Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The city was a graveyard without headstones.

Steel skeletons of skyscrapers reached into the low, ash coloured sky, their windows long since shattered. Streets were littered with the debris of a life that no one lived anymore, bleached paper flyers curling at the edges, a child’s shoe wedged into a storm drain, the rusted frame of a bicycle with its chain dangling loose.

Tyler moved through it all with the quiet precision of someone who had been alone far too long. His boots whispered over dust and grit, leaving faint, temporary prints before the wind erased them. In one hand, he gripped a dented crowbar; in the other, a canvas satchel hung heavy with the day’s findings - a tin of peaches, a pack of batteries that might still hold a charge, a book with the cover torn off.

The air was cold enough to burn his lungs when he breathed too deep. Somewhere far off, a flock of crows screamed into the stillness, their voices sharp and wrong in the silence. Tyler kept walking, head down, shoulders drawn in against the wind.

He passed an overturned bus at the intersection and paused - not because it was blocking his way, but because something glinted in the slant beneath it. Crouching, he reached under and drew out a small silver lighter, scratched and worn smooth at the edges. He turned it over in his palm, thumb brushing over the faint engraving on one side: Forever yours.

The world around him seemed to fall away in a heartbeat. The air wasn’t cold anymore; he flicked the lighter, the scent of gasoline and rain filling his head. A laugh, warm, low, familiar, rose unbidden to his ears, and he could almost see a flash of teeth in the half light. A memory.

He swallowed hard, closing his fist around the lighter until it bit into his palm. The moment passed, and the wind returned, carrying the smell of rot from nearby. He slid the lighter into his jacket pocket and started walking again.

It felt heavier than metal should. Tyler’s fingers lingered around it in his pocket as he walked, the cold wind tugging at the frayed edges of his coat. Every few steps, his thumb brushed the ridged engraving again, like his mind was tracing a map back to a place he hadn’t been in years.

And then, without permission, the street fell away, fading into a memory. The wind turned warm. The air filled with the scent of cigarette smoke and rain on pavement, and the muffled thump of bass leaked from behind a brick wall.

-o-o-

He was leaning against the wet railing in the bar’s smoking area, head tipped back toward the orange haze of streetlamps overhead. The summer night was muggy enough to cling to his skin, but Tyler didn’t mind. He was mostly there to get away from the stale beer smell inside.

That was when he noticed him.

A man a few steps away, broad shoulders hunched against the drizzle, cupping his hands around a cigarette. His hair was dark and tousled from the rain, clinging to his forehead in uneven strands. He flicked the silver lighter, and for a moment the flame carved his face out of the shadows. Strong jaw, arched nose, curved eyes narrowed in concentration. The lighter caught Tyler’s attention almost as much as the man did; scratched metal, initials faintly stamped into the side - JD. 

The man looked up, catching Tyler staring. Instead of frowning, he smiled, charming and unhurried, like he’d been expecting him. “Need a light?” His voice was low, barely carrying through the bar’s muffled music from inside.

Tyler hesitated, then nodded, fishing a bent cigarette from his pocket. He stepped closer, their hands almost touching as the man held the flame steady against the breeze. The heat brushed his knuckles, and the smell of tobacco and rain wrapped around them both.

“I’m Josh.” He said once Tyler drew back, smoke curling and disappearing just as fast in the wind between them.

“Tyler.”

Josh’s smile deepened. “Guess we’re stuck out here together, Tyler.”

Somewhere inside, a burst of laughter spilled out through the open door. But neither looked away from each other. Josh leaned back against the railing, cigarette between his fingers, watching Tyler like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

“So,” He said, exhaling smoke toward the dark. “You hiding from someone in there, or just need fresh air?”

Tyler smirked faintly. “Not sure this counts as fresh air.”

Josh chuckled. A low, warm sound that curled in Tyler’s stomach. “True. But it’s quieter. And I don’t have to shout over bad cover songs to talk to you.”

Tyler glanced away at that, fighting a smile. He took a drag, the ember briefly lighting the edge of his face. “You come here a lot?”

“Only when I’m bored. Or when I feel like meeting someone interesting.” Josh tilted his head, eyes catching the streetlamp glow. “Guess tonight’s a good night.”

Tyler’s pulse picked up, though he kept his expression guarded. “You always this smooth with strangers?”

“Only the ones worth it.” Josh grinned, not bothering to hide the way his gaze lingered on him. The rain picked up, dotting Josh’s shirt in darker patches, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. Tyler found himself holding onto the moment a little too long, even as the door swung open behind them and noise from the bar spilled out again.

“You gonna let me buy you a drink?” Josh asked. “Or are you planning to keep pretending you don’t want one?”

Tyler tried to sound casual, but the stutter in his voice betrayed him. “M-Maybe just one.” He replied, taking a long drag of his cigarette in an effort to cover his nervousness.

The smirk that painted Josh’s face made it clear he didn’t believe him. “Sure, whatever you say.”

-o-o-

The laughter from the bar door was still ringing in his ears when it bled away into silence. The warm press of bodies, the scent of the rain and tobacco. It all dissolved like smoke, leaving only the sting of the wind against his face.

Tyler stood in the middle of the street without realising he’d stopped walking. The silver lighter in his pocket felt like an anchor, dragging him back into the dull weight of the present. The buildings loomed around him, skeletal and hollow, their windows dark. Off in the distance, a single, drawn-out groan cut through the air, low, inhuman, and too close for comfort.

He adjusted the strap of his satchel and moved on, boot crunching over broken glass. But the memory clung to him, stubborn as the chill in his bones, and no matter how many steps he took, he couldn’t shake the way Josh’s smile had made that night feel alive.

But now, the world was nothing but concrete and echoes.

The groan came again, closer.

Tyler’s hand slipped out of his coat, fingers curling around the crowbar’s cold steel. He slowed his pace, ears straining against the quiet, searching for the scrape of movement or the shuffle of feet.

It came from the alley ahead - narrow, clogged with the husks of abandoned cars and a dumpster sagging on broken wheels. Shadows pooled thick between the walls, and the breeze carried with it the smell of spoiled meat left too long in the sun.

A figure moved there, half-hidden behind the corner of a van. At first, Tyler thought it might be another scavenger, until it turned toward the sound of his steps.

The thing’s skin was grey and stretched too tight across its skull, lips peeled back to bare yellow teeth. One arm hung at an unnatural angle, bone jutting under torn flesh. Its eyes, clouded and milky, locked onto him, and the sound it made was unsettled between a growl and a rattle in its throat.

Tyler didn’t breathe.

It took a staggering step forward, foot dragging through a pool of rainwater, the sound snapping him into motion. He backed away fast, gripping the crowbar in both hands. The figure lunged with sudden speed, teeth snapping inches from his face.

Tyler swung. The crowbar connected with a wet crack, sending the creature sprawling into the side of the van. It writhed, clawing at the metal, snarling low and guttural. He stepped forward and swung again, harder this time, until the body stilled.

The alley went quiet except for his breathing, ragged in the cold air.

He wiped the crowbar's edge against his pants, not to clean it - nothing was ever clean, nowadays - but because it gave his hands something to do while he caught his breath. Then he moved on, faster now, head down, as if he could outrun the fact that his heart remained pounding from more than just the fight.

As Tyler passed the alley's mouth, a faint splash of colour caught his eye. Half-buried in the shadows, an old neon sign clung stubbornly to the wall above a boarded up doorway. Most of the tubes were dead, but a single slicker of green still sputtered in the shape of a shamrock, casting a sickly glow over the wet pavement.

He stopped.

The sign’s glow bled into his memory, cutting through the grey of the present and pulling him into that night again - warm, loud and alive.

-o-o-

The shamrock above the bar’s door burned bright in the rain, humming faintly as Josh pushed the door open and let the night spill in. They stepped out together, laughter from inside chasing them into the street, and the sudden cool air felt like relief against Tyler’s flushed cheeks.

They’d had more than ‘just one’ drink - Tyler knew it, Josh definitely knew it - but the warmth in his chest made him feel lighter, braver.

Josh lit another cigarette, the lighter’s flame catching in the drops on his hair. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Tyler shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Guess not.”

“That’s alright,” Josh replied, exhaling smoke into the glow of the sign. “Means you actually listen.” He glanced at Tyler sideways, that crooked grin returning. “Not a lot of people do.”

The rain picked up, tapping softly against the brim of the neon shamrock above them.

Josh glanced up at it, then back at Tyler with a small, unreadable smile. “You know,” he said, flicking ash toward the gutter. “It’s still early. Why don’t you come home with me?”

Tyler huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Josh’s grin widened. “When I see something I like? No.”

For a second, Tyler just looked at him, the city noise blurring into the background. He wasn’t exactly opposed - but the warmth in his chest wasn’t the kind he wanted to rush. He reached into his pocket and fished out a pen, pulling a crumpled receipt from his wallet.

“Tell you what,” Tyler said, scribbling quickly before the ink could smear in the damp air. He tore the scrap and held it out. “Call me tomorrow. If you still want to.”

Josh took it, brushing Tyler’s fingers in the process. “Oh, I will.”

They stood there a moment longer, rain gathering in their hair, neon light painting their faces green before they finally went their separate ways.

-o-o-

The neon's sputtering glow guttered out, leaving only the alley's darkness. The receipt in Josh’s hand faded from Tyler’s mind, replaced by the wet brick and broken glass in front of him. He shifted the satchel higher on his shoulder, the crowbar harsh and heavy against his palm.

He’d told himself, walking away that night, that there would be plenty of time. And there had been - two years was what they had got. A small life together. But it hadn’t been enough.

Sometimes, when the silence of the city pressed in too close, he thought about how that night could have gone differently. If he’d just said yes. If he’d gone home with Josh instead of making him wait. They could have had one more sunrise together. One more breakfast in bed. One more day he could hold onto now, in the present.

He had taken it slow because he wanted their story to stretch on forever, to savour every new piece of Josh as it came. But forever had been shorter than he’d imagined, and now every moment he hadn’t taken felt like a theft he’d committed against himself.

Tyler’s breath curled into the frosted air. He turned away before the light could flicker back to life, because if it did, he wasn’t sure he could keep walking.

By the time the sky began to fade from grey to the flat dull blue of the late afternoon, Tyler’s satchel was weighted enough to drag on his shoulder. His hands ached from the chill, and the sting in his calves told him he’d been walking longer than he needed to.

The building he called home wasn’t much. Just another cracked husk in a row of them, but it had a door he could barricade and no broken windows for the wind to crawl through. He slipped inside through the side entrance, pushing the door shut with his back until the lock clicked.

The apartment he’d claimed was on the fourth floor. The stairs creaked under his boots, but they were safer than the elevator shaft yawning open in the lobby. When he reached his apartment, he slid the bulky metal bar back into place across the door, the scrape of steel against wood loud in the stillness.

Inside, the air was stale but warmer than the outdoors. The walls were bare, the furniture stripped down to what he’d scavenged; a mattress on the floor, a couple of mismatched chairs, a crate that served as a table. A stack of books sat in one corner, their spines bowed and yellowing.

Setting the satchel down, he unloaded the day’s finds - two cans of food, the batteries, a dented pot and the book. Last, he pulled out the lighter. It looked even smaller here, in the dim light filtered through the blinds, its scratched silver catching the dull glow.

He set it on the crate beside his mattress, in the small patch of space reserved for the things that weren’t strictly for survival but still felt vital. The things he couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

A cracked ceramic mug with the handle broken clean off - Josh’s, chipped the first week they moved in together. He’d used it every morning, holding it carefully in both hands like it might split apart if he wasn’t careful.

A polaroid photograph, the edges curling, the image faded almost to sepia. Josh was in it, grinning mid-laugh, eyes half closed, the collar of his jacket pulled up against the wind. Tyler had taken it on a winter day, his hand nearly freezing to the camera in the process, but it had been worth it.

A single knitted mitten, unravelling at the wrist. Josh had lost the other one somewhere during their first year together, but Tyler had kept this one anyway. It still held the faint scent of the cedar box they’d used to store their winter things in.

A packet of gum, long hardened and inedible, that Josh had once slipped into Tyler’s coat pocket with a note folded inside the wrapper that read: Don’t forget to smile today :)

And now, the lighter - its weight already sinking into the collection like it had always belonged there. Sure, it wasn’t his, but it reminded Tyler of him, and that was enough.

These were the kinds of things that took up space in his pack when food was scarce. The kinds of things he should have left behind a long time ago. But Tyler knew he never would.

He sat on the mattress for a long while, letting the wind’s low hum fill the apartment. Eventually, the frost began to crawl into his bones, and he pushed himself up to peel off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair.

He kicked off his boots, checking the barricade on the door one more time, then lowered himself back down. The thin blanket did little against the chill, but it was enough to dull the shiver in his muscles.

His eyes drifted to the crate - the pile of things that had survived alongside him. The lighter caught the last shred of daylight filtering through the blinds, throwing a dull glint across the room. He reached out and turned it over once in his palm before setting it back down so the engraving now faced him.

Sleep didn’t come quickly these days. But when it did, it often came like this; quietly, while his mind was still tracing the edges of Josh’s face, remembering the first few days after they had met…

-o-o-

The screen of Tyler’s phone lit up on the counter, vibrating against the wood. He had barely got home, barely kicked off his shoes after the night, the smell of the bar and rain still clung to him. He reached for his phone.

Unknown number: “Guess who couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

He stared at it for a second, trying not to grin, before typing back: “Took you long enough.”

The reply came back almost instantly: “What can I say? I was busy thinking about you.”

Tyler leaned against the counter in his kitchen, thumbs hovering over the keys before he typed: “You barely know me.”

The three dots popped up again, this time for a little too long, like Josh was making sure the words landed right. Eventually, it read: “Then I guess I’d better fix that. Dinner tomorrow?”

Tyler let out a small laugh despite himself, shaking his head. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

“Only when it matters.”

He could almost hear Josh’s voice in the words - confident, teasing, but with a thread of sincerity that stuck under Tyler’s skin. He typed back; “What time?” before he could talk himself out of it.

Josh’s reply was quick: “Seven. And wear that smile you had tonight.”

Tyler rolled his eyes at the screen, but that smile Josh seemed to like crept onto his face and stayed long after he’d set the phone down.

The next sixteen hours had crawled agonisingly slowly. And then suddenly, when the time had come, Tyler was running late.

He’d stared at his closet for ten minutes too long, debating whether he was overthinking things or not thinking enough. In the end, he’d gone with a dark button-down and his least scuffed boots, tossing on a jacket as he hurried down the apartment building stairs. The air outside was damp and cool, the sky already deepening toward night.

He kept checking the time on his phone as he walked, his pace quickening with each block. By the time he reached the restaurant, his pulse was thudding in his ear - not from the rush, but from the sudden sight of Josh leaning casually against the entrance.

He was dressed in a way that made it hard to tell if he’d put real thought into it or just naturally looked that good. A fitted charcoal sweater framed his shoulders, a small charmed necklace catching in the soft glow of the streetlamps. His dark pants were clean, and his boot carried the faint shine of someone who’d at least wiped them off before leaving the house. His hair curled slightly at the edges, dark and ruffled but still looking neat.

There was an easy confidence in the way he stood, weight shifted on one hip, arms folded across his chest. But his eyes, warm brown, steady - were what held Tyler’s attention, the kind of gaze that made the rest of the world seem suddenly, and completely, secondary.

Josh spotted him. His mouth curled into that same crooked grin Tyler remembered from the night previous. “You’re right on time,” he said, though Tyler could tell from the glance to his watch that he was a couple of minutes late.

“Didn’t want to keep you waiting,” Tyler replied, shoving his hand into his jacket pockets to hide the way his fingers fidgeted.

Josh’s eyes swept over him once - not in a judging way, but like he was taking in a detail he’d been curious about. “You clean up nice.”

Tyler, from his spot on the sidewalk, shuffled awkwardly on his feet, a small self conscious smile trying desperately to hide the heat crawling up his neck. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

The restaurant's warm light spilled out onto the sidewalk. Josh stepped away from the entrance wall and opened the door with an exaggerated little bow. “Shall we?”

Tyler shook his head at the theatrics but stepped past him, catching the faint scent of the wind and cologne as Josh followed him inside.

The restaurant was all low light and soft hum, the air rich with the smell of garlic and wine. A hostess led them toward a corner booth, and Josh slid in first, setting the jacket he’d been holding down on the seat beside him. Tyler sat opposite, the polished table between them reflecting the glow of a flickering candle.

Josh glanced over the menu but didn’t seem in any hurry to read it. “You’re braver than I thought,” he remarked, resting an elbow on the table.

Tyler arched a brow in response. “Because I showed up?”

“Because you didn’t have to,” Josh replied, his grin easy but his eyes holding a little more weight. “I figured you might make me work harder for it.”

Tyler smirked faintly and pretended to focus on the menu. “Who says you’re not still working for it?”

Josh leaned back, feigning a wounded look. “Oh, I’m working. Trust me.”

The waiter arrived then with two complimentary glasses of wine, took their orders, and left them with the quiet murmur of the restaurant around them. Josh’s gaze lingered before he took a polite sip of his wine.

He set his glass down, tilting his head just enough to study Tyler across the candlelight. “So, tell me something about you I wouldn’t guess just by looking.”

Tyler blinked, caught off guard. “That’s… vague."

“That’s the point,” Josh replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Could be anything. A secret talent. A terrible habit. First celebrity crush. Surprise me.”

Tyler let out a shaky laugh, suddenly put on the spot. “You really dive right in, don’t you?”

“Would you rather I ask about the weather?” Josh countered, leaning back against the booth with an expectant expression.

Tyler toyed with the stem of his glass, considering. “Alright. Um… I used to play piano. Not well, but enough to annoy my neighbours.”

Josh’s grin widened. “See, that’s good. I wouldn’t have guessed that.” He leaned back in, elbows on the table now. “Do you still play?”

Tyler shook his head. “Haven’t in years. Don’t have access to one anymore.”

“That’s a shame,” Josh said, tone softening slightly. “Bet you’d look real good behind a piano.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, fighting the smile that was merciless against his lips. “You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

Josh shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Maybe. But I mean it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was the kind that buzzed with the possibility of where the night might lead.

Josh broke it, his smile easy. “Alright, your turn. Ask me something. Anything.”

Tyler hesitated, eyes flicking down to the candles wavering flame. “Okay… what's something you’ve never told anyone on a first date before?”

Josh’s brow lifted, impressed. “Going straight for the neck, huh? I like it.” He leaned back, pretending to think hard, though his amused expression gave him away.

“Don’t stall,” Tyler said after a second, smirking faintly despite himself.

“Alright, alright,” Josh said, leaning in, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a deep secret. “I once lied about knowing how to salsa dance just to impress someone.”

Tyler laughed, the sound slipping out before he could hold it back. “And did it work?”

“For about thirty seconds,” Josh admitted. “Then I tripped over my own foot and nearly took out the DJ booth.”

Tyler covered his mouth with his hand, shaking his head. “That’s… wow.”

“Hey,” Josh said, mock-defensive. “Points for effort. And they didn’t leave, so I must’ve done something right.”

Tyler’s smile lingered even after the laughter faded, and for a moment the noise of the restaurant seemed distant, like the whole room had shrunk down to just the two of them.

Josh tapped the table light with his fingertip. “See? Already telling you things no one else gets on a first date. You must be special.”

Tyler felt warmth creeping up the back of his neck and looked away, fiddling with his napkin. “Or maybe you just like an audience.”

Josh’s grin softened. “Maybe. Definitely, when it’s you.”

Tyler didn’t reply. Their plates arrived in a haze of steam and aroma - garlic, butter, something sharp with herbs. The waiter slid Tyler’s dish in front of him and set Josh’s down across the table before refilling their wine glasses and leaving them in peace again.

Josh didn’t touch his fork right away. Instead, he rested his chin on his hand and watched Tyler take his first bite. “Well? Worth showing up for?”

Tyler swallowed, a little embarrassed by the scrutiny. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Josh picked up his fork at last. He speared a piece of his steak and ate, humming in satisfaction. “So, where’d you grow up?”

“A few towns over,” Tyler replied, shrugging like the answer wasn’t worth much. “Suburban nothing, but it was… quiet. You?”

“City boy,” Josh said, taking another bite of his meal. “Grew up thinking traffic noise was a lullaby.”

Tyler laughed softly, breaking a piece of bread between his fingers. “I can’t even imagine. I only just moved here, and the noise is tough.”

“You hate it for the first week,” Josh said. “Then one night you’d wake up and realize you can’t sleep without it.”

Tyler tilted his head. “That supposed to be a metaphor for something?”

“Maybe. You tell me.” Josh’s flash of teeth was quick, wolfish. And Tyler just tried not to smile too much. But it was hard, with Josh watching him like that - like each answer was another piece of a puzzle he was determined to finish.

Josh hummed, sensing Tyler wasn’t about to bite. He shifted gears smoothly. “Alright, last question - for now. When you can’t sleep, what do you eat?”

Tyler paused mid-bite, sheepishness creeping into his expression. “Mac and cheese… with ketchup.”

For a brief second, Josh twitched his brow in what could only be described as horror, but he relaxed again in an instant. “Classy. I was expecting something like instant noodles.”

“Not everything I do is predictable,” Tyler replied, finally taking a sip of his wine, swallowing through the soft burn it trailed on the way down.

“I’m counting on it,” Josh said, and the way his words carried settled something warm in Tyler’s chest.

Tyler stabbed a fork into his own food, trying hard to ground himself. Something about Josh made him feel light-headed, giddy.

Josh cut a neat piece from his plate, twirled it on his fork, and then held it out across the table. His eyes lingered on Tyler’s, steady, daring. “Here,” He said, holding it out for him.

Tyler blinked. “What-?”

