artwork by Midonix holy shit thank you so much I'm never gonna be over how well-drawn and beautiful this is. (For context, this is for the scene in the last chapter.) are you dead because I am

Don't break, character. You've got a lot of heart.
Is this real or just a dream?
-The Killers, Be Still

Dan

I wake up to grey clouds hanging heavy in the sky. I'm not sure what the time is but I still squint slightly at the light as it slants into my line of vision through the window, even this amount a bit overwhelming after having my face pushed into pillows. It's darker than the usual morning and the air feels heavy but cold- if I had to guess I'd say maybe there's a storm on the way.

I feel a warm, solid presence against my back and turn around to see Phil's back to me, his shoulders rising above the blankets and the column of his spine relaxed in sleep. I'm not even sure who crawled closer in the middle of the night but I'd managed not to move away, having slept comfortably back to back with him all night, and it makes me feel that much more awake in seconds because of the electric nerves that suddenly come alive when I see him. He really is here, after all that happened last night he is actually here.

I don't think I've slept so well in months. No nightmares last night, not that I can remember. I don't really recall dreaming anything. It's unrealistic, the way one simple change somehow eased my mind into a quiet night. For all I know I could be traumatized, psychology as messed up as anyone else who's seen and caused death they didn't want, yet all I did was sleep in the same bed as Phil and they somehow went away. I'm still here and nothing feels overwhelming or wrong. I'm just okay.

He's asleep, which I'm glad for.

He doesn't know.

I draw away from him slightly, not so much because I don't want the contact from him because I really, really do, but because I need a small amount of distance. I need to clear a space in my head and just step back for a second, because so much happened last night and I'd told myself I would let it wait. Because he'd been gone, Phil doesn't know what's happening. Phil doesn't know how I feel.

And now, Phil also doesn't know what I know.

Last night was a bit of a mess at first. I remember feeling so incredibly content in the moments leading up to Mark entering the room, having it just be Phil and I. I was tired, I know that much, and Phil was just sort of talking to me. We'd been a seesaw of emotions, mostly my doing, and yet he'd been so patient. I was happy, sleepy, he was playing with my hair and though I'd worried at first that he was uncomfortable, he'd assured me that it was fine. We were both content and happy, I'd told him I'd never felt better, I almost fell asleep.

And then it went downhill.

"Dan, I'm so sorry." Mark had blurted almost immediately after Phil had gone. It was just him and I and the room and he'd stopped me from going after him, and now we were alone. "Oh god. I didn't mean it like that."

But I wasn't upset with him. I was angry at myself. Because Mark had only been telling a joke. He always does that, especially when it comes to me, I don't even let it piss me off anymore.

When you make a promise, the intent is to keep it. What I'd done wouldn't have been so awful considering Phil probably knew why I'd treated him the way I did, knowing that romantic implications being forced suddenly between any pair of friends is always somewhat awkward, but I'd assured him mere minutes ago that I wouldn't let the speculations of other people bother me. I'd made him believe that we didn't have to worry about looking "platonic", that touching each other's hands or shoulders was nothing strange at all. Because honestly, so what?

So a lot of things apparently. I felt like an absolute hypocrite.

I knew my mistake as soon as I saw his face fall. The way I'd jerked back reflexively to save us from embarrassment, complete impulse and fear of being inherently wrong. Mark had called us lovers and all I heard was my dad, screaming my mom about what a mistake I was, making me forget where I was, only hoping to get away.

Unforgivable. The hurt on his face was so obviously there that even Mark backed off and began apologizing profusely.

My stupid mind panicked but for all it's trouble, drew a blank. By the time I did manage to speak it was way too late, he yanked out of my hold and and backed up, a terrifying lack of expression on his normally open features. 

There was no way to justify myself at that point, no way to explain what it meant. He wouldn't look at me. "Don't leave like that." I'd managed to plead, looking at him imploringly. "I didn't mean it that way."

I could see the hesitation on his face, the only reassurance I got that he really didn't want to hurt me, but then it was gone and he was turning away, expression hard and flat.

"Tell that to Mark, then." He'd snapped.

And then he was gone.

Of course I tried to follow him but Mark had stopped me with a hand on my arm. I would have pushed past but the look he gave me stopped me in my tracks, his expression purposeful.

"Let him go." He'd advised me. "He needs to be alone to figure this out."

