Never would I ever let my love escape you
Never keep you from the promises I gave you
Further than imagined
Further than we've ever known.
-Jarryd James, 1000x

Dan

It's another car.

Another year. A different accident.

I'm eighteen years old again and I can't feel anything- my body is numb, my head hangs heavy. I open my eyes and everything is slanted, my head feels painful and heavy and there's something digging into my chest. At first I can't figure out why.

My mind is a foggy haze.

I blink once, and then from nothing there's suddenly a feeling like fire bursting through every inch of my body. My neck feels like it's been jolted and every joint aches, and I still can't see. I can't stop the gasp of pain that leaves my lips as it intensifies for a moment but then fades, as if my body just wanted to remind me, hey, you're in pain, but at least you're alive.

Gravity. My vision isn't slanted I realize, but rather I'm not upright. The air smells burnt and heavy, it's a task at first to take air into my lungs. And I'm hung slightly forward, my own weight holding me down but something- a seatbelt, is holding me in place.

And then I gasp in a breath. My vision rushes back to me and the first thing I remember is the fire. The city of London in flames and monsters staggering and pursuing us at every corner, crowds and crowds of mottled, inhuman faces. Phil driving even though he can't drive. Falling asleep and awakening to find he'd driven us all through the night.

The gas station, the creatures in the town. Skidding off of the road and into the gully, down the hill and-

Phil.

Consciousness returns and I find I can move again, even if it hurts. My hand flies to the buckle and it unclasps almost violently, sending me crumpling to the dashboard as my lungs register that there's smoke in the air. Even before I've turned my head to look at Phil I can see he's unconscious, and I ignore the bits of shattered glass that crack under my fingers, a weak sound leaving me as I move to get to him. Desperately hoping he's okay.

I can hazily remember the music from our shared CD still somehow still playing Toxic just after the crash, drifting out of the ruined speakers in the eerie quiet. Now there's nothing, the car battery drained and gone. I can hear a faint hissing, neither knowing nor caring what it is.

I lunge over the centre console, pressing a hand to Phil's chest and holding him upright as I unclip his restraint. Gravity takes over- as soon as the buckle is free he immediately collapses against me and I can feel my arms shake as I try not to crumple under his weight, his skin far too cool even through the fabric of his hoodie. The vehicle rocks as our combined weight shifts to one side of it, my heartbeat the only sound in my ears.

Get out of the car. It's my only thought.

Get out of the car. My fingers dig into Phil's jacket and I don't even care, I'm afraid to let go of him as his head lolls forward. I find that moving him isn't too painful if I pull him to my chest and shuffle backwards, leaning against the dash for support. The front of the car is pointed down so my knee is pressed against the glove compartment. At this point, I'm just trying not to fall down.

The door to the car is twisted in broken hinges, swinging open as soon as I lean back against it. My arms are burning and trembling but I drag Phil out of the car, angling my body and feeling disoriented when my feet touch to a downhill slope and soft, leaf-covered dirt. The hood of the car is smoking, all I can imagine is the heat reaching the gas; an explosion rocketing over us both. It sends a jolt of adrenaline through me and suddenly there's strength in my arms to drag with my aching, bruised limbs and my dizzy head, surreality washing over me at seeing my best friend's car wrecked and crushed.

As soon as I put weight on my legs I can feel how wobbly they are. Standing up outside of the car sends a wave of nausea through my stomach and I squeeze shut my eyes, winding my arm through the backpack straps looped at Phil's shoulders and pulling. With each step I'm able to drag him further away, until my arms give way and I sink to the ground, trying to set him down in the grass gently.

All around me, trees rise up into the sky, tall, narrow trunks obscuring the top of the hill. I don't know where I am and I don't care, my eyes go instantly to Phil's lifeless form on the ground.

His eyes are still shut. In my panic I hadn't taken the time to notice just bad he looks, the wounds on his face suddenly thrown into the light.

"Phil." I choke. "Oh god, Phil."

I cup his face in my hands and feel the coolness of his cheeks, panic rising when blood smears on my hand from a wound in his forehead. I'd normally be repulsed by the touch of someone else's blood to my hands if it were anyone but him, but now all I am is fear. All I can feel is my heart pounding in my chest and tears blurring my eyes, all at once I'm terrified he's dying.

Call an ambulance. My hand fumbles in my pocket- it takes almost four tries with my trembling fingers to pull out my phone, a massive crack with pinpoint shatters crisscrossing the screen after the accident. It takes two more tries to actually try using it, only to find that just as it had been last night. I move Phil's head to rest in my lap and see with a dropping feeling in my heart that the battery is beginning to die and, just like last night, I still don't have a signal. There hasn't been a signal or a sign from humanity in just under twenty four hours, and already I feel so terrified. So disjointed. I want to wake up as if nothing ever happened, but no relief comes.

My friendship with Phil is something I don't have with anyone else. In my life he was the single security, the one person who knew and understood me better than anyone else before or since, the one person I in turn knew like the back of my hand. He can sense changes in my mood from something as mundane as the tapping of my fingers or the tensing of my shoulders, I can drive him to laughter or tears when I'm feeling things too strongly.

Just as I can tell when he's hiding something or more tired than he'll ever admit I can see now that he's fading before my eyes. I can feel the panic in my chest that he'd usually be calming, only faint breaths making his chest rise and fall. If I don't wake him up it might never happen.

"Please!" I scream madly, pressing the buttons on the device so harshly that the phone glitches and it's suddenly frozen. The screen flashes and goes dark suddenly, and that's when something snaps. I hurl it away and gasp out a wretched sound, moving to grip Phil's shoulders and shaking them, begging- pleading.

I want to go home. I want to see Phil. This isn't real. I want to wake up.

That's when I start to hear the gurgling moans of the mass atop the hill in the distance, and that's when it all falls back into place. We're down here because we lost control. We skidded to avoid the creatures, we were surrounded, pursued by dozens of zom-

No, my mind protests. They're not fucking real. Panic compresses my chest and I span my fingers over Phil's forehead, wondering if I'm dead and this is some kind of fevered nightmare.

The wound is dark red, deeply etched above his eyebrow, there's a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth as well. It must have been the impact, the windshield glass against his skin, I don't know and I don't care when it's making him look sickly and broken.

What do I do? Every ounce of medical advice I've ever heard offhandedly in life has gone out the window in the moment I need it, all I can think is that I don't know CPR. I have nothing to staunch the blood. I'm useless.

"Phil!" I plead, my voice feeling like knifeblades in the empty air. "Wake up. Please."

I dig my fingers into his shoulders and he groans, breathing in sharply with a pained sound. My breath catches, hand going to his chest and I feel a definite pulse but he's hurt badly and I can tell but I don't know how bad it is. I don't know what to do.

I see his eyes scrunch in discomfort and I freeze in place, terrified almost that if I move I might break him. I hold absolutely still. His hand rises ever so slightly and brushes my wrist before it falls again, as if that alone is a massive effort. His eyelids flutter.

I start patting my hand against his cheek, feeling him stir more with every touch. Hoping against hope.

"Phil." I breathe. "Phil?"

And then, he opens his eyes.

Blue eyes blink slowly and his chest rises in a sudden breath. He coughs and colour rushes to his cheeks, his voice wobbly and hoarse and shuddering out the moment he sees my face.

He looks up at me weakly, focusing through half-open eyes.

"Dan."

I stare at him shakily. He stares back.

Before he can say anything I've thrown my arms around him, holding him against me in a way I've never dared to do before. A dry sob bursts out of me and I clutch at the sturdy strap of his backpack, pressing my face into his neck and trembling because fuck, I don't know what to do.

It hits me for the first time. How much Phil actually means to me. How scared I am of losing him forever. Just last night we were sitting in his apartment eating junk and complaining about life and just over twenty four hours later he's bleeding and we've barely made it out alive.

But he is alive. He's alive and that's what matters. His arms rest around my back gently, and I can feel his body involuntarily beginning to shake. I'd be surprised if he wasn't shaking, we're both in shock. For several long moments we just cling onto each other, my mind wondering wildly if he's all I have left even as I'm steadily denying it.

Almost as if on cue there's a rumbling sound in the distance, and then an eruption of vibrant flames from where I'd abandoned the car. Smoke billows out and up into the sky, curling over the tips of the treetops I'd been looking up at just earlier, burnt reds and oranges and yellows that have us both transfixed as the gas in the tank erupts. I wonder if the zombies will follow the sound of the explosion. I wonder what might have happened if I hadn't woken up.

My eyes go back to Phil, pressed against me and held tight in my arms so that all I can really see is his face, expecting to see him shattered because his car is gone. The last bit of safety and normalcy in our lives has gone up in flames, the both of us broken and alone miles from home. The glow of the fire and its heat reach us even here- though I dragged him as far as I could, it's washes over his pale skin and lights us both a burnished orange, but he's not looking at the fire.

