that finding himself exposed to this unfamiliar world had taken hold of Alex’s nerves and dialled them up to eleven.
A fact which must have been blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes.
“Yer boy’s alright, don’t you worry,” Jeremiah announced out of the blue, chuckling with mirth when Alex turned to him, wide-eyed and more than a little frazzled. Mornings had never been his strong suit, and this one was proving to be especially strenuous. Jeremiah, on the other hand, looked perfectly serene - or as serene as a grizzled survivor could look anyway. He had been in the process of strapping himself into a pair of thick walking boots before Alex’s panic had become too blatant to ignore.
“George was all fer kickin’ ya out, but yer friend made a case fer ya hangin’ around and earnin’ yer keep,” Jeremiah explained further, heaving a sigh at the mention of his partner’s lack of hospitality. Alex felt a sliver of fear creep up his spine at the prospect of having to leave their newfound shelter so soon, followed by a spark of gratitude over the fact that Matt had apparently wrangled his way out of an early eviction. “I woulda been happy with ya stayin’ regardless, but a little extra help would be nice I s’pose. They headed off about an hour ago. George always likes ta head out before the sun grows fierce.”
“Oh,” was all Alex could say, unsure whether he should feel reassured or not. At least he finally had an explanation for Matt’s whereabouts, though he imagined it would be easier to take comfort from that if he hadn’t been paired with the very man who’d wandered into the cabin wielding a shotgun last night.
The unspoken implications of Matt’s bargaining tactics weren’t lost on him either. “Take it I’m joining you then?”
His phrasing made him come across as far more reluctant than intended, though if Jeremiah took any offence, he was gracious enough not to show it.
“Only if ya fancy it,” the older man said with a bashful shrug. Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he could detect a trace of disappointment in the man’s otherwise cheerful tone, and an uncomfortable sense of guilt coiled in his gut. “Ya could always cook dinner or give the place a bit o’ a scrub if you’d prefer?”
The proposal was almost tempting. Casting a glance around the cabin was enough to assure Alex that the place was hardly in need of an intensive cleaning session, and no doubt he could whip up something edible from the extensive stockpile of canned goods their hosts had amassed. Staying here on his own would give him time to unwind. Time to breathe. He could take a stroll across the beach and let his body sink beneath the waves, just for a little while, until any trace of lingering doubt vanished from his mind and he allowed himself to accept the fact that he had made it home.
Only, the longer he dwelled on it, the more obvious it became that spending the day alone would be a terrible idea. In Jeremiah’s company, he would at least be provided with a distraction. Someone to bounce conversation off of; someone who could offer valuable information about this world which had become so alien to him. The alternative would inevitably result in his mind subjecting him to cruel imaginings regarding the fates of his loved ones, and he knew full well that his sanity was hanging by a thread as it was. Subjecting himself to loneliness was not a good idea right now, no matter how enticing the notion may seem at first glance.
“Best not,” Alex conceded, masking his inner turmoil behind a weak smile. “Me mates always say I’m hopeless at cookin’. Doubt me mum ever rated my cleaning skills either, come to think of it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeremiah said with a faint chuckle, wearing an expression so carefree that his eyes were practically twinkling. He broke eye contact for only a moment, as he gathered together an old hiking rucksack and a pair of ancient fishing rods, before turning his attention back to Alex. “You ever been crab-fishin’, lad?”
He had. Bitter melancholy cascaded over him as the question transported him to seaside holidays from his youth; back to lazy afternoons sat by rocky piers as his dad patiently taught him the process of fishing for crabs. As he remembered it, he always found the venture exciting for a solid half-hour, before deciding that his bucket was better-suited to building sandcastles on the nearby beach. Of all the things to be consumed by nostalgia for, he’d hardly expected crab-fishing to be one of them, but he supposed in this day and age he was doomed to become wistful about every aspect of his former life.
“Once or twice,” Alex admitted eventually. “Not since I were a kid though.”
“That’s alright,” Jeremiah said, beaming. “I ain’t had the chance to show someone the ropes for a while. Could be fun.”
With that said, he gathered his equipment together and disappeared out the door, leaving Alex on the floor with sleep clinging to his eyes and what was likely a serious case of bed-head. It struck him that Jeremiah may have expected him to follow, and with some reluctance he rose to his feet, pointedly ignoring the growl emanating from his stomach. Some food would hardly go amiss before setting off on what promised to be an intensive trip, nor would the chance to shed his sweat-stained clothes. He would not be surprised if such luxuries were denied, however. Judging by the bright sunlight beyond the window, he had likely wasted a significant chunk of the morning already, and he would no doubt be pushing his luck if he attempted to bargain for more time.
Or so he thought. While in the process of shedding his cotton jacket, Alex started as Jeremiah popped his head in the door once again with a jovialness which seemed as instinctive to him as breathing.
“You grab some breakfast now,” he ordered. While Alex doubted the man had the ability to sound stern, his tone was firm enough to convey that the demand was far from optional. Jeremiah motioned towards the extensive food stockpile with a quirk of his head – the ‘take what you like’ remaining unspoken – before pointing towards a narrow cupboard which rested beside one of the neatly-made beds. “If yer wanting a change a’ clothes, there’ll be some in that cupboard there. Can’t promise we’ll have any in yer size, but maybe you’ll get lucky. Just grab me outside when yer ready and we’ll head out together, sound like a plan?”
Once again, Alex found himself struck dumb by the man’s generosity, and all he could offer in response was a single nod. This seemed to suffice, for Jeremiah returned the action with a cheerful grin before disappearing again, whistling a jaunty tune as he went. Alex’s eyes remained pinned to the door for only a moment, until he grew tired of standing awkwardly in the middle of the room like a startled deer. Feeling empowered by Jeremiah’s offer, he made quick work of filling his belly with leftover soup and rifling through the assorted mass of clothes which had been stored away, searching for something which didn’t carry an overpowering stench of sweat.
The heat was already beginning to grow uncomfortable by the time they headed off. Alex had settled for a crumpled cotton shirt which felt more like a tunic on his slight frame, while choosing to keep his torn jeans in favour of the gaudy oversized shorts which served as his only alternative. Overhead, the sun gradually made her ascent as a colony of gulls circled the gentle waters below, squawking shrilly in vague perturbation. Treading along the sandy path towards town felt like wading through hot treacle; the air so stifling that only the breeze offered any reprieve.
Alex was grateful for the bottles of water Jeremiah had packed in his rucksack, though he knew deep down that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself once he took that initial desperate sip. Perhaps if the agenda for the day really did involve sitting by the shore fishing for crabs, he could fling himself into the cool waters once the heat became unbearable. It was already consuming all of his willpower to avoid sprinting towards the waves as they drew closer to the smoking remnants of an abandoned resort.
The trail eventually led onto a vast car-park which stemmed from what was once a rich seaside promenade. Only two vehicles remained, strewn haphazardly across fading white lines on the cracked tarmac. No doubt they had been rotting there for years, judging by the shattered windows and rust-eaten exteriors; any attempt to drive them now would be the ultimate exercise in futility.
Jeremiah led him onwards, the route ahead seemingly memorised. Alex held his tongue as they wandered along a road lined with blackened, long-dead palm trees and gutted stores which sported naïve signs declaring a temporary closure. Though there was no sign of active fires, the smell of smoke lingered heavily in the air as they passed the ruins of what must once have been a bustling resort, accompanied by another, fouler stench which Alex could not place. Occasionally they would pass by abandoned cars or overturned buses, but no evidence of humanity remained even in the form of charred corpses. Alex had steeled himself to endure that much at least, but it would appear that fate had decided to spare him from that sight.
Not that the remains of his old home were any better. Alex had known this walkway once. During their earlier trips to LA, he had strolled along the seafront with Jamie and Matt by his side, nibbling on ice-cream and joking that moving out here wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. The city had seemed so exciting and untouchable then; an exaggerated form of reality which didn’t play by the same rules as the rest of the universe.
Those qualities clearly hadn’t protected it from being reduced to a burning husk.
He was grateful when Jeremiah finally steered him away from the shattered resort, strolling towards the sandy beach instead. Their journey ultimately led them onto an elevated wooden pier which stretched beyond the shoreline and into the depths of the water. The structure creaked awkwardly with every footfall as they strolled towards the far end, and Alex allowed himself to breathe again as the thick stench of smoke made way for the tang of salt. The sun remained as punishing as ever but her effects were dulled, somewhat, by a cool sea breeze which ruffled his hair and kissed his sunburnt cheeks. As they approached the very end of the pier, Alex gazed into the lapping waves below and grinned as he envisioned himself diving beneath the surface and letting the cold seep into his bones.
His guide promptly got to work setting up their equipment, content to let Alex watch as he talked him through each step. A rudimentary fishing line was shoved into Alex’s hands with the hook dangling precariously from a flimsy piece of string, before Jeremiah dug through his rucksack and freed a partially squashed tin of sardines. Jeremiah wasted no time peeling the tin open and tearing one of the unfortunate sardines into two, skewering one half onto the hook of his own line before handing the other to Alex and informing him to do the same. Alex obeyed, managing not to screw up his face at the texture as he cracked a wistful joke over the days his dad would tell him to use bacon instead. Jeremiah simply guffawed, before informing him plainly that if - by some miracle - they ever stumbled upon edible bacon again, the crabs sure as hell weren’t getting a slice.
“Right, just pop the line in the water there,” Jeremiah ordered once they were ready, leaning over the wooden barrier to cast his line into the waters below. Alex did the same, keeping his distance so as not to get their lines caught in a tangle. The hook dipped beneath the surface with a subtle splash, the waters just murky enough to conceal it from view. “Crabs have a good sense a’ smell, they’ll latch on quick. Once ya feel ‘em tuggin’, ya pull ‘em up gently. Keep yer hand steady now, or the damn things’ll smash against the pier and escape.”
Alex nodded and turned his head towards the drifting line, waiting for evidence of a subtle tug. Memories of boyhood holidays by the seafront flooded back to him as his attention was consumed by the shifting waves. He recalled his father feeding him instructions in the same, easygoing manner that Jeremiah himself had adopted. He remembered the excitement of pulling on the line and spotting a crab dangling on the end. He remembered gathering his prizes in a bucket and carrying them from the pier to the shore, only to tip the bucket onto its side and watch as his crabs raced towards the waves; cheering on his favourites and ultimately chastising them when they dawdled. Alex doubted that any catches today would be so lucky. Childish games hardly had a place in the world anymore.
Soon enough, Alex began to experimentally raise his line only to find unlucky crabs nibbling at the remains embedded on the hook. Following Jeremiah’s guidance, he raised the line upwards with a gentle hand, wary of the slightest breeze which could dislodge his prey from their perch. Despite his best efforts, one or two did end up diving beneath the waves, having devoured the sardines and escaped for freedom, but for the most part he was able to ease his catches over the railing and dump the stunned crabs into the bucket Jeremiah had provided. Neither of them were particularly chatty while they worked, but Alex did catch sight of the other man’s lips curling upwards once or twice.
“Who knows?” Jeremiah said, shortly after Alex teased his third disgruntled catch of the day into the bucket. “If yer any good at this, I might take ya out on the boat one o’ these days. Haven’t had a good shipmate in a while.”
There was something wistful in the man’s tone, and Alex thought he could see a trace of sadness in his gentle blue eyes as they stretched across the waves. Alex followed his gaze and allowed himself to imagine a quiet trip on a fishing boat, with the shattered remains of LA so far behind him that he could pretend it no longer existed in that state. He imagined the crisp sea air washing over his skin and the tales Jeremiah would tell of his past life as a humble fisherman. Such a quiet fantasy to latch onto, and yet it made his heart ache all the same. The fact that it was even a possibility felt like a novelty after all those years stranded on the moon.
“I think I’d like that,” Alex said, throwing Jeremiah a shy smile which the older man eagerly returned. A trace of sadness still remained and Alex could feel his own longing for a simpler past tugging at his heart, but he cast such feelings aside and turned his attention back to the task at hand.
The sun grew hotter as the day wore on, but Alex found he no longer minded. The routine of fishing gave him something to focus on beyond the sweat trickling from his brow, and the occasional splashes from particularly vigorous waves provided ample relief. Jeremiah had finally relented and retrieved the bottles of water from his rucksack, and they cracked them open and said ‘cheers’ as though sharing a particularly cool beer. From the way their faces crumpled with relief, one could be forgiven for assuming they were enjoying something far more luxurious, though Alex had to concede that a couple of ice-cubes wouldn’t have gone amiss.
For the most part they remained quiet and focused, though after a couple of hours Alex decided to try his luck and threw some general questions in Jeremiah’s direction. Not enough to pry into the man’s private life – he doubted they were friendly enough for that – but enough to get a general gist of what life had been like in recent years. The events that transpired after his hand slipped from Miles’ grasp remained a complete mystery to him; a fact he had to be careful to conceal so as not to betray his overwhelming ignorance.
Not that the older man seemed to notice. He was quite happy to chat away while Alex listened intently, gathering clues as the conversation went on. He learned that Jeremiah had always lived by the sea and that his earliest memories revolved around going out in fishing boats with his mother. He learned that he had known George for upwards of thirty years and that the pair’s fondness for each other had survived in spite of George’s hatred of the open water and Jeremiah’s general dislike of hiking.
Perhaps most importantly, he learned that the world had started to fall apart only five years prior. Jeremiah and George had fled to the coast alongside thousands of other evacuees as wildfires tore through the forests before ultimately claiming every town and city in their path. The actual disintegration of humanity had stretched over several endless months, heralded by one disaster after another, but Jeremiah had stubbornly waited it out while the other evacuees fled towards hope which grew slimmer by the hour. At one point, he said, the beaches had been so overrun with desperate city folk that you could barely move without trampling on some poor sod who had stumbled to the ground. Many had fled as soon as hopeful stories cropped up from elsewhere, though Jeremiah could only conclude that the vast majority had wound up running to their deaths.
No doubt that knowledge had weighed heavily on Jeremiah’s mind once. Even now it appeared that he had little desire to dwell on it, for the conversation staggered to a halt and the older man simply returned to his task with a weary sigh. Alex was grateful for this, despite his curiosity. Had he pried any further, Jeremiah may have turned the tables on him and started demanding explanations he simply didn’t have. He doubted this world-weary survivor would appreciate being told that Alex had only lasted this long because his mind and body had been ensnared by a monster with the ability to create alternate realities at will. No doubt that if Alex - and by extension Matt – had been forced to experience the apocalypse at face value, they would have met the same unfortunate fate as the desperate souls who’d gathered on the beach to escape the rising flames.
On the other hand, Jeremiah seemed like the type of man who was always destined to survive such a disaster. Watching him go about his work in silent concentration gave Alex the distinct impression that, overall, his life had barely altered in the wake of the apocalypse. Perhaps certain aspects had even become easier. In many ways he seemed like a relic of a distant past, fixated only on surviving day to day while enjoying simple pleasures as and when he encountered them.
Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he would be able to achieve that level of contentment too, many years down the line.
By the time the sun began to dip, the bucket was threatening to overflow as their catches wrestled each other in a bid to reach the top. Alex carefully guided the line containing his last helping of sardines upward, watching as an unsuspecting crab latched onto its last meal with vigour. It had been several hours since he’d lost a catch to the waves below, and his patience served him well as he eased the line over the wooden barrier and roughly shook the crab free, clumps of meat still clenched in its jagged claws as it tumbled into the bucket. Despite the lack of facial expression, Alex got the dimpression that the creature was regarding him with a look of utmost betrayal once it had recovered from shock.
The heat had begun to settle, for which Alex was grateful. His bottle of water had long since been drained and he could easily envision the cherry-red hue his cheeks had acquired over the course of the afternoon. Goosebumps rose along his bare arms in the wake of a cool breeze and he found himself wiping sweat from his brow less frequently as the hours wore on. Concluding that his efforts for the day had been enough, he rested his back against the railing and let his eyes slip shut as an icy spray splashed across his back.
Jeremiah too appeared to be winding down. The man had discarded the empty tin into the depths of the water once the last clump of meat had been salvaged, and was in the process of enticing a rather stubborn crab over the precipice. Alex watched intently as the creature twisted awkwardly on the line, claw caught on the dangling hook. Before it could plunge to the depths below, Jeremiah shot out an arm and caught it mid-fall, dumping the creature alongside its friends before it could nip at his hand. With their last victim finally ensnared, Jeremiah took a moment to assess their yield before securing the bucket with a plastic lid and collecting their equipment into a neat pile.
“Not bad!” he announced with a wide grin hiding beneath his bushy beard. The sun had darkened his cheeks to a fiery red and his wild locks had been flattened under the weight of damp sweat, but the discomfort did not seem to bother him in the slightest. “Not bad at all. Ya might survive the apocalypse yet.”
His words were followed by a wink which made Alex laugh despite himself. They took a moment to simply enjoy the cool sea air; the gentle rush of waves lapping beneath their feet as the first traces of orange and pink spread across the darkening sky. With this view stretched out before them, it was easy to pretend that everything was normal. Alex could almost convince himself that the world was truly as peaceful and unbroken as it appeared, and that his home was still waiting for him mere miles away. He knew it was dangerous to get lost in thoughts like that. He knew they would only bring further pain in the long run, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. If reality insisted on being awful then he felt he was owed time to indulge in fantasy.
He’d become well-practiced in that particular art after all.
The moment passed. Jeremiah packed away the twin set of fishing lines and secured his rucksack before throwing it over his back, while Alex lifted the weighty bucket and set off in pursuit as the older man led the way.
The trip back seemed considerably more bearable in spite of the exhaustion creeping into his bones. Perhaps seeing the devastated remains of civilisation had been like tearing off a plaster, to the point where even the foul smells lacked the ability to horrify him. The promenade seemed shorter than he remembered and evidence of ancient tourist traps soon dwindled to make way for the slender walkway which would lead them back to the cabins. By the time they were on the home-stretch, the sun was beginning to sink beneath the glittering blue waves and the sky was ablaze with tangerine streaks.