So I watched Phil's back retreat and then gave up shortly after, moving to sit on the edge of the bed with a heaviness in my chest. It was just Mark and I now and I knew Mark felt guilty, but I just couldn't bring myself  to explain the depths of the problem.

"What the fuck did I just do?" I snapped, balling my fist and staring down at the floor like it held the answers.

Unexpectedly, Mark walked over to me and set a hand on my shoulder, almost companionably, his voice low and reassuring. "Just give him some space." He advised me. "Jeez, I'm really sorry."

I shook my head. "This wasn't you."

He looked at me in surprise, forgetting, I guess, that I honestly don't dislike him anymore. He composed himself just as quickly though.

"No- it was." He argued. "I didn't think Phil would take it-"

"It really wasn't you." I snapped. "Please, just forget it."

It was me, it was me. I always ruin things when it all starts to go right.

He didn't look like he believed me at first until he saw my expression, and then his look changed completely.

"Hey, I'll go talk to him." He suggested. "He's probably not gonna be like this forever. It's Phil after all. I'll see what's wrong."

I only managed a nod in response but I guess it was enough, he retracted his arm and shot me a meaningful look before he turned back to the door, footsteps creaking on the hardwood as he went.

"Are you just gonna stay here?"

I thought about it for a moment and then shrugged, staring at the floorboards still. "I'll probably go sit out in the fire escape in a bit. Not much in the mood to stay in here."

"I'm sorry, really." He said quietly again. When I didn't answer he didn't press me, just nodded in understanding and quietly left.

I didn't get up immediately when Mark walked away. I stayed right where I was on the bed, trying to reason with myself. The mattress felt far too big when I was by myself and the darkness closed in on all sides, the shadows and distant sounds of monsters elsewhere setting my nerves on a wire. I'd upset Phil, and this time there was nothing I could do, no solution coming  to mind and only frustrating me further. I'd resolved to consciously make an effort and failed him within minutes, and there was no way I could defend something that to him without explanation probably felt awful.

I hung my head in my hands, breathing softly. My fingers crept down to grip the duvet corners and I closed my eyes until the urge to cry or scream died down. I knew I had to apologize, I just wasn't sure how. Hey, sorry for freaking out when something alluded to us being romantically involved. I'm in love with you and you don't know that so it happens, since things would be weird if you found out? I don't think so- normally people don't take that route, and blunt honesty is not a comfortable normal for me.

The worst part was that I knew Phil would forgive me. He always did, always treated me with more kindness than I probably deserved. He was kind and I wasn't. He was loveable, I wasn't. He forgave people he trusted, whereas I had a harder time believing mistakes wouldn't repeat. Chris was a good example of that. I knew this, but those moments before Mark had arrived, that was something different, something special. I wondered if I'd ever get to be like that again. Now he probably felt like it was wrong and I felt immeasurably guilty, ironically wishing I could hold him right now.

For a long time there was humming silence. I heard the glass door to the balcony slide open and then shut, heard what I presumed was Phil sinking down into the chair out there with a quiet breath, and then little other sound. I wondered if he was looking at the stars. He always did, we always did. It's what he used to always say whenever the opportunity presented itself: look at the stars, that'll calm you down.

In general I tended to calm myself through letting it all out in a loud, angry mess and then frantically trying not to feel pain of any kind. Phil, on the other hand retreated into himself and sought distractions so nobody else was hurt, and I had no doubt it was what he was doing tonight.

It was the severity of the response I suppose that unsettled me. Phil never left me, always insisting he couldn't, and yet he had. That's how I knew something deeper was at work, but Mark was right. It was better if I left him alone and didn't ask him.

I thought about Mark going to talk to him and honestly wasn't sure what to think, but it seemed unfortunately that it would make a lot more sense then him staying with me right now. I didn't really deserve it.

I sat in silence subjected to my own thoughts for a time longer before the screen door slid open again, a couple of heartbeats of nothing between the beginning of the action to the end, until a voice suddenly cut through the night, carrying all the way to the window unexpectedly clear.

"Phil."

It was strange, hearing Mark talk to Phil while I wasn't around. And also the way Mark was choosing to speak to him. It was that cautious voice that everyone but him and Phil tended to adopt when speaking to me, the one that suggested the receiver needed to be handled with care. Mark knew less about what Phil was feeling than I did, it was clear of what his intent was even though he really didn't know what to say.