His eyes are full of tears, and he's looking at me.

I can tell he's in pain but he raises his hand and touches it to my face, guiding my head to his shoulder and hiding my face, and instantly it hits me. It's not the car or the possessions that matter to him.

He opens his mouth, unsure of what to say, and-

"Wake up."

The picture before my eyes freezes, blurring away into a void of darkness and dissolving  before my eyes. The last thing I see is the light of the flames in memory-Phil's eyes, leaping out at me dangerous and bright, and then it's dark. I feel a sensation like falling, wind rushing by my ears and blackness rushing up so quickly below me I barely have time to prepare for the impact before suddenly, I'm snapping awake.

My eyes shoot open.

"Phil." I gasp.

An unfamiliar room and several indiscernible faces enter my vision, clouded over slightly in a blurry haze. I sit up so quickly my vision goes black with dizziness, taking several moments to realize there's a hand prodding my chest, guiding me back down. I try to fight against it but they're persistent, pushing me against a slightly flat mattress and some folded sheets to serve as a pillow.

I'm cold. There's a blanket draped over me but I'm shivering anyway, my fingers icy  against the palm of my hand which feels heavy and numb.

"Hey, try to stay relaxed." An unfamiliar voice encourages me. "You hit your head pretty hard, man. It's better if you just sit back, all right?"

My heart is still beating far too fast at the memory I've just relived unexpectedly. Just when the car crash from all that time ago had faded from my mind it's been brought back in my sleep, and now I don't know where I am or what's happened. Maybe this is the same thing.

I open my eyes. The darkness blurs slowly from hazy confusion to focus, and the moment my vision returns to normal I notice a skinny guy with blue eyes looking down at me, his hand on my chest drawing away as I focus. My eyes go wide as I confirm the fact that yes indeed, I am being guided down by a stranger, eyebrows raising when I look at his face.

"Can you hear me?" He asks gently.

His expression doesn't reveal much of anything and I wonder if he's only pretending to be kind. I can't remember what happened before I awoke. All I know is I don't see Phil.

I bet the confederation has me. I realize suddenly. They've probably taken everyone away.

The guy's eyes widen as I flinch away from him, trying to press myself into the corner. I imagine being kept alive just so they could question me. I imagine strangers, my final moments spent alone with no idea of what happened to anyone. I'm so scared and I'm too weak to hide it.

"Who the hell are you?" I gasp, trying back away from him. There's other guys behind him and I'm much too outnumbered to fight, making my eyes cast frantically to the square of dark that must be the opening of a door, trying to find an escape route. As my hands come to my face I can see that one is wrapped tightly in a bandage, the entire palm covered in gauze.

"Hey, you're alright!" The guys exclaims quickly. He raises his hands up in surrender as if to accentuate this point, meeting my eyes. "We're not going to hurt you."

The blankets feel constricting and I still feel trapped, hearing nothing but evasion in his tone.

"Tell me who you are." I demand. "What have you done to Phil?"

"To who?" The guy asks worriedly. "Who's Phil?"

My heart drops in my chest, dread sinking into the pit of my stomach at the realization that this man isn't lying. I look right into his eyes, trying to convince him to take that back, to tell me he knows where my friend is. Because if he doesn't know, then Phil could be anywhere.

"Please." I protest. "You have to tell me where Phil is."

"I don't-" he looks at me hesitantly, my expression making him forget what he's planning to say. "I don't know who Phil is."

He seems to notice my panic and looks to whoever's behind him, as if some other stranger is going to hold the answers. He doesn't know what to tell me, I don't know what to do.

Someone else lurches forward, making me flinch at the anticipation of someone trying to silence me. It's how these things always seem to go when we're captured. We're separated, silenced, then threatened. I'm not about to sit by and let them though, I'll fight if it means a chance of escape, at the slim chance of reuniting with my best friend.

I wait for the attack but the man only walks closer to my bed, revealing himself as his face turns into the light. It's Earring, of all people. He's holding a sleeping Jamie to his chest and looking down at me with a concerned expression. The little boy has a bandage wrapped around his head and there's a bit of blood shadowing the fabric, needing to be changed soon. His father seems to realize the guy wants some help and steps forwards, seeking to calm me down.

"Oh hey, Dan." He greets me casually. I'd go as far as even saying he greets me cautiously. "It's good to see you awake. Jamie wanted to sleep next to you, he wouldn't sit still and it was only an hour ago he passed out. He'll be glad to see you up."

My mind isn't completely steady yet and Earring's face despite his forcibly cheery tone looks far too serious. The anxiety of my nightmare hangs over me as my eyes rest on the candlelit surroundings we're in, which look to be a canvas tent, the roof high above my head and a dusty brown even in the shadows, no sign of my best friend in sight. With the stranger moving out of the way I can also see Beard, only those two and the kid to serve as familiar faces. There's some crates stacked in a corner and I can see my backpack and gun sat on one of them, I'm wrapped in a blanket, but I don't recognize anything else.

"Cut the storytelling." I snap, glaring at the man who had once been mine and my friends' guide. "Answer my question and tell me where I am."

Earring frowns at me worriedly. It's like he wasn't expecting me to be so irrational.

Scenarios enter my mind. There's few reasons why Phil wouldn't be here. It must be why no one's looking me in the eye.

He's gone. It hits me terrifyingly. They don't know how to tell me it's true. I try to tell myself it couldn't be, latching dangerously onto denial, but what if I'm not wrong? What if that moment of fear was the last I'll ever see of him?

"I need to know where Phil is." I say more calmly, quieting my voice even though I want to lurch up and shake them for being so slow and unhelpful. If there's one thing I've learned in my short, pathetic life, it's that people don't listen to me when they think I'm unstable.

"I'm sorry... Dan." The stranger fumbles, "I haven't heard of a-"

"Phil is his friend." Earring supplies. "His best friend." He shoots a look in my direction as if I might want to correct him, and if it weren't for the situation I might've asked him what the hell else I'd expect him to say.

Is. I cling to that word like a lifeline. They're not speaking in the past tense. They're not saying was. He's saying is. Is. Is. Phil is my best friend. It's amazing how one word can make all the difference.

"He's the one in the other tent." He tells the man, who nods.

But how is he? Is he wounded? Perfectly fit? Why aren't we together in the same place when they probably know he'd be the first thing I'd ask about?

"Oh!" The guy exclaims, looking nervous as he smiles at me awkwardly. "Yeah, him. Black haired guy."

My initial thought is that the brothers have somehow given us up to whoever this guy belongs to, wondering why he's so evasive in bringing up my friend. If we're being held captive, there's hardly a need to be sensitive.

"You better not have hurt him." I hiss, glaring at the stranger. "I swear to god if he's not okay I'll-"

"He's fine, don't worry!" Earring reassures me quickly, chuckling. He shifts the sleeping boy onto his other shoulder and the kid breathes out a small sigh, stirring but not awakening. He turns to the guy. "Dan's a bit hostile with strangers." He informs him. "It's not easy to trust people in a world like this, and hearing someone say they don't know where Phil is doesn't help."

"I didn't even get to hear that his name was Phil." The guy tells me, shaking his head. "He didn't do much talking when there was so much going on."

"So much going on?" I ask confusedly. "What happened to the half-life and the zombies that were following us? Where the hell are we?"

"We're in the survivor's camp, Dan." Beard says calmly, gesturing to the tent. "We've been here for a few hours now. You've been recovering from the crash."

It's as if with those words, my mind lets go of its daze. It all rushes back to me in an instant, explaining suddenly why I'd had that dream.

I remember escaping the monsters, driving down the road until a while later when we saw the flickers of a fire. Leaning over to talk to Phil and arguing about the irrelevant condition of my self-worth, telling him he meant more than me and getting distracted by his cryptic reply: that's no what you said in the apartment.

Before something rushed up at us- then there was screaming. Glass shattering musically, sparkling and raining down on my face. And then nothing. Haunted darkness, hazy voices and a feeling like being dragged and then eventually, the dream. We made it to the survivor camp after all. I don't know how, or what sort of place this actually is, but assuming they're not lying to me, I know at least that I'm not about about to be killed.

We've made it to the survivors camp.

"I'll tell you about that in a minute." He assures me. "First, we need to wake you up a little bit and calm you down."

I'm already shaking my head to object to this but Beard and Earring's stern looks make me at least take what they're saying seriously. I'm not inclined to listen to them, they're not my parents and I'm more worried about Phil being okay than myself, frankly I wouldn't even listen to my parents if they were here, but I won't get any assurance out of arguing.

The stranger passes me a cup of water and I balance it in both hands, drinking from it gratefully. I hadn't even realized how parched I was until I got it, making me wonder just how long it's been if I'm getting dehydrated. Swallowing the water makes me aware that there's an ache in my side, I'm suddenly worried that if I try to stand up there will be agonizing pain even if I can't feel it now. I can't afford to be injured.