It occurred to Alex that he had officially been back in the real world for over twenty-four hours. Long enough to convince himself that perhaps this wasn’t a cruelly elaborate dream after all.
George and Matthew were still nowhere to be seen by the time they reached the cabin. A sliver of discomfort eased its way into Alex’s gut at the pervasive quiet which greeted him. Jeremiah didn’t seem particularly bothered by their absence, however, and was quick to assure him that George rarely made it home before he did. This didn’t strike Alex as being particularly heartening, as surely having an extra pair of hands would have made George’s role considerably easier, but he elected not to mention it. Instead, he allowed Jeremiah to take the bucket from his hands and gladly agreed when the older man suggested he go outside and start a campfire, as it turned out he had little desire to watch the unfortunate crabs meet their fate once Jeremiah started preparing dinner.
Starting a campfire was a considerably easier task than Alex had expected. The fact that George had amassed an impressive quantity of lighters and matches certainly helped, as did the abundance of brittle branches which lay scattered across the beach. George and Jeremiah had already created a tiny nook for such a purpose; the remains of previous campfires lay scorched and blackened within a ring of scattered logs which provided adequate seating. Childhood memories of countryside holidays once again proved fruitful as Alex got to work, and before long he found himself warming his hands above crackling flames as a mere spark succeeded in setting his collection of sticks alight. The sky above provided a similar fiery glow, with scattered grey clouds giving the impression of smoke drifting among orange embers. Content with his task, Alex settled against one of the fallen logs and simply gazed at the sky as exhaustion and hunger took hold and the fire bathed him in pleasant warmth.
It wasn’t long before an orange glow emanated from the cabin windows. Shadows were visible from within as Jeremiah set about preparing their evening meal, his large mass occasionally passing by the window and blocking the firelight from view. Bored of the sky, Alex directed his attention towards the resort, keeping his eyes peeled for a pair of returning travelers. He knew deep down that he should take comfort from Jeremiah’s lack of concern, yet anxiety clawed at his throat regardless. Matt and George had been gone far longer than Alex had even been awake. Given the late hour at which George had arrived home last night, his mind filled with images of Matt in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans, slowly freezing as George plowed on in thermals and a snug jacket. The chill was nowhere near that fierce just yet – if anything the breeze was a pleasantly cool balm after the earlier scorch – but Alex knew from experience that it would not be long before the cold was creeping upon them like an icy specter.
Such fears were unfounded of course, though that did little to calm the sense of relief which gripped him as a trio of shadows appeared on the horizon. Midnight’s slender form was unmistakable as she was led by the reins by a much smaller shadow, both of them tailing a hulking giant of a man. The leader plowed on with little regard for his companions, but seeing as Alex had envisioned Matt being left for dead in a ditch somewhere, he was willing to take the fact that all three had returned as a sign that George didn’t completely hate the idea of company.
George appeared to change course as soon as he noted the smoking campfire, detouring away from the cabin towards the small nook where Alex had settled himself. As much as he knew his feelings were irrational, Alex couldn’t help but squirm as the older man approached with his lips set in a grim line and eyes narrowed to grey slits.
“Your friend’s an idiot,” he announced with zero preamble, before turning on his heel and storming off towards the cabin. His stuffed rucksack weighed him down as he went, giving him a hunchbacked appearance which Alex may have laughed at if he had the courage. He valued his life far too highly for that however, and settled instead for turning to the approaching figure of Matt in stunned silence, hoping that he may be able to provide some form of explanation for their host’s wrath.
In contrast to George’s simmering anger, Matt looked positively chuffed as he approached with a stoic Midnight in tow. It struck Alex then that this was the only time he had ever seen Matt wearing normal clothes. The bright red jeans still clung to his legs and no doubt his trainers were the same shiny monstrosities from before, albeit thick mud had since claimed every inch of their surface. Instead of shimmering neon decorating his torso there was only a white t-shirt, however. His face was faintly pink and his arms were tanned from the sun, a paler outline just visible beneath the fabric as he tethered Midnight to a log, but his ridiculous sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. One could almost mistake him for ordinary in this light.
They would be wrong of course, but Alex wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking it.
The source of Matt’s joy and George’s displeasure became obvious soon enough. Once he’d overcome the distraction of Matt looking like a normal person rather than a reality-hopping outlaw, Alex’s eyes widened as he set his sights on the acoustic strapped precariously to Matt’s back. His excitement was clearly obvious, for Matt halted his delicate strokes of Midnight’s mane in order to flip the guitar round his torso until it was perfectly balanced in his hands, his long fingers resting over the delicate strings.
The instrument had clearly seen better days. Its once sleek mahogany surface was tarnished by scuff marks and scratches, and the strings would ideally need changing before any attempts were made to play them, though that didn’t dissuade Matt from carefully tuning them as he came to sit by Alex’s side. The neck was intact at least, though Alex had heard enough rumours of Matt’s onstage antics to wonder just how long the poor thing would survive. Not that he could talk, considering how many roadies he had pissed off back in the day due to his flagrant abuse of microphone stands.
“George thinks you’re an idiot for rescuing that thing, by the way,” Alex informed Matt with a playful smirk as the man started to play a classical melody. The tone was surprisingly pleasant given that the instrument likely hadn’t been touched in years, and Alex’s jibe did little to distract Matt from weaving a complex improvisation with ease.
“Oh I know,” Matt shot back with a wicked grin, letting the melody fade out before amusing himself by strumming simple chords instead. “He wouldn’t shut up about it the whole way back. Kept going on about the fact that his excursions are about searching for food and medicine and stuff that’s actually ‘useful’. Don’t think he appreciated it when I told him that life without a guitar isn’t worth living.”
“He’s not a connoisseur of music then?” Alex remarked. “You know what, I’d never have guessed.”
“Nah, doubt he’s whimsical enough for any of that nonsense,” Matt agreed, his smile softening as he raised the ragged guitar-strap over his head and settled his new love gently by his feet. A small carrier bag joined it on the sand, in which Alex could see a collection of t-shirts and likely outdated packets of paracetamol, but it seemed Matt had spent more energy carting the guitar back than salvaging anything George would consider valuable. “He wasn’t so bad though. I mean, he clearly didn’t like the idea of me tagging along, but he started to open up a bit once we got going. Stopped treating me like I was invisible anyway. I bet he’s a real softie once you get to know him.”
As much as Matt’s words dripped with sarcasm, something about his sincere smile implied that on some level, he believed what he was saying. Whether that was merely naïve optimism or an acute observation based on his time with George was unclear, but Alex was willing to take it as a somewhat reassuring sign. Perhaps their host really was a mere grump as opposed to the dangerous menace his imagination had concocted.
Any retort died on his tongue as he spotted Jeremiah and George approaching from the cabin, each sporting a pair of steaming bowls. The aroma of rich soup grew more enticing as they came closer, and by the time Jeremiah carefully eased one of the bowls into Alex’s waiting hands his mouth was watering as his stomach growled with hunger. The creamy soup closely resembled the seafood chowder from the night before, with the exception that this one had been created with crabmeat alone. Any guilt over the fate of his unfortunate catches vanished in an instant as Alex inhaled deeply before digging in with only slightly more tact than the night before.
They ate in relative peace, the quiet broken only by the crackling fire and the hushed voices of Jeremiah and George as they compared notes from their day. Despite George’s intimidating approach upon returning to the cabin, he showed little animosity towards his guests as they sat by the campfire. Alex could even have sworn that he’d given Matt a friendly nod upon handing him his bowl. Jeremiah remained his usual jovial self - which was considerably less surprising - and even asked Alex if he wanted seconds once his bowl was empty, to which he politely declined. As delicious as the soup was, everyone seemed to agree that it was far too filling for the notion of second portions to be entertained, and so they simply sat back once all four bowls were polished off, feeling full and sated.
It wasn’t long before the sun finally dipped beneath the waves and deep blues permeated the sky. Any remaining streaks of tangerine were banished in favour of an ever-darkening canvas dotted with glowing stars. The breeze started to carry the threat of ice with it, sending a shiver through Alex’s frame whenever it beckoned, but the heat from the flickering flames provided ample protection for the moment.
Without prompting, Matt lifted the rescued acoustic and started to strum absent-mindedly at the strings, frowning at every imperceptible error and twisting the tuning pegs until the rich sound satisfied him fully. He seemed entirely ignorant of his audience, closing his eyes and losing himself to the music once it overcame him. His fingers danced elegantly across the strings, unleashing a gorgeous Spanish-inspired piece as though he’d been performing onstage only yesterday. Perhaps Alex would have been slightly jealous once upon a time, but for now he was content to simply watch with a small smile tugging at his lips. The piece eventually faded into the distantly familiar chords of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, and Alex spotted Matt opening his mouth a couple of times as though intending to sing before ultimately deciding against it.
The final chords sounded abruptly as Matt opened his eyes and became aware of the three sets of eyes fixated on him. Nobody said a word, perhaps too enthralled to urge him to continue, but his eyes met Alex’s and he smiled before freeing himself from the strap and handing the guitar over. It lingered between them for several seconds as Alex gaped at it, torn between desperation to lay his hands on a real guitar and terror at the possibility that his skills may have left him. Even if his experiences in the hotel counted for anything, he still spent upwards of five years relying mostly on piano, with the guitar being reserved for special occasions or more energetic crowds.
Ultimately, the itch to play again overcame any self-consciousness. He took the instrument in his hands with a degree of reverence before letting it rest in his lap. For a few moments his fingers merely ghosted over the frets as songs battled for dominance in his brain; everything from his own work to David Bowie screaming to be played while his hands remained stock-still. When he finally did begin to play, the song remained a mystery even to him. He took a moment to simply adapt to the instrument and the sensation of playing again, grateful that his muscle memory appeared to be serving him well, and a shy smile crept over his face as the familiar notes of Leonard Cohen washed over the small gathering.
The urge to sing wrestled with him too, but he crushed it down and focused on the simple act of playing the chords to ‘Is This What You Wanted’. A sharp ache pierced his heart like an arrowhead as the music transported him to a summer he’d never wanted to end; to non-stop laughter and the sweet sensation of looking across the stage to find Miles smiling back at him. He imagined that even if he wanted to sing, he would find himself choking on the words and butchering the song in the process, so the stripped-down instrumental would have to suffice.
Or so he thought, only to be proven wrong the instant a rich baritone voice joined the fray. Alex’s fingers stumbled for only a millisecond before he recovered himself. He looked up to watch as Jeremiah sang along with his eyes closed, a wistful smile playing across his lips as the music seemed to transport him back to a distant past.
His voice could hardly be called perfect on a technical level, but that only made it more beautiful. His tone was rich – the imperfections adding more character than polish ever could – and his raspy vocals added a maturity that Alex doubted he would have been able to capture himself. He grinned when Jeremiah opened his eyes and winked at him, before turning his attention fully to the acoustic, ensuring that each note landed perfectly so as not to ruin the impromptu performance.
The air was broken by an excitable whoop and applause from Matt once the final notes faded into nothingness, and Jeremiah chuckled before giving the gathering a little bow. Alex’s heart was so lifted that he thought nothing of shedding the acoustic and offering it over to George, who happened to be closest to him. In keeping with the man’s earlier attitude, he simply refused with a shake of his head, though in the flickering firelight his eyes appeared softer than Alex had ever seen them. Undeterred, Alex simply shrugged before handing the guitar back to Matt. His friend seemed to have been rejuvenated by his and Jeremiah’s unconventional duet, and once the guitar was back in his hands, he launched into an excitable interrogation of the older man, employing his usual scatter-gun delivery in the process.
The pair quickly bonded over a shared love of Nina Simone and especially Tom Waits. Before long, Matt was launching into the guitar chords of ‘Blue Valentine’ while Jeremiah effortlessly sang the vocal, capturing the precise gravitas that such a song demanded despite the smile lurking on his jolly face. Alex contented himself with simply sitting back and watching, before turning his eyes to George.
The man had been conspicuously quiet all night. Alex wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to find on his face, though he would have bet money on detecting a certain degree of disapproval resting upon a deep frown. What he wasn’t expecting was the unmistakable fondness radiating from the man’s eyes as his gaze lingered heavily on Jeremiah, nor the gentle smile tugging at his lips as he fought to keep his expression neutral. Any tension which had gripped his bulky frame had melted away and he seemed positively relaxed, in sharp contrast to every interaction Alex had shared with him. The sight made him wonder if Matt’s earlier assessment could be closer to the truth than he had previously appreciated. At the very least, it appeared that Jeremiah was George’s sole weakness, and the sight tugged at Alex’s heart in a manner which forced him to avert his eyes.
They continued their back-and-forth with Matt and Alex taking turns on the guitar while Jeremiah took up vocal duties, until the fire started to die within its nest and the night’s chill chased them all back towards the cabin. Thankfully their temporary home had been gradually warmed by the log burner and Alex wasn’t forced to relive the bone-chilling sensations of the previous night. A strange wave of contentment gripped him by the hand and settled in his chest as he laid down and rested his head upon the folded jumper which served as his makeshift pillow. He was still exhausted from the day’s trek and a degree of uncertainty remained over how long he and Matt would be able to remain as guests, but none of that mattered.
In contrast to the fear which had consumed him the night before, the pervading feeling which claimed him as Jeremiah bade them all a sleepy ‘goodnight’ was that, somehow, the future might not be entirely terrible.
Chapter Text
The sickness began to take root towards the end of the second week.
As with many creeping illnesses, the signs were subtle at first. Alex awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep feeling just as weary as he had upon closing his eyes. A new fog clouded over his brain and a sheen of cool sweat coated his brow. The sensations reminded him of the lull which always hit in the middle of an extensive tour; the moment where exhaustion began to seep into his bones and home still felt so very far away. The hotel had brought its own variation in recent years, as he worked tirelessly day after day with little time for rest. It was hardly a new phenomenon, and he ignored his weariness as he flung the covers aside, blaming his sluggishness on the overwhelming stress and fear his body had endured of late.
Albeit the room spinning as he stood up was certainly new. If pushed, he might even have admitted to feeling a little off-balance. He kept his mouth shut when Jeremiah decided to fetch him, however, pointedly ignoring the older man’s accusations that he looked ‘miserable’.
What followed was a disastrous day’s work. Try as he might, Alex could not stop his hands from shaking as he latched rotten clumps of sardines onto his hook. Even when he felt a tug on the line, it took so long for his brain to process the stimulus that any potential catches had already escaped by the time he yanked upwards. Despite the sun beating down upon him, he found himself plagued by shivers and chattering teeth; his muscles aching in protest with each miniscule contraction. His whole body felt heavy and sluggish, as though he’d recently run a marathon without any training beforehand. A firm pressure squeezed against his ribs, and by the time afternoon was in full swing, every inhalation was accompanied by either a musical wheeze or hacking cough.
Alex didn’t miss the concerned glances Jeremiah kept throwing his way, but he attempted to power through regardless. Only when the older man suggested he rest beneath some shade did Alex realise how awful he must look, and his lack of resistance surely hammered that home further. Given that his yield for the day consisted of a pitiful two crabs, he imagined Jeremiah’s efforts would prove much more fruitful in his absence.
The journey back to the cabin passed by in a seemingly endless blur. By that point, Alex felt like all of his blood had been replaced with liquid nitrogen as his strength was slowly sapped from his bones. It must have shown, for the final part of their trek was spent with Jeremiah’s steadying hand on his shoulder. He all but collapsed by the campfire the instant they approached George and Matthew, greedy for any heat that could infiltrate the frozen shell encasing his frame. Conversations flitted between the trio surrounding him but no words succeeded in penetrating the cotton wool lodged in his brain, and he barely had the energy to react when Jeremiah thrust a generous portion of soup into his hands. The older man may have said something as well, but the words vanished from memory mere seconds after they were uttered.
Alex barely managed three spoonfuls before his stomach clenched in protest, sending a wave of nausea shooting up his gullet. He felt - rather than saw - three pairs of eyes land upon him as he pushed his bowl aside with a clatter, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too tired for that. Neither the campfire nor the soup had provided the warmth he so desperately craved, and he excused himself before the sky had even begun to darken, stumbling towards the cabin in a funk as Matt’s gaze followed him through the door.
The log burner wasn’t yet lit when he crawled into his nest, pulling every sheet within reach over his shivering frame. This made sense in theory, he knew. It was still early. The inescapable chill was not due for at least another four hours. And yet, the sight of the unlit burner sparked a flash of irritation regardless, and he mourned the absence of scorching flames as he shivered miserably in his untidy cocoon.
Initially he thought the sheer magnitude of his discomfort would deter sleep from claiming him, but his exhaustion must have won that internal battle for he eventually fell into a light doze. Truly restful sleep remained elusive, and even his fading consciousness did little to dampen the sharp pain in his chest and the cold ache in his limbs, but his ability to care was dulled and for the moment that was all that mattered.
Such momentary respite was ultimately snatched away without his consent, however. A warm hand came to rest on his forehead, shattering any attempts at rest, and he batted the intruder away with his arm. Or tried to at least. The action itself was clumsy and uncoordinated, and with a flash of embarrassment he opened his eyes to find that his efforts had failed to chase Matt away from his side. His eyelids fluttered as he took in the older man’s deep frown, and when Matt temporarily left his side, Alex allowed himself to be stolen away again by the pervasive fog. Given enough time, he may even have been able to convince himself that he was comfortable. His current state was certainly preferable to wakefulness and his headache had settled somewhat, though he doubted the fuzz which had started to infiltrate his thoughts was any better.
Matt was not in the mood to let him enjoy his pleasant escape, however, and Alex swore loudly as a freezing wet cloth was draped over his forehead.
“Leave me alone,” he said, or tried to at least. What emerged instead was a pitiful whine which made him cringe as the sound assaulted his ears. One of his eyes crept open to find that not only was Matt ignoring his audible protests, but the sky had visibly darkened and several logs were now crackling on an open fire. Not that Alex could feel it.