I waited for Phil to answer but he didn't. He stayed silent, and a knot twisted itself in my stomach at the possible explanations as to why. My mind had a list of possibilities but it was short, deep down I was pretty sure I knew the reason why.

I hadn't realized Mark had planned to actually go out to him to talk about it and lunged to the window, intending to shut it. I didn't want to know what I'd done to Phil, didn't want to hear him talking about me, and there was also a strange part that felt insanely invasive even for this accidental eavesdropping. My hand was on the frame, mid-motion to snap it shut, when I heard my name.

"What were you doing, sending Dan off like that?" Mark asked quietly, getting straight to the point. "I was just checking on you."

My heart dropped, guilt clawing in my chest. He made it sound like it was Phil's fault for the whole conflict, hugely misinformed because all he'd seen was Phil's hostile reaction. My hand faltered at the shutter and I tried to make out Phil's form on the balcony, but I couldn't see either of them at all. All I could do was listen.

Again, Phil was silent. I was worried he might never answer, too angry to accept such an accusation. How was this ever going to be resolved if he was being asked in that kind of wording?

"You were just checking were you?" He questioned. His voice was quiet, not harsh but obviously controlled. He was unhappy. He was unhappy. That's all I could get, and my stomach sank more. "For someone who's just checking, you seem to know pretty damn well what I don't want you to say to me."

If I had any delusion before that I hadn't hurt him with what I'd said, I now knew it was gone. The reply shocked me. It didn't sound like him at all.

"I know what I said, I'm sorry about that." Mark told him gently. It was like it really mattered to him that Phil didn't see this the wrong way. "I don't think before I speak half the time and I didn't mean to make a big deal out of nothing. I ain't judging but I've never seen a man blush like that before. You looked happy, Phil. It wasn't a bad thing to encounter."

He looked happy.

Their silence stretched on, and I supposed it was because Phil wasn't sure of what to say. My breath faltered as I ran the words over in my head.

He'd never seen a man blush like that before. He saw us together, and Phil looked happy. Two different reactions in response to two different interactions Phil and I had, making emotions tumble around violently in my mind like a storm.

"I'm talking about you." Mark supplied, as if Phil didn't already know that. "I was gonna ask you guys about something tomorrow, and I walked in to see you two wrapped around each other."

My face heated. Was that any of his business? It probably meant nothing but comfort to Phil before, but now he was gonna be worried and looking into it the same way everyone else was.

"It's not like that." He'd answered automatically. I didn't know why he sounded so strained. It's like he thought that's what I would have wanted him to say. The worst part is that at one time, I'd thought it was. "We weren't- we don't-"

"It's okay, I didn't tell anyone." Mark said quickly, obviously just trying to calm him down, but I knew what Phil was like when he got worked up, and I knew he couldn't just calm down. "It's just... He had his arm right around you."

No. My heart started to pound, imagining the revelation this must have been to my best friend. I desperately wanted to rush to the balcony and stop Mark from talking anymore, but then they'd have known I was eavesdropping and I'd have to explain why the conversation even meant anything to me if our relationship was simply platonic. Phil's response, however, seemed a lot more simple and composed, voice incredulous.

"So?"

I blinked. He was defending me. After what I'd done, after I'd thrown the boundaries I'd broken down right before him back into his face, he was still standing up for me.

"So..." Mark persisted, "I've never seen Dan like that before."

It was like Phil and I were of one mind.

"What of it?!" Phil cried, still defending me despite the obvious implication behind the sentence.

"Phil," he protested."You wouldn't do that with anyone else. That's pretty gay."

And nothing. Though it couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds, it felt for me like time had stopped. Mark couldn't have been more blatant if he tried, the word out there to actually put a label on what we were, or at least what he obviously thought we were. I couldn't believe it. Phil had it from someone else, and now he'd never see me the same way because he'd see right through everything I did. I knew Mark was only trying to provoke him into explaining the situation but now I was terrified,  because I was prepared for Phil to say the worst, tensing in preparation  of dismissal or disgust-

"Well maybe it's because I am gay!" He'd shouted, far more aggressively than I'd ever heard him speak before.

It's funny how only a few words can change your perspective on everything.

Like a sledgehammer to my heart I think the entire organ just stopped. My breath caught in my throat and I slumped against the very pillows we're sharing between us now, my heart racing for some stupid reason and my mind muddled with confusion beyond any other form of disbelief. Nothing crossed my mind as the air filled with sudden silence. Actually, I had to bite my tongue not to let out any sound, blinking several times because my vision was hazy, my eyes open wide.