"My name's Jack." The stranger says helpfully. He watches as I tentatively set my good hand- the one not wrapped by a bandage- onto my side, assessing the damage. He seems to be acceptant of my silence and not offended by my earlier hostility, two things I'm surprised by. He looks careful, but curious. "I order everyone around in the medical tent and make sure cuts get patched up when they happen. You've been out cold on that cot for about three hours now, so we kept you in here."

"Everybody got out of that crash all right." Beard says gently. "You took the worst of it, been out since this evening. That Phil of yours was beside himself."

"He seems way too kind." Jack inputs ruefully. "Offering help every couple of seconds and telling us it was okay when he was the one who needed calming. People with big hearts don't last long in this world."

The sentence settles in my mind in the wrong way and I end up frowning at him, wondering how he'd think it's possible to look at such an integral part of Phil and see it in the wrong way.

"Phil's seen more of the confederation than any of us have." Beard argues. "And he's still alive. Sometimes there's more to a person than meets the eye."

Jack raises his eyebrows but doesn't question him, nodding thoughtfully.

"What happened?" I ask groggily. The words Phil and yours drift around my brain and it makes it hard to concentrate, especially when my arm is aching.

"As it stands, we're having a bit of a disagreement with the confederation right now." Jack explains. "This camp houses just over a two hundred survivors, bigger than most camps, and generally gangs leave us alone because the confeds intervene. Well..."

I raise my eyebrows, which makes my head hurt a bit but also conveys my question. "Well?"

"Well this time, a gang from the South End stormed the gate and looted a bunch of stuff." He explains. "They threatened to kill somebody if anyone got in the way so we basically had to let them take what they wanted, lost a ton of guns and food. Don't know if it's that the confeds don't think we're growing enough crops or if we just don't care anymore, but after that, the attacks just kept coming." He gestures outside vaguely even though I can't see that far, the three men in proximity to me blocking the way. "They promised to prevent that, a bunch of people had their tents ransacked or torn completely, so needless to say, we're pissed. Also."

He gestures to the bandage on my hand, expression apologetic.

"We sent a car down the street when we saw you guys coming, one we got from the confeds in the hopes of hitting the truck. They won't kill us for wrecking one of their vehicles or even killing one of their men. I don't think they care enough, but we figured if we took out one we could get their attention."

So they saw us approaching in that hijacked confederation truck and crashed it. Must have been a surprise when instead of soldiers they found a bunch of men and some kids.

I look at him, holding my cup carefully. "So you attacked us?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." He answers. "It was really lucky how it hit. As soon as we saw Copper and his brother stumbling out it was pretty obvious it was a mistake, thought we'd killed you."

"Afraid not." I mutter, determining that somehow I haven't broken any bones as far as I can tell. It makes sense that they'd want to get back at the confeds for not keeping up their end of the deal, but it doesn't change the fact that we all could have died. I barely even notice the fact that he's referred to Earring by his real name, too busy trying to keep up with Jack and his story.

"So as I was saying, Jamie wanted to sleep next to you." Earring cuts in, apparently seeking to distract me.

My eyes widen, I stare at him confusedly. "What?"

"He put up a massive fight because he saw that Phil was upset." He chuckles, reaching over to brush the hair off his son's forehead gently. "They wanted to look at your injuries so he argued that if Phil didn't get to stay then he would, so they sent Phil off to bed and Jamie sat on the crate over there."

Confusion. That's all I can feel. That and a bit of disbelief maybe, knowing full well I don't deserve that kind of affection from a kid.

"He-?" I gape at the slack face of the little boy, not sure if the words I've just heard are even real. "They let him do that?"

"The difference between Jamie and Phil is that Jamie steps aside when we tell him to." Jack mumbles. His eyes are warm though and I know his intent isn't malicious, my shoulders relaxing slightly at the thought that at least Phil is safe. More than anything, the man just sounds amused. "If we needed him to move he'd do it. He left you a present, though."

He reaches to the box behind my head and lifts something small up from the top of it, holding the small object out to me and placing it in my hand.

My eyes take about two seconds to recognize the Tyrannosaurs Rex dinosaur toy before my breath catches in my throat, my mind half racing as a wave of unexpected emotion rolls over me and half trying to totally shut itself down.

"Oh." I mumble out dumbly.

My fingers curl around the cool plastic and I remember that moment on the couch yesterday with this same toy being nudged into the side of my head.

I imagine the kid hovering over me while I'm unconscious, only a few hours after I've nearly caused his death. Offering to stay with me so I won't feel alone, remembering I played with him and leaving the dinosaur. I didn't even notice that he'd brought it with him, and now I'm blinking harshly trying to hide how uncomfortably meaningful that feels. It makes me feel weird, uncomfortably aware of the way it makes me feel cared about by a little boy I'm not even supposed to know. I refuse to let it get to me.

I can't be getting attached to him. I'm not putting my energy into caring about a kid. Getting attached to someone so vulnerable will just hurt later on, and besides, I have nothing to offer him in this life. It feels too profoundly emotional at this moment, and now all I want to do is leave.

"Everyone survived, its just best that you don't stand up for a while, not until we know what you need-" Jack is saying, but I wave him off.

"I'll stand up whenever the hell I want to." I protest. "Where is Phil?"

I kick off the blankets and stumble to my feet, swatting aside his hand this time when he tries to stop me from standing. Beard steps forward to object to what I'm doing but them stops when Jamie stirs, all of us falling silent so as not to wake him up. Everyone needs rest after today.

"Tell me." I repeat, standing up on slightly weak legs just to prove I can because I can't stand to be in the medical tent another moment longer. I need to see Phil for myself or I won't be able to settle down. "Please."

I set the toy back on the crate behind my "bed" of sorts, noting that there's a divide hung up to hide another bed, the tent divided up methodically like a battlefield hospital or something.

I just barely catch the mumbling instructions of the tent with the crates out front before I've stumbled out of the bed and past all three men hurriedly, striding out the opening at the other end and into the night air.

I still have my shoes, but even with them on I can still feel the chill of the ground rising up and wrapping around me as soon as I emerge, the grass slightly long where there isn't dirt path and brushing at my ankles. When I look around I see the shadows of lines and lines of triangular tents, a clearing a distance behind near the fenceline separating the land from the city and a single shed at the edge of it, the open area full of firepits in which many host people huddled around flickering circles of flame. I can see other indistinct structures near the end of the tents as well but I'm not sure what they are, turning abruptly away from them to find the one I'm looking for.

Looking around I realize it's probably the most survivors I've ever seen in one place and now that I'm here, it makes me realize how obvious it was that the crowd in the bunker were confederation and these ones are real survivors. There's a definite look to them, even from this distance and the obscuring of the tents I can see the lines in the people's faces and the hollowed look of their bodies. Their mismatched clothes have rips, tears and dirt just as mine do. Unlike the well-fed group at the confederation bunker, in this camp's people I can see myself. It's simultaneously terrifying and reassuring. I don't know how I feel knowing there's more people left than I thought.

It's only a few tents down that I notice one with crates in front of it. I can practically imagine Phil negotiating being able to stay with me, ending up needing compromise and getting shuttled into that tent. I wonder if he collapsed from exhaustion or forced himself not to sleep, to stay awake until I was. I hope it's the first one. Otherwise, it'll be my fault that he's hurting again. I place my hand on the tent flap cautiously as soon as I reach it so I don't startle him, then flip it aside.

The moment I see him it's like my heart nearly bursts out of my chest. I have to duck my head to enter his tent since it's much smaller than the medical one, barely able to discern him at first because the lighting is dim and he's huddled against the wall.

So he is asleep. Relief washes in and I just stare for a moment as I slowly crawl in, not really wanting to remain outside.

I can't bring myself to wake him but I saturate in the very much alive appearance of his face. As I move closer I can see that he's barely even wounded, a bandage wrapping his hand in the same way mine is but that's about it.

I sit next to his head, shifting closer so that the tent is closed off again. I don't know what to say and it's not like I need to, he's sleeping, but I can see his dark lashes and their contrast against the paleness of his cheeks, his features so much more serene in unconsciousness. I even see the scattering of faint freckles along the bridge of his nose and along his cheeks again, a slant of moonlight touched to his skin.

People are supposed to look unsightly when they're sleeping. They're supposed to frown and flail and open their mouths unattractively but Phil just looks calm, the same calm I'd seen on the night when Marzia and I had done the watch and he'd been asleep when I finally returned to him. I wonder if his dreams are as peaceful as his expression, my inner voice knowing that he has nightmares too. He never seems to talk about them. I wonder what they're about, wonder if he's having one now and doesn't know he's okay

I can't help it when my hand reaches forward, hovering between the hesitation of waking him or just setting it down. He has his back turned to me right now so I'm seeing him from the side, but my knee brushes his shoulder and it's about as close as I can get. I want to lean forward so badly, to let his sleeping form know I'm here.