“Not gonna happen,” Matt shot back, a threatening edge to his tone implying that any arguments would not be tolerated. “You’re sick.”
Matt gently peeled the cloth from Alex’s forehead, offering temporary relief in the process, before once again soaking it in freezing sea-water and rinsing it thoroughly. Alex barely had time to enjoy its absence before the cloth was draped over his forehead once again. A violent flinch assaulted him and he tried to reach up to peel the offending fabric away, only to find that his limbs currently had the consistency of jelly.
“I’m not sick, ‘m just cold,” Alex moaned, hoping in vain that his feeble explanation would placate Matt for now.
Admittedly, the hoarseness of his voice probably didn’t help matters, nor the harsh coughing fit that ripped from his chest as soon as the last syllable was uttered.
This at least had Matt’s features softening in sympathy, and he stroked damp strands of hair from Alex’s forehead before raising a glass of cool water to his lips. Despite the fact that his thirst had not yet announced itself, once the first drops of water landed upon his parched tongue, Alex found himself unable to stop and he gulped the entire glass down in seconds.
“You’re not cold, you’re burning up,” Matt informed him, in a manner which reminded Alex that the man had been a father before everything went to shit. “You could fry eggs on that forehead.”
That was certainly news to Alex. If anything, the thought of burning seemed rather pleasant at the moment, so deep was the chill which resided in his bones. With great effort, he brought his fingers up to grope at the soaked cloth which clung to his forehead, only to frown as he felt the fabric already warming from the contact with his skin.
“Just let me sleep it off then,” he groaned eventually, waving his hand dismissively before letting it flop by his side. “I’ll be fine.”
There was an ugly scoff at that. Presumably from Matt, although it was hard to know for sure as, unbeknownst to Alex, his eyes had fluttered shut without his permission. The thick fog of sleep was calling to him like a siren, and he was sorely tempted to let it claim him.
“You better be,” he heard Matt mutter, before consciousness slipped from his grasp and the fog enveloped him entirely. He barely had time to acknowledge the naked fear which had seeped into Matt’s tone before his musings were replaced by visions of warm flames and clean sea air.
No sooner had he started to enjoy his scattered fantasies than he was brutally torn from them by a rough shake of his shoulder. This was followed by the repeated utterance of his name, which only grew in volume the longer he tried to ignore it. Eventually his cruel tormenter resorted to pinching his ear, and he groaned as he awoke to face a wide-eyed Matt. His friend recovered quickly enough, schooling his expression into one of calm competence, but Alex couldn’t help but be struck by the echoes of panic in his trembling hands. He had no idea why Matt was making such a fuss. Surely the best plan for everybody at this stage would be to go to bed and hope things were better in the morning?
“Take these,” Matt demanded, emptying two tablets onto his hand from a set of plastic containers and thrusting them in Alex’s face. Something in his tone implied that Alex had no choice in the matter, but he narrowed his eyes sceptically at the packs of paracetamol and amoxicillin regardless.
“You do realise they’ll be at least two years out-of-date, right?” he asked, eyes narrowing as his feeble attempt at humour was dampened by the fact that his voice was little more than a faint whisper.
“Fuck’s sake, you’re worse than my three-year-old,” Matt muttered under his breath, and the sudden venom in his tone made Alex feel like an admonished child. Part of him wanted to point out that - for one reason or another – Matt no longer had a three-year-old, only to flinch in shame at the cruelty of that thought. Matt was only trying to help using the limited means he had, and here Alex was punishing him for it for no reason whatsoever. “Just take the damn tablets, Al.”
No longer possessing the energy nor the desire to argue, Alex simply nodded and shakily placed the bitter tablets on his tongue, needing Matt’s help to guide a refilled glass of water to his mouth and swallow them down.
By the time he was done, he barely had the strength to hold his head upright and he flopped onto a folded-up sweater, weak as a kitten and sick as a dog. He offered no protestations when Matt peeled the cloth from his forehead and rested his palm there, frowning at what he felt but deciding against subjecting Alex to further torture. Instead, he stroked his hand through Alex’s hair in an action which had him slipping back into sleep within mere minutes.
He was reminded of being holed up with the flu as a child, allowing himself to be lured into sleep by his mum’s voice as her gentle hands peeled damp hair away from his forehead. No doubt if she were here, everything would be better and he’d be good as new in no time. Her tomato soup had done more for him during periods of illness than tablets ever had.
The last memory to comfort him before his mind was swallowed by the void was the ghost of a kiss on his forehead, planted there decades ago as his mum bade him goodnight.
Over the following days, he found himself trapped in a realm lurking between consciousness and rest. The fog had overwhelmed him entirely, yet it refused to offer the kindness of dreamless slumber. Alex remained locked in a daze which could not be mistaken for wakefulness, but did nothing to ease the exhaustion which crept over his body like a physical ache, and his mind refused to quieten, even if none of the thoughts flitting back and forth could be described as coherent. Disorganised memories melded into one solid mass, as though someone had flung five jigsaw puzzles into a pile and asked him to fit them all together; recollections of his life pre-apocalypse clashed with visions of the hotel like competing components in a pinball game. Clarity became a rare luxury which required far too much energy to maintain. In its stead, he found himself subjected to fleeting dreams and tangential musings which ultimately meant nothing, while the outside world remained largely untouchable.
Only vague hints of the sickness wracking his body made themselves known to him. Now and then he became acutely aware of sweat soaking his skin as he feebly kicked at the many coverings wrapped around his frame, while on other occasions the freezing chill would have him searching desperately for any warmth he could reach. His chest appeared to be locked in a vice which was forever tightening, forcing him to fight for every breath and making him shudder with every harsh cough which tore from his throat. He was only vaguely aware of voices darting to and fro outside his subconscious bubble. Even Matt’s verbal appeals for him to take some tablets fell on deaf ears for the most part and he had to either be enticed into wakefulness or force-fed, before slipping back into his hazy prison. Eventually he became aware of a persistent rattle which refused to go away no matter how little attention he paid it, and it took far too long for him to realise that the unsettling sound was coming from his own throat.
On one occasion, he found himself torn from something which resembled sleep by raised voices emanating from far away. His instincts initially screamed at him to ignore them, which at the time seemed like solid advice. The words may as well have been spoken in Cantonese for all the sense they made to his muddled brain. It was like he was resting underwater and trying to make out the screams of a concerned rescuer from above.
Only, while he couldn’t decipher what was being said, he retained enough awareness to know that one of the voices belonged to Matt. His friend sounded uncharacteristically furious as he verbally battled an unseen opponent. It struck Alex that Matt must be close by for his voice was easily the loudest; whoever was aggravating him had clearly distracted him from his earlier attempts to be soothing. His voice was far too loud now. Much as his words remained indecipherable, the sounds themselves were inescapable as they slammed against Alex’s eardrums, and he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a weak groan.
The distant argument eventually had the unwanted effect of dragging him kicking and screaming towards consciousness. Eyes which had barely opened in days fluttered with considerable effort. Alex could make out the blurry silhouette of Matt standing over him like a watchful protector, shouting viciously at a much taller blob at the far end of the cabin. His opponent remained in shadow as Alex clenched his eyes shut against the bright sunlight filtering through the windows. That was odd. Surely if it were still daylight the others would be out and about, scavenging for food or fishing by the pier?
More words were exchanged, blessedly quieter this time. Alex chose not to bother opening his eyes again, too overwhelmed by the energy the first attempt had cost. Dragging himself back to wakefulness had only served to exacerbate the sandpaper lining his throat and the cold sweat soaking through his clothes, rendering him uncomfortable and sticky. His daze had certainly been preferable, and he could feel himself slipping back into its embrace, before a familiar voice tore through the fabric of consciousness:
“Don’t waste your time on a dying man, for Christ’s sake!”
Alex knew that voice, though for the moment the name escaped him. While the significance of the words themselves slipped through his hands like water, it wasn’t lost on him that their impact sucked all the air from the room. Time slowed to a halt and the world stilled, trapping Alex in an awkward corridor between wakefulness and sleep, tilting further towards the latter until a voice, which was unmistakably Matt’s, exploded which such bitter rage that Alex almost didn’t recognise it. Such venom sounded unnatural coming from him, and as it continued to permeate his senses, Alex found himself releasing a whimper which sounded pitiful even to his ears.
The world halted once more and for that he was grateful. Blissful quiet washed over him like calm ripples on the surface of a lake and he would gladly have let himself drown in it if given the chance.
Said chance was never offered, but the alternative was hardly unpleasant. A warm hand emerged from nowhere to grasp his own while another stroked the damp hair back from his face. The voice he heard now was little more than a hushed whisper, yet he found he was capable of interpreting it far more successfully than before; enough to pick out gentle utterances of ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘You’re going to be okay,’ and ‘Please’. Enough that, when he finally did drift back into slumber, he did so knowing that he was not as isolated as the void made him feel.
His dreams became clearer after that. Some of them felt solid enough to be mistaken for reality, and though he knew deep down that consciousness remained beyond reach, the fog had abated somewhat. His thoughts felt like his own creations, rather than scattered musings dredged up from an unfiltered subconscious.
The hotel featured heavily in his mental wanderings. He would find himself decked out in a sharp suit; hair slicked back from his forehead as a microphone rested in his hand, singing to the dreamy tones of a Steinway as an adoring crowd gazed up at him. He would find himself exploring the endless narrow corridors, lured towards flashing red lights and a mechanical pulse which beat in time with his heart, only for them to vanish the instant he was within reach of its source. He would hear the scattered laughter of drunken guests as he drowned his sorrows in the bar, throwing Andrew a weak smile as the loyal waiter served his fourth glass of the night. Some of the visions seemed so lifelike that he couldn’t help but wonder if Murphy had dragged him back there – assuming he’d ever left at all – but there was always something to pull him away from the brink before that notion could take hold. There was always a painful cough or shiver to rack his frame, or Matt’s soothing voice promising tablets and water, and occasionally soup if he thought Alex was stable enough to take it.
The sweeter dreams were simultaneously the most painful. If his brain was feeling kind, it would gift him with memories from before; from a time where his biggest worries revolved around meeting an album deadline or forgetting his words onstage. He dreamt of sharing a tourbus with Nick and Jamie and Matt, simply laughing as the warm buzz of alcohol took hold and they settled around a table with a set of playing cards. He dreamt of visiting home and being pulled into a firm hug by his mum and showing his dad some of the jazzier piano pieces he had written lately. He dreamt of waking among soft sheets only to find himself cradled in Miles’ arms, while the other man gifted him a soft, sleepy smile. The latter always ended with Miles bringing their foreheads together and resting his thumb on Alex’s cheek, gazing at him with so much tenderness it threatened to break his heart, until his expression hardened and the words “You need to wake up now, love” passed his lips.
Alex woke with a start after hearing those words for the fifth time, a deep frown marring his tired features as he stared up at a thatched ceiling. It took longer than it should have to remember where he was, however once his memories of the cabin returned, he felt his heart-rate begin to slow as his breathing settled. It occurred to him that the latter felt much easier now than it had in days. A slight crackle still accompanied every breath and his ribs shuddered as he exhaled, but the vice which had entrapped him since falling ill was gone and the painful urge to cough no longer tickled his throat. The feeling of being able to take a breath was so sweet that for a few moments, all he could do was close his eyes and enjoy it; pointedly ignoring the ongoing aches in his muscles and the sheen of sweat which had become a permanent feature on his waxy skin.
Only upon opening his eyes again did he manage to take note of his surroundings. There was a slight chill in the air and an orange hue dancing across the cabin walls which indicated that it was late. This incredible deduction was further reinforced by the twin snores emanating from the beds and the pale beams of moonlight drifting through the window panes. Suddenly aware that he seemed to be alone in his makeshift nest, Alex turned his head to find Matt propped up beside the fire, resting against the wall as he snoozed in a position which would surely leave a crick in his neck by morning.
The idiot didn’t appear to have adorned any layers besides his ridiculous jacket, though the reason for that struck Alex quickly enough. All of the sheets from Matt’s side of the floor had been draped tightly over him instead, at the cost of Matt’s comfort by the look of things. The vague scent of seaweed and old leather assaulted his senses as well, and Alex looked down to find that Jeremiah had placed one of his thick jackets over his torso for extra warmth.
Guilt tugged at his heart as he watched a full-body shiver grip Matt’s skinny frame. As much as Alex appreciated the man’s efforts to preserve his comfort, he had little desire to watch Matt kill himself in the process. He looked exhausted. His face was awash in grey hues with dark shadows encircling his eyes, betraying the very lack of sleep which would entice someone to collapse against a wall. His hair gave the impression that it hadn’t been washed in days, and the occasional twitch and mumble passing his thin lips implied that his current rest was offering little relief.
Alex tried to reach across to give Matt a nudge, only to find himself immobilised by the sheets wrapped tightly around his body. Any attempts to wriggle free proved equally fruitless; whoever decided to swaddle him seemed to have decided that total confinement was the way to go. He groaned as he eventually yielded, feeling like he’d been placed in a straitjacket. He was certainly warm - for which he was grateful - but the constriction wasn’t exactly doing wonders for his breathing. No doubt a lack of oxygen would hardly be in his best interests considering his lungs sounded like they were still clogged with gunk.
Fortunately it appeared that Matt was a very light sleeper. Alex froze as the other man woke with a start, his brows furrowing as he tried to determine what woke him. Several slow blinks were required to return him to the present and frantic eyes darted around the room in momentary panic before landing upon Alex.
It seemed to take a few seconds for him to acknowledge that Alex was both awake and somewhat alert. Alex could pinpoint the exact moment the realisation sunk in by the softening of Matt’s eyes and the wide, relieved smile that stretched across his face as he edged closer, letting the firelight bathe him. His proximity only served to highlight how pale he was, and Alex shuddered as he wondered how terrible he must have looked himself to cause Matt to neglect his own health to this degree.
“You look like shit,” Alex said plainly, voice hoarse with disuse, though he hoped his smile betrayed his jest clearly enough. The thinly-veiled sarcasm must have translated well even with the weak delivery, for Matt released a choked laugh before shaking his head, still wearing that dumb grin which seemed to de-age him by several years.
“If you think I’m bad, you’ll be amazed when you look in a mirror,” Matt retaliated with a frankness which confirmed Alex’s suspicions regarding his own appearance. He supposed he had more of an excuse, considering that as far as he could tell he’d spent several days entangled in a sickness-induced delirium. Matt’s expression softened in an instant however, and he took the opportunity to rest a gentle hand on Alex’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrific,” Alex said, closing his eyes as the word escaped on a mere breath. Matt’s hand was cool on his skin, but for once the touch felt pleasant rather than tortuous. He no longer felt like his blood had the consistency of ice and most of the sweat soaking through his clothes appeared to be old. “I’m starting to think you were right.”
He opened his eyes just in time to spot Matt raising one eyebrow in amusement as his admission lingered in the air. Thankfully his friend chose to refrain from laughing, though Alex presumed that was more to spare their hosts than anything else.
“Damn,” Matt said, not bothering to conceal the playful smirk which tugged at his lips. “Guess I’ll need to refrain from saying ‘I told you so’ then?”
“You do that,” Alex agreed with a huff.
Part of him desperately wanted to nudge Matt out of humiliation, but the sheets encasing his torso wouldn’t let him. Thankfully Matt noticed his struggles and decided to take pity on him; tugging at the sheets and jostling Alex in the process, until his prison felt slightly looser and he was able to kick the excess coverings away. He kept Jeremiah’s thick jacket and a single bedsheet for warmth, but elected to hand over a spare woollen blanket with a frown which hopefully conveyed that he would not accept any protests. It appeared that Matt was hardly in the mood to complain, however. He accepted the blanket gratefully, wrapping it around himself and lying beside Alex on what little stretch of bedsheets he could find.
“You should get some sleep,” Matt said once he was settled, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair from Alex’s forehead in an action which once again reminded him of his mother, sitting vigil as he endured one childhood illness after another.
The prospect of needing further rest after having done little else of late struck Alex as odd. His expression must have betrayed that thought, for Matt quickly clarified his point: “Some proper sleep, I mean.”
Ah. That seemed reasonable enough. The state Alex had endured over the preceding days could hardly be mistaken for true, reinvigorating sleep. The fact that he wasn’t currently bouncing off the walls with newfound energy betrayed that fact almost as much as the wide yawn that ripped through him then and there. He did feel considerably more comfortable than he had in a long time though, and whilst his breathing was hardly back to normal, he felt fairly confident that he could drift off now without being roused by a harsh coughing fit.
Taking advantage of his newfound freedom, he clutched Jeremiah’s jacket tightly around himself before turning onto his side, pointedly ignoring the hard surface of the floor digging into his shoulder as he brought himself face-to-face with Matt. Neither of them said a word, though Alex didn’t miss the spark of expectation in Matt’s eyes. For several moments, the only sounds to be heard were the crackle of embers burning among scorched logs and the loud snores of George and Jeremiah. Occasionally Alex’s breathing would be accompanied by a high-pitched wheeze, but for the most part he and Matt remained as silent as the grave. Only when Matt’s eyelids started to flag did Alex realise there was something important he wanted to say, and he gave Matt a light shake to prevent him from drifting off just yet.
“Matt?”
Matt’s eyes crept open, and despite his evident exhaustion, he regarded Alex with more alertness than he’d possessed all night.
“Yeah?” he asked softly, edging closer to the point where Alex could feel the heat emanating from his skin.
It occurred to Alex that there was so much he wanted to say, or at the very least so much he should say, but as usual the practicality of voicing his thoughts proved to be more troublesome than it was worth. He knew he should thank Matt for sticking by his side when he was under no obligation to do so. He wanted to thank him for forcing him to eat and drink and take his tablets, even when he lacked the ability to cooperate with anything Matt needed him to do. He wanted to apologise for resisting Matt’s efforts to make him better in the first place, and for seemingly putting him through hell in the aftermath if his current appearance was anything to go by.