“Try it,” Josh insisted, his grin crooked but confident. “I promise it’s worth it.”

Tyler froze for a second, his gaze darting between the fork and Josh’s expression - so sure of himself, so unbothered by the intimacy of the gesture. Heat climbed unbidden into Tyler’s cheeks. Still, he leaned forward, lips brushing the cool metal as he took the bite.

The flavour was warm and savoury, but it wasn’t the food or wine that made Tyler’s pulse kick; it was the flicker of satisfaction in Josh’s expression as he pulled the fork back. For a moment, it felt less like sharing food and more like a secret - indulgent, almost dangerous, in the quiet between them.

Josh’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “Well?”

Tyler swallowed, the taste almost secondary to the pulse racing in his throat. “It’s… really good.”

“Better,” Josh murmured, leaning back with lazy satisfaction, but his eyes stayed fixed on Tyler like he’d already gotten more than an answer.

After that, the bill came too soon, though Tyler suspected that even another hour wouldn’t have felt like long enough. Josh slid his card into the leather folder without asking to split the bill, brushing off Tyler’s protest with a quick, “You can get the next one.”

They stepped outside into a light drizzle, the air cool and clean after the close warmth of the restaurant. Streetlamps threw soft halos onto the wet pavement, and passing cars hissed through shallow puddles.

Josh fell into step beside him, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “You warm enough?”

“I’m fine,” Tyler said, though a shiver betrayed him.

Without a word, Josh shifted closer, his arm raising to drape over Tyler’s shoulders, pulling him close. The contact was warm, and Tyler felt it all the way through him.

They walked in easy silence for half a block, their reflections stretching and breaking in the rain slicked sidewalk. At a corner where their paths would split, Josh slowed.

“Well,” he began, his grin softening, shy, the first time Tyler had seen a break in the usual charming bravado. “I’m glad you didn’t ghost me.”

Tyler huffed a small laugh. “I’m glad you didn’t turn out to be a serial killer."

The smile Josh returned at that was wide and he stepped in, closer now. “Guess we both got lucky, then.”

He was close enough that Tyler could see the rain catching in his hair, the faint curve at the corner of his mouth. The smell of him was everywhere, a deep bergamot cologne mixed with the rain.

A pause between them stretched, heavy with tension neither of them was willing to break first. Then eventually, Josh’s gaze dropped briefly to Tyler’s mouth, before returning to his eyes. “Can I-?”

Tyler didn’t answer with words - just leaned in enough for Josh to close the distance. The kiss was unhurried, tasting faintly of wine and rain, a quiet meeting of warmth in the cool night air. It lasted only a few seconds, but when they pulled apart, Josh’s smile was softer, almost private.

“Text me when you get home safe?” he said, his voice lower this time.

“Yeah,” Tyler breathed, still feeling the ghost of Josh’s mouth on his.

Josh lingered for one last heartbeat before turning away, disappearing into the mist. Tyler stood there under the drizzle, the city muted around him, knowing he'd carry that kiss with him for a long time.

-o-o-

The memory blurred at the edges, colours running together like water on ink, but the feeling of that night - the taste of the rain, the press of Josh’s mouth, the warmth of his breath - clung to Tyler as he drifted out of sleep.

When his eyes opened, the dim grey of dawn pressed against the apartment’s cracked blinds. The air was chilled enough to make him pull the blanket tighter around himself, but it wasn’t just the cold that settled heavy in his chest.

Josh wasn’t here.

The mattress was hollow where his weight would have been if he was. The quiet wasn’t filled with his low voice or the muffled hum of him moving around the kitchen. There was only the faint creak of the wind against the glass.

Tyler sat up, running a hand over his face. The dream had been so vivid that for a second, he’d almost expected to roll over and see Josh there, grinning like he always did in the mornings, hair sticking up in a dozen directions. But the room was empty. It had been empty for a long time.

The blanket slid from his shoulders as he stood, the air biting at his skin. He moved without hurry - there was no reason to rush. The city outside was silent in a way that used to belong only to snowstorms or power outages, but now belonged to every day.

He crossed the small apartment, bare feet scuffing against the warped floorboards. The cabinets were mostly empty when he opened them. A half-can of beans he had opened yesterday. Crackers gone stale. He gathered them without thought, set them on the counter, and ate mechanically, the taste flat, cardboard and salt.

He wasn’t hungry. Hunger had become less about appetite and more about timing - eat now so you don’t collapse later.

His gaze drifted to the window. Beyond the grime-streaked glass, the city sprawled in hushed ruin. No cars, no voices, no neon bleeding colour into the morning. Just buildings like gravestones, their hollow windows gaping at him. Somewhere out there, the dead wandered, restless shadows he tried not to think about.

Then, a thought came unbidden, sharp and cruel: what if Josh was still out there? Not alive, not waiting for him - but wandering, hollow-eyed and stumbling, his warmth stripped away, his grin twisted into something slack and vacant.

Tyler’s jaw clenched around another mouthful. He tried not to see it, but his mind drew the picture anyway: Josh’s broad shoulders bent at an unnatural angle, his hands clawing at the air, that familiar face pained with hunger that wasn’t his.

The cracker turned to ash in his throat. He dropped it back onto the counter, chest tight, the thought lodging deep and immovable.

Tyler had to remind himself, as he usually did when he had this thought, that Josh was dead. And not in the animated sense that seemed normal nowadays, but actually dead. Gone. He had been for almost a year now. Or at least that was Tyler’s best estimate, seeing as he had no way to tell the time or follow the days anymore.

And in a sick way, it steadied him. If Josh was gone, then at least he wasn’t shambling out there in the dark, reduced to hunger and ruin. The grave was kinder than that.

Tyler let out a long, shaky breath, pressing his palms flat against the counter until the tremor faded from his hands. He hated the thought. Hated the relief that came with it even more.

But he clung to it anyway. It was better than the alternative.

Bracing against the counter, his breath slowly evened out. Then, the sound came.

At first it was faint, so out of place his mind almost ignored it. Then it rose again - low and metallic, a weight that carried thin on the wind. A klaxon. Distant, but sharp enough to make the air hum.

Tyler froze. The city had been silent for so long that the sudden noise felt alien, dangerous. Alarms meant people, or what was left of them. And alarms also drew the dead.

He moved on instinct, pushing away from the counter. The crackers stayed behind as he crossed the room in three long strides. He pulled his satchel open, checked the cans inside, the small stash of bandages, and his half-empty water bottle. He grabbed the crowbar next, the weight of it heavy in his grip.

The klaxon cried again, the sound echoing strangely between buildings, and Tyler felt it low in his chest. He swallowed, pulse kicking up. Whatever it was - whoever had set it off - it meant the world had shifted out there, and he wasn’t about to miss it.

He shrugged into his jacket and tugged the zipper up halfway. Then he pressed his ear to the apartment door, listening. The hallway was still silent, no shuffling of footsteps. Not yet, but they would be here soon. The noise would draw them.

He drew in a breath, steadying himself, and slipped the strap of the satchel across his chest. One more look at the items on the crate - just for luck, just for Josh - and then his hand closed around the door handle.

The klaxon wailed again, as if daring him to follow.

Tyler didn’t open the door right away. Not yet. Charging into the hall blind was suicide. The noise was distant, but sound carried strangely in the hollowed city - sometimes farther, sometimes closer than it seemed.

He slung the satchel higher on his shoulder and instead crossed to the fire escape window. The lock had been broken months ago, bent out of shape by his own crowbar. He shoved it open and slipped through, boots finding the rusted grate. The metal creaked under his weight, but no movement stirred below.

He climbed fast, hands chilled by the iron, until the last ladder rattled against the roof's edge. Pulling himself up, he crouched low against the parapet, breath clouding in the cold air.

From above, the city stretched pale and skeletal, buildings jutting like blackened teeth. And there - the source; to the east, maybe two or three blocks, a plume of smoke curled skyward. At its base, a red flare of light pulsed, each time matched with the hollow cry of the alarm. The sound seemed to roll over the ruins, pressing into him like a tide.

Tyler squinted, straining to see movement from the streets. Shapes stirred at the edges of the smoke. Shambling, uneven, drawn like moths towards the sound. Dozens, maybe more, already converging.

His gut tightened. Whoever had set it off hadn’t just announced their presence - they’d rung the dinner bell.

For a moment, he stayed still, the wind settling against his face, his pulse hammering hard in his throat. Part of him wanted to climb back down, shut the window, curl beneath the blanket and pretend he’d never heard it. But another part - the part that refused to die with the rest of the world - was already calculating the distance, the routes, the risks.

The klaxon’s wail carried through his chest, vibrating against the concrete beneath him. Tyler lingered only a moment longer before pulling the satchel tighter across his shoulder. He knew better. He knew. But the thought pressed harder than caution: what if it was someone alive and in danger? Josh wouldn’t have left them.

He crouched low and jogged across the rooftop, boots slipping on patches of gravel, until he reached the far edge. The next building loomed just a few feet away, its windows black and hollow. A plank of weathered wood stretched between them, nailed into place months ago, one of many escape routes he’d made when the streets had gotten too crowded to cross.

He tested it with his foot before putting his weight down, the wood groaning softly but holding. The drop beneath was five stories - definitely enough to shatter him if he slipped. Tyler held his breath, kept his eyes fixed on the opposite ledge, and moved quick.

The board bowed under him, but he was across in seconds, palms scraping brick as he steadied himself.

He ducked inside the window frame where the glass had been shattered. The office inside was gutted, desks overturned, papers scattered like brittle leaves. He moved quickly, crowbar tight in his hand, listening for anything besides the wind.

Another klaxon cry. Louder now, pulling him forward.

Tyler found the next board at the far window - this one thinner, warped from rain. He went across anyway, knees stiff, arms wide for balance. Below, the street was stirring: a handful of figures shambled in the direction of the sound, their uneven gaits sickeningly familiar. He kept his eyes forward, not daring to look long enough to recognize the wreckage of faces.

Building by building, he pressed east. Through broken apartments, where couches sat frozen in front of dead TVs. Across offices with coffee mugs still perched on desks, their contents long evaporated. He moved through ghosts of lives that had ended mid-breath, each step punctuated by the alarm pulling him closer.

When he reached the last stretch, the boards ended. The building across had collapsed, half its roof caved in, leaving only the street below as a path forward.

Tyler crouched at the edge, jaw tight. The smoke was thicker here, glowing faintly red with each pulse of the alarm. He could hear the low groan of the dead, closer now, threading through the city’s silence like an ugly chorus.

He swallowed hard, adjusted his grip on the crowbar, and began climbing down the fire escape toward the street.

His boots thudded against the pavement when he landed, and for a moment, Tyler steadied himself, feet pressing him toward the red glow in slow, agonising steps, desperate not to make a noise that could draw any attention.

The closer he crept, the sharper the smell of smoke became - oily, acrid, threaded with the copper tang of burning metal. He kept low, footsteps careful, crowbar at the ready. Every shadow seemed to twitch at the edges of his vision.

The flare burned bright at the mouth of an intersection, its red pulse painting the walls in stuttering light. The klaxon howled again, from a small battery powered speaker, the sound reverberating in his teeth. Tyler’s heart kicked harder, his breath shallow as he scanned the street.

“Hello?” he whispered before he could stop himself, the word barely more than a thread of sound.

Nothing answered. Just the low drone of the alarm, the pop and hiss of the flare.

He edged closer, eyes darting to broken doorways and sagging windows, waiting for someone, anyone, to step out. But the sidewalks were bare. No sign of movement except the occasional shuffle in the distance, too far to matter yet.

Tyler’s stomach sank. His grip tightened on the crowbar. There was no one here.

And then something moved at his back.

The weight hit him hard, knocking him forward. His shoulder slammed against the asphalt, the breath ripped out of him. A stench rolled over him - rot, damp earth, and blood gone sour. He twisted, shoving upward with the crowbar just as the figure lunged down.

Yellowed teeth snapped inches from his cheek. Its eyes were glassy pits, its skin pulled taut and grey. Tyler moved the crowbar up, jamming it into the thing’s throat, holding it back with every ounce of strength he had.

It clawed at him, a nail raking and catching on his face. Fire ripped across the bridge of his nose, hot and immediate, and for a heartbeat he thought he had been bitten. Panic seared through him. He shoved harder, legs kicking beneath the dead weight.

The creature snarled, spit stringing from its broken teeth, but Tyler kept the crowbar in place.

Then - headlights. A low rumble rolling closer, vibrating through the ground.

The crack of a gunshot split the air. The corpse's skull erupted sideways, blood and bone spraying across Tyler’s face and chest. The body went instantly limp, collapsing heavily against him.

For a heartbeat, Tyler couldn’t move, his ears ringing, his vision spattered red. Then he shoved the corpse off, gasping, wiping at his eyes with a trembling hand.

Tires screeched to a halt just beyond the burning flare. A battered pickup idled in the middle of the street, its engine growling. Standing up in the back, framed by the glow, a woman leaned forward. Blonde hair spilled loose around her face, her eyes a piercing, cold blue even at a distance.

She levelled the pistol again - not at him, but at the shadows lurching closer down the block. Another shot rang out, another body dropped. Then her voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding.

“Get in the truck! Now!”

Tyler’s pulse thundered. He staggered to his feet, crowbar still clutched tight, caught between fight and flight. But the flare hissed, the klaxon howled, and the street behind him was filling with movement.

His chest heaved, air scraping in and out of his throat. His hand went to his face, came back wet. Not a bite. Just a deep scratch. Relief hit as sharp as the pain did, his vision blurring at the edges.

The klaxon wailed on, indifferent, and Tyler realized the truth. The flare wasn’t a beacon. It was bait.

“Move!”

Chapter Text

Tyler didn’t think - he just ran. The gunshot was still ringing in his ears, echoing sharp inside his skull, but there was no time to process it. His legs moved before rationality could catch up, carrying him toward the growl of an engine that cut through the silence of the dead city like a lifeline.

The pickup had screeched into view, tires screaming against fractured asphalt as it fishtailed to a stop. The smell of burnt rubber mixed with the sour stink of decay already thick in the air. Rust flaked from the battered body of the truck, its paint dulled by years of sun and neglect, but it looked like salvation all the same.

A blonde woman stood braced in the open bed, pistol raised. Her blue eyes were sharp, scanning the street with the precision of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. She didn’t shout, didn’t waste a breath - just a sharp flick of her chin, commanding him forward.

Tyler’s chest burned, lungs clawing for air as he sprinted. Behind him came the chorus - the low moans, the uneven shamble of feet striking pavement, the scrape of nails against stone.

The flare still hissed at the intersection, painting the morning with a sick red glow. It had drawn them in droves. He caught sight of the first few staggering out of the alleys, eyes gleaming with that hollow hunger, jaws working against the air as if already chewing.

He didn’t dare look back again.

The tailgate loomed closer. Tyler lunged, fingers slipping on rusted metal before he found purchase. With a hoarse grunt he hauled himself up, knees scraping against the rough steel. The truck lurched forward before his feet could find balance, the jolt slamming his shoulder into the side rail with a metallic crack that rattled his teeth.

He clung tight, chest heaving, adrenaline setting fire to every nerve.

The city blurred past them - broken windows, graffiti-smeared walls, storefronts gutted and empty - but the only thing Tyler saw was the street behind them.

It writhed with movement.

The dead had swarmed toward the flare, hundreds of them stumbling, pressing, clawing toward the red light. But not all of them. A handful peeled away, heads snapping toward the sound of the truck, toward the warmth of living flesh.

Hungry eyes fixed on the retreating pickup. Feet dragged faster. Jaws worked harder.

Tyler’s grip tightened until his knuckles burned, his body pressed to the rail as if it could shield him from the inevitability clawing its way closer.

The woman fired again. The crack of the shot tore through the hollow streets, echoing off the facades of ruined buildings. Tyler flinched at the sound, the recoil jerking through her arms as though she were carved from steel. Downrange, a body crumpled mid-stride, skull snapping back in a spray of dark matter before it folded to the pavement. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even spare it a glance.

Tyler pressed himself hard against the shaking bed of the truck, trying to steady against the jolting frame. Blood trickled from the fresh gash carved across the bridge of his nose, warm against the cold morning air, blurring his vision every time he blinked. His breath came ragged, tearing through his chest, his heart still slamming against his ribs as if it hadn’t yet realised he’d survived.

For a moment, he let his gaze flick sideways. The woman was a study in focus: blonde hair pulled into a loose braid, strands whipping free in the wind; blue eyes narrowed, sharp enough to cut through smoke; her jaw tight, the muscles locked in ruthless concentration.

It wasn’t until the gun clicked empty that she moved at all, sliding a fresh magazine into place with swift, practiced efficiency. Only then did she turn her head, meeting his eyes.

Her voice cut through the wind, flat and merciless, the kind of voice that didn’t waste a word.

“You’ve got about ten seconds to tell me why you were stupid enough to fall for biter bait,” she said, snapping the slide into place with a sharp motion. Her gaze didn’t waver, pinning him like a target. “Before I decide if you’re worth the bullets I just spent to keep you alive.”

Tyler swallowed hard, his throat dry and rusted from disuse. 

“I… I-I thought someone needed help,” He managed, barely audible over the wind whipping past them. His words felt clumsy, like they didn’t quite fit in his mouth anymore. Months of silence had made him forget what it was like to explain himself to another living person. 

The woman’s expression didn’t soften, but her gaze lingered on him, sharp and unreadable. She turned back to the street, leaving him with his heartbeat hammering louder than the engine beneath them. 

The driver’s voice tore through the morning. 

“Jenna, what the fuck is that on his face?” 

The truck swerved slightly as the man twisted in the cab to glare back at them. His black beanie sat crooked on his head, his eyes burned wide and furious. He jabbed a finger at Tyler like a weapon. 

“He’s bit! You brought a goddamn biter into my truck!” 

Tyler froze, instinctively pressing a hand over the raw, bleeding gash across his nose. The sting flared hot beneath his palm. “It’s - it’s not,” He stammered, voice breaking. “It’s just a scratch. It - it grabbed me, but it didn’t-”

The man in the cab wasn’t listening. His voice rose, hoarse with panic. “Get him out! Now, before he turns!” 

The truck jostled over a pothole, rattling Tyler against the side. The woman, who must have been named Jenna, raised her pistol again, this time in his direction. She glanced over his face, at the blood, and her jaw flexed as though weighing something. 

Tyler’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to lose this. Not when he’d just found people again. Not when he’d just been reminded what another voice sounded like. He raised his arms defensively. 

Then, without saying a word, Jenna shifted suddenly, crouching low in front of Tyler as the truck rattled on. She grabbed his chin with a grip like iron, jerking his face toward the morning sky. 

Tyler hissed through his teeth at the pressure, his hand flying up to grab her wrist but she didn’t let go. Her thumb dragged against the edge of the wound, smearing fresh blood. The sting burned white-hot, tears pricking Tyler’s eyes. 

“Hold still,” She snapped. 

From the cab, the driver’s voice cracked into a range near hysterical. “He’s bit! You can see it plain as day - just put a bullet in his head and shove him off before he takes us all down with him!” 

Jenna ignored him, her gaze sharp and clinical as they scanned the jagged cut across Tyler’s nose. She tilted his head side to side, inspecting, her breath even despite the chaos of the ride. The barrel of her pistol brushed against Tyler’s knee as she leaned in closer, cold metal sending a shiver of panic down his spine. 

“It’s a scratch,” She said finally, almost to herself. “Deep, but not a bite. If he was bit, we’d already see him turning, Paul. Jawline, throat, shoulder - those are where they usually go for, anyway." 

The driver of the car, Paul, slammed a fist against the steering wheel. “You’re gonna gamble with our lives because you think it’s a scratch?” His words tore out raw, nearly drowned by the engine’s growl. “I’ve seen men hide it before, swear they’re fine until they’re foaming at the mouth!” 

Jenna’s grip on Tyler’s jaw tightened briefly, forcing him to meet her gaze. There was no softness there, only a hard, measured calculation. 

“You turn,” She said flatly. “I’ll be the one to put you down.” 

Then, she shoved his face away, releasing him as quickly as she’d grabbed him, standing tall again. 

Paul was still shouting, cursing, slamming the wheel. Tyler sat there in the bed of the truck, heart racing, the sting of her touch lingering on his face - not gentle, not reassuring, but the closest thing to mercy he’d been offered in months. 

The truck rattled over a broken stretch of pavement, the jolt slamming Tyler’s shoulder against the metal side. The vibration hummed up through his spine, the uneven rhythm so familiar it tugged at his chest. 

For a moment, the shouts from Paul blurred, and the sound became tires on the open highway, steady and alive. 

Sunlight. That was what came next. Not the flat gray of the ruined city, but the gold pouring through a windshield streaked with dust. His elbow rested against the window, warm air funneling through the cracked-open glass, whipping at his hair. 

-o-o-

Josh’s hand was loose on the wheel, the other stretched across the seat back behind Tyler. His sunglasses were crooked, but he didn’t bother to fix them - his grin too wide, his voice spilling out in laughter over whatever song played on the radio. 

“This place is perfect,” Josh said, gesturing ahead with a little flick of his fingers on the wheel. “Lake’s not on any tourist lists. Locals only. Which means no screaming kids, no dudes blasting bad playlists. Just us and the water.” 

Tyler, shy behind his own smile, pulled his knees up a little on the seat. “You make it sound like some secret oasis.” 

Josh glanced sideways, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Maybe it is. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to get you in those cute swim shorts.” 

Tyler snorted, ducking his head toward the window, but he couldn’t stop the heat making itself known in his cheeks. 

Josh reached across the seat then, hand brushing before resting on Tyler’s knee as he shifted the wheel with the other. The touch was casual, but it left Tyler’s chest tight. 