What?!

I couldn't see Phil from the window. There was no way for my eyes to actually cast their way onto the balcony and hazard a glance at his expression, but just from his voice I could practically imagine Phil's deep red cheeks and his hand partially covering his face, hiding himself at the accidental suddenness of his own admission. The accidental truth he'd been hiding.

I had to glance back and forth several times to confirm that it was in fact him. All I could see was the railing, really, just a tiny half glance at the back of Phil's head now. His body was tense, his focus on Mark who I couldn't see. Those words came from his mouth undoubtedly, but it wasn't sinking in that they were actually true.

In my imagination he looked so vulnerable, slightly embarrassed even though he was desperately trying not to convey it. I imagined him dropping his hand, letting his fingers curl into fists, punctuating his own silence only a few seconds later.

"Does that make sense," he challenged, and I could imagine an expression mirroring mine on Mark's dumbstruck face as if I knew the reiteration was coming, yet somehow still didn't expect it. "Or do I have to spell it out?!"

Immediately the thoughts rushed in.

No. My mind went. No way.

I shook my head in disbelief, eyes widening and my heart beating so fast it just couldn't have been possible.

As if in a daze I sat back up, then I remembered what I was doing. I panicked, I jumped up and shut the window, Phil and Mark's voices fading into the background as I scrambled onto the bed and almost crashed right to the floor in my haste. I felt like I was violating Phil for listening in when I shouldn't have, doing my best to ignore whatever came after until the sounds were simply gone.

I wobbled in place and collapsed onto the pile of pillows, not even caring that I looked stupid like this because truthfully, I felt stupid. My head hit the headboard and I stared at the ceiling while breathing deep breaths, trying to comprehend this revelation and somehow relate it to my best friend, Phil. It felt like I'd just slammed into a wall.

He's gay. The phrase reeled over and over in my mind, surprisingly not as earth-shattering as you'd think it would feel, to suddenly know this about the person you've cared about for so long. Somehow it only felt normal, connecting this short, simple label with Phil. It made sense I suppose, less feeling like it was odd and more like something I'd have to hear to be true. And yet.

I lie back now when it's hours later, reaching over as clouds continue to gather in the dark sky and running my fingers through his dark hair gently while he sleeps on, oblivious, nervousness filling me and taking over my thoughts. I'd say I feel guilty about doing it but I don't, it helps me ground myself to have him here.

We thought we knew everything about each other. I think bemusedly. He leans into my touch and nudges himself closer against my chest, my heart falling in all sorts of ways. So that's what you've been so scared to tell me for so long?

It happens suddenly. I feel a swoop in my stomach, a warmth in my heart that makes me cup my hand over my mouth, stifling my disbelief. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to calm the speed of my heart, smiling like an idiot, because all of a sudden I have a chance. There's a weird nervousness too at knowing something Phil doesn't, but it doesn't at all outweigh the sheer disbelief.

It dawns on my now that he'd been trying to tell me that in an offhand way before. Girls don't really suit me, he'd said. Outright, straight to my face, and I'd been totally clueless. What an idiot. I've known deep down that something was up I think for a while now with me towards him, but Phil's given me actual honesty. I wonder if he'll ever do that again.

If nothing else, I guess I can feel less guilty about the predicament I'm stuck in. In our current life it's not like there's very many others around, so all in all it's actually valid and logical for me to be glad I don't have any competition. I can pine after him all I like.

At least I know there's no chance of him being stolen by a girl.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind I actually snort, a laugh tumbling past my lips before I can stop it. Of all the things to worry about. I have to snatch my hands out of his hair and cover my mouth to keep from waking him up, as it is he groans irritably at the unwarranted sound. Knowing I could possibly wake him is the only thing that manages to make me fall silent, considering the absurdity of the thought I've just had and how definitely uncouth he would find it.

It's thoughts like these reaffirming I'm in love with him that I almost can't fathom, knowing full well that only a year ago, I wouldn't have thought them possible. I'm so relieved by the knowledge that there aren't actual girls to compete with, borderline giddy, I'm just grateful that no one's around to see. I almost want to wake him up just so that he looks at me, small gestures that meant little before suddenly feeling like so much, even eye contact fitting into this category.