Ultimately, he settled for a whispered “Thank you” in the hopes that those two words would convey everything he wished to express. Not for the first time, he got the impression that he owed Matt his life, and he doubted he’d be able to summon the words to express his gratitude for that even if given a hundred years to do so.
“Don’t mention it,” Matt replied, offering a gentle smile which implied that the unspoken implications had been heard loud and clear.
Alex returned the smile with ease, before nuzzling his head into the folded jumper which served as a pillow and letting his eyes slip shut. Already he could feel the world around him beginning to fade. The heat of the flames and loud rumbling snores were relegated to background noise, until the only things remaining in his sphere of awareness were the sounds of Matt’s rhythmic breathing and the warm jacket protecting him from the chill.
It wasn’t long before slumber gripped him by the hand and led him away from the cabin, momentarily directing him through a long dark corridor before returning him to his rightful place on a warm bed, resting in Miles’ arms as his best friend protected him from the outside world.
Chapter Text
It turned out that Alex had wasted four days drifting in and out of consciousness.
According to Matt, he would occasionally rouse just long enough to mumble incoherent sentences or swallow tablets with a smattering of water, but for the most part Alex had been out cold and silent as the grave. Which had been rather fitting, as that’s exactly where it looked like he was heading. Matt had sacrificed sleep himself in favour of listening to Alex’s ragged breaths, dreading the possibility of slipping into a doze only to wake up to silence. George had called him out on it multiple times, but apparently he’d refused to listen; a fact he remained unapologetic about despite Alex’s own insistence that he was an idiot.
It would take a further two days for Alex to regain the ability to walk unaided. Another three would pass before Matt stopped intercepting him every eight hours with a handful of outdated antibiotics and a bottle of water. Mercifully his fever had broken while he slept so that particular threat had already been vanquished, and with Matt acting as amateur physiotherapist, his physical strength recovered relatively quickly.
No doubt it would take far longer for Alex to feel human again. The dizziness which assaulted him whenever he stood up and the pale, sunken-eyed creature which appeared in every reflection was proof enough of that. Even after his legs had finally stopped shaking with every step, the tightness in his chest continued to limit his mobility for several days and he could barely get any words out without being gripped by a coughing fit. Nevertheless, despite his ongoing misery, Matt seemed to be pleased with his overall progress. Enough that he’d gradually begun the process of shedding his mother-hen tendencies in favour of assuming their old rapport anyway.
By the time Alex felt well enough to resume his daily excursions with Jeremiah, a full two weeks had passed. Two weeks of wasted time in which he had been little more than dead weight; time he could have spent hunting for supplies or searching for his loved ones. Alex wasn’t the only one who was bitterly aware of what a burden he’d become. George’s mild dislike of him had evolved into what appeared to be sheer indifference. The man had not uttered a single word to Alex since his awakening, nor had he so much as looked him in the eye. Once Alex had recovered the strength to rejoin the group by the campfire for their evening meals, he’d been struck by the way George kept his gaze fixed firmly on the sand beneath his feet, saying nothing even when Jeremiah visibly lit up at the sight of his approach.
Jeremiah had taken him aside one evening and assured him not to worry about George; had remarked that he was only being a grump because Alex’s sickness had robbed him of a hiking partner. While the grizzled scavenger certainly hadn’t admitted as much out loud, it would seem that he enjoyed having Matt around to talk his ear off during their trips. Perhaps he hadn’t fully appreciated just how lonely the world had become until he’d been forced to re-embark on solo treks. Or perhaps Alex falling ill and wasting their precious supplies of medicine had simply proven his point that having strays around the cabin was a terrible idea. Either way, it seemed he was in no hurry to forgive Alex for being a nuisance.
It probably didn’t help matters that as soon as Alex felt well enough to join Jeremiah, Matt insisted on coming along as well. Jeremiah had argued that they would be just fine on their own and that he would never allow Alex to overwork himself, but Matt refused to be swayed. The debate ended with all three of them wading through the thick heat towards their usual pier with Midnight in tow, with George having headed off on his own long before the sun was up. It seemed an especially hot day even by Alex’s newly adjusted standards, and he was acutely aware of how much longer he was taking than usual. Jeremiah appeared to be slowing his pace deliberately ahead of him, and Matt kept offering the reins to Alex only to be refused every time. So long as he had the strength to walk, he would continue to do so. If he was doomed to collapse in the heat, he’d much rather avoid doing it from horseback.
It turned out there were only two fishing lines to go around, which suited Matt’s plans just fine. As soon as they reached their usual spot on the pier, Matt insisted that he and Alex take turns fishing while the other kept Midnight entertained. Jeremiah offered zero protests to this arrangement and simply handed Alex his usual equipment with a weak smile, while Matt guided Midnight by the reins and took her for a wander along the beach.
Despite the heat which appeared to hold a particular grudge against them that day, Alex found it comforting to slip back into his old routine. His body offered several protestations against him being on his feet for so long, but leaning against the barrier successfully relieved his unsteadiness and focusing on the task at hand provided an adequate distraction from any underlying discomfort. He couldn’t help but be grateful that Jeremiah hadn’t returned to his suggestion of going out on a fishing boat. No doubt the rocking motions of the waves would have resulted in him either puking his guts out or simply tumbling into the ocean depths, and he doubted Matt would have taken too kindly to either outcome.
The simple task of fishing for crabs by the pier was doable enough in his current state, however. They remained as eager to latch onto their bait as ever, and Alex found it easier than expected to raise the line with a steady hand. By the time Matt decided it was his turn to take over, Alex had already contributed four crabs to the ever-filling bucket, earning a firm pat on the back from Jeremiah in the process.
Alex elected to remain beneath the awning of the pier’s humble café during his break. The midday sun had grown especially fierce, and Midnight appeared to be worn out herself from Matt’s brief jaunt along the beach. She rested nearby, having been left untethered to roam as she pleased. Alex settled himself against the exterior of the ransacked café with his legs outstretched, content to simply watch Jeremiah and Matt go about their work. To his surprise, Matt took to fishing remarkably quickly - citing a childhood spent in Devon with nothing else to do as the reason for his natural ability – and it wasn’t long before he was luring crabs into the bucket without losing them to the shifting waves or the edge of the pier. On multiple occasions throughout the afternoon, he turned to Alex to ask if he wanted to swap, but Alex remained happy beneath his meagre shelter and Matt seemed happy enough to let him rest there.
As a result of their combined efforts, the bucket was close to overflowing before the sun was even halfway to the waves. Jeremiah wasted no time in forcing the lid over the top, drowning out the clacking of claws as their victims clambered over each other in their quest for freedom. Having signalled the end of a day’s work several hours ahead of schedule, Jeremiah took advantage of the calm to rest against the barrier and gaze out towards the endless sea, closing his eyes as the gentle rush of waves and distant cries of hovering gulls provided an ambient soundtrack. Matt cast one wary look towards Alex, who simply threw him a thumbs up to indicate that he was still alive, before he too lost himself in the view.
Alex was content to simply stay where he was. The sight of shimmering waters was hardly a novelty to him anymore, though he did appreciate the need to simply bask in silence for a moment. He let his eyes drift shut and simply focused on taking one breath after another; focused on the intermittent creaking of the pier and the constant movement of water beneath his perch and the distant whickers as Midnight trotted happily across the sands.
It was Jeremiah who eventually declared that they should head back, receiving little argument from his tired companions. Dragging himself to his feet took more effort than Alex would have liked, but somehow he accomplished that monumental task without resorting to using Matt’s proffered hand. The sun had become slightly more forgiving by the time they made their way back across the promenade and towards the beach. A gentle breeze announced itself shortly after they stepped foot upon the dusty path, having been conspicuously absent all day, and Alex turned his head in its direction as it brushed over his face and ruffled the messy strands of his hair. The tide appeared to be coming in, bringing the tang of salt and seaweed with it as foam gathered across the sand with every incoming wave.
It was shaping up to be a pleasant evening. Alex knew that was a dangerous thought, but he chose to indulge in it anyway.
George had beaten them home for once. Their approach to the cabin was soon guided by the rising smoke of a campfire, the older man’s silhouette visible as he crouched upon one of the fallen logs. His head appeared to be cradled in one hand - his curved posture making him appear small in the distance - but he straightened quickly as the trio approached him. He offered Jeremiah a weak smile as his friend proudly lifted the bucket containing their spoils, and to Alex’s surprise his expression remained soft even upon acknowledging his presence. If anything, George appeared to regard Alex with a newfound curiosity, his gaze unwavering even when Alex collapsed onto one of the logs with a tired exhale. The unprovoked attention was a tad disconcerting, considering its source. Alex could feel those pale grey eyes drinking him in even when he kept his own gaze fixed to the flickering campfire, though thankfully the spotlight vanished once Jeremiah asked what everyone wanted for dinner.
George had discovered two wild rabbits in his traps that morning, so a supper of crabmeat was swiftly relegated to another day. The pair wandered off to the cabin to prepare a meal while Matt and Alex stayed behind, watching evening’s approach as the warmth from the fire wrapped around them like a snug blanket. At one point Matt raised the possibility of retrieving the acoustic from the cabin, but did not appear to have retained enough energy to follow-through on that plan. Alex may have offered to claim it instead, if he wasn’t in the process of warding off a doze himself. He was grateful that his ravaged body had survived their daytrip, but he was starting to feel the effects of exerting himself so soon after having his strength completely sapped by illness.
He must have drifted off eventually. A firm hand gently shook him awake just as the sun was finally beginning to set, and he stared up at Jeremiah’s amused face before wordlessly accepting the bowl of thick rabbit stew which was placed in his hands. A distant complaint with regard to the local rabbits getting skinnier and skinnier went in one ear and out the other, but the pleasant aroma lured him back to full consciousness and it wasn’t long before he was digging in along with everyone else. True to George’s words, the meat was scarce and leathery in texture, but the addition of tinned carrots and potatoes provided enough bulk to soothe the hunger pangs in his stomach.
When the comfortable silence was finally broken, it came from a rather unlikely source.
“That man of yours,” George started without any preamble. Having been treated as an invalid by the older man since falling ill, Alex failed to realise that his words were directed at him until Matt gave him a helpful nudge, and he raised his head only to find himself trapped beneath an intense grey-eyed spotlight. “The one you’re hoping to find. You said his name was Miles?”
Alex could feel his heart stop. Dangerous hope flooded through his veins, as potent as morphine and twice as deadly. He had only ever mentioned Miles in George’s presence once, back in the first week as they sat by the campfire one calm evening. Their conversation had drifted to the topic of life before the apocalypse, and after Matt had spoken at length about his wife and young children and his hopes to track them down, Alex had opened up about his own desire to find his friends and ensure they were safe. Looking back, he couldn’t even remember George participating in their discussion. Alex had assumed that the older man had zero interest in anything he had to say, yet it appeared he had been listening intently all along.
“Yeah,” he choked out, before closing his eyes and schooling his voice to sound calmer. Unaffected. Showing weakness to George had never served him well. “English bloke about my age. Why?”
The corners of George’s lips quirked upwards and his eyes softened, to the point where he appeared almost as kindly as Jeremiah. It was an expression which did not appear to belong on his weathered face, but which ignited a further spark of hope within Alex regardless.
“I can’t promise anything,” George admitted, his smile almost apologetic in the soft evening light. “But I bumped into an old acquaintance matching your description today. Younger guy, does trades with us now and again. Funny accent. Never actually asked his name before but I figured it was worth a shot, for curiosity’s sake. Sure enough, he said his name was Miles and that he was originally from England.”
There seemed to be a delay between Alex hearing the words and the weight of them sinking in. He could feel himself staring dumbly at George, his mouth slack and eyes wide, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The man’s description was just vague enough that Alex was able to force himself to calm down. To breathe. To prepare for disappointment which was likely inevitable. The notion that Miles had not only survived the last five years but had remained within the Los Angeles area seemed too ludicrous to be true, but that logic didn’t stop Alex’s heart from hammering against his ribs as though trying to break free from his chest.
“I wasn’t too convinced,” George continued, seemingly ignorant to Alex’s plight. “But I did a little prying and brought up your name, just to test the waters. Poor guy went completely rigid. Almost like he’d seen a ghost.”
If anything, the pounding of Alex’s heart grew even more ferocious. He could hear the rush of blood flowing in his ears and no doubt his breathing had sped up to match it. He knew, deep down, that giving into hope with only a trace of proof was a dangerous game to play. The world was surely filled to the brim with dead men named Alex. There were probably over a hundred Alex Turners in the Los Angeles county alone who were now presumed dead, and he was surely not the only one to have had a friend called Miles. Luck was not a mistress who had ever treated him well in the past; why on Earth would she start now?
He had to know for sure though. He had to meet this man and see him with his own eyes. If he turned out to be a total stranger, at least Alex could go back to square one without subjecting his mind to worthless hope for weeks on end.
“Could you take me to him?” he asked, not bothering to hide the pleading edge to his voice. He was prepared to beg if he had to. George had never struck him as a man who would go out of his way to offer him kindness, and he knew that he was asking a lot of someone who had already offered him food and shelter for a month, but he had to try.
Thankfully, any resistance he’d expected refused to materialise. If anything, it appeared that George had been expecting the request, for he simply studied Alex for a few seconds before putting him out of his misery with a firm nod.
“Already arranged it. The guy accused me of pulling his leg and told me to piss off, but he was amenable enough to a meeting after some persuasion,” he said, a weak smile pulling at his lips before his expression hardened once more. “He stays about fifteen kilometers out west. We’ll head there first thing in the morning, before the sun comes up. That’s your only chance. If you’re not ready when I am, you can find him yourself.”
Alex could have cried from relief right then and there. The severity of George’s warning barely held the power to faze him. He knew deep down that he would get little sleep tonight and would be wide awake precisely when George needed him to be.
Knowing full well that his voice would fail him if he tried to speak, he responded with a nod and a hesitant smile which no doubt betrayed his nerves regardless.
Sitting beside George, Alex caught Jeremiah glancing back and forth between them with a soft smile which failed to disguise the tinge of sadness in his eyes. Despite Alex’s initial assumption that both of their hosts would take this development as a good thing – an opportunity to regain their privacy and return to their normal lives – neither of them seemed particularly upbeat about the probability of saying goodbye to him tomorrow.
He turned his attention to Matt only to find his own disbelief mirrored in his friend’s blue eyes, alongside a degree of melancholy. The radio-silence about his own loved ones must have been tearing him apart, but he threw an arm over Alex’s shoulder and shared a hopeful grin with him regardless.
Alex knew then that he didn’t even need to ask. Matt would be right by his side when they set off in the morning.
Chapter Text
Dawn was little more than a speck on the horizon when he emerged from the cabin the following morning. The wind still carried traces of an icy chill in its wake, while a full moon rested among a deep blue sky smeared with tinges of pink. A thin orange line settled above the water’s edge as the waves lapped calmly upon the shore, and Alex found his eyes drawn towards the horizon as the sun peeked shyly from the ocean’s depths.
The sight promised to banish the cold for another day and succeeded, temporarily, in assuaging his anxiety as he closed the door behind him for what could be the final time. His heart continued to pound in his chest as he slipped a small rucksack over his shoulder, but it was hope which pulsed through his veins rather than fear. As much as George had dissuaded him from letting optimism overwhelm logic, he had staunchly ignored such warnings. Allowing himself to believe that Miles may be alive and within reach was too sweet a notion to resist. He doubted he would survive the fallout if such hopes crumbled to dust, but for now he was willing to take that risk.
He made his way towards the overgrown path where George was waiting with his usual rucksack and shotgun, greeting him with a nod upon his approach which was wordlessly returned. Jeremiah had elected to stay behind, citing a hatred of hiking which George had heartily guffawed at. That hadn’t stopped him from yanking Alex into a fierce hug the night before, whispering a sincere message of “Good luck” before pulling away with a tight smile. He had still been snoring in bed by the time Alex and Matt dragged themselves into wakefulness, but his final message was received in the form of a pair of stuffed rucksacks resting by their feet, accompanied by a written message urging them both to visit if the opportunity ever arose. Whether George approved of parting with so much of their precious supplies remained to be seen, but Alex was willing to take his lack of verbal complaint as a good sign. The fact that George was even willing to stray from his usual routine to help Alex was more than he could have asked for in the first place.
Together they watched as Matt lured Midnight from her makeshift stable with the promise of tinned carrots, his own rucksack weighing down his skinny frame. Even from a distance the creature seemed displeased at having been roused so early, but true to her nature she forgave Matt easily. By the time they approached, a stream of golden light had started to spread across the beach as the sun emerged from the waves, and while Alex would gladly have watched the remainder of her ascent, George took the sight as their cue to get going. The older man turned on his heel and started marching along the path the instant Matt caught up to them, and the pair followed on with nervous energy bubbling beneath their skin. As the path undulated over shallow hills and twisted onwards towards the remains of the city, Alex allowed himself one final look at the cabin, feeling a twinge of guilt as he sincerely wished he would not have to return there in the evening.
Their journey was as long as George had implied it would be. Instead of wading into the depths of the city, they were instead lured onto a deserted highway, draped across scorched hills which once guarded the coast like a shield. Once green grasses were blackened and crisp beneath their feet as brittle weeds tore through the cracked tarmac. The road seemed to twist and turn endlessly to the point where it felt like they were hardly getting anywhere at all. As their climb grew steeper, Alex could feel his tortured lungs protesting angrily against his attempts to stretch them beyond their capacity. The only saving grace was the relatively cool air which soothed his exposed, sunburnt skin and the gorgeous views as the sun finally appeared in all her glory; floating above shimmering waves which stretched as far as the eye could see, remaining beautiful in spite of the ugliness which had consumed the mainland.