My heart is doing strange things but I ignore it. Phil turns over as if anticipating my action, though he's clearly oblivious so I know it's all in my head. My hand finds his hair and I brush through it tentatively, noticing how attractive he looks with his hair pushed back. How attractive his just being in this world is. The strands between my fingers are soft and dark, warm from being tucked under a blanket. It's like we're right back in that tiny bathroom like yesterday, even if only one of us even knows what's happening.

All I can think about is how he's okay. I feel guilty for what I've done to him, to all of them, really. I should have seen the car. I'm lucky I didn't kill anyone on that road, but I'm also overwhelmed almost intoxicatingly by the relief of seeing him here, close enough to touch and alive.

He's okay. I think, practically giddy with the relief. Holy hell, he's actually okay.

I smile softly at his sleeping face, his beautiful but exhausted face, gathering my nerves and double-checking that he's asleep and that no one is around. So much has gone on recently that really I could hardly care, it's selfish at this point. Nobody can see this. Nobody can know, not even him. This moment is mine, and I want it to be mine only.

I lower my head and press a kiss into his hair, drawing back as soon as he stirs at the touch. The gesture is a bit awkward since I'm tall and have to curl in slightly, though I manage. It doesn't end up waking him, but I feel the aftermath all the same. At first, there's nothing but electric nerves surging through me but then it blooms into a full blown feeling in my stomach and my chest, the tips of my fingers even, and I realize I really do need to address this as a problem. Warmth glows in my chest and flows through my veins like some kind of liquid fire, delicious and comforting. I'd never thought anyone would ever own such a large share of my thoughts.

Only moments later, I groan internally. Wow, Dan. Such risky things you do for romance. Considering there's probably people out there who can confess what they're feeling to the object of the attraction no problem, I'd like to see myself try that while he's awake and sees my face, bringing back that moment in the hallway that had sparked Cat's knowing look yesterday. It doesn't feel strange anymore to want to do this. I don't care that he might be awake and just pretending to sleep for all I know.

It somehow feels more natural than wielding a crowbar. He's here in front of me somehow uninjured and it's overwhelming, I wanted to kiss his forehead in the hallway so I did and I wanted to do this now. What am I meant to do?

I don't know why it feels so profoundly important that Phil is okay, because honestly most of the time, for the most part he is, my battered body getting in the way of his much to his dismay. Even emotionally he handles everything so incredibly well, casting aside pain and panic to tell me to breathe. I don't know why it carries such a weight, but it does. I don't even know why it's so oddly sad that he doesn't know what I feel almost every time we touch now after that night.

It hurts, I guess, because I know I can't make him feel the same things that haunt every aspect of my life. I think about this as I look down at his pale fingers curling at his chin, a rush of breath leaving his lips.

You can't force anything to happen no matter how much you want it. The thought of crashing the truck is dimmed by the memory of the two of us together, drinking past the point of coherency and finally, finally telling some truth. Only alcohol could change Phil's mind at this point, and now for me there's no going back, unlike him. Nothing like a near death experience to put a perspective on the relationship you share with your best friend, especially when it's obvious that said best friend is out of reach.

Well, metaphorically. I think. I crawl back over quietly and then just sit there, staring at the point on his head as if I had left a mark. I haven't of course. It's just my lips and he's not going to feel that, though I feel a swarm of emotions in the aftermath of what I've done. Unlike most of the time, the majority of these emotions are good. My hand slides down from the pillow to the curve of his shoulder, squeezing lightly and causing it to relax, just his figure being relaxed calming me as well. He's not out of the reach of my hands, at least I have that.

I wonder how it's possible, he's not even conscious but he still calms at my touch. I run my thumb over the fabric, trying to lose myself in the motions, not even noticing when he shifts a little to his back. I move to sit on my legs, hoping to let in some warmth for my poor, apparently somewhat in shock body, and his shoulder nudges my knee.

"Still alive, I see." He mumbles suddenly.

I jump so hard I accidentally elbow him in the side, making him wince in pain and curl against the point of impact. He groans for a moment, then catches my eye and bursts into laughter, smiling up at my horrified face and rolling off the mattress slightly to lie against me with a relieved expression.

For a second it's quiet as he shifts his shoulders a little to get more comfortable, drawing the blanket back around himself and closing his eyes. His head rather suspiciously ends up in my lap despite the entire pillow to his back, but I write it off as him being tired and set my hand in his hair. He smiles when I start to card my fingers through it, and I realize that's exactly what he wants.

"Still a needy little shit." I joke halfheartedly, covering the initial shock. There's mild elation at being able to talk to him, like I'm telling my dream self that time of terror is long passed and Phil's still here. I purposefully pull up a section of his hair like a mohawk for a moment for my own amusement, then very carefully pat it back down. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, using me for your relaxation purposes."

He hums a little sadly and throws out the corner of my blanket so it's covering my knees, in no mood apparently to defend himself.

"Always." He mumbles. "That's just the way I am, you know?"

There's something else in his tone that momentarily gives me pause, a kind of veiled cheeriness that tells me so many things at once.

"So how long have I been out?" I ask him. Being this close makes me so aware of the sounds of his breath, the rhythm slowing a little when he goes to answer me. As soon as I ask the question his expression goes serious, his eyes opening and casting down to his hands.

"Hours." He mumbles. I can say this for Phil, he doesn't sugarcoat the truth even if he is an optimist. This answer is the straightforward answer I needed when I was back in the medical tent, and now I'm hearing to from the person I needed.

"Were you worried?" I ask quietly, straight to the point. I can't even imagine the accident from his point of view, the same way he can't imagine the other one from mine.

He pokes a hand out from under his covers, grabbing my right arm and dragging it under, cradling it with both warm arms like a teddy bear. It's answer enough, it pulls me forward slightly and has me sitting in a somewhat awkward way but I'm in no way going to protest, heat enveloping one side of my body in the cold night.

He looks at me, and I resist the urge to run my hand along his cheek. "Of course I was." He briefly meets my eyes. "Even after they told me you'd be okay I was worried."

That in itself is too much honesty for me to handle when I'm hovering over him like this. Usually there'd be some kind of deliberation in my mind but I'm not feeling any of that right now. At this point I'm admitting to myself that I'm a wreck without him and it's a miracle we're still alive together, and there really isn't anything more.

"Ugh. Come here, you absolute twat." I end up groaning. He complies without question, freeing his hands from their confines and pulling me down into his arms. It's like all the weights on my shoulders lift off me at once, tension dissolving as for the first time, I just shamelessly sink down and lay my head on his chest. For a moment I just take a second to hold him tightly, closing my eyes and noting that he holds me close too, only deviating to wriggle the blanket out from beneath me and pull it around us both. We're hugging like we thought we'd never see the other again, when the reality is just that we'd been separated an ample amount of time while I was bedridden.

"So... I was awake when they took us out of the truck." He mumbles. Because of where I am the sound hums in my ears, the words deep and alive against my cheek. "Mark hit his head on the ceiling and Jamie got caught by a shard of glass but that's about all luckily. Your eyes were shut when they lifted you and I might have panicked-"

"No, Phil." I say hastily, hearing the anxiousness in his tone. "You don't have to talk about it. It's okay. I'm here now."

"Thank god." He mumbles. "Let's agree to just never leave this tent and selfishly let the world burn."

And oh, how I agree with that. Life would be so much easier if him and I just vanished off the map, living of the land in some secluded forest together and probably starving. City life is a deadly one, my immunity only increasing our chances of dying, ironically enough.

"If only it were that easy." I sigh.

"All I remember is that we were talking," He says weakly, "and then I thought you were dying."

"What did you mean?" I ask. "You know, in the truck just before the crash. We argued."

"I don't even remember." He says honestly. "I can't even remember that conversation. The last thing I saw before the impact was another car swerving towards us from the side, and then there was screaming and your window exploded."

He doesn't sound uncomfortable or like he's lying, but then again I wouldn't put it past him to veil the truth. I've been doing that a lot lately just to protect my feelings.

"It was when I said we couldn't all be loved by numbers like you." I start to explain.

"Don't think I didn't notice your cheeky Muse reference there." He jokes.

Loved by numbers, you're losing life's wonders.

"Not intentional." I cut in, although I'm smiling. He's really trying to be okay, to help me skirt the topic of the actual impact. "You weren't letting me even stop to believe there was something wrong with me which, in hindsight- is pretty soppy," I shoot, "and when I tried to contradict that you said, that wasn't what you said in the apartment."

He goes still. "Oh, that."

I bite my lip. "Yeah, that."

"How did you even remember what our conversation was about when you literally almost died?" He points out. "What I said didn't mean much of anything."

I turn my head, trying to meet his eyes but I'm at the wrong angle. "I almost die a lot more than I hear cryptic things from my best friend." I remind him, realizing the truth in my own words as I speak them. That's one way to put perspective on your life.