The road dipped, the lake flashing into view between trees, glittering in the sun. Josh let out a triumphant whoop, pounding the steering wheel once. 

“Told you,” He said, as though he’d just won an argument Tyler hadn’t realised they were having. But Tyler couldn’t help it - he laughed, the sound carried off by the rushing wind, carried into a day that felt endless.

Josh swung the truck into a narrow dirt pull-off, gravel crunching under the tires as the trees thinned out. The lake unfurled before them, a sweep of blue-green water catching the sunlight, framed by dark pines. It looked untouched, the kind of place that didn’t belong to anyone - or maybe belonged to whoever was lucky enough to stumble across it. 

Josh cut the engine and leaned back in his seat, grinning at the view, then at Tyler. “Not bad, huh? Beats sitting inside with a movie, at least.” 

Tyler glanced out the window, stomach fluttering but voice staying calm. “You didn’t exactly say we’d be leaving the city.” 

“That’s the point,” Josh replied, slipping his sunglasses up into his hair. His gaze lingered on Tyler, more intent than teasing now. “Figured if I told you, you might’ve said no.” 

Turning toward him, Tyler raised a brow. “And tricking me into a road trip is supposed to earn you points?” 

Josh leaned an elbow on the wheel, his grin absolutely shameless. “Depends. Do I get points if you end up having the best date of your life?” 

Tyler gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “You realise it is only our second date, right? Normal people wait a little longer before dragging someone off into the woods.” 

“Lucky for you,” Josh said, opening the door with a dramatic swing. “I’ve never been accused of being normal.” He glanced back at Tyler before hopping out, voice dropped just enough to carry. “Besides… I couldn’t wait.” 

The words lodged in Tyler’s chest, warm and dangerous, leaving him frozen in the passenger seat as Josh strode around the truck toward the lake, already tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Eventually, Tyler pushed the door open, the smell of pine and sun-warmed earth rushing in to meet him. He slid out, gravel heavy beneath his sneakers, and followed Josh toward the lake. 

Josh wadded his shirt in one hand, the other raking through his hair. His shoulders caught the sunlight, the lean lines of muscle glowing golden against the shifting blue of the water behind him. He glanced back at Tyler with a spark in his eye, like he’d been waiting just to see his reaction, before he kicked off his shoes. 

Tyler tugged at the hem of his own shirt, hesitant. The heat of the afternoon made it stick to his skin, and he felt every second of delay stretch too long. Finally, he peeled it over his head, the fabric dragging awkwardly over his arms. 

His chest tightened at the thought of Josh watching - at the contrast of his skin, the unevenness of his muscle that had never been more than a halfhearted gym routine. 

But Josh’s whistle cut through his thoughts, low and drawn out. “Well damn,” He said, tossing his shirt onto the truck's hood. “Guess I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.” 

Tyler flushed instantly, tossing his own shirt in the same direction before he crossed his arms over his chest without meaning to. “Shut up,” He muttered, though there was no heat behind it. 

Josh only grinned wider, closing the distance between them with lazy steps. “Relax.” His gaze flicked over Tyler, deliberate and unhurried, before meeting his eyes again. “Trust me. You look better than good.” 

The words landed heavy. Much heavier than an elaborate gesture, or any joke Josh could have made in the moment. Tyler’s breath caught, his arms loosening despite himself. 

Josh smirked, tilting his head toward the glittering water. “Come on. I promise the water will relax you.” 

Tyler’s sneakers crunched over the gravel as he followed Josh down the short slope to the water’s edge. The sunlight bounced off the surface in dazzling fragments, a mirror broken into a thousand pieces. Josh waded in first without hesitation, the water climbing his calves, his thighs, until he gave a little gasp at the sudden chill and laughed at himself.

“Colder than I remembered,” he admitted, glancing back at Tyler with a mischievous grin. “Don’t let that scare you off, though.”

Tyler lingered at the shore before kicking off his shoes, toes curling at the damp sand. The lake looked vast from where he stood, swallowing the horizon. He inhaled slowly, then stepped forward. The water lapped cold against his ankles, then his knees, prickling his skin with goosebumps.

Josh noticed the hesitation. He turned in the waist-high water, hands out like an invitation. “Hey, take your time. No rush. Just us out here.”

Something in the steadiness of his voice calmed the coil in Tyler’s chest. He moved deeper, every step sending ripples outward until the lake wrapped around him. When the water reached his stomach, he stopped, shivering slightly, teeth threatening to chatter as he took Josh’s hand.

Josh came closer, slow, deliberate, until only a foot separated them. “See? Not so bad once you’re in.” His tone was warm, coaxing. Then, with a quick grin, he splashed a handful of water against Tyler’s chest.

Tyler gasped at the shock, flinching back, then instinct took over. He sent a splash right back, bigger and messier. Josh laughed, ducking under the spray, then surged forward to send another wave crashing into Tyler’s shoulder.

The cautiousness melted away in seconds, replaced by laughter that bubbled up before Tyler could stop it. They splashed like kids, the sound echoing off the trees. Tyler’s heart still hammered, but now it was from joy as much as nerves.

At one point, Josh lunged forward, trying to catch him off guard, and Tyler slipped, stumbling into the water with a loud splash. He surfaced sputtering, hair plastered to his forehead, only to find Josh doubled over laughing.

“Glad I could be your entertainment,” Tyler said, but his glare was only half-hearted. 

Josh straightened, still grinning so wide his eyes narrowed. “You have no idea,” His expression was all mischief, but there was a softness beneath it. A look that made Tyler’s skin tingle. 

Even so, Tyler tried for sarcasm, though his voice cracked, betraying him. “Guess I should fall on my face more often, huh?” 

Josh took a moment to think on that. He didn’t answer right away, instead he shifted closer, slow and unhurried as the water lapped between them, stretching out a hand to help balance Tyler. “Don’t need you to fall,” He murmured, his grip firm. “You’ve already got my attention.”

Tyler froze, caught somewhere between wanting to duck under the surface to hide and wanting to close the last inch between them. His chest ached from holding too many feelings at once, eyes locked on that intoxicating grin Josh seemed to carry at all times.

“Relax, I’m not gonna push. Just… kind of like seeing you smile.”

Tyler, despite every ounce of nerves still buzzing through him, found himself leaning into that nearness, caught by the intensity in Josh’s eyes.

The distance between them thinned until even the water felt like it couldn’t fit. Josh’s hand finally slid higher, fingers brushing against the line of Tyler’s jaw, damp and trembling. The world seemed to still - sunlight bending on the lake, trees swaying in a lazy breeze - as if everything had narrowed to this one breath, this one choice.

And when Josh kissed him, it wasn’t wild or hurried. It was slow, certain, like he’d been waiting for Tyler to catch up. Tyler’s hesitation melted under the warmth of it. His chest tightened, and before he realised it, his hands had found Josh’s shoulders, tentative at first, then firmer as if anchoring himself.

Josh smiled against his mouth, the curve of it breaking the tension in the best way. He pulled back only slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against Tyler’s, breath mingling in the humid air.

“See?” Josh whispered, voice edged with a quiet triumph. “Not so bad.”

Tyler’s laugh was soft, caught between embarrassment and exhilaration. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” Josh murmured, brushing his thumb one last time along Tyler’s jaw before letting his hand drift down to the water between them. He splashed gently at Tyler’s side, teasing, as if to remind him the world hadn’t completely disappeared around them.

The sunlight glimmered on the ripples, catching in Josh’s hair, in the droplets sliding down his chest. Tyler tried not to stare, tried not to drown in the closeness - but it was too late.

Because in that moment, with Josh’s grin softening into something far more dangerous than a joke, Tyler knew he’d already let himself fall.

-o-o-

The memory splintered as the truck jolted over a pothole, snapping him back to the present. His head struck the side rail, the sting sharp enough to scatter the lake, the sunlight, Josh’s touch. The air rushing past him was colder now, harsher, thick with dust and exhaust.

It took him a moment to realise the skyline was shrinking behind them. The jagged silhouettes of the city fading into the distance as the truck tore down an open stretch of road.

His chest seized.

“No - no, wait,” Tyler rasped, pushing himself upright, gripping the rail so tightly his knuckles whitened. “We’re going the wrong way. I need to go back.”

Jenna didn’t even look at him. She braced herself against the truck’s lurch, scanning their path with the gun still steady in her grip. 

Tyler shook his head hard, panic rising sharp and dizzying. His apartment - his hideout - it was still there. The mattress where he forced himself to sleep. The little crate with the things he couldn’t throw away; scraps of Josh’s handwriting, the mug, the only picture he had left of him.

All of it. 

He felt his throat close up, voice cracking when he tried again. “You don’t understand - I left everything there. I can’t -” 

Paul’s voice, rough and cutting, exploded over the wind. “Shut him up, Jenna! He’s bleedin’ all over the damn place and screaming like a lunatic!” 

Jenna finally cut her gaze toward Tyler, eyes narrowing as she moved to kneel in front of him. She was quick, unflinching, as if his panic meant nothing compared to what she would do if he didn’t silence himself. 

But Tyler didn’t notice. The city kept shrinking, swallowed by the haze of distance and smoke. He’s breathing quickened until it wasn’t really breathing anymore, just short, panicked gasps that scraped his throat raw. 

“You have to turn around!” He shouted, voice breaking as he lurched toward the cab, fists pounding against the metal sliding. “Please - you don’t get it… everything I have is back there! My stuff - Josh’s things - if I lose them, I have nothing!” 

Jenna’s jaw tightened, but she kept quiet. Maybe she didn’t know what to say, maybe she didn’t care. Paul slammed a palm against the steering wheel. 

“He’s outta his damn mind! It’s a bite, Jenna, I swear it! He’s not gonna make it-” 

Tyler wasn’t even listening anymore. His voice came again, raw, pleading, the words tumbling out too fast to control. “You don’t get it, I need them, I need them, it’s all I have left, I can’t-” 

The truck hit a pothole, throwing him sideways. He grabbed at the rail again, knuckles bloody where the rust cut skin, tears stinging his eyes without permission. 

“Stop!” He continued, half a sob in his throat. “Please, stop-”

The world exploded into silence for him when Jenna’s hand cracked smooth across his face. Sharp, deliberate, and definitely enough to stun. 

He froze, breath cut off mid-gasp. 

Jenna’s glare locked on him, cold and hard as stone. “Get it together,” She snapped. “Or you won’t live long enough to regret whatever it is you left behind. Didn’t you see all the biters back there?”

The sting lingered across his cheek, but the ambience cut deeper. Every jolt of the truck seemed to rattle something loose inside him, and the adrenaline drained fast, leaving only a hollow ache.

Tyler pressed a hand to his face, not to soothe the slap but to cover the tears that spilled despite him willing them not to. His shoulders trembled with each breath he tried to steady himself. The skyline was shrinking, dissolving, and with it the little sanctuary he’d carved out, the scraps of a life that had once been his. All of it now swallowed by the distance, abandoned like the dead.

He tried to tell himself that Jenna was right - that things didn’t matter, not when your life was on the line. But survival wasn’t the same as living. Survival didn’t fill the void at night. Survival didn’t remember Josh’s laugh or his warmth. 

Tyler’s throat closed around the thought, and he bent forward, tucking his knees to his chest and hiding his face there. The tears came harder then, hot and humiliating, but he couldn’t stop them. For the first time in months, he wasn’t alone, and somehow that made the loss sharper.

The truck barreled on, carrying him farther from everything he had left of Josh. And all he could do was sob quietly into the rush of wind, hoping the others would let him fall apart in peace.

They rattled on for nearly twenty minutes, the road narrowing into cracked asphalt overrun with weeds. Tyler barely noticed the miles passing, his mind caught between the dull sting of his nose, the ache in his chest, and the numbness of exhaustion. He’d stopped crying, but the emptiness after was worse. 

When the engine finally downshifted and slowed, the sound jolted him upright. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, and Tyler squinted through the dust to see a shape rising ahead. 

It was a motel - two stories of sun-bleached stucco, the once-bright sign hanging crooked above the parking lot. The letters were mostly dead, leaving only a fractured ‘OTEL’ to buzz faintly in the morning light. Cars had been dragged across the entrance, forming a rough barricade. Sheets of plywood boarded most of the windows, and the lot beyond was filled with signs of life - barrel fires burning low, laundry strung up on fraying lines, figures carrying water or rifles as they moved in and out of doorways.

The truck rolled to a stop just shy of the barricade. Voices called out, sharp but cautious, and a handful of armed figures stepped into view. Their weapons weren’t raised, but they weren’t lowered either.

Tyler stared, chest tightening at the noise, the movement, the sudden press of humanity where for months there had been only silence. A dog barked from somewhere inside the lot, answered by a sharp whistle. Pots clattered in the distance. Someone laughed, the sound grating and unfamiliar after so long.

Paul killed the engine with a rough twist of the key. The abrupt hush made the camp’s noise louder, more real. He turned in the cab, eyeing Tyler with a look of contempt before he sighed. 

“No funny business,” He huffed. “We’re nice enough to be takin’ you in. If you get any ideas,” He jabbed a finger towards Jenna, and Tyler’s eyes followed. “Well, you’ve seen how good of a shot Jen is.” 

Tyler didn’t say anything. Jenna hopped down from the truck bed, her boots hitting gravel. She waved once to the approaching guards, already barking something low under her breath. She was a bit more at ease here, Tyler realised; this was home to her.

He stayed where he was, clutching the side rail, suddenly paralyzed by the weight of it. After months of being alone, he was here - on the edge of a community. alive, messy, loud, human. It should have felt like saving. Instead, it felt like being ripped away from everything he’d ever known.

And when his eyes met the dull glow of the ruined motel sign again, Tyler remembered.

For a moment, it didn’t belong to this place at all - it belonged to a different night, one buried under rain and laughter.

-o-o-

They were in Josh’s car, damp and smelling faintly of lake water and sunscreen. Josh had coaxed him into swimming until the sun dipped behind the trees, and now rain hammered the windshield like a thousand fists, the wipers flailing uselessly. Thunder shook the glass, and lightning split the sky white for a heartbeat at a time.

The storm had come out of nowhere, a wall of black clouds rolling over the horizon before either of them realised it. Josh leaned in, squinting through the sheets of water, his hand steady on the wheel. “I don’t like this,” He said, eyes narrowing at the blur of road ahead. “Can’t see more than a few feet.”

Tyler shifted in his seat, trying to mask how tense he felt. His hand hovered over the door handle like it might steady him. “What should we do? Probably not safe to keep going like this,”

And then it appeared, glowing weakly through the rain: MOTEL, the letters stuttering, the “M” fading in and out, leaving only ‘OTEL’ pulsing against the storm.

Josh flicked his finger in its direction with a sharp nod. “There. We should stop.”

Tyler stared at the broken sign, his pulse thudding. “It looks like something out of a bad movie.”

“Better a bad movie than a car wreck.” Josh glanced at him, voice softening just enough. “Especially when I’m transporting precious cargo.” 

Tyler flared at that, but before he could reply, Josh continued. “Hey. It’s one night. We’ll wait it out, then head back in the morning.”

Tyler exhaled slowly, forcing a small nod. “Okay. One night.” He replied, but he couldn’t help the pang of relief in his chest. “But we’re getting two separate rooms. Don’t think I’m that easy.” 

Josh cracked a smile at that, his laugh low, but Tyler could tell the relief sat with him too. He guided the car into the lot, the headlights cutting across crooked lines of parked vehicles. Rain hammered the roof, each drop loud enough to drown thought. 

Josh killed the engine and for a moment they just sat there, breath fogging the glass, the world outside blurred into silver streaks. 

“Ready?” Josh asked, though he was already reaching for the door handle. 

Tyler pulled his damp shirt away from his skin with a grimace. “Not really.”

“Too bad,” Josh shot him a grin before slipping out, Tyler following close behind him. They bolted through the downpour, shoes splashing in ankle-deep puddles, clothes instantly plastered to skin. By the time they shoved through the door marked ‘reception’, they were dripping, water pooling beneath them as the storm muted into a dull roar behind the glass. 

It smelled of mildew and stale coffee, a half-dead plant slumped in the corner. Behind the counter, a woman looked up from a battered radio with the kind of weary expression that she might have reserved for stray dogs stuck out in the rain, and on her chest rested a nametag, ‘Elif’ scribbled in permanent marker.  

Josh leaned on the counter, slick hair clinging to his forehead. “Two rooms,” He said simply, fishing out his wallet. 

She didn’t hesitate, giving a small sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, darlings. I’ve only got one left.” 

Tyler blinked, pushing his wet sleeves up with an awkward shove. “Just one? Nothing else?” 

Elif shook her head, already reaching for the heavy brass key before she set it down on the counter. “Storm’s had people piling in since sunset. Take it or leave it.” 

Josh’s mouth twitched into a smirk as he slid his card across the counter. “Fine. Does it at least have two beds?” 

“Nope.” Elif replied, and Tyler could swear he saw her mouth twitch into a smile before she took the card to process the payment. 

For a beat, the storm filled the silence between them, thunder cracking somewhere close enough to rattle the glass. Tyler swallowed, heat rising beneath his damp clothes. He caught Josh’s glance, that grin that he wasn’t quite able to fight, like he was already enjoying this too much.

Tyler cleared his throat, fumbling for composure. “It’s just one night.”

Josh plucked the key off the counter with a flick of his wrist. “Exactly. One night.” He turned back to the receptionist, giving her a polite nod and a wink. “Thanks, darling.” 

When they reached the room, Josh turned the key with a  click, creaking the door open like it hadn’t moved in years. A rush of stale air met them, thick with old smoke and the faint tang of bleach. Tyler flicked on the light, and the room buzzed awake with a sickly yellow glow. 

It wasn’t much. A sagging dresser, a TV bolted to the wall, threadbare carpet that squished faintly under their wet shoes. And in the middle - exactly as promised - one single bed. Sheets tucked too tightly, and a floral bedspread that had seen better decades.

Tyler stopped in the doorway, every inch of him humming with nerves. His eyes caught on the bed and refused to leave it, pulse thrumming almost as much as the storm outside. 

“Well,” Josh began, stepping in and dropping the key onto the bedside table. “Guess we’re roommates for the night.” 

Tyler forced a  shaky laugh, kicking the door closed behind him. “Roommates usually have separate beds”

Josh glanced over to him before shouldering out of his jacket. He set it down on the back of a chair, moving to kick his shoes off. “Don’t worry about that.” He mumbled after a moment, his voice softer now. “I’ll take the floor.”

Caught off guard by the offer, Tyler blinked. For a second, he almost protested - almost told Josh not to be ridiculous, that he didn’t need to martyr himself on a stained motel carpet. But the words stuck. Because saying them out loud meant admitting the alternative.

He hovered by the door before stepping in to kick off his own shoes, heart pulling two ways at once. Part of him wanted to tell Josh they could share. That it wouldn’t mean anything. That it was obviously the more practical thing to do. 

But another part - the louder part - knew how dangerous that could be. 

Finally, he nodded, quick and stiff. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

Josh gave him a half-smile, unreadable in the dim glow of the lamp. “I’ve slept in worse places.” He tugged a spare sheet from the bed loose with one hand, tossing it down onto the carpet. “See? Instant mattress. I’ll be asleep in no time.”

The room filled with the muffled hum of the storm outside, the windows rattling as rain streaked down the glass. They agreed that Josh could shower first, and he made for the bathroom. The shower sputtered to life, pipes groaning as the water rushed through them. Tyler sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the flickering light on the nightstand, listening to the muted rhythm of water against tile.

When Josh finally emerged, damp hair curling at his temples, steam following him out like a ghost, he just gave Tyler a nod. “Your turn.”

Tyler moved past him quickly, careful not to brush too close, though he swore he could still feel the heat of him in the narrow space. The shower was lukewarm at best, but the sting of water against his skin washed away the last of the storm’s chill. He lingered longer than he needed to, breathing in the clean, sharp scent of motel soap before shutting it off.

Back in the room, Josh was already stretched out on the makeshift bed, one arm behind his head, eyes closed like he was pretending to be asleep. Tyler pulled his boxers back on and climbed into the real bed, the sheets scratchy against his skin, and turned onto his side, facing away.

But the quiet didn’t hold.

Josh shifted. Then shifted again. The sheet rustled, the wood of the floor creaked faintly beneath his weight. Tyler squeezed his eyes shut, but the sound of him tossing and turning kept cutting through the storm outside, breaking the fragile calm.

He turned to lay on his back, staring at the water stains spidering across the ceiling. He tried to will himself into sleep, tried to tune out the storm, but all he could hear was Josh turning over again. Every movement jabbed at Tyler’s guilt like a needle.

Finally, he groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Josh froze mid-shift. “…What?”

“You’re driving me insane,” Tyler muttered, rolling onto his side to face him. In the glow of the streetlamps outside, Josh’s eyes cracked open, hazy with surprise. “I can hear you rolling around like a dying animal. Just - get up here.”

Josh blinked, propping himself on an elbow. “You serious?”

“Yeah.” Tyler’s throat tightened, but he held firm. “I feel like an asshole making you sleep down there. So… just get in the damn bed. Don’t make me say it twice.”

For a beat, Josh only stared at him, unreadable. Then the corner of his mouth quirked into that infuriating grin. “Didn’t think I’d hear that before date number three.”

Tyler threw the nearest pillow at him, heat crawling up his neck. “It’s not like that.”

Josh laughed quietly, catching the pillow before climbing up onto the mattress. He moved carefully, like he didn’t want to spook Tyler, settling onto the bed and as far away as he could, which really wasn’t far at all.. “Relax. I’ll stay on my side.” 

Tyler tugged the blanket higher, though it did nothing to disguise the fact that Josh’s arm brushed his every time one of them shifted. The bed was too narrow, the mattress too soft, and there was nowhere to go that didn’t lead to touching.