Alex could sense Matt throwing concerned glances in his direction as his breathing grew audibly ragged, but he avoided meeting his gaze. Nor did he respond when Matt asked if he would rather ride Midnight while he led them by the reins. He was hardly ignorant to the fact that his body felt like it had been hit by a truck and that his illness had left him with the strength of a newborn foal, but he had little desire to alert George to that weakness any more than he already had. So long as he could stand on his own two feet, he would elect to walk, even if his lungs expressed displeasure at even the slightest hint of exertion.
Besides, Midnight had not yet forgiven them for her early awakening. The exposure to the vast hills had put her in a willful mood, and she seemed far more concerned with dragging Matt off to the fields in search of edible grass than actually following the path they’d chosen to take. Climbing onto her back when she was in one of her huffs sounded like a horrendous idea in Alex’s book, and to his relief Matt seemed to agree, for he stopped suggesting the idea relatively quickly after Midnight decided to nip at his hand.
As the hours passed and the heat grew more oppressive, Alex gave into temptation to peel a water bottle from the depths of his rucksack, and started sipping away with as much restraint as he could muster. The road had finally straightened, which was a small mercy. The endless climb no longer seemed so strenuous and his legs had stopped shaking as his body reluctantly accepted the fact that he had no intention of resting. Even his wheeze started to settle as the miles passed them by, though the tightness in his chest refused to show him such kindness. Such discomfort became infinitely more tolerable once he reminded himself why he was making this trek, however. He clung to George’s description of this mysterious acquaintance like a lifeline as he walked, trying to picture what Miles must look like now. He wondered if he still had those laughter lines around his eyes. If his head was still shaven or if he’d allowed it to grow long over the years. If that wonderful toothy smile still came to him as naturally as breathing.
Alex missed him so much it became a physical ache, one which overshadowed the lingering aftershocks of his illness with terrifying ease. If the man George described wasn’t his Miles, he feared the grief would kill him where he stood.
By the time they reached the peak of this particular stretch of hills, the sun had well and truly been freed from her watery grave and was hanging overhead mercilessly. The protective breeze abandoned them while fierce heat simmered against the skin, sucking all moisture from the air and forcing Alex to drain his water supply more rapidly than intended. The air tasted like sawdust and ash. Holding the lukewarm bottle to his face provided little comfort as sweat trailed down his cheek, and Alex found himself staring at George’s protective cap with an ugly streak of envy. The man seemed as unaffected as always, though it seemed he wasn’t entirely ignorant to their suffering as, after casting a couple of glances back, he eventually relented and steered them towards a narrow viewpoint.
The turn-off had once served as a picnic area, if the blackened remains of a lone bench was any indication. The structure looked like it would collapse under the weight of a feather, let alone three grown men. Not that that ultimately mattered. As soon as Alex acknowledged the possibility of a rest, his legs collapsed from underneath him and he landed in a heap upon the dusty earth, too dazed and weary to bother lifting himself upright.
The sight which greeted him as he peered out over the hill would likely have immobilised him regardless. It would appear he was not alone in that regard. A choked off curse sounded from above before Matt lowered himself to his knees, eyes fixated on the smoking remains of the city he had once called home. The deserted resort with its gutted storefronts and inescapable stench of smoke and death had merely been an appetiser. Numb grief washed over Alex like a powerful anaesthetic as he took in the blackened husks of distant skyscrapers, reaching into the sky like necrotic fingers, while the streets surrounding them displayed only smoking rubble, scattered among the empty husks of abandoned houses. Any hint of life had been choked and razed to the ground in the wake of wildfires which had grown sick of being restricted to grassland and forests.
Alex couldn’t even place where his old house had been among the ruins, nor did he want to. That house had once been a haven shared with people he loved; a place to call home at a time when he was prone to feeling rootless.
If this was the terrible reality Murphy thought he was protecting humanity from, perhaps his motives were more admirable than they’d given him credit for.
Alex shook his head to expel those traitorous thoughts before they could take root. He’d implicitly accepted this reality the instant his subconscious set about tearing the hotel apart at the seams. He’d accepted that what he would find would likely be horrifying. Matt had too, and it hadn’t stopped him from fighting tooth and nail to break free. At least here he could say that his mind was truly his own. At least in this broken realm he wasn’t hiding behind the mask of a man whose entire life was a fabrication.
At least here there was a chance he could see Miles again. Said chance may be slimmer than a strand of hair, but it was infinitely better than the prospect of forgetting him.
Their stunned silence was broken by heavy footsteps as George pulled up beside them. Alex looked up to find the older man gazing out towards the ruined city with an unreadable expression on his grizzled face, his eyes guarded as he refused to convey his inner thoughts. The sight could hardly be a surprise to him at this stage, but it seemed to sink its claws into him all the same. Alex supposed that made sense; George could remember the city’s gradual destruction with far more clarity than Alex or Matt could after all. He had never struck Alex as a particularly haunted man, especially given that he wandered among the ruins of that devastated city on a daily basis, but perhaps that assessment was further from the truth than he’d initially assumed.
Then again, perhaps not.
“Honestly, I think I prefer it like this,” George admitted finally, in a tone which was as unreadable as his expression; too flat for sarcasm while simultaneously being too forced to be entirely truthful.
Perhaps there was an element of truth underlying his words. Jeremiah had always struck Alex as someone whose life had become remarkably simpler in the wake of the apocalypse; it wouldn’t surprise him if George shared the same sentiment. Then again, the forceful manner in which he tore his gaze from the view and regarded Alex and Matt with grim determination suggested there was something deeper lurking beneath the surface. Grief most likely, or perhaps a weary sense of dismay over the mess humanity had made of itself.
“You can admire it in your own time, boys,” he declared in a tone which left little room for debate. “We’ve still got a way to go.”
With that, he turned on his heel and took Midnight’s reins from where Matt had secured her to the bench. She didn’t take too kindly to this, having been happily munching on a precious area of unspoiled grass, but George placated her with ease as he led her back towards the track.
Matt watched them numbly for a few moments before heaving a sigh and dragging himself to his feet, hauling his rucksack onto his back with considerable effort. The punishing heat was clearly affecting him as much as Alex by that point. Beads of sweat gathered across his forehead, and he took a moment to rifle through his rucksack for precious water before bringing a bottle to his chapped lips with a sigh of relief. Alex looked to his own bottle and upended its pitiful contents into his mouth, cherishing the miniscule drops which drained from the bottom. Their effects were limited but welcome, and once the bottle had been drained completely, he cast it aside and watched it slip from the edge of a steep cliff-face.
He finally dragged himself to his feet with great effort and a couple of false starts. Shame flared in his cheeks when his legs briefly gave out and he stumbled midway, only to be rescued by Matt’s arm around his waist and a gentle ‘Easy tiger’. It took several moments for the world to stop swirling in surreal patterns and for his breathing to settle, and it struck him as a rather hopeless sign that the mere act of rising to his feet had taken the wind out of his sails. He turned his attention to Matt, no longer having the energy to be annoyed by the concern lurking in his friend’s eyes, and nodded once to indicate that he was okay.
Matt wasn’t in a hurry to believe him if his palpable hesitation was anything to go by. He ultimately relented and withdrew his arm from Alex’s waist, however, keeping it outstretched just in case a further rescue was required. It wasn’t, though that in itself was a miracle. Alex managed a few shaky steps before finding his stride, and together they wandered back onto the highway and followed the rapidly shrinking forms of George and Midnight. Alex made a point to keep his head down as they walked, guarding his face from the sun’s torment and amusing himself with the act of watching one foot go in front of the other on the cracked tarmac. Despite how miserable he felt and the cloying heat which threatened to drown him under its weight, he somehow managed to summon the strength required to keep walking.
He undoubtedly looked as awful as he felt. Matt was starting to look like he was suffering himself, and he wasn’t the one whose lungs had been riddled with pneumonia only two weeks prior. His own misery didn’t appear to dissuade him from looking out for Alex, however, and the pair ended up halting momentarily when Matt held his half empty bottle out in Alex’s direction.
“Just take it, I’ll be fine,” Matt said in response to Alex’s unspoken protest. The words were topped off with a tiny smile which transformed into a shameless grin in the blink of an eye. “Would be embarrassing if I let you die of heatstroke before your epic reunion.”
Alex laughed despite himself, taking comfort in the fact that Matt seemed to be entirely on board with the reason for their trip. It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that Matt had been stewing in silent cynicism all morning, considering their journey carried a significant possibility of being pointless, but it would seem he too was clinging onto hope on Alex’s behalf. Throwing Matt a grateful smile, Alex took the proffered bottle and allowed himself a healthy swig; wetting his dry lips with his tongue before reluctantly handing the bottle back. Matt refused it however, in spite of Alex’s insistence, so instead of pushing the matter further and starting a fight, Alex relegated the bottle to his rucksack with the intention of returning it the instant Matt betrayed his own thirst.
They followed the highway for several more miles, tailing the distant figures of George and Midnight as they went. Despite the relative security offered by George’s absence, neither Matt nor Alex seemed in any mood for conversation. The more they walked, the more insistent his nerves became, until the only thing Alex could hear was the hammering of his heart against his abused ribcage. The combination of sweat on his brow and the frantic scenarios flitting across his brain left him feeling rather feverish, and he silently prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that Matt’s half-baked diagnosis of heatstroke wasn’t close to the truth. Not that that was likely to work even if there was a god who could listen. Judging by their desolate surroundings, god had stopped listening to the prayers of humanity years ago.
George eventually led them onto a single-track dirt road which remained punishingly steep for at least a mile, before plateauing at the peak of a grassy hill. By this time, Alex could feel the sweat pouring off him in buckets, and his cheeks flared with heat and no doubt an impressive degree of sunburn. Matt seemed to be faring little better. His usually wayward hair had flattened considerably as damp strands clung to his forehead, and tying his jacket around his waist appeared to have offered little reprieve from the scorching heat. George was coping admirably of course, though it wasn’t lost on Alex that the man had had five years to acclimatise to the brutality of the sun while he himself had barely seen the sun in all that time.
The effects of the punishing heat were evident in every direction he looked. These hills must once have consisted of sprawling green fields, but now all he could see were brittle roots drained of all moisture. The landscape had dimmed to a drab beige which crunched underfoot and sprayed dust in their wake. There was little difference in colour between the dusty track and the grassland beyond it; only a hint of shimmering waves in the distance offered any sense of reprieve.
The track ultimately led them onto a narrow driveway framing a quaint, picturesque cottage; surprisingly intact in contrast to the blackened husks which formed the city behind them. The exterior was composed of faded white stone topped off with a tiled, terracotta roof. In its heyday, the fenced-off grounds must have housed a vibrant green lawn and perhaps a couple of apple trees here and there, though unsurprisingly they had since been rendered as lifeless as the rest of their surroundings.
Only one sight sparked a swell of hope. A small greenhouse sat proudly beside a run-down shed which looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. The shock of greenery within was so striking that it felt like Alex was watching an artsy black-and-white film unfold, in which only one colour had been highlighted. Alex wondered if the priceless contents within were what the cottage’s owner used to bargain with George and Jeremiah. No doubt a handful of fresh carrots or turnips could easily buy a healthy supply of crabmeat and seabass. He supposed in a world where money had been rendered obsolete, such a yield was more precious than gold.
Their approach had not gone unnoticed. Alex’s musings were cut short by the creak of a door, followed by the unmistakable scuff of sandals falling upon a dusty path. Beside him, Matt’s breath caught on a sharp inhale, and Alex’s heart began to hammer against his ribs. Anticipation thrummed through his veins, wrestling with profound dread over the very real possibility that he could lock eyes with a stranger. As ridiculous as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to look up. The idea that he and Miles could ever find each other again suddenly seemed preposterous, so much so that he was gripped by the childish desire to turn back the way he came and flee to the relative comforts of the cabin.
“Alex?”
The word was barely audible, carried on a breeze which sent a chill creeping along his spine before ultimately encasing his heart. His own breath stilled in his lungs and for once he allowed hope to burn fiercely because he knew that voice. No matter how faint it had been - as though its owner had been afraid to shatter an illusion - it may as well have been shouted from the rooftops for all the impact it made. With dizzying effort, Alex lifted his gaze and felt his heart clench at the sight of the man he had been so certain he would never see again.
Miles looked older. Not dramatically so, all things considered, but it was clear that some of his happy-go-lucky self had died a long time ago. A faded white vest showcased a new leanness to his muscles and his face had acquired a few extra lines which Alex would no doubt tease him about later. He’d grown his hair long again, to the point where the ends curled at the nape of his neck, and a disbelieving smile crept across Alex’s face as he made note of the occasional strands of grey nestled among thick brown.
Alex would recognise those eyes anywhere though. Familiar hazel irises glinted with traces of gold in the light of the afternoon sun, and Alex knew that if he wasn’t careful, he would fall into their depths and never emerge again.
It occurred to him that Miles’ single utterance had been posed as a question, though upon trying to summon a response, his throat clamped shut. A choked sob threatened to burst forth instead. All he could offer in place of a spoken affirmation was a single nod, but even that small action seemed to be powerful enough to break the spell that had befallen them.
“Oh god, Alex!” Miles choked out, launching himself forwards with a desperate burst of speed. Alex soon found himself engulfed in a suffocating embrace as Miles threw his arms around him and clung on for dear life, burying his face in the crook of his neck as his body shook with silent sobs. Alex wrapped his arms around his friend’s waist in turn and clamped his eyes shut, half-convinced that such a pleasant illusion would shatter if he dared open them.
Time stood still for a moment and for that he was grateful. If he could exist within that bubble forever then he would choose to do so in a heartbeat. The sensation of being able to hold Miles and be held by him in return - of being able to breathe in his scent and feel his heart pounding beneath his ribs - felt like a reward he hadn’t earned, but he’d be damned if he let it slip from his grasp.
Eventually Miles pulled back just enough to allow Alex to breathe, though he didn’t dare let go completely. He settled instead for cradling Alex’s face in his hands, and only upon feeling gentle thumbs swipe at his cheeks did Alex realise he had been crying. Miles made no such effort to conceal his own tears, too busy staring at Alex in silent awe, drinking in every detail of his face as though trying to memorise it.
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Miles asked, forehead creasing as terror over that distinct possibility took hold. Alex’s heart sank in sympathy as Miles lowered his eyes and a stray tear trailed down his cheek, as though he’d accepted a bitter fate which lay beyond his control. “This has to be a dream.”
“Not sure I’m the best person to ask, Mi,” Alex admitted.
A weak laugh erupted from his chest before he could stop it. It was a common joke that the connection they shared was practically a telepathic one, but Alex couldn’t help but wonder if Miles would ever truly understand how closely his own fears aligned with Alex’s. Accepting the reality you were presented with was no longer something Alex himself could take for granted, after all.
Not that it mattered in that moment. The sound of Alex’s voice seemed to shatter any remaining walls guarding Miles’ heart and his face crumpled with a mixture of pain and pure joy. He gathered Alex in his arms once more and clung to him tightly, one hand coming up to rest upon his messy hair. Alex felt his own frame being assaulted by sobs as he closed his eyes and cried without shame. His sporadic, disbelieving laughter mixed with Miles’ own in an unconventional harmony that reminded him of hiding in silent dressing rooms, clutching his guitar and sitting knee to knee with Miles as they discovered just how well their voices blended together.
“If this is a dream then don’t wake me up, okay?” Miles whispered in his ear, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t you dare.”
They held each other for what felt like hours, unfazed by the fierce heat of the sun against their backs, nor the inconvenient need to breathe which was impacted, somewhat, by their tight grip on one another. Alex released a shuddering breath which seemed to carry the weight of the world with it, feeling like he would float into the clouds if Miles ever let go. He couldn’t suppress the smile which plastered itself onto his face. There was so much to say – so many questions he wanted to ask – yet all he could do was grin and cry and hug Miles a little bit closer. Miles was still trembling, though his sobs had abated at last. It seemed neither of them could utter a single word, so great was their combined shock at finding the other alive and whole. Alex got the impression that any words he could summon would only prove themselves to be woefully inadequate; no doubt Miles would glean far more information from resting his forehead against Alex’s and gazing into his weary eyes.
When Miles eventually did break away, Alex felt his absence as acutely as an open wound. He tried not to betray his sudden agony and instead threw Miles an encouraging smile as he finally acknowledged the third member of their unlikely squad with a disbelieving laugh. From what Alex could gather, Matt had watched their reunion from the sidelines in supportive - albeit slightly awkward - silence; trying to remain inconspicuous as he watched on with what may have been a degree of longing. Miles wasn’t going to let him get away with that, however. Without warning, he pulled the smaller man into a forceful hug, knocking the breath from his lungs in the process if Matt’s stunned giggle was any indication.
“Thought you were dead and all, you mad bastard!” Miles declared, squeezing Matt tightly before pressing a firm kiss to his cheek.
Alex remained content to watch from a distance as Matt melted into Miles’ embrace. A sympathetic ache lanced through his heart as he imagined how desperately Matt must wish to hold his own loved ones so closely. He continued his observations just long enough to catch Miles whispering something in Matt’s ear which had the older man pulling back with an unreadable expression, before finding his attention pulled towards the only uninvolved member of their group.
Alex wasn’t sure what expression he expected to find on George’s face. Disdain, most likely. Perhaps a degree of impatience as he acknowledged the rising sun and the need to go about his daily routine now that this extraneous task was out of the way.
What he didn’t expect to find was a surprising gentleness in his eyes, nor the wistful half-smile which tugged at his lips. As though sensing the sudden scrutiny, George locked eyes with Alex and the pair froze as their surroundings melted away. Instead of schooling his expression back into its characteristic gruffness, however, George simply lowered his gaze and offered Alex a firm nod, before turning on his heel and heading back the way he came.
It seemed his job was done and he had little desire to hang around for the emotional fallout.
In spite of himself, Alex couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss as the man eventually vanished from sight.