Before I know it I'm smiling again, just stilled in awe and tucking his head under my chin. He's warm and soft and I'm so irrevocably attached to him right now that it almost makes me want to throw up, the amount of sentiment and attraction far too unhealthy. This is gross, stupid even. I feel like he'd never doubt himself again if he knew I was this obsessed.

I don't know where to go from here so I just lie back, arms wound around him and pillows sinking under my weight like the most bizarre imagery ever, closing my eyes and then opening them again as I stare at the ceiling.

One heartbeat. Two.

This is real.

I'd ended up on the fire escape after everything, legs dangling down over the street below and my poor mind stuck succumbing to my thoughts. I'd told Mark it was where I was going so I decided if the balcony was out, it was probably the only place I could have worked this out alone.

I had zero plans of action for the next time I encountered Phil. He didn't know I knew his secret now and even after a night's sleep I'm not sure how to spring it on him without explaining why it matters. I didn't hear what they talked about after I left. Their voices didn't carry to the other side of the building.

It had to have been around midnight that point and there was nothing very beautiful about the view. Apartment buildings made up for pretty much all of it, abandoned and brick, the lawns overgrown and nothing but the sky above to shed light. Still, it was cool and the air smelt cleaner than the dusty aroma of inside, and so I reluctantly let myself be alone in my thoughts while I tried to sort myself out.

It caught me completely off guard when somehow he found me, especially since he didn't announce himself or greet me in any conventional way. I didn't even hear the door open, it was windy and they sky was full of more stars than I'd ever seen in my life. I'd never taken the time to imagine this city and how small it could seem when all the lights went out. It was shimmery and infinite, kind of the way I'd always imagined the universe to look, making my existence on earth seem so irrelevant when there was so much unknown. I was alone, subject to it, completely entranced by things beyond my control. I was letting my mind go blank for a change, succumbing to the darkness in a way that was almost as comfortable as breathing or falling asleep.

That is, at least, until there was a warm pair of arms wrapping around me from behind.

There was a brief moment where I jumped, feeling his face tuck itself into my shoulder and his arms winding around me tightly, and then I just sank into the embrace. It was like he was telling me without even speaking that it was okay, to not think about it.

And truthfully there were no thoughts of upsetting him dominating my mind at that moment. I was caught up in the feeling itself, a hug that felt for once like so much more than meaningless physical contact. I didn't know where his mind was at but it wasn't unsettling. Somehow I could tell that something had changed. In that moment, all at once, there was forgiveness.

His expression was unreadable as he drew back, though I saw his gaze stop and suddenly focus intently on me. He didn't say a word as we just observed each other, and I felt a twitch of apprehension, wondering if he knew that I overheard.

"What was that for?" I asked disbelievingly, my eyes wide and my cheeks feeling warm. I was about the least deserving of the embrace as I could be at that moment.

He smiled, and I swear my heartbeat quickened so abruptly I had to snap myself back to reality.

"It was for you." He explained enigmatically, a gentle warmness to his tone that reached all the way up to the expression on his face, making his eyes shine.

It was sweet. It was so incredibly and undeniably sweet and if it were a cheesy movie him and I watched together I have no doubt we'd have laughed at my characters internal monologue. As it was, I was struggling a lot to maintain a neutral face. Especially since I was convinced he'd been mad at me earlier. It was really odd to think that so much had happened simply from sharing a bed.

We sat on the rusted platform for another hour, just talking softly, and then his head dropped onto my shoulder and we eventually drifted back to bed.

Now, I involuntarily think about dad seeing where I am now, still here in this bed three hundred miles from home. I can imagine the face he'd make, the way he'd treat me if he ever knew. It's weird, sometimes I can't give less of a fuck and resign myself to seeing how much I can get away with when I'm talking to Phil and other times I'm terrified. I feel like I just think I'm in love, that it's not even real. Surely that's what he'd tell me, and despite how easily someone could dismiss him as wrong, he was someone I looked up to and was loved by until I became a teenager.

You're not queer, Dan. He'd snap at me if I was staring at one person in a crowd too long. Never in front of my mother. It was always when it was just me and him, otherwise I heard it through the floors. You're choosing to follow the trend right now, and you need to realize you're not 'cool' by faking. Nobody wants to be your friend because of it, you don't have any friends. Just drop the act.

Drop the act. The act. I heard that line for years and years.