Josh let out a low chuckle. “You know, if you wanted me this close, you could’ve just said so.”

Tyler whipped his head toward him, face burning. “That’s not- I didn’t-”

Josh smirked, clearly delighted at the reaction and utterly shameless. “Relax. I’m teasing.” His voice dropped, warm and sly. “Mostly.”

Tyler groaned and rolled onto his side, facing away. “I’m starting to think you’re insufferable.”

“Charming, you mean.” Josh’s tone was light. He understood the difference between Tyler’s frustration and him being flustered. “Besides, I’m on my best behaviour. You’d know if I wasn’t.”

Tyler swallowed hard, his throat tight. “This is your best behaviour?”

Josh watched Tyler’s back as he propped his head up on one hand. “Guess you’ll have to stick around for date three to find out what the worst looks like.”

Tyler tightened his jaw, staring at the wall as if peeling wallpaper could hold his attention. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Josh’s grin was audible in his voice. “Not when I’m winning.”

Huffing and resigned to saying nothing, Tyler bit his lip, though the heat in his cheeks said otherwise. He was just thankful Josh couldn’t see it.

The silence stretched, broken only by the rain pattering against the window and the occasional creak of the old motel walls. Tyler lay stiff at first, every nerve strung tight, but Josh stayed steady beside him - warm, patient, close without crowding.

Then, after a long breath, Josh shifted. His arm slid firmly around Tyler’s waist, drawing him in with an easy squeeze that spoke of certainty rather than hesitation.

Tyler’s breath hitched, not from panic but from surprise. Because his mind didn’t spiral, didn’t trip over every what-if and why-not. Instead, the weight of Josh’s arm anchored him, pulling him from the restless churn of thoughts he usually drowned in.

The warmth seeped in, softening the edges of everything. He let his body loosen by degrees, sinking back into the solid presence against him. For the first time, the storm outside didn’t sound threatening - it was just weather. Just background noise.

Josh’s chest rose and fell behind him, steady and sure, and Tyler let the rhythm guide his own breathing until it matched. His eyes fluttered shut, a rare calm stealing over him. He didn’t overthink it. He didn’t fight it.

For tonight, he simply let himself be held.

-o-o-

“Hey! Newbie!”

Tyler jerked upright, his pulse spiking. His vision refocused - the world snapping back to the truck bed, to the sound of footsteps on cracked asphalt, and to the looming outline of the motel ahead.

Jenna’s voice barked again from the front, clipped and impatient. “You gonna sit in there all day? Move it.”

Tyler swallowed hard, blinking away the lingering remnants of the memory. His stomach tightened - not just from the shock of returning to reality, but from the knowledge of where they had arrived. He shimmied himself off the truck, faltering a little when his feet hit the ground.

“You got a problem with daydreaming or something?” Jenna asked again, her tone never faltering. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m coming,” Tyler tried to soothe, but the angered look she shot at him silenced any further protests or explanations he might have been able to muster.

She didn’t give Tyler a chance to collect himself. Grabbing his arm firmly, her grip tight enough to leave an imprint, she guided him deeper into the camp. He stumbled slightly, the motion pulling him fully out of his lingering thoughts.

“No time,” she muttered, her voice rough but purposeful. “You’ve got a wound that needs looking at. Come on.”

Tyler glanced toward the rough cluster of makeshift tents and boarded rooms that comprised the commandeered motel camp. Survivors moved between them, carrying gear, tending fires, and keeping watch.

Jenna pulled him through it all without slowing, and Tyler tried to keep pace, but his legs still felt too heavy. They approached a small shed set apart from the others with a sign that read ‘Medical Bay’. Inside, a woman moved with calm efficiency, her brown hair tied back. When she glanced up from a bundle of supplies her eyes immediately recognised Jenna.

“Hey,” She said softly, a warm smile beneath the fatigue. 

“New guy.” Jenna said without preamble, jerking Tyler into the only chair in front of the desk at the center of the room. “Gash across the nose, blood hasn’t stopped. Can you look at it?”

“Of course,” The doctor stepped forward, before her eyes landed on Tyler. “I’m Debby. You look like you’ve been through hell.” Her tone was even, but her eyes took in Tyler with a steady, assessing warmth. She wasn’t insulting him, but her brows furrowed with sympathy instead.

Tyler's attention darted away from her. Instead landing on the large golden retriever lying curled on a blanket in the corner. His coat was dusty from the road, but his eyes were warm and steady, watching them with quiet intelligence.

“That’s Jim,” Debby said softly, almost as if introducing an old friend. The dog lifted his head slowly and wagged his tail once before settling back down.

“Is it smart to keep a dog?” Tyler blurted before he could stop himself. He hadn’t even thought of the question, didn’t realise that it could come off as standoffish. He would have to work on that, if he was to stay here. 

Debby gave a small, almost rueful smile and stepped closer to Tyler, producing a clean cloth and a bottle of antiseptic from a worn kit. “No,” She said softly as she began dabbing at the blood near his nose, “probably not the smartest thing. Especially in a place like this.”

Tyler flinched slightly as the antiseptic stung, but he didn’t pull away. “Then why keep him?”

She paused for a moment, glancing toward Jim, who had shifted to rest his head again. “A dear friend of mine asked me to take care of him before they left camp. Said Jim had been with them for a while and… well, I couldn’t say no.” Her voice softened, and she leaned over to give Jim a scratch behind the ear. “So here he is.”

Tyler stayed quiet, his eyes flicking between Debby and Jim. The dog let out a low, content sigh, his tail thudding softly against the blanket.

Debby worked slowly, careful with each movement as she cleaned the cut. “He’s a good boy.” She said gently, more to Jim than to Tyler. “Keeps the camp grounded, somehow. Even when things get rough.”

Tyler’s voice was quiet, hesitant. “Grounded?”

Debby glanced at him, her expression softening. “Yeah. Very much like his owner. He reminds people there’s still something worth caring for. Even when everything else falls apart.”

Tyler swallowed, shifting in his seat. He felt the sting of antiseptic again, but this time it barely registered. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realised he could still hear Jenna moving around outside the doctor’s office, her voice muffled but present.

Debby gave a nod toward Jim. “He’s a keeper. Even if it isn’t the smartest thing.”

“Maybe some things are worth being a little stupid about.” Tyler replied, thinking back to his crate. To his apartment he might never see again. 

Debby smiled knowingly, finishing the bandage. “That’s the spirit.”

Jim lifted his head again, letting out a soft whine, and Tyler caught himself smiling despite the day’s tension.

Jenna’s voice suddenly called from outside, sharper now. “New guy! Let’s go.”

Debby looked up, a faint crease between her brows. “Go on. I’ll find you later to change that bandage.”

Tyler hesitated for just a moment before nodding and standing. As he stepped toward the door, Jim gave a single, soft boof, and Tyler glanced back, catching the dog’s steady gaze, letting the strange sense of familiarity settle over him before Jenna reached in and pulled him away.

Chapter Text

Jenna didn’t give him much time to catch his breath. One minute, he was enjoying the reprieve with Debby; The next, Jenna’s hand was clamped around his arm again, tugging him back out into the morning.

“C’mon,” She said, already halfway through the compound. “Mark’s gonna want to see you.”

Tyler stumbled after her, still a little dizzy from the sting of antiseptic and the rhythmic thump of Jim’s tail against the floor. “Who’s Mark?”

She didn’t look back. “Head of recon. Decides who stays, who pulls their weight, who doesn’t. You’ll want to make a good impression.”

The words washed over him like cold water. He didn’t ask what happened to people who didn’t make a good impression, and Tyler wasn’t sure of how to even do that anymore. But he would try. He straightened up, brushing dust from his jacket and adjusting his sleeves.

Jenna led him across the cracked lot, past a line of stripped-down cars and a pair of survivors mending a tarp roof. The motel’s courtyard had been repurposed to resemble order - or at least the outline of it. A fire barrel smoked quietly near the center, its warmth doing little to cut through the bite in the air.

At the far end stood the office - the old motel manager’s room, if the fading gold letters on the door still meant anything. The glass window had been replaced with a sheet of corrugated metal, and the door itself bore deep scratches, as though someone had once tried to claw their way inside.

Jenna didn’t knock. She pushed it open with her shoulder and stepped through.

The room smelled of oil, sweat and old paper. A desk sat under a cracked fluorescent light, covered in maps of the surrounding area, marked up with pen and tape - routes, danger zones, supply caches. A pair of rifles leaned against the far wall beside a dusty coffee maker that probably hadn’t worked in years.

Behind the desk sat a man, his build solid, beard grown out. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing forearms crisscrossed with scars. He looked up from the map spread in front of them as they entered.

“Mark,” Jenna said, by way of introduction. “This is the one we picked up in the city. Got scratched but he’s clean.” She moved her hand to his back, shoving him forward roughly, her tone clipped, efficient. But there was no accusation buried in it. No disgust. Just fact.

Tyler swallowed, uncertain of whether to offer his hand or stay perfectly still. The silence stretched, the only sound the faint hum of the flickering light overhead.

Mark’s gaze swept over him slowly, unreadable. Tyler tensed, waiting for the reprimand, for the ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ that he knew was coming. But instead, Mark just leaned back and said, “So… you’re the one who thought the flare was a rescue signal?”

Tyler’s throat went dry. “Yeah,” He managed. “I-I thought someone needed help.”

Mark grunted, low and even. “Well,” He said, voice rough. “You weren’t wrong.”

Jenna’s smirk flashed like static. “He’s been on his own this whole time, decent survival instincts. Just needs a reality check.”

Tyler blinked at her, caught off guard. Decent survival instincts. The words stuck out to him, absurd and alien. Nobody had called what he did decent in a long time - maybe ever. Not since before the world ended. Not since Josh.

He almost laughed, though it wouldn’t have sounded right. Instead, he dipped his head and lowered himself into the chair Mark gestured toward, the metal cold and uneven beneath him. For a moment, he didn’t trust his voice. Didn’t trust that if he spoke, it wouldn’t break whatever strange spell had settled over the room - this fragile, unfamiliar feeling that maybe, he hadn’t completely screwed up their plans.

Mark didn’t look fully convinced, but there was something thoughtful in the way his eyes lingered on Tyler. “Alright,” He said finally, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “What’s your name, new guy?”

“Tyler.”

Mark nodded once, rolling the name around like he was testing its weight. “Tyler,” He repeated. “Alright. Here’s the deal, Tyler. You can stay, for now. You’ll get food, a cot, and enough water to keep you upright. But this isn’t charity.”

Tyler’s pulse jumped. He sat a little straighter, waiting for the catch.

“You pull your weight like everyone else,” Mark went on, his tone measured but sharp. “We’re small. Tight-knit. We can’t afford anyone who drags their feet or goes running into danger because they think they hear someone crying for help.” His eyes narrowed just a little, enough to drive the point home. “You might not be so lucky next time, and we won’t stop to help you again. Around here, there are no second rescues.”

The words hit with the dull weight of truth. There wasn’t any threat behind them, not really - just the steady certainty of a man who’d made choices like that before and wouldn’t again.

Tyler nodded. “Understood.”

“Good.” Mark began again. “You’ll start with recon tomorrow. See if you’ve got those instincts Jenna’s been bragging about.”

Jenna let out a faint snort from where she leaned against the wall now, arms crossed. She looked away from the scene, frowning deep, like she had just been outed for speaking in his favour before she had even made up her mind on it.

“Can I-?” Tyler began, before he stopped, unsure if asking was smart. But the curiosity gnawed too deep to ignore. “The bait,” He continued, finally. “The flare you saved me from. What was that even for?”

Jenna and Mark both turned to him. Mark’s brow furrowed slightly, not in anger, but in disbelief. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Tyler shook his head. “I thought it was a signal for help. Clearly I was wrong.”

Jenna gave a short, humourless laugh. “That’s what the rotters think too.”

Sighing, Mark leaned back in his chair again, folding his arms. “We use baits - flares, alarms, even recorded voices sometimes - to pull them toward one side of the city. Keeps them busy while we scavenge the other.” He gave Tyler a long, measured look. “You can’t move through the city clean without distraction. Too many of them. Too hungry.”

Jenna nodded toward him, her expression unreadable. “You’re lucky you ran the way you did. Another minute, and the swarm would’ve hit that block head-on. You woulda been part of the bait.”

Tyler’s stomach twisted. The memory of that empty street, the silence before the growl - it all replayed in sharp flashes. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. “Guess I should say thanks, then.”

“You should.” Mark said flatly, though his tone wasn’t cruel - just firm, pragmatic. “Next time you see a flare, you run the other way. Got it?”

Tyler nodded slowly, his chest tight. “Got it.”

After that, Jenna led him out of the main office and down a narrow hallway that smelled faintly of dust and soap - the kind of clean that came from effort, not abundance. The walls were lined with mismatched doors, numbers painted on by hand. Voices murmured behind some, laughter behind others. It felt alive in a way that made Tyler both uneasy and strangely comforted.

“Most of the rooms are shared,” Jenna said, glancing over her shoulder as they walked. “We rotate based on shifts. You’ll be bunking with Grace - she mostly keeps to herself. You’ll like her.”

Tyler nodded, unsure of what to say. The hallway ended at a door marked 21. Jenna rapped her knuckles against it before pushing it open.

Inside, the room was small but lived-in. Two narrow beds sat against opposite walls, blankets folded neatly at the ends. A lantern flickered on the nightstand between them, a few personal items scattered around - a book, a small drawing tacked to the wall. Tyler eyed it, vaguely making out the shape of two men trading hats in a field, the sky stormy overhead.

Grace looked up from where she sat cross-legged on one of the beds, tying back her hair. She was maybe a few years younger than him, Tyler guessed, and her eyes seemed kind, putting him at ease.

“Got you a new roommate,” Jenna announced. “Name’s Tyler. Try not to scare him off.”

Grace’s mouth tugged into a faint smile. “No promises, Jen.” She said slyly, and Tyler could swear he saw her cheeks dusting, her eyes following Jenna as they entered further into the room.

He managed a weak laugh, setting his satchel down near the empty bed. “I’ll, uh… try not to be a pain.”

“Good start,” Grace said as Jenna gave him a brief nod.

“Get some rest,” Jenna added as she made her way back to the door, satisfied with the introduction. “You’ll need it. Tomorrow’s full orientation - routes, ration work, all that fun stuff.”

Tyler exhaled a tired “Got it,” as she disappeared down the hall.

For a moment, silence settled. Grace returned to her task, looping her hair into a tight knot, while Tyler sat gingerly on the edge of his bed. The springs creaked beneath him.

“I wake up pretty early.” She began. “So if you hear someone moving before dawn, that’s me. Don’t freak out.”

Tyler nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Early’s fine. I probably won’t sleep much anyway.”

Grace hummed in acknowledgement, but her attention drifted - she was untangling a thin chain around her wrist, gold dulled from time. “You will,” She said quietly. “Everyone does, eventually. The noise fades. The nerves, too.”

He wasn’t sure if she meant the sounds of the camp or the noise inside his head. The constant hum of danger, of Josh, of what to do now. Either way, they both settled into a comfortable silence after that, the only sound the faint hum of the generator outside and the soft rhythm of her breathing.

Tyler laid back, staring at the ceiling. The mattress was thin, and every creak reminded him of how close he was to this stranger, after he’d been alone for so long. But it wasn’t him.

The thought landed with a quiet ache in his chest. He turned onto his side, eyes tracing the faint light bleeding through the curtain. It hit the floor in fractured lines - like it did that morning.

And suddenly, he was there again.

-o-o-

The sound of rain against the window was steady and soft, a far cry from the thunderstorm that had chased them indoors the night before. Pale morning light filtered through the threadbare curtains, washing the room in a dull gold.

Tyler blinked awake, warmth pressed solidly against his back. Josh’s arm was draped over his waist, heavy but loose, their legs tangled somewhere in the middle of the bed.

For a long moment, Tyler didn’t move. He could feel Josh’s slow, even breaths against the back of his neck - the kind of calm that felt so gentle it could break, could shatter at the lightest breath.

He should’ve pulled away. Should’ve laughed it off, made a joke, anything. But instead, he stayed there, eyes half-closed, letting the tranquility stretch. The warmth of Josh’s skin seeped into his own, steadying the tremor that had followed him since the first crack of thunder.

Then Josh stirred behind him, a low, sleepy noise escaping his throat. “You awake?” He mumbled, voice rough.

Tyler stilled for a beat before letting out a breath. “...Yeah.”

The arm around his waist shifted, tightening just a little - not possessive, just there. “Good,” Josh said, the smile evident in his voice. “Didn’t wanna miss what you look like in the mornings.”

Tyler huffed, somewhere between flustered and fond. “You’re ridiculous.”

The ghost of Josh’s laugh brushed Tyler’s shoulder, and he tightened his grip again, bringing them impossibly close. “Maybe. But I can tell you’re smiling, so I’ll take the win.”

“You think too highly of yourself,” Tyler said, though the jab came out softer than intended.

Josh didn’t answer, just gave another small huff of laughter before he leaned in, brushing his lips so lightly to Tyler’s neck that he might have missed it, had he not been zoned in to every little movement the man behind him made.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

The touch was fleeting - barely there - but it sent a rush of heat down his spine that no morning air could chill. He could feel Josh’s breath still ghosting against his skin, steady and unhurried, like this closeness was something normal. Something allowed.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

Tyler’s mind scrambled for distance, for a joke or a reason to pull away, but none came. All he could think about was how close they were - Josh’s chest pressed against his back, the warmth of his arm firm around his middle, their legs tangled just enough that moving would mean brushing even closer. It was ridiculous how aware he was of every heartbeat that wasn’t his own.

And worse, how much he didn’t want to move.

He told himself it was just comfort. Safety. The storm last night had been loud, their drive uncertain - and maybe he was just clinging to the first calm thing that had found him since then.

But deep down, beneath all the excuses, he knew better.

Because there was something about Josh - the way he laughed too easily, how he always made things lighter when they should’ve been heavy - that pulled at him. And now, lying there with Josh’s lips on his neck, pressing again and again like he could hear the storm of Tyler’s mind and was trying to calm it, Tyler realised he liked him. More than he should. More than he’d ever meant to.

And the strangest part was that the thought didn’t scare him. Not completely.

He let out a soft sigh, the tension from his shoulders easing, and he was sure he could feel Josh’s lips twitch into a smile against his skin. “There you go,”

Tyler’s breath caught at the sound of Josh’s voice, low and drowsy, still rough from sleep. The words brushed against the side of his neck like warmth - gentle, teasing, but not mocking. Never mocking.

“There you go,” Josh murmured again, his lips still hovering close enough that every syllable seemed to vibrate against Tyler’s skin. “Didn’t think I’d ever get you to relax.”

Tyler swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the wall. “You talk too much,” He muttered.

He got a chuckle in response, the sound barely a rumble in the chest still pressed firmly to his back. “Yeah, but you like that about me.”

Confident. Teasing. And probably the most Josh kind of response he could have expected.

It hung there, full and fragile, like a held breath. Tyler could feel his heart hammering again, faster now. Almost on cue, Josh’s hand slipped up his stomach before reaching his chest, where he pressed firmly, as if trying to ground him. Trying to ease him back into the comfort they were just in. “It’s okay.”

Tyler wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what.

Except that he was sure. He was so unbelievably sure that it was gnawing at him, carving him from the inside out until it burned in his throat.

He turned slightly, just enough to see Josh’s face half-lit by the weak morning light. “I think…” His voice cracked, and he had to start again. “I think I like you.”

Josh blinked, surprised - not shocked, but quietly taken aback. Then the faintest grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, tempered only by the softness in his eyes. “Yeah?” He whispered, faintly. “Good.”

Tyler furrowed his brow. “Good?”

Josh’s smile deepened, his thumb brushing absently over the geometric tattooed lines of Tyler’s chest. “I was starting to feel like an idiot, liking you as much as I do.”

Tyler’s chest tightened - not from nerves this time, but from the overwhelming urge to quell the small look of worry on Josh’s face. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Josh’s answer lingered between them, soft and certain. Seriously.

Tyler didn’t know what to do with it - with the weight of Josh’s feelings and his own. His breath trembled out, his pulse a steady thrum beneath Josh’s thumb. Every inch of him felt suspended, balanced on the edge of a turning point he was sure would leave his life forever changed.

Then Josh’s hand drifted up, brushing along Tyler’s jaw, his touch feather-light - hesitant, almost reverent. His eyes searched Tyler’s for any sign to stop or flicker of doubt.

But Tyler didn’t look away. He didn’t flinch. There was no running, no hiding behind half-jokes or silver-tongued quips. Just the hushed, impossible truth of what was happening.

Josh’s breath ghosted against his lips, eager yet careful. And then finally, he closed the distance.

The kiss was barely there at first, a whisper of contact, more a question than a claim. Tyler felt it all the way down to his fingertips - the soft press of Josh’s mouth, the warmth, the small promise tucked into the space between them. When Josh tilted his head just slightly, deepening it by a fraction, Tyler’s heart gave a single, helpless stutter.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed. It was everything that came after a storm - the silence, the stillness, the fragmented peace that made you believe, just for now, that life had a hopeful undertone.

Tyler’s hand found its way to Josh’s wrist, holding it there, grounding himself in the simple, stunning reality of it.

-o-o-

Footsteps thudded past the door to his room, jolting him awake. Tyler blinked through the memory, the warmth of that morning still lingering and settling deep within him before it finally gave way to the cold air seeping in through the cracks of the window. For a moment, he stayed there - half sitting, half lost - until the laughter outside nudged him the rest of the way into wakefulness.