"So, what? That's more interesting to you?"

"It is." I enthuse. I nudge my head under his chin and he rests it on me immediately, it's almost scary how instantly comforted I feel and how aware I am of how much I'd needed that. "So tell me."

"You really need to work on your priorities." He mutters. I just shake my head.

"Go on."

He sighs quietly, avoiding my eyes as if he's embarrassed or something. It reminds me of when we're around our friends and I try to keep from blurting something stupid.

"You told me I made you feel important when no one else had, it's not that deep." He grumbles. "I was reminding you that you had me who thinks you matter. I said it just to shut you up while everyone was listening, and uh, now I sound like a narcissist. It's true though."

"Oh." I breathe, somewhat underwhelmed. "That's what you meant." I don't know what I'd been expecting, but it was totally different from what it turned out to be. Phil's lovely but his context is somewhat lacking, and now I'm embarrassed because he's bringing up the things I've told him that, while true, should probably have never left my mouth.

"Yeah. You don't need everyone to like you." He continues. "This is life and death now. All I can think about is that car coming towards us. I bet that doctor guy hates me."

"I like you fine." I stammer, grinning exaggeratedly to hide the gratitude in my expression and the fact that I could say that in just slightest different context and he'd realize I meant something else.

"I think by now that's a given." He agrees. "I'm not even going to make a joke about hating or tolerating you right now. I just need to hug you and accept you aren't dead."

"Y-yeah?" Warmth rushes to my cheeks and I duck my head down just to hide my face, wondering how the hell we ever got here. He shifts his arms a bit and I roll over to hug him tightly. At least he's getting what he wants.

"Yeah." He goes quiet for a second, the way I would if I were shifting into existential mode, and through the slightly ajar flap in the tent I can see stars dotting the sky above the distant buildings. I wonder which London greenspace this is. For now, it's where people shelter.

"Imagine if the words of that conversation were the last things you and I ever said to one another." He mumbles darkly. "There's so much more I want to say."

It's too much. It's too sweet. I need to punctuate this with something ridiculous before I cry, because I'm too relieved and in love to deal with the fact that he so unabashedly cares for me.

"Okay, we've this is much more meaningful than our bodies will physically allow." I exclaim, nudging his cheek with my head gently. He looks at me affectionately and I lean against him for a second, assuring it's a joke. "I need to say something dumb so I can get this choking sentiment out of my brain so... guess what, Phil? I used to sleep hugging a pillow under my arm and pretend it was a person."

He chokes and then breaks into disbelieving giggles, making me glare at my best friend haughtily and attempt to slap my hand over his mouth.

"What even?"

"Fun fact." I say cheerily poking my finger into his cheek.

"I fell asleep hugging you, an actual person, two nights ago." He answers, dodging my attempt. "Fun fact for you."

And I know he's only making fun of what I said, but it makes me flustered all the same. I was expecting him to say what? or something, not dive right into comparing the past and present.

"I was lonely!" I protest, to which he only giggles.

"But you're supposed to be the unfeeling wall of serious, I can't even picture you..." he trails off and seems to remember what we're doing, retracting his own words. "I mean- you don't like physical contact generally. You actually did that back then?"

I chuckle and brush my hand over his, once again not sure if I can actually bring myself to take it. I'm already feeling dumb for blurting something so ridiculous just to quickly distract him, now he's never going to see me the same way.

"Again." I say weakly. "Lonely."

It's nice, the way we're both unable to keep clinging to our worries when we're with the other. Already the crash is being put behind us, I sink into our banter the way one would sink into a warm bath. He looks eager to distract me, eyes on the movement of my fingers.

"I know you were." He says, surprisingly gently. "I was too."

The statement actually stops me for a minute, my mind trying to make the connection but falling short. There's a reason everybody likes Phil more than me. Phil is liked by everybody, that was true even before we met.

"But you're... Phil." I protest, to which he just nods.

"I am."

I wave him off irritably. "You- you had hundreds of fans, comments and tweets flying at you every day just hoping to have you notice the senders-"

"That's not the same thing as a best friend, Dan." He cuts in. "I loved making videos. Buts it not like anyone really liked me. They didn't really know who I was. I went through my entire real life having people prefer other friends over me, online people took their notices I gave them and left. The internet made me happy, but it wasn't individual."

"I can't believe that." I say honestly. "I literally used to hide in my uni dorm at school so that my roommates would leave me alone. You were the one that stopped that one time  when we went for a walk in Piccadilly to tell that girl you didn't even know that you liked her galaxy jumper because you just couldn't keep that to yourself."

"And her blue hair!" He recalls. "That was the coolest thing ever. If we see someone like that in the apocalypse I automatically trust them."

I shake my head at him and lift my eyes briefly to see his face, which is looking down at me with a distracted expression.

"I didn't have a best friend for the first eighteen years of my life." I blurt. "I didn't think I'd ever find that person. You should be the type who has hundreds, not ending up in an apocalypse with a gangly nerd like me."

"I love you." He mumbles offhandedly, and he doesn't even look fazed by it, as if it's normal to use such a weighted phrase so liberally. His eyes are soft and genuine as he looks at my face, and I have no idea how he doesn't know it's making me panic internally.

He's said it again, the same fucking words I can't bring myself to say to him that make my heart want to damn near burst out of my chest, virtually racing knowing he's said it more than once. I wonder if he think that all of this is normal and absolutely fine when both of us use it for different meanings.

He shifts a bit out of listlessness, mistaking my silence. "Honest, I do. Stop near dying on me. Let someone else take the bullet and for gods sake, don't drive cars." He groans. "You're the best gangly nerd to ever accidentally stumble into my life. Try keeping that in mind."

"I'm not trying to die." I argue, my voice squeaking out finally. I let go of where I have my arms around him and wedge myself in sideways so we're both on our backs and my head is on his shoulder, resting there firmly instead of lying directly over his heart. Words, it seems, are so much easier to say when it's in the dark. I can't see his face, I can feel his expression though, tense and suddenly bothered, though I don't know what in the world he has to be upset about.

"No, but I'd rather you don't."

"Considering I'm gorgeous and all."

He laughs and the tension breaks as he shoves me in the shoulder. "If you reference that one more time I'm going to banish you." He threatens. "Actually shut up."

My chest suddenly feels way too fluttery and I fiddle with the corner of the blanket to distract myself, emotions floating up and around inside me far too strongly to be allowed. I fold my hands over my chest and focus on my vulnerabilities, tucking them away one by one as if they're birds that need to be caged, locking each and every one and not looking back.

Emotion? Calm it down.

Fears? Don't think about it.

Guilt? You have so much of it. Don't even start. You're fine.

But just like real birds, they flutter and fight and try to resist their imprisonment. My wrapped hand sits atop of my undamaged one and Phil notices immediately, reaching forward and grabbing it before I can react and tilting it to observe the bandage with my palm delicately balanced on his fingers. The doors dissolve and the locks shatter, feeling rushing back in as the birds escape. It all builds up in one moment as sheer feeling builds, the heartbeat in my chest reminding me how not fine I am. And his hand is on mine. Or is mine on his?

Our hands are lightly linked now, and when I hold a little tighter, so does he.

"What do you mean when you say you love somebody?" I blurt, feeling myself cower instantly after asking.

He falls silent for a moment. It's almost as if I feel him hitch his breath, but I can't tell for sure. Regret hits me instantly and I want to take it back, but there's no way to do it. I've made this a bigger deal than it is when it was meant to mean nothing.

He shrugs. "Depends on... on the person." He replies haltingly. "It's different."

"I don't think I've ever told someone that." I say truthfully. "I've never loved anyone before."

"When I say I love someone," a voice butts in suddenly, "it's usually a dream and then I wake up."

Both Phil and I jolt to a sitting position so quickly it's almost comical, our hands falling apart and eyes widening. The blanket falls to my knees and I flinch at the cold as a pale figure squeezes in through the narrow flap of the tent door, immediately flopping down to wedge herself between Phil and I and throwing her arms around our shoulders.

I feel mortified, unable to keep from gaping at her. Cat isn't even looking me right now but Phil, who looks like he's just seen a ghost. I don't even know what to say to her. Actually, I feel guilty that I barely stopped to wonder where she was up until now. She was in the crash just like we were and now I'm obviously thinking about it, taking comfort in the fact that I assumed she'd be fine since she's almost invulnerable as a half-life.

I need to say something to her, something offhanded to get her off my back.

"You can't even sleep, you numbskull." I tease her, thinking but also steadily trying not to think about what Phil and I's conversation, or however much she heard of it, must have sounded like out of context. I can't hide the fact that I'm thrown by the unexpected entrance. "Also announce yourself next time, please?"

She looks at me, biting back a grin. "Why?"