The cottage, it transpired, had served as Miles’ home for the past three years, barring one stretch of four months in which wildfires had temporarily driven him towards the coast. It was during that period that he first encountered George and Jeremiah, though by that point he’d become self-sufficient enough that the pair served mainly as trading partners rather than life-rafts. The cottage had once rested within an acre of land which hosted beautiful flowers and tomato plants, with a collection of apple trees residing at the far-end of the yard and a trio of water wells scattered across the lawn. Only the wells remained of what was once a beautiful view, their contents guarded from the sun by heavy steel grates. Everything else had been lost to the ravages of time, kept alive only by dusty photographs and paintings scattered across the cottage’s hallway.
According to Miles, the cottage had remained relatively untouched when he stumbled upon it, its prior occupants clearly having left in a hurry. Unwashed dishes had been left to gather dust in the sink. The cupboards were stocked with the mouldy remains of bread and pancakes and, much to Miles’ relief, several tins of beans and tomatoes. Clothes littered the floor of the twin bedrooms, having been chucked in the vague direction of a laundry basket, and a calendar in the kitchen remained open on July 2023 as though no time had passed since the world fell apart.
Even the photographs remained on the mantlepiece. A beautiful young family had gazed at Miles from multiple angles as he wandered through his new home for the first time, their lives documented fully from graduations to marriages to the births of two little girls. Perhaps the previous occupants had hoped that their evacuation was only temporary and that rescuing such precious artefacts was hardly necessary. Perhaps they’d naively hoped - as Alex had once upon a time - that they would make it home one day and that the world would keep on turning as usual.
Miles had left the photographs untouched, only moving them occasionally to remove dust from their frames, just in case the family ever found their way home again.
After three years, it would appear he is still waiting for them to walk through the door.
Chapter Text
The cry of a passing gull shatters Alex’s reminiscences to fragments and hauls him bodily back to the present.
He blinks tired eyes which have grown bleary in the glow of the morning sun, his attention suddenly fixated on pale curtains swaying in the breeze. Warm sunbeams drift over the room as the fabric parts, painting a delicate shade of bronze onto his skin, and he suddenly feels too hot with the thick duvet draped over his legs. Tracksuit bottoms which had been a necessary evil overnight now feel confining, and the junctures where his and Miles’ skin connect are ablaze with heat and sweat. The urge to move refuses to claim him however. Instead, he simply buries his head into his pillow and quietens his mind, focusing only on the rhythmic breaths emanating from the man draped over his back.
He’s able to pinpoint the exact moment Miles wakes up by the minute shift in his breathing alone. The cyclical rise and fall of his chest pauses, momentarily, before Alex feels shallower puffs of air brushing against his neck. The arm draped across his torso hugs him impossibly closer, and Alex squeezes the hand clasped in his own to indicate that he too has crawled back to the land of the living. A dumb grin stretches across his face and he finds himself unable to resist a bashful giggle as Miles leans over to press a firm kiss to his cheek, his coarse stubble scratchy against his skin.
“Mornin’ love,” Miles whispers, voice rough from disuse. His lips are hovering so close that Alex can feel him smile against his cheek. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Nowt really,” Alex lies. He turns his head to take the other man in, greeting him with a sleepy smile which complements Miles’ own lopsided grin. “Just thinking.”
“Hmm,” Miles presses a further kiss to Alex’s cheek before flopping onto his own pillow with a loaded sigh. “You shouldn’t do that you know. I hear it’s bad for your health.”
Alex releases another laugh, feeling his chest lighten as the sound fills the room. He always feels more human when Miles is awake. If he narrows their existence down to this small bedroom, keeping his eyes fixed upon the deep blue sky, he can almost pretend that there’s still a world beyond these walls that they can enjoy. Still crowds to perform to and studios to rehearse in and pubs full of patrons to subject to their drunken karaoke sessions. Miles’ presence instils a sense of peace he honestly never thought he’d experience again.
How he managed to survive without him for five years remains a complete mystery.
It occurs to him that he’s getting lost among his own thoughts again. Only the gentle action of Miles running a hand along his forearm - erecting goosebumps in his wake – is capable of tying him down to the present. Alex closes his eyes and forces himself to zero in on the other man’s touch; on the warmth of his chest as it slots perfectly against Alex’s back; on the soft breaths which tickle the nape of his neck and the rhythmic action of Miles’ fingers dancing along his skin. Miles knows what he’s doing, he must do, but Alex is grateful nonetheless.
He releases his pent-up anxiety in a shuddering exhale, before opening his eyes again and deciding to shift his position. Escaping the confines of Miles’ embrace is a fairly complex task, but Miles releases him without question as Alex turns to face him, kicking the duvet away in the process. Alex offers no complaints when Miles wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in until they’re almost nose to nose, too busy losing himself in hazel eyes which have been rendered gold in the soft morning glow.
“You okay?” Miles asks, brows furrowing in palpable concern. The sight ignites a wave of guilt across Alex’s spine, sending electricity across his skin and making him shudder. He forces a smile onto his face however, knowing full well that Miles of all people will see right through it.
“Yeah, I just-”
His mind fails him. The words die on his tongue and he clamps his mouth shut with a non-committal shrug. He isn’t entirely sure what he wants in that moment. The synapses in his brain have been so overactive that trying to focus on one focal point feels like trying to shoot a target which happens to be running in circles. Miles is still staring at him with concern etched on his features but he remains quiet. Patient. Offering Alex all the time he needs to formulate his thoughts into a coherent pattern, just like he always has.
Several minutes pass before his desires emerge from the fog, and he releases a huff of frustration once it becomes clear what he really wants to say. Not for the first time he wonders if life would be easier if he didn’t insist on being so inquisitive. A smarter man would accept his remarkable luck after crawling back to the arms of someone he loves in the midst of an apocalypse. A smarter man wouldn’t try to pull such a scenario apart at the seams in search of answers which will only cause him pain.
It would seem that Alex is not a smart man, however, and he cringes in shame as he allows his curiosity to get the better of him.
“Could you walk me through it again?” he asks lifelessly. In spite of the vague nature of his words, Miles clearly understands where the conversation’s headed judging by the way his face falls. “What happened after... you know.”
It strikes him as hypocritical to ambush Miles with a request for details when he can barely vocalize his own question. Not that it seems to matter; Miles hears him loud and clear, and his frame tenses as the full weight of the request sinks in.
Alex’s memories have yet to return to him. The actual moment of their separation has been branded onto his brain and haunts him every night - no matter how tightly Miles holds him - but the aftermath remains locked away in his subconscious. No doubt Murphy himself erased those memories during the process of crafting Mark’s identity from scratch, having buried any trace of Alex within a secure vault.
Miles has tried to tell his side of the story twice, but on both occasions he had been stingy with the details. Not that Alex has any right to complain. He’s been even less generous in that regard, though that’s mostly down to him not having a clue where to start.
“We’ve been through it, Al,” Miles says, in a tone which makes him seem impossibly small. There’s a silent plea resting in his eyes, and he brushes a strand of hair away from Alex’s face before letting his palm linger against his cheek. “I’m not sure what else there is to say.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Alex blurts out, and he is. He feels like he’s being physically torn apart by the unmasked grief in Miles’ eyes, despite knowing full well that he’s the one responsible for planting it there.
There’s still time to rescue the situation. Still time to shrug it off and let Miles off the hook, for now at least. Deep down, even Alex doesn’t know if he’s prepared to handle a conversation of this severity first thing in the morning, but that doesn’t stop him from running his mouth regardless.
“I’m just tryin’ to make sense of everything in me head,” he explains, dropping his gaze as though that will make the words come more fluently. “Like, I know all the pieces should fit, but whenever I try to put everythin’ together, it’s like the picture starts making even less sense than before. D’you get what I mean?”
“Not really,” Miles admits, and Alex releases a surprised laugh in response to his flippancy. He risks lifting his eyes only to find unmistakable fondness lurking in hazel depths and a weak smile which mirrors his own.
He leans into the hand slowly caressing his cheek with a sigh and closes his eyes, coming round to the notion that Miles isn’t ready to open up. Perhaps that’s for the best. The day is still young after all, and he imagines there are plenty of ways to spend it that would be far more enjoyable.
As it turns out, however, Miles seems intent on continuing his twenty year-long streak of surprising him.
“Where do you wanna take off from?”
Alex opens his eyes to meet Miles’ grimly determined gaze. His friend doesn’t look any happier about the prospect of exposing his memories like a gaping wound, but Alex’s desperation must be painfully obvious if he’s relenting so easily.
Alex can only hope that the depth of his gratitude is just as easy to interpret.
“Same place as usual,” he says. Phantom pain tugs at his heart as he finds himself transported to the exact moment their lives fell apart. “The moment I lost you.”
Miles sucks in a sharp breath. The prompt lingers in the air between them and despite the beads of sweat dotting their exposed skin, Alex shivers in the wake of a sudden chill. For a moment there’s nothing but silence. The gentle hiss of a breeze fades into the background, until all Alex can hear is their strained breathing. It gets to the point where he suspects that Miles has changed his mind, only for the silence to finally be broken as Miles launches into his account as though reading from a script.
“Well then,” Miles starts, taking a deep breath before continuing. Sensing his discomfort, Alex reaches out for the hand not currently resting upon his cheek and offers an encouraging squeeze. “Once I realised I wouldn’t be able to fight my way back to you, I just let the crowd carry me away. Figured at least we were headed in the same direction so we’d find each other eventually. Only it didn’t work out that way. There were all these soldiers along the route guiding us this way and that, and they must have split the crowd in half at some point ‘cause I looked back and people were moving off in another direction. Eventually it got to the point where panic took over and I just broke off. Found my way into an alley and let the crowd pass me by while I tried to remember how to breathe. I must have called you a dozen times while I was at it but I could never get through. You must have dropped your phone somewhere or left it behind.”
Alex tries to remember leaving the house. He can vaguely recall the deafening sirens which had torn him from an otherwise peaceful nap, followed by a frantic rush as Miles stormed into the bedroom and started packing random belongings into a rucksack. He can remember Miles struggling to keep his voice level as he said “The fires are getting really bad, Al, we’ve gotta go”. He can remember the sound of blood rushing to his ears as he threw on clothes which had been left discarded on the floor and packed a bag himself.
He can’t remember packing his phone. In retrospect it seems like such an obvious thing to have lifted, but he knows that if he had it on him then he would have answered as soon as Miles’ name came up. Perhaps in the panicked rush he hadn’t been able to find it and had assumed everything would be okay so long as Miles had his.
A bitter laugh threatens to burst forth as it occurs to him that the last five years may have worked out very differently had he not made that stupid mistake.
“Eventually I figured I should just head over to Jamie’s like we’d planned, in the hope that maybe you’d have the same idea,” Miles carries on, refusing to meet Alex’s gaze. The mention of Jamie sends a shard of grief through Alex’s heart; the revelation from the hotel still fresh and raw in his mind. “I’m surprised he didn’t deck me as soon as I told him what happened to you. Guess he figured one of us needed to be the sane one, ‘cause it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be me. I spent two days trying to drag him out so we could go looking for you, but he convinced me to stay put. Told me we’d only scare the shit out of you if you found your way there and we were nowhere to be seen. So we stayed, and I despised every second of it. I think he secretly did too.
“Do you remember calling me yet?” Miles asks suddenly, bringing his eyes to meet Alex’s as hope seeps into his tone. Alex shakes his head with an apologetic frown, but Miles doesn’t seem to mind. “I could have cried when I heard your voice. It just came out of the blue, especially ‘cause it was Matt’s number that came up rather than yours. The pair of you must have found each other even then.”
That had been news to Alex when Miles first mentioned it. One of the first things Miles had asked after inviting Matt and Alex into his home was if they’d been together all along, having assumed as much after remembering that fateful call from five years ago. Try as they might, neither of them could recall the incident in the slightest. Even Matt retained no memory of letting Alex borrow his phone; as far as he was concerned, their first meeting had taken place at the hotel bar and had wound up being a lucky coincidence more than anything else. This revelation had left poor Miles rather stumped, and it probably didn’t help that neither Matt nor Alex could come up with an explanation behind their reunion which didn’t sound totally bonkers.
Even now, weeks later, Alex cannot remember encountering Matt back then. He has tried to relive those final days so many times, but he can never penetrate the brick wall which separates him from those precious memories. As far as he knows, Matt remains in the same boat. They are entirely reliant on scattered puzzle pieces and the memories of others to try to make sense of what happened to them, and the continued lack of answers is maddening.
“You sounded scared,” Miles says, his voice breaking as he’s transported back to their final conversation. Tears gather at the corner of his eyes but he furiously blinks them away, facing Alex with a weak smile which fades quickly. “You were tryin’ to hide it, but I could tell. You told me you’d been directed towards this crisis centre where they were handing out food and supplies. For some reason they weren’t letting you leave; kept telling you it wasn’t safe to go out just yet. But every so often they’d call someone’s name and take them away and neither you nor Matt ever saw them coming back. You didn’t know exactly where you were, but you vaguely remembered which direction you’d come since we split up. Enough to give me some hints as to where you might be at least.
“I promised that I’d find you and that everything would be okay. I told you that I loved you,” Miles whispers. The words are left to simply hang in the air for a moment, as Alex tries desperately to remember hearing them. Ultimately, the pause is interrupted when Miles releases a broken laugh, uttering his next words under his breath. “At least I can say that last one wasn’t a lie.”
A stray tear does escape then. Miles squeezes Alex’s hand tighter to the point where it begins to hurt, but Alex simply lets him without a word of complaint. It occurs to him that he needs the comfort almost as much as Miles does, and his eyes flutter in relief when Miles uses his free hand to stroke his hair again.
The world is still dark when his hand is brought to Miles’ lips and a soft kiss is pressed against his palm.
“Took me far too long to find where they’d taken you,” Miles admits after a moment of silence. “The fires were getting pretty bad by that point. Most of the city was either in flames or about to be, and Jamie’s place was in the danger zone by then so we were being chased out anyway. He wanted to help me find you but I wouldn’t let him. Told him he had family to look after and that we’d both be joining him soon enough.”
It’s Alex’s turn to release a bitter laugh, though the impact is lessened, somewhat, by the beginnings of a sob lurking at the base of his throat. If only Miles had known then that neither of them would ever see Jamie again. Not in the flesh anyway. Alex would waste the next five years interacting with a convincing mockery of his friend, while Miles at least managed to keep in contact for another month before the phone lines went down. Last he’d heard, Jamie had been heading east with his family - following the official guidelines as the west coast became awash with flame - but that was five years ago. News from the other states had grown scarce very quickly, and as it stands now, the rest of the world may as well be non-existent considering how unreachable it has become.
Alex is choosing to believe that Jamie made it. If he and Miles could survive against all odds then it stands to reason that Jamie could too.
The fates of Nick and Matt remain equally unclear, especially considering the pair had been stranded across the pond when disaster struck. Apparently the UK was caught in the throes of the opposite problem, with relentless rainfall causing extensive flooding across the south. Millions had been displaced from their homes in the space of a fortnight, with London especially being badly hit, and the motorways were packed with people fleeing north. The last Miles had heard, Nick and Matt had joined forces and were well on their way to Scotland after the country had opened its borders with the promise of sanctuary and higher ground. Miles never found out if they made it, though he’d chosen to remain optimistic, citing his reasons as “If anyone’s going to survive the apocalypse, it’ll be those mad bastards. And I’m not just talkin’ bout the Scots.”
Much as Alex wishes he could share his optimism, the fact remains that the likelihood of ever seeing his childhood friends again is unbearably low. More than once, he’s found himself longing for the versions that existed within the hotel, knowing full well that they were nothing more than replicas. At least they’d been convincing in their roles, and much as Alex hates himself for it, he knows he would give anything to hold them in his arms or perform onstage with them again.
Miles appears to be waiting for him to recover before saying anything else. The harsh, broken sound of his own laugh still reverberates in his ears, and he clenches his eyes shut for a moment to discourage the tears gathering there. Only when he conveys his consent with a swift nod does Miles continue talking.
“The crisis centre was on the outskirts so it was still relatively safe,” he says, and Alex opens his eyes when Miles lets out a small huff of laughter. “Getting there was a pain in the arse mind you. Ended up evading so many soldiers you’d think I was in a Call of Duty game. Took me a couple of days to even get close, and it were deserted by the time I showed up. Weird place. Looked like an old industrial warehouse which had been left to rot, but they’d mocked up signs directing people inside and there were all these abandoned trucks nearby.”
Miles had told him about the makeshift crisis centre before. Alex knows that this is where the trail went cold and any remaining trace of him vanished, though the details have always been scarce before now. Multiple attempts to picture a run-down warehouse in his mind’s eye have failed to manifest any recollection of the building itself.
“I haven’t mentioned this to anyone, but there was something strange about the place,” Miles admits suddenly, as though only now remembering an additional detail. “This is gonna sound mad, but it were almost like the warehouse didn’t want people to see it. There was this sharp throb in my skull whenever I looked directly at it, and it only got worse the longer I looked. It was even stranger if I turned away. I swear, it were like the warehouse vanished from the corner of my eye and I forgot it existed for a minute. I might not even have gone inside at all if I weren’t so desperate to find you.”
It doesn’t sound mad. If anything, Miles’ description is convincing enough to send a cold wave of dread shooting up Alex’s spine. He can feel his body freeze as a newfound certainty grips him. The memories may continue to evade him, but he feels like he’s just been handed rock-solid proof that at one point in time, he was trapped within the walls of that place. More than that, it was probably the last place he ever saw before his mind fell into Murphy’s clutches.
What other creature could be capable of altering one’s perception in the way that Miles has described after all?
“What did you find in there?” Alex asks, a sudden burst of curiosity and desperation overwhelming him before he can contain it. “You’ve never said.”
“No I haven’t, have I?” Miles concurs, a heavy sigh passing his lips as the truth of Alex’s statement sinks in. He lowers his gaze for a moment as though frightened of the newly awakened eagerness burning in Alex’s eyes, before admitting in a voice which sounds far too small to be his: “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone.”