He must have napped for hours. Grace’s bed was empty, her boots gone. Late afternoon light bled in and before Tyler could think to do much else, the smell of something cooking - actual food - crept through the door.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing at the stiffness of his body. Now that a couple of hours had passed, he could sense the dull aches everywhere that the adrenaline had been masking; his nose, the cuts along his knuckles, and the bruises he was sure mottled each elbow and knee that he couldn’t see, but he could definitely feel.

The urge to stay in that room, to keep his head down and let the day pass, almost won. He wasn’t sure what version of himself he should present to actual living and breathing people; But the sound of life outside, of them existing, pulled at him, small and insistent.

It didn’t take long to reach the courtyard. Smoke curled from a metal drum at the center, and people milled around it, talking, eating, trading tools and small bits of scavenged tech. There was movement everywhere: a woman hammering nails into a new section of barricade, two kids filling canteens at the water line, a few others in mismatched armour preparing for what looked like a scouting run.

Tyler hovered his way over to what looked to be an old cafeteria next to the managers office, his stomach dictating his steps. The smell hit him before he even stepped inside - warm and savoury, with a faint trace of smoke. His stomach tightened in response, reminding him that the last thing he’d eaten were the crackers that were no doubt going stale on his counter back at the apartment.

Inside, the cafeteria had been stripped down to its bones. Tables had been pushed to the sides, replaced with storage crates and long wooden planks balanced over barrels for makeshift counters. Someone had scrawled a chalk sign above the serving area: RATION: ONE PER PERSON, ONCE A DAY.

Behind the counter stood a woman in a faded red flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her skin was dark, sun-warmed, and her hair was pulled into a new set of braids that swung lightly as she moved between pots, a thin layer of steam fogging the air around her.

“Afternoon,” She said with a small look, her voice inviting. “You’re new. Haven’t seen you around before.”

Tyler hesitated, glancing at the others in line - a man patching his jacket, a teenager cleaning a dented canteen - before stepping forward. “Just arrived today,” He replied, shuffling awkwardly on his feet as the other survivors eyed him with little to no interest. “Name’s Tyler.”

That earned him a look, her eyes sharp and assessing, but not unkind. “Amy,” She said simply, wiping her hands on a rag before reaching for a ladle. “You eat yet?”

“Not since… uh, this morning.”

Amy’s mouth quirked. “Then you must be starving. Grab a bowl.”

Tyler followed her gesture, stepping to a  cupboard near the door and grabbing one of the  ceramic dishes before he moved back. When he presented it to her, she poured in a thick stew that smelled of lentils, maybe rabbit, maybe both. Whatever it was, it made his chest ache with how normal it felt - someone handing him food, a warm room, the quiet hum of conversation.

“Mark said you’ve been surviving out there on your own,” Amy said as she set the ladle back down. “That true?”

Tyler nodded, though he still didn’t know if that was down to sheer luck, or if it might actually be impressive. “Guess so.”

“Guess so,” Amy echoed, her tone thoughtful and a little amused. “That takes grit. Not a lot of folks make it here solo anymore.”

He shifted his weight, suddenly unsure of what to say. Compliments felt foreign still, like trying to wear clothes that didn’t fit.

Amy seemed to notice, but didn’t push. Instead, she leaned on the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “Last solo survivor we got was a while ago, man about your age actually.”

Tyler looked up, the steam of his stew fogging between them before he took a seat. “Yeah?” He said, only half listening, mind too absorbed on the food before he finally began to eat.

“Mm-hm,” Amy smiled a little, almost fond. “Came alone. Well, just him and a dog. Big golden thing. Real gentle, though. Wouldn’t let anyone near him except the guy. They were thick as thieves, those two.”

“Are you talking about Jim?” Tyler asked then, glancing at her before he shovelled another mouthful in.

“Yeah, Jim. Couldn’t separate them at first.”

Tyler stirred his stew absently, pretending interest, though his mind was drifting. The stew lacked salt, but it was the best thing he had eaten in months, and he wouldn’t complain. “What happened to the guy?” He asked with half-effort.

“The man?” Amy said. “Didn’t stay long. He was here maybe two months. Never spoke much, but you could tell he was restless - like he was always somewhere else in his head. Then one day, he just up and left.”

Tyler hummed, remembering what Debby had told him. “And he left Jim.”

Amy’s gaze softened before she removed the cloth from her shoulder and idly ran it over the counter. “Yeah, asked Debby to take care of him. Said Jim was tired, needed a place to rest. Then he walked out the same way he came in. Said he was lookin’ for someone.”

Tyler’s spoon stilled halfway to his mouth. The words barely registered at first - said he was lookin’ for someone - but they lingered, turning over and over.

He set the spoon down, suddenly aware of how heavy his hands felt.

He remembered those first few months after it had happened. After the chaos, after the shouting and the smoke. He’d waited. Every day he’d waited. Stayed in one place too long, moved too little, because some naïve, foolish part of him believed Josh would find him. That he’d appear around the corner with that smile, some smartass comment on his lips, like nothing had happened.

But weeks bled into months. And hope, for all its noise at the beginning, got quieter.

He’d stopped calling Josh’s name aloud by the third week after it happened - the sound had begun to feel like a wound reopening each time it echoed back unanswered. By the second month, he’d stopped counting the days altogether.

He told himself Josh had died then, in the chaos of their separation. Dead. Or worse, turned. That it was mercy to stop hoping and better to just accept the reality of it.

But the story was gnawing at him. Amy had turned to help someone else, and the stew sat cooling in front of him. The murmur of the cafeteria blurred, fading beneath the rush of his pulse.

A man and a dog. Looking for someone.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. Could’ve been anyone. There were thousands of men out there, thousands of ‘someones’ they could be looking for.

But the image came anyway - Josh with that worn green hoodie, the frayed cuffs from where he’d always rolled his sleeves too high. His easy laugh, the way he used to reassure that everything would be okay, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Tyler’s chest twisted. It would be too perfect.

For half a heartbeat, the world tilted towards the possibility - a flash of something wild and dangerous. What if it was him? What if Josh was here, months ago? What if he’s still out there-

He stopped himself with a sharp breath, eyes shutting tight.

“Don’t,” He muttered under his breath, too low for anyone to hear.

That kind of thinking - that kind of false hope - was poison. He’d done it before. He knew how it ended: with empty roads, with silence, with every shadow turning into disappointment. Josh was gone. He had to be. It was easier that way. Because the alternative meant that he had never come back for Tyler, and that was more than he could stomach.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his brow, forcing the thought down until it ached. Forget it. It’s not him. It can’t be him.

When he finally opened his eyes, the world seemed smaller again - duller, safer. Just a camp. Just a story about some stranger and a dog.

Tyler finished his meal not long after that, bidding Amy goodbye before he stepped out into the courtyard again. It was getting late now, the sun dipping down behind the rooftops, the air thick with woodsmoke and the faint tang of metal. Survivors were beginning to settle in for the evening, some breaking off to their rooms, some lingering for the last bit of warmth around the fire.

“Hey, Tyler.”

He turned toward the voice. Jenna stood by the edge of it all, a small glint in her expression as she watched them. She was wearing an oversized army jacket now, her posture casual - but her eyes were sharp, moving to study him.

“You look less like death,” She said when she finally moved to approach. “That’s a start.”

Tyler managed a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, well. Hot food and cleaned wounds do wonders.”

She smirked, taking a sip from the thermos she was holding before handing it to him. “How are you holding up?”

He hesitated, unsure how to answer. The truth sat heavy on his tongue - the weight of memories, of ghosts that still refused to stay buried - but he wasn’t sure if he could trust his voice with all that.

“I’m fine,” He said instead, too quickly.

Jenna raised a brow. “You don’t look fine.”

Tyler huffed out a weak laugh, taking a sip from the thermos just to avoid her gaze. The liquid was bitter - strong coffee, or something like it. “Guess I need to practice my ‘I’m fine’ face, then.”

Jenna lingered a moment longer, watching him from the corner of her eye. “You know,” She said, her tone light but probing, “I’ve been meaning to ask - how the hell did you even survive out there on your own? You didn’t have much on you when we picked you up.”

Tyler shifted, suddenly aware of how empty his satchel had looked when he arrived. “I managed.”

“That’s not an answer.” She leaned against one of the courtyard’s old wooden posts, folding her arms. “Seriously, you were out there for what - months? And no gun? No backup?”

Tyler hesitated. “…Never had a gun.”

Her brow furrowed. “Never?”

He shook his head. “Couldn’t find one that worked. And even if I did, I wouldn’t have known what to do with it. I just avoided things. Kept quiet, kept moving.”

Jenna blinked, then let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re telling me you’ve been out there almost a year, and you’ve never even held a gun?”

Tyler met her eyes briefly, defensive despite himself. “I didn’t need one.”

“That’s not bravery, you know. That’s insane.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

That shut her up for a second. She studied him, her expression unreadable - somewhere between impressed and concerned. “Guess so,” She said finally. “Still, that’s not gonna cut it here. Out there, you might get lucky once in a while. But in a group? Luck runs out fast.”

Tyler’s throat went tight. “So what? You’re saying I should start carrying one?”

“I’m saying you should know how to.” Jenna pushed off the post, stepping closer, a subtle glint of mischief in her eye. “You’re on Mark’s radar now. He won’t send you out unarmed, but he also won’t baby you. If you can’t shoot straight, someone’s gotta teach you before he finds out.”

Tyler frowned. “And who’s that supposed to be?”

Jenna’s grin sharpened. “Who do you think?”

He blinked at her, realisation dawning. “…You?”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Don’t sound so disappointed. Meet me behind the motel tomorrow morning. We’ll start with something small.”

“I never said I wanted lessons.”

“You didn’t have to.” She started walking away, tossing the last words over her shoulder. “You’ll thank me when you don’t get eaten.”

Tyler stood there long after she disappeared into the main building, the sounds of camp washing over him. The idea of holding a gun - of learning to fight the way these people did - churned  deep and uncertain in his chest.

But he couldn’t deny it: part of him wanted to try.

He lingered there for a moment longer, letting Jenna’s words fade behind him. He didn’t follow her inside. Instead, he drifted toward the fire barrel in the center of camp. The metal was warm, and he sank into one of the benches scattered around it, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

His gaze flicked around, dropping to the base of the barrel where weeds had curled up through the cracks in the concrete. Among them were dainty yellow flowers, stubborn and bright against the dust and grime.

He blinked, drawn in despite himself.

The sight tugged a memory loose in his mind, sharp and clear.

-o-o-

Tyler was sitting on the couch in his apartment, mind too full from the eight hour work shift of his office job, and limbs too heavy with exhaustion to do much more than make the mug of tea he had curled in his hands. He had barely slipped into a fitted pair of sweats and a tshirt before collapsing here and throwing on some mindless sitcom he would eventually fall asleep in front of.

But lately, on nights like this, something else had begun to fill his mind entirely.

Josh. Not just a name, not just the warmth of a smile - but Josh, lingering in a way that made Tyler’s chest tighten. The way he had looked at him at the end of their last date, the words they’d exchanged, the quiet confession that they liked each other more than they’d expected.

It wasn’t just infatuation anymore. Tyler knew it. He could feel it in the way his thoughts kept returning to Josh, in the way his stomach still fluttered at the sound of his laugh.

He sighed softly into his mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. He wondered what Josh was doing right now. If he was home… or maybe he was out… whether he should text him or not. Would Josh come over if he asked? The fear of rejection shot the idea right out of his head, and Tyler curled deeper onto his sofa, restless.

His thoughts were drifting again - tracing the faint curve of Josh’s smile, the  warmth in his voice - when there was a knock at the door.

Startled, he set his mug down a little too hard on the coffee table. He shifted to his feet, half wondering who it could be, and how they even got into the apartment building without calling to be buzzed in first.

When he opened the door, he found Josh standing there, grinning wide as soon as their eyes met, a bundle of yellow flowers in one hand, and a bag of what looked suspiciously like take out in the other.

“Happy surprise third date,” He said, chuckling a little at the look of bewilderment Tyler now wore.

“Third date?” He asked softly, half in disbelief.

Josh shrugged, that grin never fading. “Yeah I mean… I think I nailed the last one, so why not keep going?”

Tyler tried to protest, but it came out as a laugh instead. “You didn’t even call.”

“Nope,” Josh stepped past him, uninvited, before setting the bag of takeout down on the coffee table. “Figured I’d surprise you.”

When he turned back, he handed the flowers to Tyler, their fingers brushing. Tyler felt the heat bloom in his skin, but he wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea of having Josh over. Quite the opposite, actually.

“So… tea and a sitcom, or takeout and conversation?” Josh asked when the silence went on a little long.

Tyler hesitated again before breaking into a smile of his own.“Takeout and conversation.”

Josh’s grin widened, and as Tyler ducked into the kitchen to get the flowers into some water, he felt something in his chest shift - a small spark of warmth that promised tonight would be worth remembering.

Tyler returned to the couch with the flowers settled in a disused glass, the petals spilling gently over the rim. Josh had already pulled a pair of takeout containers toward him and was balancing chopsticks with a grin that made Tyler’s stomach flutter.

“You always order this much?” Tyler asked, nodding toward the food as he set the flowers down at the center of the table.

Josh laughed. “Only when I’m hungry… and only if I’m sharing.” He tilted his head with an amused look. “Though, I could eat it all if you didn’t want anything.”

Tyler smirked, leaning back into the couch. “Watching you attempt something like that would be tempting.” He said with a small laugh.

They fell into an easy rhythm after that, eating quietly, the soft hum of the sitcom in the background as they both shared small pieces about their day. Tyler lamented that no one in his job took him seriously, which flowed into Josh - who he had learned worked as security for a nightclub - telling him about some guy he had to throw out for being too grabby with the girls at the bar.

Tyler found himself stealing glances at Josh whenever he could, and more often than not, he would find Josh doing the same.

Eventually, once they finished and settled down, Josh hummed out satisfied. Tyler curled into his chest then, Josh’s arm draped loosely over his shoulders. He swore he could have fallen asleep like that. Full, warm, and with the only person he wanted by his side.

“So,” Josh said suddenly, breaking the easy silence they were in. Tyler didn’t mind. He gave a sleepy hum to tell him he was listening. “Are we… I don’t know, doing this? Officially?”

Tyler froze then, a bit more awake now than he was five seconds ago. He shifted up in his position, watching Josh for a moment. “Doing what?” He asked carefully, though part of him already knew where this was going.

“This,” Josh said with a  gesture between them. “Whatever this is. We like each other, right? But I don’t know if we’re… exclusive. Or if you even want that.”

He was so, so painfully straightforward. Of course, Tyler wanted that. He had wanted that since the morning in the motel, but fear was stopping him. If he answered too eagerly now, he was sure he would scare Josh off.

Instead, he steadied himself. “I-” He began, looking thoughtful. “Do you want it to be exclusive?”

Josh reached for him then, their fingers interlocking easily when they found each other. “Yeah, of course. I just thought I’d ask first.”

Tyler chewed his lip, the question burning at the back of his mind. He wanted to answer, but part of him froze, afraid of giving away too much, and too soon.

“I guess… You know what,” He said after a long pause. “Yeah. I think I’d really- well, okay, I think I would be okay with that.”

Josh’s grin widened, lighting up his face until it reached his eyes. “Really?”

Tyler nodded, though his heart gave a stutter. Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered doubts - whether he was more excited than nervous, whether he was ready to put that label on it. But outwardly he offered a smile, the kind that hid the uncertainty that he didn’t want to taint the moment.

Josh didn’t seem to notice. His eyes gleamed with a look like triumph and without another word, he leaned forward, closing the gap between them. His hand slipped over Tyler’s knee, fingers curling with an easy confidence.

He didn’t hesitate. His grin deepened, mischievous and certain all at once, and before Tyler could even register what was happening, Josh shifted closer.

Tyler’s breath hitched as Josh’s hand slid along his thigh, and then, with a tug on his hips, Josh pulled him fully onto his lap. Tyler stumbled slightly, catching himself against Josh’s shoulders, and found himself looking up into those bright, unguarded eyes.

“You’re absolutely sure?” Josh murmured, the grin softening, becoming more tender. Tyler could swear he saw the faintest flicker of doubt there, like Josh couldn’t believe it. Like Tyler was some big prize he hadn’t expected to win.

Tyler’s lips curled into a  hesitant smile. “Yes, Josh. I’m sure.”

And this time, it wasn’t Josh that initiated the kiss. Tyler leaned in, unable to help himself, and pressed their mouths together in playfulness - quick at first, teasing, as if he was testing to see if it was different now that they were official.

The kiss deepened, slow at first, then sharper - a mix of curiosity and urgency. Tyler’s breath hitched. He could feel Josh’s hand press into his side, fingers splaying with certainty, pulling him closer. Tyler’s own hands found their way to Josh’s shoulders, then into the back of his hair, tugging gently as heat pooled low in his chest.

Josh’s warmth, the taste of him, the faint scent of whatever cologne he wore, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under Tyler’s palm. Tyler felt himself getting caught up, the rest of the world fading until there was nothing but this - their shared breath, the press of skin, the slow building heat.

Somewhere deep in his mind, though, a hushed voice rose up. A humble warning. A reminder that they’d just agreed to something important. That there was no need to rush.

Tyler pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against Josh’s, breathing uneven. Josh blinked up at him, a unspoken question in his gaze. Tyler’s fingers lingered against Josh’s cheek, brushing over him carefully, caught between wanting more and wanting to hold back.

“I… I think I want to wait a little longer for anything like that,” Tyler murmured, his voice low.

Josh’s expression softened but didn’t falter. His lips curled into a polite, understanding smile, and he tucked his forehead closer to Tyler’s. “Alright,” He said gently. “Whatever you need.”

Tyler let out a slow breath, his heartbeat still pounding. His chest ached with both longing and restraint. For a moment, he stayed there - leaning into Josh, feeling the warmth settle around him, letting the promise of more hang between them without breaking it.

Then, Josh’s eyes flicked down to his lips again. “But we… can still make out, right?”

Tyler couldn’t help the laugh that broke out of him, light, bubbly and full of joy. He dove back in again, lips capturing Josh’s with fervor, probably more, now that he knew there was no expectation behind it. He was just happy that Josh met him just as eagerly. 

Chapter Text

The hallway light outside Tyler’s apartment flickered weakly, stuttering between yellow and white like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to stay alive. Josh paused halfway down the corridor, squinting up at it as the hum buzzed faintly overhead.

“You should get the maintenance guy to fix that,” He said, pointing towards the light. “Feels like it’s been dying since I first met you.”

Tyler locked the door behind him, glancing at the flicker without much interest. “I’ve asked,” He sighed, tucking his keys into his pocket. “Twice, actually. They said they’d get to it, but I guess that was weeks ago.”

Josh gave him a look, an eyebrow raised. “You sure you didn’t just terrify the maintenance guy?”

Tyler shot him a dry stare. “Yeah, because I’m known for my intimidating aura.”

“You are,” Josh grinned, reaching out to lock their fingers together as they walked. “You’ve got that quiet, mysterious thing going on. The ‘might file a complaint, might commit tax fraud’ kind of energy.”

Tyler barked out a laugh, but rolled his eyes, leading them to the elevator. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

Josh followed him, still smiling, but his gaze flicked back toward the bulb before the doors closed. The hum and stutter of it had filled the hallway - small, but persistent enough to gnaw the edges of comfort.

“Of course… but seriously Ty,” He began as Tyler jabbed the button to the ground floor and the elevator started its slow descent. “That thing’s gonna short out one of these days and that hallway will be pitch black. Besides, you sleep with that noise going all night?”

Tyler leaned back against the wall, watching the numbers light up above the door. “Doesn’t bother me much anymore… I think I’ve tuned it out.”

Josh tilted his head, still frowning slightly. “You shouldn’t have to tune it out. Stuff like that - first it’s a flicker, then the light goes out, then you’re tripping in the dark trying to find your phone.”

Tyler stole a sideways glance, amused. “You always this dramatic about lightbulbs?”

He was surprised when Josh returned a grin, looking a bit sheepish. “Only when it threatens the comfort of the people I like.”

That earned him a  laugh, the kind Tyler tried to smother behind his hands. It lingered in his chest longer than it should have, warm and fragile. He looked away pretending to focus on the flowing elevator numbers as they descended, but his mind had already begun to drift.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it - Josh’s unconscious shift from easygoing charm to quietly protective over the past couple of weeks. It had started in subtle ways. Walking him to his apartment door after late nights, even when Tyler tried to convince him he’d be fine. Offering to fix the leaky faucet in his kitchen like it was a personal mission. The way his hand would find the small of Tyler’s back in a crowd - never possessive, just… there.

It was strange, the comfort Tyler found in it. He had never been the kind of person who needed looking after. He’d always managed fine on his own, keeping things even and unremarkable. But with Josh, it wasn’t about needing protection - it was about the fact that he offered it anyway.

“Alright, hero,” Tyler said, after a moment. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

“It does,” Josh mused, a little too quickly, his tone teasing but his eyes thoughtful. “And if they don’t fix it, I’m bringing over a ladder and doing it myself.”

“You don’t even live here.”

“Minor detail.” Josh waved a hand as the elevator doors opened. “I’ll just add ‘illegal back alley maintenance’ to my resume.”

Tyler couldn’t help but chuckle, following him out to the lobby. “Oh? What else is on there?” He asked curiously, stepping to the door before Josh pulled it open for him.

Josh pretended to think, humming as they stepped out into the cool evening air. “Let’s see… certified dog enthusiast, professional kisser, part-time cook, and-” He shot Tyler a sidelong glance, lips twitching. “Expert at making you laugh at least once per date.”

Tyler snorted. “Once per date? That’s a bold claim.”

“Yeah? I’m pretty sure I’m ahead of schedule today,” Josh said, grinning, and it was true - Tyler could feel the faint ache in his cheeks from smiling too much already.