Phil and I end up mumbling different excuses, both of us trailing off shortly after much to Cat's amusement. I remember when I used to think Phil fancied her. Though they can't see it on my face, it's an embarrassment to think about out of nowhere now.

"Because Dan woke me up when I was supposed to be sleeping." Phil quips. "I was gonna just pass out again."

"I just wanted to check up on you." She says sweetly. Her smiles wanes a little bit and she turns to look at me now, taking my chin in her hand and tilting my head.

"You look like shit." She tells me bluntly. "Don't ever scare me like that again."

And then she's hugging me, and I'm hugging her back. She's wearing a jacket I don't recognize, a black fitted one that must have come from this camp that's warm against my neck where her sleeve brushes my skin, different from her touch which is normally cool. I thinks she's surprised at first by my response. Her head tucks into my shoulder and she laughs quietly, squeezing me while she can.

Eventually she draws back sheepishly, looking apologetic but in no way regretting anything. I smile and shake my head at her, wondering what she's thinking.

"I didn't know they were gonna send a fucking car at us." I point out. "And I'm alive. So it's good, right?"

"I guess." She shrugs and leans back intentionally, pulling Phil and I to lay on our backs on the blanket, her in the middle. My neck is rested somewhat awkwardly on her arm but I let her do it, catching Phil's eyes for a moment and letting the three of us just settle back for a second. It's crazy- In the matter of an hour I've gone from being alone and panicked to reunited and surrounded by my two best friends, both more worried about me than themselves.

She pulls me closer to her by my shoulder, companionably squeezing it, and I expect that to be the end of it. I remember back in the early days, when Phil and I were restless and she'd just come over and start talking to us, making us laugh and often talking about shit so weird we'd both stare at her like she was crazy. Well, Phil did. I used to actually work not to let an expression cross my face if necessary. But he'd always smile at me as if to share in whatever jokes he heard, to show me what thought immediately crossed his mind. I don't know why he never gave up on me.

"It's good." Phil says quietly.

His eyes flick over her to me, a serene kind of meaning in his expression, and Cat shakes her head and squeezes my wrist gently.

Sometimes she'd do stuff like this too, climbing onto the blanket we were sleeping on and trying to pull us into hugs that I'd resist even if I enjoyed them, so afraid of letting myself appear needful of someone else. It had seemed weird before, the idea of broaching someone else's boundaries. Now I realize she hardly cares, she's the one broaching in the first place.

She looks about the small tent, observing the triangular shape and the canvas of the walls, making an enclosure just big enough for us to sit up in. They've given Phil a tarp to lie on and a blanket for sleeping. Besides our backpack, which he's using as a pillow, there's not really room for anything more than us. Two guys and a half life. I wonder what she's gonna do tonight while we're asleep. I wonder if she wonders what we do when she's gone.

"I just realized Dan was supposed to be in the medic tent and he isn't." She says suddenly. "Points to you for waking up and figuring out where your best friend was. I'm so glad you two have each other."

My hands still and I know I look startled, but I don't want her to voice to Phil what I so obviously know she's suspects. She made that much clear the last time we talked, and I don't really know if I want to bring this up right now.

"Are you?" Phil asks softly. I'd have thought he'd ask her why. He doesn't though, just looks at the ceiling.

"Yeah." She confirms. I pull the blanket over my face as an excuse not to look at them, for whatever reason feeling like I'm eavesdropping. I wonder what I look like to an outsider like Jack, shooting up from the near dead and babbling about a guy they dint even know called Phil and acting hostile towards my hosts. Especially because I stumbled off as soon as I could to go find him. Cat's probably thinking the same way, but I really do feel anxious, it wasn't a good way to come to.

I just want to hold Phil's hand again. Having his hand in mine only to lose it so quickly because our best friend might judge us is a stupid reason, especially since I'm halfway to confessing everything to Cat just so I don't have to deal with it. I'm embarrassed too that I know there's something to confess at all.

"You guys need to think about how many friendships like yours are left in the world." She points out, oblivious. "Every time some kind of terrifying shit happens I always think to look back at you, at the way you reassure each other. I knew Dan would end up here after he woke up, and I was worried about both of you."

"So that's why you're here." Phil confirms. He sounds so unaffected.

"Yeah." I hear her shifting to sit up, leaning slightly away from me I realize to set her head on his shoulder. "I worry about my best buds."

"We were almost dead." I say tiredly. "I worry about us too."

It's supposed to be a joke but it come out far too honestly, draping us in silence while she lays there, working out how to reply. I'm caught by how honest she's being about having been afraid, especially because this is Cat, the levelheaded one out of us that always seems to have a teasing joke ready and stays steady through everything. Her observations of us make me realize just how open every aspect of Phil and I's relationship is. Our friendship, as much of a chaos as always.

"It makes me less anxious, seeing you two reassuring each other." She says to Phil. "I was just gonna pop in to say hello, but I almost don't wanna go back to my normal tent now cause I'm legitimately afraid you'll vanish or something."

I assume he shrugs. "Stay, then." He tells her. "If it makes you feel better."

She mumbles something quietly about going to check out the camp for us so we don't have to, promising to give us a report in the morning. This isn't going to be like the confederation bunker where we let blind trust get the better of us and she allowed us to be separated from her. We're not taking chances with strangers again, and there's a lot of them here. It's the most she can do when she doesn't sleep and we have hours left still before the sun comes up.

"Someone told me on the way here that it might go below zero tonight. You guys must be freezing." She exclaims. It feels like she's filling the silence, but I guess that's what she needs.

"We'll live." I reply, dismissive.

I see her raise her eyebrows. "Are you planning to sleep in here?"

"Yes?" It sounds like a question but I don't know where else she thinks I'd go.

I feel her arm fall out from under my head and suddenly the blanket is back over me. I don't even really know what's happening, not until she's apologizing profusely, and then the blanket is yanked away.

"Hey!" I exclaim, sitting up.

I sit up just in time to see Cat tackle Phil down in a tangly mess, her arms wound around him and a squeal tumbling out past his lips as he laughs in surprise, the full-force giggly one that makes his eyes scrunch at the corners and his tongue poke out from between his teeth. She grins and buries her nose into his hair, keeping him in place and then holding out her hand to me.

"Come join the cuddle party, Dan." She drawls. My first impulse is to meet Phil's eyes from below where she's squeezing him and to my surprise he opens his arms, his skinny pale ones reaching for me next to Cat's bluish ones. And of course, the default expression to cross my face is a stunned, skeptical one. I'm honestly exhausted and I just want to fall asleep but they've started giggling like schoolchildren and they're reaching for me, Cat's head settled onto one of his shoulders, leaving the other one free.

He's reaching for me. Someone can see, and he's still reaching for me.

"You should be laying on the tarp, Dan." She explains. "You're on the floor right now. It'll be less freezing if you have a layer between you and the ground."

I see the expression on her face and wonder if she's teasing me, watching her fingers come up to squish Phil's cheeks so that he looks like a fish. Considering he's six foot and she's barely pushing over five, it looks out of place to say the least to have her pinning him. Actually, out of context an outsider would probably assume a very tidy looking zombie was attacking him, but I ignore that thought.

"Which layer are you referring to?" I shoot, giving her a knowing look. "The bedding or Phil?"

She smirks, grabbing Phil's arm when he tries to break out of her grasp. "Phil, of course."

I can't believe we're even making jokes like this. Our little friend group, which is undoubtedly close but not to the point of exaggerated openness. Making jokes about me cuddling my best friend. As if the world wasn't upside down enough.

"Please?" Phil giggles, meeting Cat's eyes at their closer angle and dissolving into giggles, his laughs coming out in little hee hee hees. It makes my eyes widen, my throat close and my fingers dig into my palms. I can't pretend I don't want to.

"Guys, I-" I feel Cat's hand close around my wrist, but I stay still for a moment. "No." I mumble. "You don't have to."

That's when her hand tugs me downward and she finally utilizes the undead strength that honestly, she could have manipulated any day. I'm yanked down and landing fairly ungracefully on the pile of arms and legs that is my friends in seconds, two pairs of arms wrapping around me and a head- I don't know if it's Cat's or Phil's- resting on my hair. I feel absolutely mortified, hearing the two of them laughing and feeling both of them crawling in on both sides.

"I just wanted you guys to cuddle when I was around to see it." She replies, poking me in the stomach which makes me jerk to get away. I sputter indignantly and move to shove her but Phil winds his hands around my stomach and pulls me back, nudging his head into the crook of my neck.

"You're our best friend too." I choke, my face burning at the expression on her face as she beams at me. I'm determinedly trying to keep looking at her, playing this off as casual when I feel anything but. His nose is poking my neck. "You merit as much worry as we do."

"Cat, your hands are really cold." Phil complains.

"Yours are warm though." She answers, rolling out of his hug. "It's nice."