Any curiosity simmering in Alex’s veins fizzles like a dying match. The sight of Miles looking so small and defeated tugs insistently at his heart and he finds that he wants nothing more than to gather him in his arms and never let go. He’d known as soon as he opened this can of worms that he’d be awakening painful memories, but watching the toll they’re having on Miles is making him wish he could close the lid and hide the can in a tall cupboard, never to be touched again. Both of their experiences in the aftermath of their separation are likely to have been terrible, but it’s starting to become apparent that Alex may be better off for not remembering a single second of it.
“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says gently, bringing a hand to Miles’ cheek and letting it rest there while the other man closes his eyes in gratitude. “I’ve not exactly been upfront ‘bout everythin’ that happened to me either.”
This isn’t exactly a lie. Alex has tried to explain what happened to him on multiple occasions, with little success. As it stands, Miles knows that he spent five years living a lie under the watchful gaze of a creature called Murphy – or Murph in Matt’s case – but Alex has struggled to reveal anything else. That brief revelation alone had been enough to render Miles speechless, but to Alex’s surprise his initial reaction hadn’t been to laugh in his face or accuse him of going mad.
Apparently there was a reason for this. Around a month into Alex’s disappearance, a new conspiracy theory had arisen from the ashes. Rumours ran rampant about an ageless celestial creature who offered an escape from the relentless terror which gripped the nation in its claws. The creature offered a taste of a purer reality in which nothing was impossible. Normality could be re-established at the drop of a hat; loved ones could be returned from the dead and recreated perfectly in accordance with the subject’s memories. All it would cost was their physical bodies; their minds would survive and thrive in an eternal digital afterlife, unaffected by the crumbling world beyond it.
Miles himself had always dismissed such rumours as farcical. As more time passed and humanity grew more desperate, however, stumbling upon mass exoduses wandering in search of this creature became commonplace. Everyone from cultists to hippies to grieving survivors with nothing left to lose fell prey to the promises of a better reality, though very little was known about what happened to them once they completed their search.
Alex is almost certain that the only reason Miles has accepted his story is because those rumours existed in the first place. No doubt his attempt to explain what happened to him would have been a much more strenuous affair if Miles had been entirely ignorant of Murphy’s schemes. Even with that roadblock cast aside however, Alex has always struggled to convey the true nature of his survival. Trying to explain that he spent five years running a lunar hotel which stemmed purely from his imagination sounds ridiculous to his own ears and he lived it. As it stands, the fact that Miles knows that he and Matt were stranded on a simulated reality until a few weeks ago is as much detail as either of them are able to share, and Miles, in his eternal patience, has accepted it. For now.
Alex suspects that a more detailed explanation will be owed after this morning, for the sake of fairness if nothing else.
“No, I should,” Miles says with a certain firmness which implies that he’s trying to convince himself more than anything else. He opens his eyes to face Alex with a grim sense of conviction which his weak smile does nothing to mask. “Maybe you’ll help me make sense of it one day.”
Alex doubts it.
They remain in silence for a few moments. Miles’ gaze becomes distant, unseeing, as though transported back in time. The sight shatters the already fraying remains of Alex’s heart, and he does what he can to anchor Miles to the present; brushing a hand through the messy strands of his hair before letting it rest on his cheek. Miles closes his eyes with a sigh and expresses his gratitude with a gentle squeeze of Alex’s other hand. When he opens them again, there’s a reignited awareness burning in their depths, and he greets Alex with a weak smile which has ancient laughter lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes. The sight is all-too-fleeting, but Alex finds a smile sneaking onto his own face in return.
Miles swallows as though steeling himself before starting to speak.
“The entrance led into this large hall,” he explains. “Bit of an atrium I suppose. Looked exactly as you’d described, with all these benches and sleeping bags and food stalls at the far-end. There was no-one around by then, but I didn’t think much of it at that point. Reckoned they must have gotten everyone out before I got there. Only, once I had a proper look round, I could see all these rucksacks and suitcases just left lying about. I rifled through a couple and found passports, wallets, family photos... the kind of stuff you don’t leave behind, not even in a hurry.”
An image forms in Alex’s head as Miles speaks. All of a sudden he can visualise a vast space brightened by clinical overhead lights; can hear the bustle and chatter of frightened evacuees gathered on flimsy benches, clutching their precious belongings and waiting for instructions which are stubbornly unforthcoming. He pictures bland meals being scooped onto paper plates and occasional harsh orders shouted across the room, launching the place into silence for a few blessed seconds before the chatter picks up again. As clear as the images become, he would be lying if he said they felt like memories. The perspective he adopts seems too distant. It feels more like he’s watching the scene unfold from above rather than remembering his own role within it. And yet, there’s a tangibility to it all which makes it feel genuine, as opposed to a concocted imagining prompted by Miles’ descriptions.
“There was a door at the far end which had been left open for some reason,” Miles continues, and just like that a further detail is painted onto the image forming in Alex’s head. “It led out onto this... I guess maze is the only way I can describe it. Like a labyrinth with all these corridors going in different directions and countless doors on either side. The whole place gave me the creeps, but out of nowhere I had this overwhelming certainty that you were trapped in one of the rooms. So I started checking them all.”
The temperature in the room suddenly drops. Alex can feel his breath freezing in his lungs despite the warmth of Miles’ body entwined with his own and the morning sunbeams bathing his skin in light and heat. So visceral is his reaction that the image in his head shatters and fades to black, but to his annoyance no solid memories replace it. His body appears to be acting on instinct as though blaring a siren at him, warning him to stop listening while he still can. He ignores it, of course, but he’d be lying if he said that the thought of hearing more wasn’t starting to frighten him.
“The rooms were bare except for what looked like a hospital bed and a pile of equipment,” Miles continues. While he doesn’t openly acknowledge any change in Alex’s demeanor, he must have noticed something imperceptible because he starts swiping his thumb gently across his cheek. “There were all these wires and computer screens, but the power was out so I couldn’t tell what any of it was for. Every bed had a person lying on it, all hooked up to drips, and the wires had been stuck onto their foreheads. Almost as though they were being plugged into the machinery. It didn’t actually look too bad at first, just a bit weird. But when you got closer-”
Miles’ mouth clamps shut and a broken laugh escapes from his throat unbidden. He lowers his gaze as a shudder creeps over his frame, implying that he too has been subjected to an inexplicable chill elicited by memory alone. He doesn’t need to say anything else. Alex has gathered enough to know where this is going. The memories may not be there but certainty grips him in its claws regardless, and despite knowing that this entire situation is his fault, he finds himself wishing he could stop listening.
He doesn’t though. The idea of leaving Miles to endure his memories alone is unthinkable, and it would seem his curiosity is too great to justify tuning the words out now.
“They were dead,” Miles says blankly, erecting a wall between himself and the words he’s saying to spare himself as much as possible. “All of them were dead, probably had been for days. I only checked the first couple properly but it were obvious. Christ, their faces...”
The wall shatters and Miles releases a shuddering breath as a tear trails down his cheek. Its descent goes unnoticed at first as he fights to withhold any further tears from escaping, but Alex swipes it away with his thumb and squeezes the hand interlocked with his own to remind Miles that he’s still here; still breathing, as miraculous as that is. The action must suffice, for Miles clears his throat with a shake of his head before carrying on.
“There must have been a hundred rooms in total. Got to the point where I was so convinced I’d find you in one of them, I could already picture what you’d look like. My heart were going so fast I thought the fear would kill me before I even managed to find you, but I kept going anyway. Felt like I was stuck in there for hours just going door-to-door, until eventually I ran out of rooms and reached a dead-end. Wound up stumbling through a fire-exit and puking my guts out onto the pavement instead.”
They descend into silence once more, with only their ragged breathing breaking through the haze. Alex removes his hand from Miles’ cheek and wraps it around his torso instead, pulling him close so they can embrace each other properly. The heat of Miles’ body helps to banish some of the ice which has sunk into his bones, leaving him feeling heavy and exhausted. Absently, Alex distracts himself by tracing small circles over the plains of Miles’ back, feeling the muscles contract with every strained breath. Time grinds to a halt around them, trapping them within a bubble of their own misery, but before long Alex feels Miles slip an arm around his waist, returning the hug with a sigh of relief.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Miles’ version of events has failed to entice Alex’s own memories from their prison. A couple more pieces have been added to the ever-growing puzzle, certainly, but the connective tissue remains severed beyond repair and all that faces him when he casts his mind back is an endless wall of black. Perhaps he should be grateful for that. Perhaps he got off lightly - comparatively speaking - by winding up trapped in a maze of his own ignorance while the outside world crumbled to pieces. Not that he would ever choose to return to that state. The hotel might have felt relatively safe in comparison, but in retrospect Alex imagines he was balancing on a knife-edge every time he dared raise his voice in Murphy’s presence.
“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers in Miles’ ear, knowing full well that nothing he can say will ever make up for the pain he caused when he failed to keep ahold of his hand all those years ago.
The response he gets is a harsh laugh topped off with a broken sob. Miles clutches him tighter, as though worried that the mere act of letting go will result in Alex slipping from his fingers without any hope of return.
“Hate to say it Al, but I’ve seen much worse since,” he admits eventually, aiming for levity but missing his target by miles.
He pulls back just enough to gift Alex with a sincere smile however, conveying unspoken forgiveness for all those years Alex left him on his own, alone and scared and grieving. For a moment Alex thinks his own grief may suffocate him, but he manages to gather enough strength to summon a smile of his own, before maneuvering his body to rest his head upon Miles’ chest, zeroing in on his heartbeat as it pounds against his ribs.
“You never did find out what happened to me then?” Alex asks quietly, closing his eyes as Miles’ hand comes up to massage his scalp and stroke his unruly hair behind his ears.
As much as he’d expected the findings in the warehouse to add clarity to his situation, he feels like he’s only been left with further questions. The entire situation appeared at first glance to have Murphy’s fingerprints all over it, however if the process of uploading people’s consciousness to a digital matrix was ultimately a fatal one then surely he wouldn’t have been able to return to Earth at all. Had the people in the warehouse been failed experiments? Was there a process of weeding out the weak which Alex and Matt had somehow survived through sheer dumb luck? Had their paranoia allowed them to escape the warehouse before Murphy could subject them to the same fate as everyone else, only for them to fall into another trap further down the road?
No doubt he’ll never know for sure. It remains to be seen whether he’s prepared to accept that uncertainty and move on, however.
“Not really,” Miles admits with a sigh, and Alex can feel his chest lift as he manages a defeated shrug. “I didn’t even have time to convince myself that you might be okay. Suddenly there were stories of people stumbling across similar warehouses here there and everywhere. There were at least six in LA, five in New York. Wasn’t long before you were getting rumours of warehouses full of bodies in London, Rome, Tokyo... Everywhere they cropped up, people vanished by the hundreds. Got swept under the rug pretty quickly too. Just became another horrible detail in a world that was falling to pieces.”
The hand massaging Alex’s scalp halts temporarily, eliciting an unintentional groan. Miles laughs at Alex’s obvious displeasure, making it up to him by pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head and ruffling his hair, effectively undoing his earlier attempts to tidy it. The laughter dies just a little too quickly though. Alex can feel Miles’ body tensing beneath his cheek, and he lifts his head only to catch Miles staring into space.
“Once I started hearing those stories, I just knew,” Miles murmurs, taking a deep breath before meeting Alex’s gaze once more. “Didn’t even matter that I never found your body. I knew you were dead. I went to sleep every night for five years knowing you were gone and that it was all my fault.”
“None of it was your fault,” Alex insists, forcing himself to sit up so he can meet Miles face-to-face. Miles appears to be avoiding eye-contact as undeserved guilt slowly consumes him, and Alex seeks to rectify that by placing his palm on Miles’ cheek and forcing their eyes to meet. “I were the one who let go of your hand, remember?”
He has to make Miles understand that. Has to find some way of convincing him that he’d done everything right and that it was Alex who fucked up. Alex was the one who let some faceless person in the crowd pull him away from Miles. Alex was the one who’d stupidly left his phone at home so he couldn’t contact Miles until it was too late. Alex was the one who’d allowed his mind to fall into the hands of a monster; the same creature who had robbed him of his name and forced him to exist with no recollection of Miles ever existing.
On the other hand, Miles had done everything in his power to track Alex down from the moment they were separated. No doubt he has spent years punishing himself for his supposed failure, but Alex will be damned if he allows Miles to continue blaming himself for his own mistakes.
Not that Miles is going to make that easy for him, if his disbelieving smirk is any indication.
“We can argue ‘bout whose fault it was until the shops reopen,” Miles says with a weak laugh which does nothing to mask the pain in his voice. He returns his hand to Alex’s cheek so that they’re both simply holding each other, close enough that their lips are almost touching. Alex can feel the warmth of Miles’ breath on his skin and he counts it as a blessing; another scrap of proof that his best friend is truly alive and sitting right in front of him, despite logic dictating that he shouldn’t be. “Doesn’t change the fact that I promised to keep you safe and I fucked it up.”
“Hey,” Alex says, forcing Miles’ eyes to meet his once more when he notices them starting to drop. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Miles looks at him in that moment as if he’s just discovered the secrets of the universe. The utter amazement emanating from his warm eyes sends a sweet, pulsing ache through Alex’s heart, travelling in his bloodstream to every cell in his body. The effect is dizzying, and he finds himself unable to hold back a lopsided grin which is quickly mirrored on Miles’ own face; his eyes crinkling with unfiltered joy even as a few stray tears slip down his cheek. A toothy smile provides Alex with the most precious sight he is ever likely to set eyes upon. Any residual ice melts away entirely and he becomes aware of how warm and bright the morning has become, made all the more beautiful by a pleasant breeze which filters through the window, bringing the scent of earth and salt with it. They have returned to the present at last, having relegated the horrors of their past to distant memory, and Alex knows he will do anything in his power to make this moment last as long as feasibly possible.
“You are,” Miles agrees, his smile wavering for only a moment before the force of his joy overpowers him again. The sensation of Miles’ soft palm resting against his cheek brings Alex back to the blissful moment of their reunion; that tiny bubble of time which he’d prayed would never end. “I still can’t believe it. I keep expecting to wake up and find you gone.”
The admission is one that strikes a little too close to home, but Alex swallows down his flurry of unease before it can dampen his spirits. Miles already knows that he is constantly gripped by the same fear. It’s why they insist on waking in each other’s arms after all. It’s why Miles can’t sleep without ensuring he can feel Alex’s heartbeat, or why Alex always rests his head on Miles’ chest when they cuddle up together on frosty nights. Such comforts may not be powerful enough to banish their nightmares entirely, but recovering from the echoes of their grief is much easier when they wake to find the other sleeping beside them, warm and solid and wonderfully alive.
Alex isn’t naïve enough to believe it will last. The impact of his recent illness has hammered that home with all the subtlety of a brick; the pneumonia having served as a brutal reminder that he has been rendered more fragile than ever before. He’s grateful that Matt never divulged just how bad things got to Miles, considering the resultant fussing would have driven him mad, but he can’t help but appreciate just how precious his time with Miles has become. The future is promised to no-one after all, especially now, with the world having been irrevocably altered within the space of a few years.
“You still can’t remember anything?” Miles asks after some time.
It’s a rather apt conclusion, considering how little Alex himself has contributed to their conversation. The only answer he can provide is a subtle shake of his head and a weak frown. He desperately wishes he had more to offer. Miles spent five years trawling through each day without knowing for sure what happened to him, forced to rely on horrific imaginings to join the dots. He’s owed a better explanation than the blank slate which Alex’s memory has supplied, and as much as Alex fears the prospect of remembering everything, he can’t help but wonder if they can ever truly move on without knowing the full picture.
Miles doesn’t hold his lack of answers against him though. For all Alex knows, perhaps Miles prefers not having the full picture. Perhaps the nightmares which have plagued him for five years have been rendered void in the wake of discovering Alex alive and well, leaving him with little desire to question that stroke of luck. At the very least, he seems satisfied enough not to press Alex further, content to simply hold him close and chase away the demons lurking within his skull.
Miles’ anchoring influence eventually brings the unwanted side-effect of reminding Alex just how warm the room has become. Their sheets have been mercilessly cast aside but their proximity is starting to become stifling regardless, and he squirms in discomfort as he feels his tracksuit bottoms clinging to his skin with every minute shift of his legs; damp with sweat and making him feel sticky and unclean. Heat flares in his cheeks as he feels Miles chuckle at his obvious discomfort. In the end he’s forced to admit that he needs space, and he utters a hurried apology to Miles before peeling away from his side, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and rising to his feet with a blissful stretch. The quiet is broken by an exaggerated yawn which leaves Alex feeling momentarily stunned, before he staggers over to the open window to embrace the morning view.
The day is still young, relatively speaking. The sun is steadily climbing towards her peak but it would appear that the hours have not crossed the border into midday just yet. The warmth caressing his skin promises to remain somewhat bearable, balanced out by occasional gusts of wind carried over from the sea. They could make the trek to the bottom of the hill later, following the footpaths until they reach a private stretch of shore. Once there, they can easily pass the time lazing beneath the sun or going for a swim in the blissfully cool depths. Hell, if the afternoon remains pleasant, they could even pack a bag and head down to the cabin for a couple of days. It wouldn’t be the first time; Jeremiah is always keen to offer shelter and share his hard-earned fish or crabmeat, only asking for a few hours of company and the occasional song in exchange.
Alex’s attention is drawn towards the bronzed fields as the air is broken by a distant, high-pitched giggle. A warm smile creeps across his face as he spots the culprit emerging on the horizon, her tiny body secured to Midnight’s saddle as the horse strolls along the scorched earth. The pair are guided by a slender woman decked out in an elegant summer dress. The woman’s laughter quickly harmonises with her young daughter’s as she tugs on the reins and directs the creature back the way it came, towards a cosy farmhouse which rests only half a mile away.
Alex doesn’t need to see the child to know that her face is framed by golden brown curls and that her eyes are the same intense shade of blue as her father’s.