They walked side by side down the quiet street, the rhythm of their steps unconsciously matching. The air smelled faintly of rain, the pavement still damp and glistening under the streetlights. It was one of those suspended moments that felt ordinary but carried a strange weight - like something in it might last.

-o-o-

BANG.

Tyler’s body flinched before his mind caught up. The memory vanished, swallowed by the echo of the gunshot ringing through the open field.

He blinked hard, dragging himself back to the present. The world was wide and cold again; grey sky, churned dirt beneath his boots, and the acrid smell of gunpowder clinging in the air.

“Not bad,” Jenna said beside him, idling with her own weapon. Her voice cut clean through the fog in his head - practical, clipped. “But you’re still jerking your wrist when you shoot. You’ll never hit what you’re aiming for that way.”

Tyler exhaled, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. “Yeah, I noticed.” He muttered, lowering the gun. His hands were shaking - not from fear exactly, but from the raw awareness that one wrong move could end someone’s life with this weapon in his hands.

Jenna stepped closer, her boots heavy. “You said you never used one before, right?”

“Not really,” Tyler admitted, his voice softer than he meant it to be. “Closest I ever got was… video games, I guess.”

That earned him a dry snort. “Well, this one doesn’t reload with a button.” Jenna reached out, nudging his elbow into place, guiding his stance with firm precision. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Elbows locked. Let the gun do the work, not your arms.”

He tried again - breath in, aim, squeeze. The next shot rang out, kicking against his palms, and this time the bullet hit just shy of the target - a tin can set up on a fence post.

Jenna gave a nod, the faintest trace of approval flickering across her face. “Better.”

He blew out a slow breath, half-relieved, half-unnerved. “Feels… wrong.” He admitted after a second, shuffling awkwardly on his feet.

“What does?”

He stared at the gun, heavy in his hands. “Getting used to this. Like I shouldn’t.”

Jenna’s gaze softened by a fraction, though her tone stayed even. “You’re not supposed to like it,” She said. “You just need to know how to do it. There’s a difference.”

Tyler nodded, swallowing hard, and raised the gun again. The wind tugged at his jacket, the world narrowing to his breath, the target, and the weight in his hands - a force that could protect or destroy, depending on where he aimed it.

Jenna watched him fire again - another miss, this one veering wide. She clicked her tongue, the sound sharp enough to cut through the ringing in his ears.

“Tyler.”

He lowered the gun instinctively, glancing at her. Her expression wasn’t angry, but there was a steelyness to her eyes that made him straighten up.

“You’re overthinking it,” She said, stepping closer. “You keep waiting for it to feel right. It’s not going to. It’s supposed to scare you a little - that’s what keeps you careful.”

Tyler swallowed, nodding faintly. “Guess I was hoping that part would pass.”

“It won’t.” Jenna took the pistol from him, ejecting the magazine with a clean motion before inspecting it. “First time I shot one, I hated it. Hands went numb, stomach turned, couldn’t even look at the thing… afterwards…” She didn’t meet his gaze, just kept her attention on the magazine. “Then I realised the world doesn’t care if I’m uncomfortable. Either I get good at protecting myself, or I don’t get to go home.”

There was no drama in her voice, no bitterness. Just the cold fact she had come to learn. He hesitated, then took the gun back once she swapped out the magazine.

“Breathe in before you aim,” Jenna instructed, stepping back. “Slow. Don’t fight the recoil - just let it happen.”

Tyler followed her instructions. Breath in. Steady. Focus.

The next shot hit the outer edge of the target, dinking the tin can just enough to tip it off the fence post. Not perfect, but enough to make Jenna’s mouth curve into a faint smile.

“There you go,” She said. “Now you’re thinking less and doing more.”

Tyler lowered the gun again, his arms heavy but steadier this time.  For a moment the only sound was the soft tick of an empty casing cooling on the dirt.

Jenna noticed his silence. “Hey,” She said, softer this time. “Don’t let it eat you. You learn this, you’ve got a better shot at walking away next time things go bad. That’s all this is.”

Again, Tyler nodded, though the pit in his stomach still didn’t ease. He knew she was right. The world wasn’t kind anymore - didn’t bed for people who hesitated.

He adjusted his stance again, jaw tight with focus. “Alright,” He said quietly. “Let’s go again.”

Jenna watched him, her expression unreadable for a moment before the corner of her mouth twitched in approval.

“I like that,” She said, stepping back to give him space. “You’ve got commitment. Not everyone sticks it out long enough to actually get better.”

The word hit harder than it should have - commitment.

Tyler’s hands faltered for just a second, the slide of the gun clicking into place with a dull metallic sound. Commitment. It wasn’t just about shooting, or surviving. The word carried weight.

A flash of memory stalled him, warm and sharp all at once.

-o-o-

Josh’s apartment was smaller than his own, the kind of space that always felt alive - a clutter of sketches and coffee mugs, mismatched cushions, and the faint smell of herbs and spices constantly in the air.

They were on the couch again, half-lost in each other. Josh’s hands cupped the back of Tyler’s neck, thumb tracing slow circles against skin. The movie they’d meant to watch played indifferently in the background, utterly forgotten.

Tyler’s pulse raced, a soft ache building low in his stomach. Every brush of Josh’s lips made it harder to think, to keep the quiet promise he’d made himself to take things slow.

And when Josh’s hand began to wander - sliding just under the hem of his shirt, his touch warm - Tyler froze. It was so subtle of a hesitation that Josh might’ve missed it, but he didn’t.

He pulled back instantly, concern flickering in his eyes. “Hey,” He murmured, voice soft. “You good?”

Tyler swallowed, suddenly aware of how fast he was breathing. He nodded before shaking his head again, unsure which was the truth. “I just - I don’t want to rush this,” He managed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just… I’d rather wait.”

Josh studied him for a long moment, and then nodded. “Okay,” was his simple reply. No pushback, no frustration - just understanding.

Tyler felt something inside him loosen, but it was tangled with guilt all the same. “You sure?” He asked, tone soft but his hand lingering on Josh’s a moment longer.

Josh smiled then - that warm, disarming kind of smile that made it impossible to doubt him. “Tyler, if I wasn’t sure about you, I wouldn’t be here. We’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere.” He raised Tyler’s hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to Tyler’s knuckles in a movement meant only to soothe.

“But y’know,” He began again after a moment, looking thoughtful. “If there was something… I uh, I guess I’m just curious.”

Tyler tilted his head slightly, wary. “Curious?”

Nodding, Josh’s eyes searched him, his brows furrowed and earnest. “You don’t have to tell me anything I just-” He hesitated, the crease of his brow deepening. “I get the feeling there’s more to it than just not wanting to rush.”

Tyler’s throat tightened. He wanted to answer, to give Josh something honest, but the words tangled before they reached the surface. There was more to it - the echoes of past hands that hadn’t been so kind, the way he’d learned to read affection as a prelude to abandonment. But saying it out loud meant putting a name to it, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that yet.

When the silence stretched a bit too long, Josh hummed. “I’m not mad.” He said finally. “You pull back like that, and it’s fine - it is - I just… I wanna understand. So I don’t mess something up.”

Tyler’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked down at their joined hands, at the way Josh’s thumb was tracing lazy patterns across his skin, as if trying to remind him he was safe. In the pause, he searched for the right words - or maybe the courage to say them.

There had been someone before - someone who made every soft thing like this feel conditional. Someone who taught him that closeness always came with an expiration date. It wasn’t something he liked remembering, let alone explaining.

He drew in a slow breath. “It’s not about you,” He started, his voice quiet, a little raw. “It’s just… been a while since I let anyone close like that. And the last time I did-” He stopped, the sentence tapering off into nothing before Josh squeezed his hand, gentle and coaxing.

“The last person I let in like that didn’t really… treat it like it meant anything.” He said finally, still avoiding eye contact, like doing so might soften the edges of his words.

“They hurt you?” Josh asked after a moment, and a funny thing happened in Tyler’s stomach. The little flip it did was a silly response, really. The topic was too heavy for it, but the protective tone laced into Josh’s words forced it anyway.

He brushed it off. “Yeah. And I guess I got used to keeping things simple. Easier that way. Safer.”

Josh shifted in his seat, leaning forward until their knees brushed. “I get that… You’ve got every right to take your time. I just…” He hesitated, and for the first time that night, he looked a little uncertain. “I don’t want you to think I’m here just… for that. Or that I’ll lose interest if we don’t…” He waved his hand vaguely, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth.

“Do the whole ‘movie scene fade to black but you know they got freaky’ thing?” Tyler finished for him, a teasing spark cutting through the tension like a hot knife.

Josh barked out a laugh in response, his shoulders easing. Tyler had spent enough time with him by now to know that a joke was usually all it took to relax Josh. Once he smiled, things would get better. “Yeah, that.”

Tyler felt himself smile back before he could stop it. Before he could overthink it. “Good to know.”

The air filled with a peaceful understanding. One that came from agreement, and a promise to wait. Then, Josh spoke again. “You’re worth waiting for, Tyler. I can feel it.”

The words landed deep, heavier than they had any right to. Tyler swallowed, unsure how to respond to that kind of sincerity - the kind that didn’t ask for anything back. “It’s only been a month… how are you so sure?”

Shifting again, this time closer so that he had enough room to rest a hand on Tyler’s hip, Josh tilted his head. “I know how I feel when I’m around you. That’s a pretty good start, no?”

Tyler exhaled, a shaky sound that was half a laugh, half disbelief. “Everyday you remind me that there are no half-measures with Joshua William Dun, right?”

“Nope,” Josh said simply. “You’ll get that eventually.”

For a long while, neither moved. The television murmured in the background, still forgotten. Josh’s hand stayed where it was, and Tyler let himself relax into the hum of it.

“Okay,” Tyler said, certain. “I think I can try. Not all at once, but… I want to.”

“That’s all I need.” Josh’s smile lingered - steady, and so full of warmth it made Tyler’s chest ache.

And somehow, that was how things began to shift.

Over the next few weeks, “trying” became its own kind of rhythm. It wasn’t sudden, not the way Tyler always imagined falling for someone might be - it was slow, deliberate, and full of disarming moments.

It was the way Josh’s hand would find him when they walked down the street, not asking permission, just fitting their fingers together like it had always been that way. The way Tyler, once rigid at every unexpected touch, began to lean into them - brushing shoulders, sharing space, letting himself be held without overthinking it.

They started cooking together more often, too - if it could be called cooking. Josh was chaotic in the kitchen, tossing ingredients around like it was performance art. Tyler had given up trying to correct him after the first few disasters, deciding instead to just laugh through the mess. And somewhere between burnt garlic bread and poorly timed kisses, the air between them stopped feeling fragile.

Sometimes they’d fall asleep on the couch, the television still playing, Tyler’s head tucked into Josh’s chest while Josh’s fingers idly skimmed his arm. Tyler would wake up in the peaceful, early morning haze, aware of the warmth pressed against him and how safe it felt - and that safety, more than anything, was precious to him.

Because safety was what he hadn’t realised he’d been missing.

Even intimacy started to come easier. A little more daring each time - longer kisses that turned breathless, hands roaming but always asking in the spaces between. Josh never pushed. If anything, he seemed to take more joy in Tyler’s comfort than in anything physical itself.

One night, Tyler caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror after Josh had gone home - his hair a mess, his neck marked faintly where Josh’s lips had been. He smiled at himself, small and private, and realised he didn’t feel the need to apologise for wanting anymore.

And for the first time in years, Tyler started to believe that trust didn’t have to mean losing control. That maybe, it could mean finding a new kind of strength in someone else’s hands.

And so, it happened on a Friday - one of those early summer nights that carried warmth even after the sun was gone. They’d gone out for dinner at a tiny Italian place tucked between the laundromat and an old record shop, one of Josh’s spontaneous “I found this spot on the way home, we’re going!” ideas.

Tyler hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d sat down. The air outside smelled of jasmine and sun warmed pavement, and Josh was halfway through a story about his neighbour's dog when Tyler realised that a certainty had settled in his chest.

He wanted him. Not just in the playful, teasing way he sometimes imagined late at night, but in a deeper, steadier sense - a want assembled on weeks of comfort, laughter, and patience they’d built together. The kind that came with trust.

Josh leaned back in his chair, laughing at his own joke, and Tyler caught himself just watching him - the sharp angles of his grin, the soft crease near his eyes. He reached across the table before he could second guess it, brushing his fingers lightly against Josh’s wrist.

Josh looked up, surprised, but only smiled, curling his fingers to meet Tyler’s.

“Hey,” Tyler said, his voice almost lost under the buzz of conversation around them. “You want to come back to my place after this?”

“Sure,” Josh replied, still cheerful, glancing toward the waiter. “We can watch that movie you’ve been putting off.”

Tyler hesitated, the corners of his smile twitching. “Yeah,” He said slowly. “We could do that.”

He tried again later, as they walked back to his apartment - letting his shoulder brush Josh’s, his tone dipping a little lower than usual. “You don’t have to leave early tonight.”

Josh smiled, bumping him lightly. “You saying that because you finally want to watch that movie, or because you just don’t want me stealing the last of your leftovers?”

Tyler gave a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe both.”

It wasn’t frustration that followed, exactly - just a faint, restless warmth that wouldn’t go away. He wasn’t used to wanting this much and not knowing how to say it. Not used to inviting someone closer.

When they reached his door, Josh leaned in to kiss him - soft and easy, the kind of kiss that had once been enough to scatter all his thoughts. Tyler kissed back, slower, deeper this time, trying to pour the unspoken words into it: I’m ready. I want this. I want you.

Josh smiled against his lips, breaking the kiss with a hum. “You’re quiet tonight,” He said. “Everything okay?”

Tyler nodded, but the breath he let out was shaky. “Yeah,” He murmured, eyes flicking briefly to the door. “Everything’s fine.”

Josh didn’t seem to catch it - or maybe he did, but decided not to push. He just took Tyler’s hand again, squeezing once before following him inside.

And maybe that was what Tyler loved most - that Josh never asked for more than he was given. But tonight, for the first time, Tyler found himself wishing he would.

He had set his keys down on the table when Josh straightened up, as if he’d just remembered something. “Oh - wait, before I forget,” He said, hauling his backpack onto the counter and digging into it. “I finally grabbed a new bulb for that light outside your door.”

Tyler blinked, caught off guard. “You… what?”

Holding up the small box like a prize, Josh puffed out his chest, looking proud. “You said the super wouldn’t fix it, remember? Figured I’d take matters into my own hands. I stopped by the hardware store earlier.”

Tyler stared for a beat, torn between amusement and disbelief. “You really couldn’t let that go, huh?”

“Absolutely not,” Josh said, his tone playfully serious. “It’s been driving me crazy every time I come over. And when I’m not here, the thought of you stumbling around out there in the dark drives me equally crazy, so...”

Tyler’s laugh was soft, the kind that slipped out before he could stop it. “So you’re telling me you’re crazy?”

“Maybe,” Josh said, already looking around the apartment. “But I’m a helpful kind of crazy. Where’s that stool you keep in the kitchen?”

“Josh-”

“Don’t ‘Josh’ me, I’m fixing your light.”

Tyler sighed, though there was no real protest in it, watching as Josh dragged the wooden stool from beside the counter and carried it toward the front door. “You know, most people would consider this an opportunity for a romantic night in...”

Josh shot him a grin over his shoulder. “What’s more romantic than saving my boyfriend from tripping over bad lighting?”

The word boyfriend caught Tyler off guard. It had a weight to it - a good one, but heavy all the same. He would have to bring that up, at some stage, but for now the sound of Josh lugging the stool out scattered his thoughts.

He followed into the hall, leaning against the doorframe as Josh climbed up on the stool, unscrewing the old bulb with easy confidence. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing the faint stretch of muscle in his forearms, and Tyler found himself caught between fondness and nerves, that same heat building again somewhere deep in his chest.

Josh glanced down at him, grin crooked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tyler said quickly, shaking his head. “Just… can’t believe you’re really doing this.”

“You’ll thank me when it stops flickering at three in the morning,” Josh replied, twisting the new bulb into place. A soft click, then warm, steady light - and more importantly, a peaceful hush - filled the hall. “There. Domestic bliss achieved.”

Tyler lingered where he stood, his shoulder brushing the doorframe, eyes tracing the lines of Josh’s face as he admired his handiwork like he’d just rebuilt civilization. It was such a tiny thing - a lightbulb. But no one had ever done something like that for him before. No one had noticed the annoyances, the inconveniences, and decided they mattered enough to fix.

And that was Josh - always noticing. Always reaching into the spaces where Tyler didn’t expect to be seen.

His chest tightened at the thought, a familiar ache caught between affection and a feeling much deeper than that, more intense. God, he’s so-

He swallowed hard, trying to keep the thought away, but it stuck like honey on his tongue. Sweet. Maddening. He wanted him - wanted to close the distance, to let the soft press drown out the noise in his head.

Josh turned toward him, still smiling, and that was it. Tyler didn’t think. Didn’t second guess.

He stepped forward, catching Josh by the wrist and tugging him gently back through the doorway, the stool forgotten outside. Before Josh could speak, Tyler closed the distance between them, pressing their mouths in a sudden, desperate kiss.

Josh froze for half a heartbeat, startled - then melted into it, his hands finding Tyler’s waist, his breath catching against Tyler’s lips as he kicked the door shut behind him.

There was only the soft drag of breath, the press of warmth, and the persistent, inevitable pull of desire that had been building for weeks. Josh’s breath came quick and uneven when he pulled back, forehead resting against Tyler’s. The question was in his eyes before he even said it - worry and want tangled together.

“Hey,” He murmured, tone low and measured, careful. “What’s this? What are we doing?”

Tyler blinked at him, dazed, his hands fisted in Josh’s shirt. “I-” He swallowed, trying to gather words that didn’t sound ridiculous. “I just… I wanted to.”

Josh’s thumb brushed over his hip, trying to ground them both for a moment longer before he spoke. “You sure?” He asked, fainter this time. “You don’t have to-”

“I know,” Tyler cut in quickly before the doubt could settle. “I want to.”

At that, Josh’s lips moved against his again with a steadiness that grounded Tyler more than it unsettled him. Every movement was deliberate - a question asked and answered in the space of a breath. Tyler felt himself melt into it, his body remembering how to want someone without fear getting in the way.

When Josh slid under the hem of his shirt, Tyler’s breath hitched. The warmth of his palms burned into his skin, a spark that sent heat climbing up his neck. Josh paused there, though, testing the boundary, waiting for a sign.

Tyler gave it - not in words, but in the way he leaned closer, how he didn’t pull away. His hands trailed up Josh’s chest, feeling the heartbeat that raced against his fingertips. Was he nervous? The heart hammering beneath Tyler’s touch seemed to say yes.

Josh smiled against his mouth, a small, breathless sound escaping him. “You’re shaking,” He whispered.

“I know,” Tyler admitted, voice barely there. “It’s… not a bad thing.”

They moved together until Tyler’s back brushed against the kitchen counter, and before he could even think about it, Josh had hooked his hands under Tyler’s knees and lifted him up, settling there before he shifted between his thighs.

For a second, all Tyler could do was breathe - shallow and quick - the shock of being lifted like that knocking the air right out of him. Josh’s strength wasn’t something he flaunted, but it was there, effortless, and now Tyler could feel every bit of it. His hands tightened instinctively against Josh’s shoulders, half for balance, half because he wanted to keep him close.

The position should’ve flustered him more than it did. It did fluster him, but not in the way he’d expected. He wasn’t embarrassed or anxious - not exactly. It was the sheer closeness of it that left his mind spinning. Josh’s palms were firm against his thighs, his chest pressed close enough that Tyler could feel every rise and fall of his breathing.

He hadn’t realised how much he liked this - being held like he was something precious, something Josh didn’t want to let go of. It wasn’t just the heat or the thrill of it; it was the trust that came with it, the wordless promise tucked into the press of Josh’s hands. No one had ever made him feel that way before - wanted, steady, safe, all at once.

Josh drew back just slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes were dark and warm, studying Tyler’s face like he was memorising it. The corner of his mouth quirked up, soft and teasing. “Still good?” He murmured.

Tyler nodded, his throat too tight to speak, a smile ghosting over his lips. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Better than good.”

Josh’s grin widened at that, slow and unhurried, before he leaned in again, brushing another kiss across Tyler’s mouth - gentle this time, patient, like he understood exactly what it meant for Tyler to stay here, to want this.

The next kiss came slower, but heavier - the kind that deepened all on its own. Tyler felt it in the curve of Josh’s mouth, in the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly at his waist. Every motion was careful, deliberate, but there was no mistaking the heat simmering beneath it.

Josh’s lips wandered, brushing the edge of Tyler’s jaw before finding the spot just below his ear. The air caught in Tyler’s throat; his hands clenched in the fabric of Josh’s shirt before they broke apart for the briefest moment, just for Tyler to tug it off over his head in one swift motion. He took in the sight of Josh then, his shoulders broad, his chest flushed before Josh moved back in for his neck again.

He could feel the ghost of a smile against his skin before Josh spoke again, voice low and rough with amusement. “Still better than good?”

Tyler managed a shaky laugh, but the sound came out closer to a sigh, his hands roaming those shoulders. “You don’t have to keep asking,” He murmured, his pulse thrumming fast enough to betray him.

Josh drew back just enough to meet his eyes, still smiling, though there was a softness there now, a fondness that had become common in their moments together. “I know,” He said quietly. “But I like hearing you say it.”

Tyler couldn’t help the  roll of his eyes, but he indulged anyway. His lips curled into a faint smile before he tugged Josh closer. “S’good. Now hurry up and kiss me again.”

There was no hesitation. Their mouths crashed together again, all heat and with a playful spark. When Josh’s hands moved again, slow and unhurried, like he was learning something by heart, Tyler didn’t stop him.