"What act?!" I remember I'd shouted eventually, on that one night where he'd forced me to hang up on Phil and own up to lies I didn't tell and it all crashed down at once. I think I understand dad better now, I understand that he was afraid of things he couldn't control. But I was so determined to be what he wanted, to be loved and approved of like when I was as a kid, and I didn't know who or what I loved back then. I was never good enough. And that was the night none of that was ever the same.

And look at me now.

He knew before I did. He wouldn't like this at all. Yesterday it had stopped me, a voice in the back of my mind telling me that I was wrong. All of my feelings were wrong. But now I've woken up in the morning with a new revelation above my head, and while there's still a knot in my stomach at the thought of following through with anything I'm feeling, I also can't bring myself to give enough of an effort to really, truly worry.

Like it or not, my dad is probably gone now. That's what roots the fear when love and happiness threaten to overwhelm anything. Because we never resolved it. I left home to run away and hide in London, and then that whole part of my world got ripped out from under me. It's a piece of my story that is broken and will never be fixed, I'll never see him again, and the way I'm choosing to remember him is to do exactly what he feared I always would. But then again, I wonder if he'd be able to stay angry with me if he knew I was truly happy. The guilt will never go away, I'll never be able to tell myself what he thinks doesn't matter. But what would make me entirely, irreversibly happy?

An impulse crosses my mind rather suddenly.

"Phil." I say suddenly. My voice comes out as a whisper and he doesn't seem to hear it at all, not even reacting to the practically inaudible sound of my voice.

I reach over and place a hand on his shoulder, fingers closing around it and squeezing a bit, and he makes a confused, sleepy sound. I shake his shoulder gently.

"Phil?" 

Nothing.

I shake his shoulder again and try a different tactic, offering him an explanation for being awoken. "Wake up, I have an idea for what we need to do today."

The response I finally get is not the one I wanted.

"I'm tired." He groans, his words so mumbled I can barely tell what he's said, deciphering it with deductive reasoning. He tugs the pillow nearest to him over his face to block out the light and curls himself so that his not-visible face is pressed into my side, lying his body in an awkward angle to prevent himself from having to move.

I can't help but feel slightly disappointed, having expected a warmer, sweeter response. What kind of fantasy scenario is this? I thought when pleasant day options were offered the guy was supposed to cooperate. This is why you don't set high expectations for anything, not even Phil.

"Come on, don't you wanna go on an adventure of some kind?" I prod him, but he just pulls the pillow higher over his head. Phil in the morning, especially a prematurely woken Phil is a force to be reckoned with, and I'm being reminded of this very quickly. Far beyond impatient this morning I find myself shoving the covers off and crawling over to him, making the springy mattress bounce, and I see him grab the blankets even more tightly.

I climb on top of him, making him grunt irritably and reward me with a sharp elbow to the chest before he evidently gives up and deflates into the covers. Cool air is all around me now that I've gotten out from under the blanket but I ignore it in favour of trying to get the pillow off his head, to which he obviously doesn't respond to very kindly.

"Phil.." I huff. "Phil. Phil." He shrugs his shoulders.

I lower my head close to where I'd imagine his ear would be, grinning.
"Philly?"

"Mph... fuck off." He groans. He lifts one arm up and clamps his hand to the pillow I'm trying to inch off his head, so I retaliate by letting my knees relax and dropping my full weight on him, eliciting a pained oof.

"Oh no, did I just hear you swear at me?" I gasp, trying to worm my finger under to poke his cheek. "What am I gonna do now? I'm so hurt."

"You called me Philly." He mumbles. "That's like four times worse."

"I have an idea." I insist petulantly, propping my chin onto his shoulder and trying to make him look at me. "We should go for a walk today. Investigate the part of the city we're in."

"Sounds brilliant." He grumbles. "If we don't die first."

I roll my eyes, trying to pry the pillow out of his hand. "Good morning to you too, lovely."

He groans again. "Same to you, sweetheart."

Sarcasm drips from his voice but I still end up sputtering, feeling immensely flustered by the comeback I wasn't expecting,

"Please, Phil?" I stammer, my voice embarrassingly higher.

"No."

"You're not even going to hear me out?" I protest, seeing him shake his head before I'm even done speaking. His foot nudges against my leg weakly and I realize he's trying to nudge me off, munch to my dismay.

"Not unless you have some plan to persuade me."