It had struck them as too good to be true when Miles had given them the news. Alex can still remember the force of Matt’s disbelief when he learned that not only were his family alive, but that they were practically neighbours. Miles and Elle had encountered each other by chance in the chaotic weeks following Matt and Alex’s disappearance and had remained in close contact ever since, looking out for each other out of a sense of obligation. It hadn’t even mattered that they had only been acquaintances prior to the wildfires. Reuniting with a friendly face in those desperate weeks had acted as a valuable source of comfort at a time where comfort was in increasingly short supply.
Elle was the one responsible for the priceless greenery sprouting in the greenhouse, having made a habit of collecting seeds from day one while everyone else fought over perishable food and guns. In return for a share of her spoils, Miles regularly shared fresh water from the pumps scattered across the yard, or any food he obtained during trades with various acquaintances.
The news had sounded like one stroke of luck too far. It still does, if Alex lets himself scrutinise it too closely. Even Matt had refused to believe it at first, responding to Miles with a flippant “Fuck off!” which, despite lacking any genuine venom, had blatantly betrayed his expectation of further heartbreak. Alex had learned enough about Matt by that point to know that he was a realist to his core, and the idea of surrendering to optimism must have been unbearable in light of all he’d endured.
Only this time there truly was no caveat. There was no cruel trick lying in wait to tear his heart to shreds. The following morning they’d set off across the fields, following an isolated track which tailed off onto abandoned farmland. Several deserted barns had framed a tiny bungalow, the wind hissing loudly through the open space to create a haunting echo, and Matt had frozen on the spot as a swing-set came into view in the garden. A young girl was in the process of swinging herself as high as physically possible, only letting her feet scuff along the ground when she noticed the approaching strangers. Even from a distance, Alex had been struck by the uncanny resemblance between the child and the man standing by his side, made all the more blatant when inquisitive blue eyes landed upon him with an air of distrust he knew all too well.
Any lingering doubts had been swiftly vanquished as the door to the farmhouse crept open and a lanky teenage boy emerged from within. He was immediately followed by a beautiful woman with golden hair and a mask of disbelief set upon her delicate features. It had taken several endless seconds for the spell to break, but Matt recovered quickly and managed to meet Elle halfway as the two launched themselves at each other; practically lifting her off the ground as their bodies crashed together and their relieved laughter filled the air.
Watching from the sidelines as everything Matt fought for came to fruition had been a remarkably surreal moment. Alex had spent most of it wondering if he was doomed to wake up back at the cabin in a mere blink of an eye, having conjured the whole affair in a dream. No doubt the same thought had crossed Matt’s mind as he’d watched Alex reunite with Miles, but as the minutes passed and the world refused to collapse, he allowed a gentle grin to overcome him as Matt eventually collapsed in a cackling heap beneath the combined weight of Elle and his two children.
The whole family had come by to visit only last week. For an entire evening it had been easy to pretend that they were all simply enjoying a regular social gathering. Miles had graciously agreed to cook what he christened as ‘mishmash soup’ using a combination of crab meat courtesy of Alex and fresh carrots and leeks courtesy of Elle, with generous portions of tinned beans and spaghetti hoops acting as a side-dish for the younger members of the gathering. They’d spent the evening milling around the dining table while the sun filtered through the window, until digging out candles became necessary and they retired to the comfort of the fireplace instead. An hour into the proceedings, Miles had elected to drape an arm around Alex and Alex had let him, resting his head against his shoulder with a smile as he basked in the relative normalcy of it all.
Matt had spent most of the night simply watching Elle like a lovestruck teenager, a fond smile etched permanently on his face. The remainder of his time was spent supervising his energetic teenage son and equally energetic daughter as the elder chased his sister around the room, pretending to be a pirate while she giggled hysterically and narrowly escaped his grasp. Eventually the only people offering any form of intelligent conversation were Elle and Miles; even Alex found himself zoning out as he stared obsessively at Matt, struck by the sheer uncensored love written all over his face. It no longer seemed absurd that this man had single-handedly smashed his way through the fabric of reality in order to hold his wife and children again. The look on Matt’s face told Alex quite plainly that every second of pain and terror and grief had ultimately been worth it.
Alex must have been rather unsubtle in his observations. The weight of his gaze finally drew Matt’s eyes towards him, and for several moments they simply stared at each other as the world faded to white noise. An unspoken conversation seemed to flit through their minds, but Alex lacked the ability to understand what was being said. All he knew was that Matt’s tiny smile had vanished and his expression had darkened, albeit subtly enough that only Alex could sense it.
Out of nowhere, it occurred to him that he understood precisely what was consuming Matt’s thoughts.
Matt was the most paranoid person Alex knew. It was a quality which had served him well and had probably saved both their lives, and yet it had been conspicuously absent ever since they returned to Earth. Neither of them had dared question the nature of their current reality with the level of intense scrutiny their previous lives had been granted, especially in recent weeks, when all of their wishes had magically come to fruition.
No doubt questioning the nature of one’s reality is far less appealing when said reality allows you to kiss your children goodnight and hold your wife in your arms.
Alex can certainly relate to that sentiment, in his own way.
The moment had passed in a heartbeat. Matt was rescued from his reverie by his daughter as she leapt onto his lap with a delighted squeal, and his laugh as he attempted to shield her from her treacherous brother elicited separate bouts of laughter from Miles and Elle. Only Alex remained silent, his high spirits dampened as he pondered the unspoken question which had passed between them.
He still finds himself dwelling on the matter more often than not. He’d hoped that hearing Miles’s version of events would add clarity to his thoughts, but if anything he feels even further adrift than he already was. His life now consists solely of lucky coincidences and inconsistencies which cannot entirely be explained by his five-year sabbatical as a hotel manager on the moon.
Alex knows that Miles and Elle remaining close all these years is hardly outwith the realm of possibility. Matt and Miles had been friends back in the day. Miles had visited Matt’s house and rehearsed in his home studio; no doubt he’d gotten to know Elle during those visits as well. Both of them had been in LA when the world fell apart, so the idea of them encountering each other in the frantic aftermath and deciding to stick together is far from implausible. Given how certain Miles was of Alex’s death, it is likely he assumed that Matt had met the same fate. It would be entirely in-keeping with Miles’ nature to ensure his friend’s wife and children were safe, even if doing so amounted to simply dropping by now and again to see how they were coping.
If anything, the circumstances that led Matt and Alex to find each other strike him as even more ludicrous in retrospect. And even then, perhaps Alex will be able to rationalise that massive coincidence with enough time and effort.
And yet...
“Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”
He longs for the day when that question will stop haunting his soul. No doubt he will still be pondering it as he lies on his deathbed, deliriously reflecting upon the latter half of his life with zero idea if any of it remotely mattered.
“Mi?”
The nickname lingers in the air like an echo and Alex cringes at how small his voice sounds within the confines of the room. Behind him he can hear the squeaking of springs as Miles shifts on the mattress, followed by the soft patter of feet growing ever-closer. Despite the growing heat, he releases a sigh of relief when a pair of strong arms wrap around his torso, pulling him snugly against Miles’ chest, and he can’t contain a lopsided grin when he feels the other man rest his chin atop his shoulder.
“Yeah?” Miles asks, a teasing edge slipping into his tone which has Alex smiling despite himself. He imagines both his smile and Miles’ amusement will fade soon enough, but he takes a moment to enjoy it while it lasts.
“Do you think it matters if none of this is real?”
Sure enough, he can feel the air being sucked from the room as Miles tenses behind him. His own smile vanishes as his lips are pulled into a tight line, not wanting to betray the fears lurking in his heart while also acknowledging that Miles will see through any attempts at feigned nonchalance. Miles’ knowledge of what happened to Alex may be limited, but he knows enough to instinctively understand the weight of those words and the toll they are likely to place on Alex’s mind if he lets them roam free without restraint.
Alex’s eyes flutter shut as Miles pulls him in impossibly closer, using his arms and body to shield him from any dangers lurking in the outside world. A weak smile tugs at his lips as he feels Miles shift just enough to press a kiss to his temple, before returning to perch on his shoulder.
“You feel pretty real to me,” Miles murmurs against Alex’s ear, the sensation of warm breath against his skin making him shiver in spite of the heat.
“I weren’t talking about myself,” Alex admits.
After all, for as lovely as Miles’ sentiment is, it barely even scratches the surface of the real issue toying with his heart. Yes, he feels real. Miles’ arms and body and lips feel real when they come into contact with his skin. The gentle breeze washing over his flesh and the heat of the sun and the solid ground beneath his feet feels real. Even the profound happiness which grips him tightly whenever he awakens to Miles’ gentle smile feels wholly genuine; a product of his own making rather than an emotion manufactured for him by a puppet-master lurking behind the scenes.
The issue is that none of it feels any different from his years spent at Tranquility Base. Everything felt real there too. That was why it had taken so long to crack the code, and even then, Alex doubts he would have unearthed the true nature of his reality without Matt giving him that initial push. Every hug he shared with Jamie or Nick or Matt had felt as comforting and warm as Miles’ arms do now. The ground beneath his feet had been just as solid; his bedsheets just as soft and stifling in the heat; his emotions just as potent and wayward as they are today. It’s only in retrospect that he is able to appreciate the fault lines which lurked beneath the hotel; the cracks in the system that Murphy had regularly papered over, until the sheer volume of flaws became unsustainable.
The world around him feels as real as it always has, but after his experiences in the hotel, he knows he cannot rely on that as proof that he has escaped his simulated prison.
“I know, love,” Miles says finally, a trace of sympathy seeping into his gentle tone. He doesn’t particularly seem to mind the fact that he’s just been accused, albeit implicitly, of being a mere figment of Alex’s imagination. “Suppose it depends, really. Are you happy?”
“Bit hard to be happy when the world’s ended,” Alex remarks flatly, though he can’t help but join in when Miles bursts into surprised laughter.
“Smartarse,” Miles mutters with a shake of his head, though his underlying fondness is obvious as the echoes of laughter rumble throughout his chest. Alex doesn’t need to look at him to envision the sincere smile playing on his lips. “How about content then?”
The question leaves him momentarily stumped, and he can feel his cheeks heat up under the weight of Miles’ expectation. Had it been posed to him as he’d been lying in bed, cradled in Miles’ arms, then his answer would have been an unequivocal ‘yes’, but he imagines the query runs deeper than that.
“I dunno,” Alex admits, lowering his gaze with a sigh. He brings one of his hands to rest over Miles’ own, intertwining their fingers with a gentle squeeze. “I want to be. I’m trying to be. But whenever I think I’m gettin' there, I keep expecting everythin’ to fall apart again. D’you know what I mean?”
Miles hums in agreement, sparing Alex the need to explain himself further. Even if he cannot quite grasp the root of Alex’s anxiety, his innate ability to read him like a book remains intact for he immediately goes into comfort-mode. Alex lets his eyes flutter shut as Miles gives his hand a gentle squeeze, tightening his embrace to the point where it almost feels like they are one body joined at the seams. Alex allows himself to focus on the steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest and the sensation of Miles’ hair tickling against his cheek. There’s nothing to hear besides the hush of the wind drifting through the window and echoes of childish laughter which are already fading into the distance. Even their breathing feels muted, as though someone has turned the volume down on a remote and sucked any extraneous noise from their humble environment. Not that Alex minds. His brain has hosted a constant, noisy buzz of activity from the moment he awoke, to the point where this peaceful interlude feels like a warm bath following a hectic day on tour.
It’s a long time before either of them disturb the calm.
“After I lost you, I honestly didn’t know if carrying on was worth it,” Miles says, the words barely louder than a breath yet somehow amplified by the absence of any other noise. “I would look to the future and it would scare the shit out of me. All I could see was this black void, or if me imagination were runnin’ wild, I’d just see all the ways the world could become even more fucked up.”
Alex turns his head to face him, as much as he can anyway. He’s still trapped within Miles’ embrace to the point where he can only catch the side of his friend’s face, but it’s enough to find him staring into space with an absent smile tugging at his lips. It takes a moment for his words to fully sink in, but once they do Alex can feel his heart begin to hammer against his ribs as he tries to dissect Miles’ expression, aiming to justify the concern which is currently burning in his veins.
“I never did anything crazy, don’t worry,” Miles assures him, loosening his grip just enough to allow Alex to face him head-on. “I still ate and slept and did whatever I could to survive. Just found myself wondering if there was any point to it all more often than not; figured that if I ever gave up the ghost, I’d at least end up where you were.”
Alex doesn’t feel particularly heartened by that explanation. If anything, the rush of blood flowing through his ears only roars more loudly, and his worry must be written plainly on his face for Miles can only offer a shrug in sympathy.
It isn’t exactly news that he nearly lost Miles. The list of things that could, and probably should, have killed him over the course of their five-year separation is longer than the Great Wall of China, to the point where the fact that he’s alive at all still feels like a fantasy. It just never occurred to him that Miles would consider lying down and letting fate carry him away. The thought of it even crossing his mind as a passing notion fills Alex with so much dread that he can’t help but melt against Miles when he’s pulled in for another hug. He deliberately rests his head against his friend’s chest again, sighing in relief when the sound of a strong heartbeat greets his ears.
“I know how cliché this sounds, but things got easier when I just started taking each day as it came,” Miles continues, resuming his earlier efforts to tidy Alex’s hair with his fingers alone. Despite the undeniable calming effect, Alex forces himself to remain alert as he hangs on every word. “Maybe I couldn’t guarantee that I’d survive the year, but I could find enough food to get me through the next twenty-four hours at least. I could find somewhere warm to sleep at night. I could try to find something that day that would make me smile, even if it were just an old magazine or a bird in the sky. I could even try to find other people so I wouldn’t feel so alone. The days got a bit easier when I just broke ‘em down into chunks and stopped thinking about the future. Got to the point where even the things that reminded me of you would make me smile rather than break my heart, and that’s when I realised I might actually make it.
“I can’t say I ever became less scared, but at least the fear weren’t stopping me from living, y’know?” Miles finishes with a half-hearted shrug, and Alex reluctantly raises his head just enough to meet his gaze. There’s an element of wistfulness resting in his eyes, as though he’s found himself momentarily transported back to those uncertain early days, and only when he refocuses his attention onto Alex’s face does it vanish from sight. Miles adorns a weak smile in its stead before moving the palm of his hand back to Alex’s cheek and letting it rest there, where it belongs.
“You never told me any of that,” Alex murmurs. He can hear the crack in his voice and feel the sting of tears starting to form, but he ignores them in favour of simply staring at Miles, as though the image before him will fragment into tiny pieces if he so much as blinks.
“Didn’t want to worry you,” Miles admits. An apologetic smile sneaks its way onto his face as he steadies himself with a deep breath, before raising his hand to cradle Alex’s other cheek. If it were anyone else, Alex imagines the action would feel confining, but the fact that it’s Miles who is holding him with such care has him releasing a sigh which seems to carry the weight of the world with it. “Look, the way I see it, the future might be terrible. Hell, I’ll be more surprised if it isn’t. And who knows, maybe it will turn out that everything we know is a lie. But we don’t gain anything from spending all of today worrying about it when things are otherwise okay.”
“That way madness lies,” Alex mutters absently, eyes narrowing as the quote returns to him unbidden.
It’s a phrase that’s been directed at him multiple times. Often when he was in the midst of catastrophizing everything from being the frontman of a teenage band, to break-ups, to worrying that people would misconstrue his building confidence as a sign of arrogance. Miles especially has always been good at cutting through the noise and banishing any lingering anxiety from his brain. His presence alone had made so many mundane interviews feel bearable back in the day; had made every show they ever played together feel like the best gig of Alex’s life. He supposes it makes sense that that grounding influence would continue to do him the world of good even when the world itself has been broken beyond repair.
“Something like that,” Miles concedes, and his face brightens with unmistakable fondness which has Alex offering a smile in return. “And we are okay, aren’t we?”
Miles is right. He usually is anyway, but this time Alex forces himself to accept it. Half of his life has already been spent worrying that the future will be terrible, and while that is probably true at this stage, it doesn’t mean he has any desire to spend the remainder of his existence fearing what tomorrow will bring.
A wave of madness takes hold, and before he can stop himself, he leans in to press a soft kiss to Miles’ lips.
For as much as kissing each other has become a force of habit of late, shattering this particular boundary still feels like a novelty. It’s far from the first time; Miles has pressed more kisses to the corner of his lips than some girlfriends he can name. Alex himself had chosen to take the leap in front of a screaming audience at Coachella, grinning wickedly at the wide-eyed surprise on Miles’ face, before he too had broken into a pleased smile. There seems to be more weight behind it now, however. Gone are the days when their displays of affection were merely a playful game played between friends who constantly skirted on the border of becoming something more than that.
Miles releases a surprised gasp and for a moment Alex wonders if he’s made a terrible mistake, but he’s rewarded soon enough by the gentle press of soft lips against his own. The contact lasts mere seconds before Alex pulls away, resting his forehead against Miles’ and taking the opportunity to gaze into warm eyes filled with unmistakable love. There’s no need for them to take things further. The warmth which fills his chest at the sight of Miles’ affectionate smile feels like a reward he hasn’t earned, but he basks in it regardless; responding in kind with a smile of his own which he can only hope conveys even a fraction of the love burning in his heart.
It occurs to Alex then that he honestly couldn’t care less if this is real or not. If reality would seek to deny him the opportunity to hold Miles in his arms or wake up to his smile, then he wants nothing to do with it. Perhaps with time and consideration his opinions will flip back and forth like a Newton’s cradle, but for now he is far too content to risk examining the nature of his existence too closely.
Any reality which would deny him the sense of belonging he feels now is surely overrated.
“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Yeah, I suppose we are.”
Notes:
If you've made it this far, then thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Needless to say, writing this fic has done nothing to lessen my obsession with both Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino and Simulation Theory... 😅💖
LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books on Chapter 2 Sat 08 May 2021 06:32AM UTC
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LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books on Chapter 6 Sun 09 May 2021 03:43PM UTC
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