His palms traced along Tyler’s sides, pausing only to remove his shirt in return, before they continued - up to his ribs, down again - never lingering anywhere long enough to make him tense, just enough for him to feel it all.

When Josh’s hands landed on the waistband of Tyler’s jeans, he paused, thumb circling the metallic button. Josh didn’t say anything, just flicked his eyes to Tyler, a silent check.

“Josh,” Tyler hummed, trying his best to be patient, but the heat had spread from his stomach. He was sure Josh must have been able to feel it. He got a small, almost bashful flash of teeth in return, and Josh finally flicked the button open, pulling the zipper down with practiced ease.

He was at his neck again, kissing, nipping, never moving too fast. Even when his hand palmed between Tyler’s legs. Even when Tyler’s breathless moan ghosted the shell of his ear, he always stayed even. That was until Tyler’s hands found him too, cupping the front of his shorts, his grip tentative.

Josh sucked in a breath, his kisses faltering for half a second, but he didn’t stop. His fingers worked their way past the last barrier to Tyler’s skin, and he felt the shiver that he got in response. It brushed over his skin, hot and breathless all at once.

“You still with me?” Josh couldn’t help the need to check in, even if the breathy moans were enough of an answer in itself.

Tyler didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Not with the way Josh’s hand wrapped around his length, not with the way his fingers worked him, slow on every drag, pressure perfect. He buried his face in the crook of Josh’s neck, his cheeks flaring, head fogged at the simplest touch.

“I want to see you,” Josh whispered against him, breath hot. His grip tightened by a fraction, and Tyler felt his thighs begin to tremble. Even though the words landed deep in the pit of his stomach, he wasn’t about to deny Josh the one thing he’d asked for after weeks of being on the receiving end of his patience.

Tyler leaned back, one hand bracing himself against the cool tile of the counter and the other holding Josh’s shoulder, fingers tight enough to bruise. The way Josh’s eyes flicked over his front sent a jolt down his spine, his cheeks flaring. It caught him off guard - that look. Like Josh was indulging himself, for once.

Then his hand moved again, harder this time. Tyler could feel himself arch closer, could feel his hips twitch into the touch. Josh had a way of being gentle and firm all at once, fingers finding a steady rhythm as his free hand roamed over Tyler’s chest, touching, tracing the lines of his tattoos. And Tyler let him. Let the embarrassment of being seen like this slip away into the certainty of that touch.

“You’re beautiful,” Josh hummed, and Tyler knew he meant it. His hand slid down Josh’s chest before landing on the waistband of his shorts, tugging him closer.

“Josh,” He called again, unsure of how else to respond. Josh’s pace had slowed, and his eyes flicked back up to Tyler’s, questioning. “Want to see you too…”

The request was small, earnest and paired with another tug. Josh stepped in closer and nodded. Tyler slipped his hand into the waist band, fumbling enough that Josh gave a laugh before helping him. He pushed his shorts down just enough, freeing himself and sucked in another breath as Tyler’s fingers closed around him.

The press was tentative, exploring more than claiming. Tyler ran his fingers along the heated skin, marveling when Josh twitched against him, watching his responses in the dim light with an almost drunken giddiness.

Josh was perfect, Tyler had decided. He fit in Tyler’s hand almost as perfectly as Tyler fit in his. Their bodies locked together, like they were made for it. Not even just now, but for weeks. With every action, with every word, every rhythm. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

He ran his fingers down the length of Josh’s cock, relishing in the hitch of breath, in the twitch of his brow, in the way that doing so seemed to tighten Josh's grip and pace. Like he’d been waiting so patiently to experience this very moment, and now that it was happening, his brain was failing to keep up.

“Tyler…” He breathed out the name like a plea, and Tyler understood. He jerked his hand, fingertips squeezing over the head. He wasn’t sure if Josh liked it like this… but the shudder he got in response seemed to answer that question.

They kept going, their hands working, fingers tightening until Josh pressed his hips forward, brushing against Tyler’s dick. The touch was fleeting, but the press of them together caused Tyler to tip his head back, lost in it, his breathing low and ragged.

He could feel the pull, deep in his stomach. That familiar ache of release building hot and fast. “Josh, I-” He wanted to warn, but Josh’s mouth captured it, hungry now, his own hips bucking into the warmth of Tyler’s hand and pressing into him.

His pulse roared, unable to hold back anymore, and Tyler felt it snap on a particularly rough press of Josh’s slick heat against his. His back arched, fingernails scraping across the soft skin of Josh’s shoulder as he came, painting his stomach and the head of Josh’s cock in sticky white streaks.

He tried to silence himself, thankful that Josh’s lips muffled most of the cry, as the aftershocks hit him again and again. His thighs trembled, shoulder aching with the strain of keeping himself up, and it wasn’t until Josh pulled away and he looked down between them did he realise that Josh had come too, maybe even sooner than he did. Tyler had been too lost in it to notice.

“Oh,” He breathed, looking down at the mess, his cheeks flaring all over again at what they’d just done.

“I-I’m sorry,” Josh replied, leaning over to grab some paper towels. Tyler glanced at him again, confusion knitting in his brow. He had just had a mind-altering orgasm with his boyfriend. What could Josh possibly be apologising for?

He seemed to notice, and as he cleaned himself and Tyler off, Josh let out a nervous laugh, a noise Tyler wasn’t used to hearing from him. “Sorry, I just… couldn’t hold off… seeing you like that.”

He was blushing. Joshua Dun was blushing. It dusted his cheeks the most brilliant shade of pink, and Tyler felt it swell in his chest, swallowing to alleviate his dry throat.

“Are you kidding?” He asked after a moment as Josh tucked him back into his pants, his shaky fingers redoing Tyler’s zipper and button. He allowed Josh the task of cleaning him off, not because he couldn’t do it himself, but because it seemed like Josh really needed to keep his hands busy.

“Hey,” Tyler called out after a moment, hand raising to cup Josh’s cheek and forcing their eyes to meet. “It’s okay, that was…” He faltered, heat climbing up his neck. His mind scrambled for an answer, but he couldn’t find one in time.

“Hot?” Josh offered, and Tyler giggled.

“Yeah, hot.” Tyler couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his mouth. His pulse was still thrumming in his fingertips, the kind of giddy rush that made everything feel too bright, too alive.

Josh brushed his thumb along Tyler’s wrist, tracing slow circles there. “Good,” He murmured, smiling back. “Because I’m pretty sure my heart’s still trying to figure out what just happened.”

Tyler huffed a laugh through his nose, his body relaxing again into the warmth of Josh’s chest. The world felt softer somehow - edges blurred, all the tension that had once lived in his chest now replaced by a hushed, buzzing peace.

“Hey, Josh?” he said after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Josh tilted his head, curious. “For what?”

“For not… rushing,” Tyler said. “For making it feel like - I don’t know. Like it was supposed to.”

Josh’s smile gentled, his hand finding Tyler’s again. “That’s the only way I ever want it to feel.”

-o-o-

“Alright,” Mark’s voice cut through the static. “You three know the drill, but I trust you’ll get Tyler up to date.”

Tyler blinked, the sound of the office settling into focus. Jenna stood beside him, arms crossed and expression stiff as stone. Across the table, Grace leaned over the map that Mark had spread out, tracing a line with her finger. Beside her stood another survivor. Mark had introduced them as Lee, but Tyler hadn’t been paying much attention.

He shook the memory from his head, the gun still cold and heavy in his hands.

Get it together.

Mark tapped a section of the grid, his tone clipped. “We’ve had movement out by the south perimeter - looks like scavengers, maybe worse. I want eyes on the old transport lot and a sweep through the outer warehouses. In and out, no heroics.” His eyes landed on Tyler, and all he could do was nod in return.

“Copy that,” Jenna said first, already rolling her shoulders like she was itching to move.

He forced his focus back where it belonged. The world outside these walls didn’t care for the memories that pulled at him, or anything else that made his chest ache. Out there, it was all instinct - move, aim, survive. And Tyler knew he would need his full focus today.

Mark’s gaze found him for a beat longer than the rest. “You good, Tyler?”

He hesitated for a second, then another tiny nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Jenna slung a rifle over her shoulder, checking the magazine with a practiced flick. Grace tucked the folded map into her jacket, muttering something to Lee about the quickest route to the perimeter. The scrape of metal buckles, the thud of gear against the floor - all of it filled the room with the kind of rhythm that came before danger.

Tyler fastened a holster around his thigh - one that Jenna had picked out for him - and slipped the pistol in. He could feel his pulse, heavier than it should’ve been. The sound reminded him of gunfire. Not loud, not sudden. Just constant.

Jenna caught his eye from across the room. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. He was ready in all the ways that counted - his weapon loaded, his body on autopilot. But in the spaces between breaths, he still felt the weight of what came before all this.

He wondered what Josh would say now, if he could see him like this - all sharp and steely, tucked behind layers of survival. He’d probably smile that same way he always did, tell him he was doing fine. Tell Tyler that he was stronger than he thought.

Tyler exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the motion. The cold air hit when he left the office, the faint smell of oil from the burning barrel, the hum of Jenna’s voice as she gave one last check-in with Mark.

Then, Tyler fell into step with the others.

Chapter Text

The smell of rot never seemed to fade, no matter how many times Tyler breathed it through the cold morning air. The concrete corridors of the industrial sector stretched around them in gray silence, broken only by the crunch of boots and the low hum of Jenna’s voice as she gave her orders.

“Lee, take the left flank. Grace, eyes high - those upper floors haven’t been cleared since last month.”

Tyler trailed behind her, pistol tight in his hands, breath ghosting in short, uneven bursts. Every sound seemed amplified - the click of Grace’s safety, the scrape of Lee’s boots against the gravel, the hollow whistle of wind passing through a broken doorframe. He kept scanning the shadows, the places where light didn’t quite reach, his stomach knotted in a constant ache.

Jenna glanced back once, her face half hidden under the rim of her cap. “You good, Tyler?”

He nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Just - yeah.”

Her stare lingered for a second longer than usual before she turned away. “Stay close. We sweep the first two warehouses, then pull back. No heroics today, like Mark said.”

Tyler swallowed. “Understood.”

The first warehouse loomed ahead - a massive structure of corrugated metal and shattered glass, its wide door hanging off its hinges like a broken jaw. Grace moved first, crouched low, peering into the dark. The beam of her flashlight cut through the dust, illuminating stacks of rusted shelves and the long, collapsed shapes of forgotten machinery.

“Clear.” She murmured, but her voice carried that cautious edge that said she didn’t fully believe it just yet.

Jenna gestured for Tyler to cover her as she moved forward. “We’ll make this quick. Lee, hold the exit.”

Tyler followed, stepping carefully over the threshold. The smell hit first - mold, rust, something sour beneath it all. He forced himself not to gag, not to think about what it  might be. His flashlight trembled faintly as he moved it across the floor.

For a few moments, it was quiet. Too quiet, as they pushed their way in.

Then, the sound came.

A low, dragging scrape from somewhere deep in the shadows, followed by a wet exhale that made the hair on Tyler’s arms rise. He froze, heart slamming into his ribs.

“Contact,” Grace hissed, already raising her weapon.

Jenna was faster. “Lights down! Hold positions!”

The warehouse floor plunged into dim light. Tyler crouched behind a stack of crates, his breath shallow, fingers slick against the grip of his pistol. He could hear it now - more than one. The shuffling, uneven steps of things that should not have been walking.

He looked at Jenna. Her silhouette was calm, rifle braced against her shoulder as she waited. Tyler tried to steady his own hands, to mimic her stillness. He told himself to breathe. To stay quiet.

But then one of them appeared - eyes milky white, face sunken and pale under the flickering light that spilled in from upper windows. It staggered closer, a low growl rumbling through its throat.

Tyler’s breath hitched. His finger hovered on the trigger.

They had been over this, not even hours ago. Had practiced for this. But now, staring down the sight at the hollowed-out ruin of what had once been a person, his mind went blank.

The silence cracked behind his boot.

A single, metallic clang echoed through the warehouse - sharp, cutting, impossible to take back. Tyler froze, horror spiking through him as the empty tin can rolled lazily across the floor, the sound ringing out like a gunshot.

Then came the growls.

Three of them - maybe more - their heads snapping toward the noise. And in the next instant, the stillness shattered.

They moved fast, far faster than anything that should have been dead. Tyler stumbled backward, fumbling his flashlight on before the beam scattered wildly across the walls as the nearest on lunged. He barely had time to register the blur of pale skin and the open jaws before the chaos erupted around him.

Jenna was already moving. She didn’t hesitate - didn’t even fire. She dropped her rifle, drew her combat knife in one clean motion, and met the first creature head-on. It came at her snarling, but she ducked low and drove the blade up through its jaw and into its skull with brutal efficiency. The corpse went limp before it hit the ground.

Across the room, Grace swung her crowbar in a tight, controlled arc, catching another across the jaw with a sickening crunch. The creature stumbled, but she didn’t stop - she brought it down again, this time through the temple. Bone split.

And then there was Tyler.

The third one was on him before he could raise his gun. They went down hard, the air knocked from his lungs as his back hit the concrete. The stench hit him next - rot and blood and something foul that burned his nose. He shoved at its chest, trying to keep the snapping teeth away from his face, his arms shaking with effort.

“Tyler!” Jenna’s voice, sharp but distant.

He couldn’t answer - couldn’t do anything but hold on. The creature thrashed above him, snarling, spittle flecking across his cheeks. His pistol slipped from his grip, skittering out of reach.

Panic clawed up his throat. He could feel its weight pressing him down, the scrape of its nails against his sleeve, the sour, wet breath against his skin. His muscles screamed, the world narrowing to the smell, the noise, the unbearable nearness of death.

Somewhere, his mind screamed move, do something, but his body was locked - frozen under the crushing fear.

The thing lunged again, jaws snapping - inches from his throat -

And Tyler reacted.

His hand found the knife at his belt, and without thinking, he drove it upward with every ounce of strength he had left. It sank into malleable flesh, hot blood spilling over his fingers. The creature convulsed, let out a choking groan - and then went still.

Tyler shoved it off him, gasping, chest heaving as he scrambled back until his shoulders hit a crate. His knife clattered to the ground beside him, slick with dark matter.

The warehouse was silent again.

Jenna crouched a few feet away, breathing hard but steady. Grace stood behind her, crowbar still raised, eyes scanning the corners of the room, protective.

“You good?” Jenna asked, voice low but even.

Tyler nodded, though his head spun and his hands trembled violently. “Y-yeah,” he managed, even as the word caught in his throat. “They… they were fast.”

Jenna wiped her blade clean on a scrap of tarp before standing, her eyes sweeping once more across the warehouse floor. “Yeah,” she said after a moment, her tone even but laced, grim. “They were fast because they’re fresh.”

Tyler blinked at her, trying to make sense of it. “Fresh?”

“Just turned,” She clarified, slinging her rifle back over her shoulder. “Hasn’t been long since they were still human.” She nodded toward the corpse at his feet - the one he’d killed. “See how the skin’s still got colour? No sagging around the joints yet? That’s your first clue. The fresher they are, the more… alive they move.”

Tyler stared down at it, bile rising in his throat. He hadn’t let himself look too closely before - hadn’t wanted to. Now that he did, he could see it. The faint stubble on the chin, the clean tear in the shirt, the shoes that weren’t yet falling apart. Someone had cared about these things once.

“So they…” He started, voice cracking before he tried again. “They remember?”

Jenna shook her head, stepping closer to inspect one of the others Grace had downed. “Not really. Not in any way that matters. Reflexes just stick around for a bit - balance, speed, strength. But give it a week or two, and the decay catches up. Then they get slower. Clumsier.”

She straightened again, meeting his gaze. “That’s when most people let their guard down. Don’t make that mistake.”

Tyler swallowed hard, glancing around the warehouse again, every shadow now feeling heavier, closer, as he stood up. “You’ve… seen a lot of this.”

“Too much,” Jenna admitted simply, though she didn’t sound tired - just certain. “You start picking up on patterns after a while.” She gave a shrug, like it was nothing more than a job, but Tyler could see the steel beneath it.

He crouched again, looking at the one he’d stabbed. The knife wound was messy, jagged - desperate. He didn’t feel proud, not even relieved.

Jenna’s voice called to him again, harsher this time. “C’mon. Let’s keep moving.”

He wiped his palms against his jeans and after one last sweep, followed Jenna’s lead through the wide doors at the far end of the warehouse. The others fell in line - Grace watchful, Lee scanning corners with their flashlight. The sound of their footsteps echoed against concrete, the hollow ring of it somehow louder after what had just happened.

Outside and just ahead, the second warehouse loomed - half-collapsed on one side, a crooked sign above the entrance that once might’ve read Storage Bay 6.

Jenna raised a hand, signalling them to stop. She glanced back, checking each of their faces before moving in, rifle raised. Tyler mirrored her - or tried to - gripping his pistol tight, though his fingers still trembled faintly.

The door creaked open under Jenna’s boot.

Inside, the place felt… different. Not empty, not exactly. The air was stale, but it carried a trace of smoke, of cooked food long gone cold.

“Someone’s been here,” Lee murmured, crouching near a pile of ashes in the corner. They sifted through it carefully with a stick. “Fire’s dead, but not for long. Maybe a day, two at most.”

Grace swept her flashlight over the space. There were signs of habitation everywhere: a few bedrolls laid out near the wall, an overturned mug, a half-empty can of beans still sitting open on a crate. A jacket hung limply from a nail, swaying a little in the draft.

“Looks like they left in a hurry,” Jenna said.

Tyler moved closer, his gaze catching on the smallest things - a discarded book with its pages warped from moisture, a photo frame face-down in the dust. He turned it over carefully. The glass was cracked, but beneath it was a smiling couple. Maybe the owners of those bedrolls. Maybe long gone now.

He set it back down gently, throat tight. “You think they made it out?” He asked.

Jenna didn’t answer right away. She walked the perimeter slowly, examining boot prints in the dust near the rear exit. “Could be,” She said finally. “Could also be they heard something coming and ran.”

Grace frowned, glancing at Tyler. “Or didn’t run fast enough.”

Tyler’s stomach turned at her words. He looked again at the bedrolls, at the open can of food still sitting on the crate, the mug lying on its side like it had been dropped mid-motion. The atmosphere around them pressed in heavier now, the still air thick with things unspoken.

His gaze drifted to a dark smear of dried blood near the doorway. He hadn’t noticed it before. It wasn’t much, just a single streak along the concrete, leading toward the direction they’d come from. Toward the other warehouse.

The realisation hit him slow, like ice working its way into his veins.

The three they’d killed. The fast ones. Fresh.

A cold, hollow ache opened in his chest as the pieces slotted together. The bedrolls, the ashes, the still-warm air of the place. Whoever had been here hadn’t gone far. They’d turned. They’d walked right into them.

Tyler swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

He could still see one of their faces if he let himself; the faint trace of humanity, not completely gone yet. Just twisted up.

He wondered if they’d known. If, in the final seconds, they’d felt it happening.

The thought wouldn’t leave him.

He turned away, pretending to check a corner, but really it was to keep the others from seeing his expression. His hand was shaking again, the weight of the pistol suddenly unbearable.

He had wanted to survive. He hadn’t realised what that meant - that sometimes, it meant being the one who finished what the world had already started.

“Tyler,” Jenna’s voice came from behind him. “You good?”

Tyler hesitated, the question catching in his throat before he forced himself to answer. “I… I don’t think they ran,” He said finally, voice low but unsteady.

Grace turned to him, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

He motioned weakly toward the bedrolls, the scattered belongings, the faint trail of blood by the door. “Jenna said those things were fresh. The ones we fought. Reflexes still there. Strength.” He swallowed. “They were these people, weren’t they?”

Jenna’s face tightened - not with surprise, just confirmation. She didn’t look away as she stepped past him, counting under her breath. “One… two… three…”

Her voice faltered as she reached the end of the row. “Seven.”

Tyler’s stomach dropped.

Grace swore under her breath, lifting her flashlight toward the far end of the warehouse. “If there were seven, where the hell are the other four?”

The beam swept over stacked pallets and broken shelving, the shadows stretching long and sharp across the floor. The empty corners suddenly didn’t feel so empty.

Jenna straightened, shouldering her rifle again. “Everyone stay sharp. They could still be here.” She gave a quick hand signal for them to fan out.

Grace moved toward the back wall, scanning the shadows with her flashlight. Tyler crouched near the cluster of bedrolls, brushing his fingers through the scattered remains of a life once lived.

There wasn’t much left - a few cans of food, a broken watch, a half- empty water bottle. Someone had tried to organise things, packing fast, dropping what didn’t matter when it came time to run. He began to pack the items into his own satchel. Maybe they could still serve someone back at the motel.

Then his gaze caught on a notebook lying half under one of the sleeping bags. He pulled it free, the cover smudged and soft from handling. When he flipped it open, the first few pages were filled with careful, looping handwriting - lists of supplies, sketches of the city’s layout, tally marks along the edges.

Then, near the middle, a page that made him stop.

“Still quiet today. J says the others might come back from the city soon. We’ll wait another day, just in case.”

Tyler turned the page carefully, the paper soft from wear. The handwriting was shakier now, the lines pressed harder into the paper as if written in a rush.

“Nothing today. We’ve rationed what’s left, but we can’t stay much longer. J thinks maybe they got trapped in the city, maybe the roads are still blocked. He said he’d go check - just for a few hours.”

A dark smudge marked the bottom of the page - maybe dirt, maybe something else. Tyler’s thumb brushed over it before he turned to the next entry.

“It’s been two days. J hasn’t come back. K says we should move east, but I don’t want to leave without him. What if he’s still out there?”