"What if I-" I see him lift his head and it's literally the worst time for the two of us to make eye contact, but his sleepy eyes meet mine in this exact moment and my mouth stumbles over my words, hoping to make some witty joke about what we could possibly do.

"-take you on a date?" I blurt.

He makes a choked sound, and that's when I finally manage to yank the pillow away from him, immediately reaching forward and hugging my arms around his head. He makes a sound of protest and even manages a weak hit to my arm, but now he's stuck in a headlock of sorts and I have him exactly where I want him.

"What?!" His voice comes out a squeak and I realize I've just woken him up for good, speaking into his hair with a self-satisfied tone.

"That got your attention."

He rubs his eyes tiredly, trying to avoid meeting my eyes and hide the flush creeping up his cheeks. "Shut up. There's a hundred other ways you could have worded a walk with me."

There's a nervous jump in my heart but I ignore it, moving my face into the back of his head and drawing my words out to annoy him.

"See, I've never been on a date before." I murmur in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, "and you'll never get the chance again. So I say we ditch everybody, and take each other."

It's a risky joke, I don't really mean to say it, but I've already let the words out so this shitty explanation with have to suffice. He may be gay but that won't get me anywhere if I'm suddenly unbearably awkward all the time, though luckily at the moment he just seems flustered and amused.

He hides his face in the mattress and it takes several seconds for him to choke out response, his voice weak and dumbfounded. "You said walk initially."

"Yeah, but a bro date is more exciting." I say with a meek shrug.

"A bro date?"

"Bro brunch?" I try weakly.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." He mumbles. "It's too early for brunch and all we have is canned beans. You're just trying to get me out of bed."

"Oh, I'm definitely doing that." I laugh wickedly and draw my hands away from his head, moving to try and shove my hands under his hoodie and down his back again with the knowledge that the cold got me what I wanted last time. That's when he finally seems to snap awake.

"No." He protests, shoving me off of him and sitting up, a terrified expression on his face. "You will not be freezing me to death again."

I smirk, reaching my hands forward threateningly, and he scrambles away from me in an instant.

I move to sit up but he shoves me back down and grabs his pillow, hitting me in the shoulder so that I fall against the mattress in a defensive ball.

"Ow! Hey!" I try to get him back but a pillow catches me in the face this time
and whacks me repeatedly until I finally relent. I grab the pillow in midair and curl up with my arms around it, settling my head on his knee so he won't take it away from me.

He lets go of the pillow and I smirk at him knowingly, squishing it to my chest and laying down. I feel him settle his hand on my shoulder, kneading the muscles lightly, and that's when I know I've won.

"I hate you." He says softly.

"You must." I agree. "I always get what I want."

"To think I was actually worried about you last night. I should have remembered what a jerk you are." He frowns at me in mock anger and I punch him in the side, then snap back up and jokingly cup his cheek.

"You know you really should be delighted that you get to go somewhere with me." I tease, lowering my voice. "Considering I'm gorgeous and all."

His face burns a horrific shade of red not at all helped by the grey lighting or the paleness of his cheeks, and I have to hold in my laugh for the sake of his dignity. I feel slightly bad for reminding him he called me that last night, for embarrassing him. He knows it's just a joke but he doesn't have to know whether I mean it. He's oblivious anyway.

It hits me suddenly as my hand draws away. Am I flirting with him? It makes my mind lurch to a stop for a second and I can't even hear what he's saying. I've never flirted with anyone before. Never felt the need to. It's not even new really. It's just our banter, except I'm now suddenly aware of how you'd never catch banter of this kind between Mark and Felix.

I am, aren't I? I can't help that I am though. Every time his hand touches to my shoulder I feel butterflies rear up in my chest, and there's this magnetic feeling like I need to be close to him at all times. He's tantalizing, addicting, and there really isn't anyone else that makes me feel like this. The words are just popping out of my mouth, disguised under layers of humour.

"You're totally messing with me." He retorts.

"I am." I agree. I sit up and lift my head off his knee, hitching my leg over the side of the bed. "But you're awake now. So let's go."

"Ugh." He sighs dramatically and falls against me in a theatric collapse, making me tip and scramble to grab his arm so I don't fall over sideways. His cheek is pressed clumsily into my shoulderblade and I lower my shoulder a bit so the positions is less awkward, indulging in the unusually proximate start this morning has gotten off to.