I've always been aware that my neck is really sensitive but now I feel like I'm going to explode. I'm not supposed to like the feeling of my platonic best friend pushing my boundaries, especially since I'm aware that no one else would be able to. How embarrassing.

"Honestly though," Phil says quite suddenly, "we really should get some sleep. I have no idea what Beard and Earring plan to do now that we've gotten here."

"That's for tomorrow." I reply, finally giving in and relaxing against his chest. It's probably the weirdest way I've ever sat, legs in front of me with Phil tucked behind me, his arms still wound at my middle and head in the crook of my neck. Cat's moved to lay her head in my lap and it hits me suddenly that this is the only time in my life where I've ever just had two casual friends, talking about life and pretending the conversation isn't post-disaster.

We toss some ideas back and forth for awhile about what the future holds, mainly just entertaining the idea of staying out of danger for a long, long time. I for one am hungry and debate asking Cat to sneak out and grab us a snack, but odd as it sounds I feel so safe with the two of them close to me, my two best friends in the world. No one mentions Chris and PJ until it becomes unavoidable, but as soon as it does it's like reality returns.

My eyes are getting heavy and Phil and I aren't sitting up anymore. Just like that time on the train the conversation has handed itself over to Cat and Phil, I'm kind of listening but I'm so exhausted I'm zoning out. My legs are beginning to fall asleep from where Cat's laying on them but I don't even mind, my hands holding a corner of the blanket pulled to my chest. I'm most definitely laying against Phil, but they're talking in without me. I don't understand how he can be so talkative when I woke him up in the first place. I'm not envious of Cat this time. I'm just half-listening, drifting in and out of hearing what they say.

"I keep forgetting we're in Broxbourne now." Cat mutters at some point, voice veiled under sleepy haze. "This is the confederation headquarters, of all places. We don't know where it is exactly but we know it's where Chris and PJ are."

I feel Phil shift to get more comfortable. "We will find them." He replies, his voice quiet and reassuring. "I know for a fact they're out there. Chris'll look after them both no problem. Maybe the guys here will know what to do."

It sends a pang through my chest, my mind still burdened with the guilt of letting them be taken. I don't know how to save them, and it feels like a good time to stop listening.

"I mean, they sent a car at us thinking it was them." Cat chuckles, sounding deep in thought. "These people have some serious guts."

I close my eyes. I don't really want to listen anymore. My mind starts to wander and when I finally listen in again, they're talking about travelling and the city back when it was whole, somehow managing to connect back to our lost friends but mostly, like always, simply wondering about the future.

Minutes pass like this. When I look back on it it'll probably feel like some kind of daydream, a blip of peace and a haze of warmth and friends. My cheek is pressed into Phil's collarbone like a pillow, one that smells a lot like him and is making me drowsy with the human closeness.

Their voices are indiscernible now and I start to wonder if I'm having a dream. The nightmare form earlier doesn't feel like much for some reason. It doesn't even matter. I just close my eyes entirely, sinking gratefully into the darkness.

"Is Dan asleep?" Cat asks suddenly sometime much later. It makes my head clear a bit and I finally focus on them again, breathing out deeply.

I know for a fact that I'm not but I'm too groggy to either know or care why it matters, feeling Phil sit up slightly to check the expression on my face.

His breath ghosts over my cheek for a moment but then he lays back down, apparently not too concerned. Out of curiosity and exhaustion, I keep my eyes shut.

"I don't know. Does he look asleep? I can't really see him." He answers. His hand moves up to rest in my hair the way I'd been doing with his earlier, moving through the slightly tangled curls in slow, deliberate motions as he talks. I breathe out tiredly and let him, feeling Cat turning her head a bit on my knee.

"He looks so sweet when he's asleep, as weird as that sounds." She observes, making me turn my head away from her to try and block out the sounds. I just want to sleep right now and Phil's chest is warm and comfortable, her observations irrelevant. "It's really nice to see him calm."

Phil laughs quietly. I feel ready to succumb to the amount of affection I feel for both of them.

"He'd kill you if he heard you say that." He whispers, not even knowing he's being considerate to my tired self. It's like kindness comes naturally to him in a way I've never personally seen myself do. I guess that's why everyone likes him so much.he sounds amused, it's a nice tone in his voice.

"You know him better than anyone." Cat concedes. "If you're telling me, it's probably true."

Tapping. That means you're thinking. I remember him asking. What are you thinking about?

His hand stops but he keeps it close, laying his arm across my chest. He's right, and she is. They're probably the only ones who really know me, but in my mind, I'm thinking more about my mind's chosen response.

You.

"You know how he is." Phil continues, still running his fingers along my sleeve absently. "He just thinks he's gloomy. I know the truth."

She hums in agreement and for the first time in nearly two hours they've fallen silent, maybe Phil's beginning to get tired too. God knows what time of the night it is.

"He knows I'm gay now." He says unexpectedly, voice soft. I'm barely able to register that Cat's aware of his secret before she whistles, if I bothered to to open my eyes I'm sure she'd be giving him a pleased look.

"I'm proud of you." She says excitedly. "You told him, didn't you?"

"We were really drunk." He chuckles quietly and sets his head on my hair, gentle enough that he thinks he won't wake me and shaking his head. "But I guess it happens."

"It should've happened a while ago." She teases. "I'm glad. Top-tier best friend. How was that night anyway?"

He pauses confusedly. "What night?"

"When you were drunk." She reminds him. "All of us were wondering where you were in that storm. I'm actually so curious as to what went on there."

Everything. I think. It was a lot.

He stops to think about it for a minute and it makes me feel some little nerves. I hadn't  really thought about explaining that time to other people, and- I realize, I have no idea what he'll say.

"It was so much fun." He says honestly. My heart blooms with something I can't place and I smile to myself, hoping silently that Cat can't see. "That was the best night I've had in so long. We're our own kind of people when it's just me and him. It felt really nice to just tell him the truth."

"Gotta hand it to Dan and his alcohol." She chuckles. "I'm glad he's not awake. He'd probably scoff at me for calling him sweet."

"Heard that." I huff, and Phil jumps, his following laugh and next words blurry as sleep takes over. At this point I don't even care about what I've heard. It's all just humour between us, another joke that we can all laugh about under layers of sarcasm and affection. Yes, I'm in love with Phil, but neither of them could possibly know that.

"Thanks for letting me be gay." He tells me directly, squeezing me for emphasis without missing a beat. "You're the best."

"Thanks for talking about me."

"Go to sleep, Danny." Cat chides me, and as if permissed to I instantly close my eyes. Words all gone, I really want to. Phil mutters something about going to sleep too but somehow I don't feel Cat leave for a while. But I don't leave his arms. It feels safer having her undead form here to watch us, knowing I can sleep with Phil safe makes it much less hard. I don't know what will come in the next few days after, but for once in my life, I'm glad something will.

Cat can tease me all she likes, people can ask a million questions, I think. No matter what, they'll never know. It's a mantra, a soundtrack playing in my mind. I push down my shame and set my head back on Phil's shoulder, hearing the words repeat a thousand times as he hugs me to him one last time to keep me in place.

I love you. I think, listening to his heart and sinking into sleep. I love you. I love you.