Tyler swallowed, his chest tightening with each word. The rest of the page trailed off, mid-sentence, the ink smeared as if the pen had been pulled away mid-thought.

He stared at it for a long moment, the silence of the warehouse pressing down around him. J… It could’ve been anyone. Just a name. But the letter hit him harder than he expected - too close, too familiar.

-o-o-

Josh was crouched in front of the cereal aisle, comparing two boxes like the decision might change his life. “See, this one’s cheaper,” He was saying, tapping the side of the generic brand. “But this one has the better mascot. And if we’re going to be miserable adults buying groceries, we might as well have a cartoon tiger cheering us on.”

Tyler leaned forward against the handle of the cart, watching him with amusement. “You know we’re not actually buying cereal for the mascot, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” Josh replied with a grin. “Some of us have standards.”

Tyler rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. It was easy, moments like this - too easy. The hum of fluorescent lights, the squeak of the wheel on the shopping cart, the rhythm of normal life.

As Josh straightened and dropped the more expensive box into the cart, the memory of a couple of nights ago hit him again - the way Josh had said it - glimmered in the back of his mind. Boyfriend. Casual. Natural. Like it had always been true.

Tyler’s chest tightened. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

He waited until they turned down a quieter aisle, away from the handful of other shoppers. “Josh,” He called, trying to sound offhand, but his voice was fainter than he meant. “Can I ask you something?”

Josh glanced at him, still half focused on a jar of pasta sauce that had caught his attention. “Sure, what’s up?”

Tyler hesitated, his hands flexed around the cart’s handle. “Before we… um, the other night. You called me your boyfriend.”

Josh froze mid-motion, the jar still in his hand. For a second, his expression flickered - surprise, maybe embarrassment - before it eased. “Yeah,” He said carefully. “I remember.”

Tyler forced out a tiny breath. “Did you… mean it?”

The question hung there, heavier than either of them expected. Josh set the jar down gently and turned fully toward him. “Yeah,” He said again, hushed now. “I did.” He searched Tyler’s face. “Should I… not have?”

Josh’s words landed with an unexpected weight - simple, steady, no hesitation. Tyler felt his chest hum under the certainty of it. Still, he forced a shrug, trying to keep his tone casual. “No, it’s fine. I just… didn’t know we were using that word yet.”

Josh blinked, a flash of uncertainty crossing his face. “Oh.” He laughed under his breath, but it came out awkward, caught between humour and defense. “Right. Yeah. I guess I kinda jumped ahead, huh?”

Tyler wanted to say no, you didn’t, or I didn’t mind at all, but the words stuck in his throat, his desperate need not to be too eager making itself known again. Instead, he reached for a random jar off the shelf and examined it like it was suddenly fascinating. “It’s not a big deal.” He said. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Josh nodded slowly, his smile dimming a little. “Got it.” He turned back toward the cart, tossing another box in a little too quickly. “Didn’t mean to make things weird.”

The air shifted, subtle but heavy. Tyler hated it - the distance that appeared between them so easily. He could see the tension in Josh’s shoulders, the way he tried to play it off like it didn’t matter.

Tyler chewed his lip, regret starting to creep in. “Josh, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s okay.” Josh cut him off gently, still facing away. “I just… I didn’t want to assume anything, y’know? I like what we have, whatever you want to call it.”

That hurt in a way Tyler didn’t expect - not because of what Josh said, but because of how guarded he now sounded saying it.

Tyler took a slow breath, the weight in his chest growing heavier with every second of silence that passed between them. He could leave it there - pretend the moment didn’t sting as much as it did - but he was tired of doing that. Of letting things sit and rot because he was too scared to reach for them.

“Josh,” He said, setting the jar back down on the shelf. “It’s not you, I just…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “I’m bad at this kind of stuff.”

Josh turned at that, the guarded expression dulling. “Bad at what?”

“Moments like this.” Tyler’s voice dropped lower. “When things start to mean something. When it stops being casual and starts being… real.”

Josh studied him for a moment, eyes thoughtful. “You mean when someone actually gives a shit about you?”

Tyler didn’t answer, because the truth of it landed too close to home.

Josh took a careful step closer, not crowding him, but closing the distance all the same. “Hey,” He said, tilting his head a little, trying to catch Tyler’s gaze. “You don’t have to apologise for that. I get it.”

Tyler looked up at him then, brows drawn. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Josh said simply. “It’s weird when someone actually means what they say. Makes you wonder if you’re reading it wrong, or if it’s just gonna disappear one day.” He smiled faintly. “But, uh… just so you know, I don’t plan on disappearing anytime soon.”

Tyler huffed out a hushed, almost disbelieving laugh. “You say that now.”

“Then I’ll just have to show you.”

Tyler’s chest loosened at that - just a little. He could feel the tension ease out of his shoulders, the ache in his throat fading.

They finished shopping soon after that and the ride to Tyler’s apartment was peaceful. The late afternoon light cut through the car windows, painting everything in a honey-gold hue. Josh hummed along to a song on the radio, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm, and every now and then, Tyler caught him glancing over with that familiar, easy grin; the one that made it impossible to stay guarded for long.

When they pulled up to Tyler’s building, Josh put the car in park but didn’t immediately reach for the door. “You good?” He asked, voice light but genuine.

Tyler nodded, fingers tracing the handle of his seatbelt. “Yeah.” He replied. “I’m good.”

“Alright,” Josh said with a curve of his lips, leaning back. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

Tyler nodded again, smiling faintly as he stepped out of the car, grocery bags in hand. “Yeah. Later.”

By the time he reached his apartment, the air outside had cooled, the hallway lights humming low and steady - no flickering bulb this time. Inside, he unpacked his groceries in silence, letting the rhythm of the task settle him. Bread on the counter, pasta in the cabinet, milk in the fridge.

When he reached for the cereal box, something thin and folded slipped out from behind it and fluttered onto the counter. He frowned, setting the box aside, and picked it up.

It was a piece of paper, the handwriting unmistakable: quick, a little messy, full of confidence.

“Couldn’t help myself. Guess I’ll just have to keep calling you my boyfriend until you stop me. - J”

Tyler stared at it for a moment, laughter bubbling up from his chest. His heart thudded hard against his ribs, warmth flooding through him in a way that was both ridiculous and grounding.

Leaning back against the counter, Tyler let out a breath. The note rested in his hand for a moment longer before he pressed it gently against his chest, the faintest smile tugging at his lips, private, and just for him.

-o-o-

“Tyler.”

The sound of his name cut clean through the haze of memory.

He blinked hard, the supermarket dissolving - the hum of fluorescent lights, the ghost of Josh’s handwriting - replaced by the dim, dust-filled air of the warehouse. His pulse was still too quick, as if he’d been caught somewhere between then and now.

Jenna was crouched nearby, her brow furrowed, watching him. “You with me?”

He nodded, though it came out more like a reflex than an answer. The notebook was still open in his hand, the inked letters blurring slightly. “Yeah,” He breathed. “Just… spaced out for a second.”

“Don’t.” Her tone wasn’t unkind, but it left no room for argument. She glanced toward the others, then back to him. “Out here, that’s how people get hurt.”

Tyler swallowed hard and shut the notebook, sliding it into his pack. “Right.” He murmured, forcing himself to focus on the sound of boots, the clink of Grace’s crowbar, the world that was still moving around him.

They moved deeper into the warehouse, the stillness stretching thin. Dust drifted in the slanted light filtering through the broken windows above, catching on the stale air.

Grace and Lee spread out toward the far end, picking through overturned crates and metal shelving while Jenna motioned for Tyler to follow her toward a set of storage lockers near the back.

“Keep your eyes open,” She murmured, scanning the dark. “Places like this are usually where people stash things. Food, ammo, meds. Sometimes it’s worth the risk.”

Tyler nodded, tightening his grip on the pistol. Every sound seemed too loud. He forced himself to breathe through it. One locker at a time, one corner cleared, one more second without anything crawling out of the dark.

Jenna crouched to pry open one of the lockers with her knife, the hinges screaming in protest. She glanced inside, muttered under her breath about “wasted space”, and reached in to pull out a small duffel bag.

Then, a blur of movement burst from the shadow behind the next row of shelves - fast, low, snarling. Jenna barely turned before it slammed into her, knocking her off balance. The knife clattered across the concrete.

“Jenna!” Tyler shouted, the sound sharp and panicked.

She hit the ground hard, her elbow cracking against the floor as the infected fell over her, its hands scrabbling for her face, its teeth snapping inches from her throat.

Tyler didn’t think. He just moved. His hand raised his pistol, fumbling at the safety, heart hammering so loud he could barely hear. Jenna was still struggling, kicking, her forearm pressed between her and the infected’s mouth as it snapped and growled, strings of rot and blood flicking from its jaw.

Tyler raised the gun, hands shaking. He had a clear shot - almost.

“Tyler!” Jenna yelled, voice ragged.

He squeezed the trigger - once, twice - but the shots went wide, punching holes through the metal shelving. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, the flash searing his vision.

“Shit, shit!” He adjusted, trying to steady his hands, but Jenna was still moving, the creature thrashing on top of her, their bodies tangled ina blur of motion and noise. He couldn’t line up another shot without risking her.

“Tyler!” She barked again, desperate this time.

He stepped closer, gun trembling, but then movement flashed in his peripheral.

Grace came around the corner at a full sprint. Before Tyler could react, she swung the crowbar, the hooked end catching on the corpse's jaw. She wrenched it back with a guttural sound, dragging the thing off Jenna in one violent motion.

It hit the ground hard, snarling, and Grace went with it, using everything she had to hold it down. The creature twisted beneath her, snapping and bucking, fingernails clawing at her sleeve.

“Get back!” She gritted, pressing down on the crowbar, trying to keep the hook lodged under its throat. But the angle was wrong - too close, too fast. The infected twisted with sudden, feral strength and sank its teeth deep into her forearm.

Grace screamed.

Moving to her feet, Jenna grabbed her knife, blood smeared across her face. She didn’t pause - she drove the blade straight into the corpse’s skull. The thing went limp instantly, collapsing beneath Grace with a wet, final sound.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Grace fell back against the concrete, breathing hard, staring down at the crescent of torn flesh on her arm. Blood was already pooling beneath her, spreading fast.

“Oh… oh god.” Tyler whispered, his gun lowering uselessly at his side.

Jenna knelt beside her, voice urgent. “Grace. Stay with me, okay? Let me see.”

Grace met her eyes, jaw clenched tight, and shook her head once - final, deliberate. “Don’t.” She said hoarsely. “We both know what that means.” Her breath came ragged, the colour draining from her face fast. She pressed a hand over the wound, but the blood still leaked through her fingers in slow, pulsing streams.

Jenna stayed kneeling beside her, both hands hovering before she finally pressed down, trying to stem the bleeding. “It’s okay,” She muttered, a crack in her voice, so unfamiliar that Tyler felt his heart sink. “We can wrap it. We’ve got the med kit, we can-”

“Jen.” Grace’s voice was calm, but weak. She reached out, wet fingers wrapping around Jenna’s wrist firmly. “Stop.”

“No. Don’t-” Jenna shook her head, refusing to look at her. “You don’t get to just give up. Not like this.”

“I’m not,” Grace replied. A faint, broken smile touched her lips. “But we both know how this goes.”

For a long moment, Jenna didn’t move. Her shoulders began to shake, just slightly at first. Then she lifted her hand, covering her mouth.

Grace’s expression smoothed. “Hey,” She murmured. “It’s fine. We knew the risks. I’d do it again.”

“Don’t say that,” Jenna snapped through her tears, anger spilling through the grief. “Don’t you dare make this sound okay.”

Grace gave a laugh, choked but warm. “You were always terrible at goodbyes.”

Jenna’s laugh broke halfway through, catching in her throat. She leaned forward until their foreheads touched, eyes squeezed shut. For a few seconds, the only sound in the warehouse was their uneven breathing, the distant hum of wind through broken glass.

When Jenna finally pulled back, her eyes were red, her face set, hard and hollow. Grace nodded faintly, as if to say she understood.

“Make sure I don’t turn,” Grace whispered.

Jenna swallowed, staring down at her hands. Then she gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Yeah,” she said, voice low. “I will.”

She turned then, her face streaked but steady, and found Tyler and Lee standing a few steps away, frozen.

Her voice came out sharp - an order. “Get outside. Both of you.”

Tyler opened his mouth to speak, but one look from her silenced him. Lee’s hand found his shoulder, firm but shaking, guiding him toward the door.

As they stepped out into the fading light beyond the warehouse, the heavy metal door creaked shut behind them.

A moment later, the echo of a single gunshot rippled through the air.

-o-o-

The night air was cool against Tyler’s skin, peaceful with the smell of rain that had just finished. The street was mostly empty - just the glow of streetlamps catching in puddles and the hum of a distant car somewhere behind them.

Josh walked beside him, shoulders brushing every few steps. He was still laughing about something that had happened at the bar - some drunk guy trying to flirt with the bartender and nearly falling off his stool. Tyler didn’t think it was that funny, but the way Josh laughed made it impossible not to smile along.

“Come on,” Josh said between breaths, grinning. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t the most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen.”

Tyler shook his head, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. “I think the guy was just lonely.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he should’ve tried staying on the stool first,” Josh replied, bumping his shoulder light into Tyler’s. “You always go soft for the underdogs.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it. “Guess I do.”

They walked in silence for a while after that - the kind of ease that only came from being around someone like Josh. The city wasn’t dead yet, just winding down; neon signs buzzing, a cat darting across the road. Josh’s hand brushed his again, then lingered, their fingers curling together naturally.

Tyler glanced up at him, catching the smile that tugged at the corner of Josh’s mouth. He felt a warmth in his chest - the kind that came from simple things, from safety, from the certainty that for once, everything was okay.

Then, from down the block, a voice broke through the night.

“Hey! You two - hold up a second!”

Josh slowed, turning his head. The voice came again - sharper this time, closer.

Tyler frowned, his pulse flickering. “Josh, just keep walking.”

Josh didn’t. He peered into the shadows near the corner where the light didn’t quite reach. “Probably just asking for directions.”

“Josh-”

The figure stepped out from the dark - a man in a torn jacket, hood pulled low. One hand was shoved deep into his pocket.

“Wallets,” The man said. “Now.”

For a second, neither moved.

The streetlights above flickered, washing the alley in alternating flashes of gold and shadow. Tyler’s heartbeat began to rise - not fully panicked yet, but sharp, uneven. The man’s voice didn’t sound desperate. It sounded certain. Like he’d done this before.

Josh lifted his hands slightly, palms open in front of him. His tone was calm, easy, the same one he used when trying to talk someone down from a bad mood. “Hey, no need to make this a big thing,” He said. “We don’t have much on us. You can take what you want.”

Tyler shot him a look - a silent don’t. But Josh was already stepping forward half a pace, careful, trying to bridge the distance with reason.

The man’s gaze tracked the movement, and Tyler saw the tension coil through his arm, the faint twitch of muscle under his sleeve. He hadn’t pulled his hand from his pocket, and Tyler didn’t need to see what was there to know it wasn’t good.

“Josh,” Tyler said under his breath, barely moving his lips. “Stop.”

Josh glanced at him, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but the man’s attention had already snapped between them, sharp as glass.

“I said wallets,” He hissed again. His voice cracked on the word this time - raw, angry. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Josh froze. Slowly, he reached for his back pocket, keeping his other hand visible. Tyler did the same, but his eyes stayed on the man's arm, waiting for any sign of movement. His throat was tight, his skin buzzing with the need to do something, though he didn’t know what.

A car passed at the end of the street, headlights briefly slicing through the darkness. The man flinched at the light - just for a moment, but it was enough for Tyler to see him withdraw his hand from his pocket, the outline of a knife blade glinting in his hand.

The world narrowed to that one detail. The flicker of metal. The weight of Josh standing beside him, too still, too trusting.

Josh’s voice was steady when he spoke again, even though Tyler could hear the strain  under it. “Alright, man. Just - just take it easy, okay? We’re not looking for trouble.”

The guy’s breathing was rough now, fast in that way that didn’t sound like nerves - it sounded like rage barely held in check. He shifted closer, the knife catching the low light, his shadow stretching across the wet pavement.

“You think I don’t see it?” He snapped suddenly, eyes cutting between them. “Walking around here like you own the street, all… cozy.” His mouth twisted. “You one of those types, huh?”

The words hit hard, sharper than the blade in his hand. Tyler’s stomach turned cold. Josh stiffened beside him, his jaw tightening just enough to be noticeable.

“You don’t need to do this,” Josh said, hands still up, trying to defuse the crackling air. “We’re just heading home.”

But that seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The man’s eyes went wide - manic, ugly and self-righteous. “Heading home?” he repeated, mocking the softness in Josh’s tone, before he lunged-

At Tyler.

Everything blurred. Tyler stumbled back, the knife grazing the front of his jacket, tearing fabric instead of skin. His breath caught; fear surged white-hot in his chest. He hit the wall hard, his palms scraping concrete. The man pressed in, blade raised again-

And then Josh was there.

He didn’t shout this time. He didn’t even hesitate. His arm slammed into the guy’s shoulder, driving him sideways, sending the knife clattering to the pavement. The impact echoed off the narrow walls, a sound too loud for the noiseless street.

“Back off!” Josh barked, his voice raw, deeper than Tyler had ever heard it.

The man recovered quickly - faster than he should’ve - and swung at Josh. The knife bit across his cheek, a flash of pain tightening Josh’s face, but he didn’t step back. He shoved the guy again, harder this time, sending him stumbling toward the gutter.

Tyler stared, adrenaline locking his body between fight and freeze. The knife glinted again in the streetlight.

“Josh!” He called, too late-

The man lunged once more. Tyler’s shout broke the air, but his feet wouldn’t move. The sound of his own pulse drowned everything out - the rasp of shoes on pavement, the sharp grunt of impact. It was like watching through water, slow and distant, even though it was happening just feet away.

Josh caught the guy's wrist mid-swing. The blade cut a shallow arc through the air, missing his ribs by inches. There was a scuffle - a mess of movement, breath, the scrape of shoes. Then the man wrenched free, slashing wildly, and Josh hissed in pain.

Tyler’s stomach dropped.

The knife clattered to the ground again, skittering across the pavement. Josh kicked it away and shoved the man back, hard enough that he fell against the curb. For a second, neither of them moved - then the man staggered to his feet and ran, disappearing into the dark between streetlamps.

The stillness that followed was sharp and unnatural, a vacuum where all the sound should’ve been.

“Josh-” Tyler finally managed, voice cracking. He rushed forward, hands shaking. “You’re- are you-”

Josh turned toward him, breathing hard. “I’m fine,” He said automatically, but when Tyler’s eyes dropped, he saw the red bloom across the side of his arm. A cut - shallow but angry, streaking from elbow to wrist.

“Jesus,” Tyler whispered. “You’re not fine.”

Josh gave a wry half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Could’ve been worse.” He exhaled, shoulders still tense, adrenaline refusing to let go. “You okay?”

Tyler nodded too quickly, guilt threading through the motion. “You- You shouldn’t have-”

“Stopped him? And what, let you get stabbed?” Josh’s tone eased, teasing but gentle, trying to make it sound lighter than it was. “Nah. I’m not about to stand by and let something like that happen to you, Ty.”

Tyler’s breath stilled in his throat, the night air suddenly cold against his skin. He wanted to mirror the sentiment - but all that came out was a meek, “I froze.”

Josh looked at him, really looked. “You’re human.” He smiled again, tired before reaching out to run his fingertips over Tyler’s cheekbone. “That’s all.”

Tyler’s eyes lingered on the blood trickling down Josh’s other arm, the way he still stood between him and the empty street, still protective even after everything. The guilt burned deeper. He tracked the slow slide of blood, watching as it dripped to the cold concrete below.

He wished he could’ve done something to stop it. To be the one who stepped in first, who didn’t freeze up like a scared kid waiting for someone else to make the world safe again.

Josh always made it look easy - bravery, quick thinking, the way he could throw himself into chaos without hesitation. Tyler envied that in him, but it also scared him, because he knew one day, it might cost Josh more than a shallow cut.

He wanted to tell him that. Wanted to say you don’t always have to be the one who gets hurt. But the words sat heavy in his chest, unmoving. All he could manage was a shaky breath as he took Josh’s wrist gently, his thumb brushing near the edge of the wound.

“I just… wish I could do the same,” He murmured, barely loud enough to be heard.

Josh blinked at him, a flash of surprise becoming warmer. “You don’t need to,” He said. “Just… don’t get yourself into trouble,” He chuckled, lifting his arm to inspect the damage. “That’s enough.”

Tyler nodded, though it didn’t feel like enough - not to him. Because being careful didn’t stop knives, or blood, or the way the world could turn cruel in a heartbeat.

Then Josh flexed his hand, testing the cut with a wince before shaking his head. “I’ll live.” He muttered, the ghost of a grin returning. “You don’t have to worry so much, you know. I’ll always protect you.”

Tyler looked at him, the words sitting between them in the cool night air. There was no bravado in Josh’s tone this time - no teasing, no grin to soften it. Just a simple truth he meant with everything he had.

His chest ached. He wanted to believe it, but some part of him knew how fragile promises like that could be. Still, Tyler reached out, brushing his fingers over Josh’s sleeve, careful not to touch the wound. “Then I’ll make sure you’re okay,” He said. “Someone’s gotta take care of you too.”

Josh’s smile grew, genuine. “Deal.”

“C’mon,” Tyler nodded, gesturing down the street. “Let’s get that cleaned up before you start pretending it’s nothing again.”

Josh chuckled under his breath, collecting himself before falling into step beside Tyler. The city stretched again, endless ahead of them, the streetlights still flickering indifferently like nothing had happened. And as they walked, Tyler stayed just close enough that their hands brushed every few steps - each touch a silent promise.