We don't have to mean it in the same way.

~~~

The next day is fairly uneventful at first. We get called to join Jack and a group of people shortly after waking, rejoining with Cat and seeing the place shrouded in daylight now.

In the dark, it had been hard to see the exact spread of the camp, but it's obviously much more organized than I'd originally seen. We get a lot of strange looks, especially once Phil, Cat and I regroup with the remainder of our friends. Apparently they haven't had any newcomers in this place for a while, and considering what a mess we all are, we stand out even more than we already had by being unfamiliar.

For the most part, everyone's friendly. They either welcome us with greeting when we walk by or ignore us completely, just groups of survivors all banded together in one place. A lot of people look sleepy but many seem to be committed to jobs, we've only just awoken and already firewood is being chopped and I can smell in the air the scent of cooking food. I wander past them, hearing murmurs and conversation between families and occasional singing, it's different from any place in the apocalypse that I've ever been before.

The camp is roughly sectioned off, divided between areas for farming, sleeping, cooking, and socializing, plus the larger medical tent. Jack tells us that this place used to be an area known as Cedar's Park, a place that was fairly historically significant at one time and as it turns out, there are several structures still remaining on the other end of the lot that used to be local tourist attractions. We also learn that the road we drove in in was once a part of the road called Winston Churchill Way, things that mean very little to me when the area is not remotely recognizable, but Phil actually seems to understand. I know who Winston Churchill was but had no idea there was a road named after him in London, though really, I'm not entirely surprised. Now I'll always associate his name with the crashed truck.

On the other side of the tree line there's some kind of monument by the gate, which marks the main entrance now. Everything in the park leads in a dirt path back to this gate, which is where we're now standing.

Between Mark and Felix, Mark looks the worst out of both of them, but oddly enough seems to be in a better mood. He claps me on the shoulder, my good shoulder when I fall in to step with him while Jack leads us to the monument, apparently doubling as a doctor and an unofficial tour guide. He mumbles a quick "good to see you" before turning his head, apparently just as interested as I am in observing our surroundings.

"So what exactly are we waiting for?" Mark asks, staring impatiently out of the archway once we reach it and out towards the road. The arch, and therefore the camp entrance, is stationed at the North end of the camp, which as we've also just learned, had been part of the reason they'd attacked us. Apparently only the confeds enter from the southern direction, driving in using their trucks to keep their visits secretive and discrete, any other camp inhabitants or visitors coming and going from the North. Just thinking about how there had been no way for us to know this and how many rules and regulations we're going to have to hear makes my head hurt a bit, the only positive aspect of being brought over here is that this particular area is shrouded in trees, plus a few saplings that look to have been planted for eventual firewood. I haven't had the chance to properly speak with Mark and Felix yet, so I try to focus on the coolness of the shade and the voices of our acquaintances.

"We're looking for a band of survivors." Jack replies, and his eyes focus up ahead.

My mind is still sleepy even though it really was a good night in the end last night. I woke up in about the least rosy-image way possible mind you, my whole body somehow freezing cold on the floor of the tent and Phil's legs tangled with mine. He somehow stole the blankets and managed to roll away without realizing and it woke me up early, I'd had to wake him up to get some of it back to stop my teeth from chattering, but leading up to that from what I can remember had been nice. Sleepy conversations, warm hugs, and Cat overseeing our safety until the early hours.

The whole way here as we wandered our tour of the camp he's been apologizing repeatedly for the yawns that keep leaving my mouth. I'm still thinking about how nice it had been initially when we fell asleep, thinking to myself that it's good that at least some parts of us managed to stay together.

"Dan." I hear James whisper suddenly, detaching from his father and bouncing over to me. I don't answer him at first but he isn't deterred, placing a hand on the hem of my jumper and tugging. The others are talking but I can hardly focus on that when I don't even know why I'm here, and I catch Phil watching the interaction out of the corner of his eye. "Dan?"

"Uh-" I look down at him, hands stiff at my sides, not really sure what to do. He curls his fingers into the shirt and clings a little more tightly, looking up with round, inquisitive brown eyes. "What is it?"

"Did you get my dinosaur?" He asks me. Instantly I'm reminded of my small panic last night and I move to shake my head, blatant discomfort ruling my mind at the idea of actually expressions him how that felt.

I nod, avoiding his eye. "Yep?"

"Did you like it?"

I don't know what to say and so I just nod at him awkwardly, pretending to be absorbed in the dirt by my shoe. "Sure."

A second glance out through the archway makes me realize a group is returning from some trip in the city, about a dozen or so women and men with a bit of dirt and zombie guts on their clothes. I realize Jack's probably supposed to talk to them, maybe they're even his friends, perhaps that's who we're waiting for to tell us about the confeds. Like me, Phil seems reluctant to actually move to greet them, dutifully stepping to the side so they can get in when they get closer. As usual, everybody else actually seems to want to talk.

I see Beard and Earring move to walk out as they also notice the group seconds later, Felix and Mark hurriedly following. Apparently we saw them first but now they all see them, the travellers stop when Jack waves and calls out saying he'll go to them, and then our friends have disappeared from sight. Jamie hardly even seems to notice, too busy talking to me instead.

"What's this about a dinosaur we're talking about?" Phil asks confusedly, stepping over to where I am and looking down at the kid.

James brightens at the sound of Phil addressing him, drawing out the toy from his hoodie pocket and holding it out to place in my friend's hands.

"I gave Dan my dinosaur yesterday when he was getting better so that he didn't feel scared when he woke up." He explains to him. "I fell asleep, so doctor Jack had to give it to him but you know, I had to make sure that he did."

"Oh my god, that's so cute." Phil mumbles to me instantly.

"I dreamt about our crash back in the early days while I was." I inform him quietly. "When I woke up I had no idea where I was and they were trying to make me drink water and look at a toy."

"Did it help you?" Jamie asks, moving back over. He winds his arms around my leg and looks up at me, gravity making his hair fall back. I don't understand why he's so determined to like me and make me aware that he does, especially since I'm now trying to back out of his clutch in the least hurtful way I can.

I can tell Phil knows what I'm thinking, because his face breaks into a smile despite what I've just told him.

"He loves it." He says firmly. "It made him feel so much safer with a Dino on guard."

I'm speechless, but the boy looks happy. I'm about to tell him he should just go see his father instead, not even able to look at Phil because it makes me feel odd seeing how well he gets on with children, when a voice cuts into my thoughts.

"Oi! Dan! Phil!" Beard calls suddenly. "I want you to meet someone!"

Reluctance to go and see so many people is weighing down my conscience but with the man's eyes on us I don't know what else to do, letting Jamie grab both Phil and I by the arms and tug is into motion.

It's a fairly quick jog to get over to them. Outside the gates is a long fence encircling the perimeter of the park and the tallest trees poke up above the hedges, up ahead of us there's houses and a road. Now that I'm getting closer I can see that the group actually has some resources, several people are standing in knots counting up tools and cans, sifting through bags filled with packages that must have been looted from a shop. I wonder where on earth they got them, remembering how at both apartments we'd gone to, the cupboards had been picked clean.

Beard waves us over and he seems to be in a rather jovial mood. Several people grin at him or his children as they pass, but he seems focused on a pair of guys who have their back to us, placing some boxes on the ground.

"These are some friends of ours that we smuggled along the borders once." He informs us, continually talking before they've even turned around. "I'll get you to say hello in a minute but I think we should help them carry some of this stuff. They went on a supply run all evening yesterday and accidentally walked into a herd. Since it might have been our herd they found, I say we just lend a hand."

I can hardly object to that without looking like an asshole, so after exchanging a few glances with Phil we start forward. I can already see Jamie being handed a small box full of pillows, apparently used to helping out and so what well-known.

"I'd really like you to meet some of these guys." Earring adds in, causing some of the group to stop and shoot welcoming glances our way. "They'll be super informative on the confederation, we'll have so much better leverage when trying to save your friends."

I'm about to walk up awkwardly and offer some help when Beard puts his hand on a man's back, stopping him mid-motion and giving me a look. There's something oddly familiar about the guy's form that I can't place but I realize by the way he's being made to stand out that he must be important, Earring already going to explain.

"Some guys," he says cryptically, "we might actually be able to take some help from."

"This guy owes me a favour." Beard chuckles, yanking the man who has his back turned. Caught by surprise, the man stumbles a bit, his overgrown curly hair falling across his forehead, but even though Beard hasn't said much I know at least vaguely who he's talking about. Beard had said earlier before we'd left the last apartment that coming to this camp was a good idea because one of the men that ran this place owed him a favour, and I'm guessing that favour is going to be letting us stay. This must be that guy, so I'm hoping he'll confirm that we can.

I'm not exactly interested in whoever he is, so it's not like I make the effort to see the him. I turn away from Phil not expecting much, my only thoughts being that I'll let everyone else talk instead. It's not like I'm not interested in the idea of having a relatively safe place to stay and inside information on the confederation but just as it is with Jack, after the confederation bunker I just don't like the idea of putting my faith in a stranger.

"What's your name again?" Beard's asking offhandedly as the guy shakes him off, shoving away his hand amicably. "Harrod, or something?"

It's then that I look up. My mind is busy panicking thinking about trying to at least attempt to nod a hello at this guy that we definitely need to make a good impression on, but when the man meets my eyes I forget that, my heart suddenly dropping in my chest.

There's been few times in my life where there's a feeling like the air being punched from my lungs. Most of the words I say are fueled by anger, by fire or passion, or by an amount of emotion too overwhelming for me to handle, surging in all at once. Now, however, I can't speak. My mind goes blank and vaguely I feel Phil's arm brushing mine, a subtle reassurance that he's there, but he can't help this.

There's people in your life, certain faces that, though you've maybe only seen them in memories for a while, never leave your mind. You can pick them out in a crowded room, find familiarity in something as simple as the shape of a face or the sound of their footsteps, people you know you'd find even if you hadn't seen them in years. I don't have many like that in my life, but though I can call a few to mind, most if not all of them are gone.

I don't know how this is possible. I distinctly feel myself stopping in place and see him doing the same, but even so, my heart is beating out of my chest and it doesn't feel real.

At first I'm frozen. I can only look at him, and I can't even hear what anyone's trying to say. I can only try and understand this, something like pain trying to find a spot in the confused mess of my thoughts.

But soon enough, I manage to choke out one single word.

"Dad."

hee hee bet u weren't expecting this wow im just full of surprises aren't i
~AlysON🌙

also hi Rons_Emotional_Range you actually help me out so much with your words of encouragement I really appreciate you. This was supposed to go up last Sunday and so much got in the way I'm sorry T_T