"Were you actually worried about me last night?" I ask quietly, composure getting the best of me for a moment as a more serious line of thinking enters my brain. He's only just said it in passing but just as always I'm worried about him, thinking way too deep into it like I always do.

He looks up at me in surprise and he clearly wants me to just move past it but I can't, I'm thrown that he could have in any way thought last night's mistake was his fault.

He sits up, meeting my eyes a little more seriously despite the light atmosphere we've adopted, and then very deliberately nods his head.

"Phil."

I want to tell him no but his expression looks guilty, his head shaking before I can speak over him. "I should have listened to you, Dan." He says honestly. "I should know you better by now, but instead I went and assumed you were just going back on what you said as if words alone could make it stop mattering. It was stupid, and I'm sorry. I'm so selfish all the time."

"No." I protest. "I did. I didn't even mean it-"

"-I know you didn't."

"Listen to me." I look him dead in the eye and nearly lose my breath when I notice the colours. His eyes, which I'd always taken to be described just as blue are actually what can only be described as three colours at once- they're blue yes, but the irises are swirled with tints of light green and the greens around his pupils are shot through with a pale yellow, a virtual oceanic universe focused on me all at once. Seeing how I wasn't expecting this observation, it seems to come out of nowhere. I shake my head.

"You didn't deserve any of this at all." I scold him. "You, Phil Lester, are one of the least selfish people here, and frankly your reaction was warranted because I was a dick." He looks at me in shock and I stand up and offer him my hand, feeling him take it to help him to his feet before he drops it again limply, too focused on what I'm saying to him.

"But I'm the one who didn't hear you out."

"It doesn't matter." I stare at his dejected expression. "Please."

"No. I'm not gonna make you listen to the whole story but... I was selfish. It was so stupid."

"So let's not talk about it." I say gently. I can smell something cooking in the air and my stomach growls at the thought of something to eat. "There's food. Let's go get something to eat."

He sits still and it's clear that he's overthinking this way more than I am, frustration bubbling in my stomach.

"Phil. Stop."

I stretch out a hand and before I know it I've brushed my hand over his forehead, pushing his fringe back into a clumsily settled quiff and smiling at him gently. I see the tension fade almost instantly, he calms visibly just at the feeling of my touch, and it makes me wonder why I've never done it before.

"Are you sure?" He asks me, his voice tentative.

"I'm sure." I'm more than sure actually.

I turn to walk away with the assumption that he'll follow and he grips my wrist before we've walked through the doorway, stopping me quite abruptly and making me blink owlishly at him in surprise, trying not to let a flush creep up to my cheeks in response to the touch of his hand.

"So is it a date or not?" He questions. His fingers close around my skin and he looks at me curiously, almost like he thinks that I meant it.

For a second his expression is serious and my heart stutters to a halt in my chest, terror spiking through me as I debate whether or not to give a genuine answer. I don't know what to say.

Then he smirks, and I realize he's only messing with me. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.

"No." I say with a laugh. Not yet, anyway. "Unless you'd like to explain what a bro brunch is."

"I don't know what the hell a bro brunch is." He protests.

I stop and consider for a moment, weighing my options. This earns me a curious look and Phil stops just before the door, eyeing me, but another idea has surfaced.

"I don't have any food to give but maybe... what if we don't tell anyone we're going?" I suggest. I'm worried he might shoot this idea down so I hurry on, not even stopping to see his reaction until I've properly explained myself. It sounds a bit dodgy like that and I'm well-aware. "We'll pretend we're pressing pause for a day. You and I can just take a day trip. We'll go for a walk and see around the city, close enough that if there's any danger, we can get back, but far enough away that we can just be us for a change."

I'm not even sure what I mean by that, exactly. It seems to spark something in him though, his groggy expression more focused on me. I find myself feeling oddly sheepish.

"So you quite literally wanna up and ditch everyone."

I swallow. "Yes."

"You want to risk those clouds out there?" He adds, eyeing the window and seeming to notice the heaviness of the morning for the first time.

"Yes." The truth is, I want to be alone, like a great distance away from everyone alone with him more than anything else. Just to sort my head out. And maybe that's wrong.  It's all I can think about, though.

He looks surprised by this but presses on, finally meeting my eyes.

"You'll be stuck with me for the whole day."

"That's the idea, yeah." I blurt. "Are you okay with that?"

I want to fall through the floor and disappear for how disgustingly obvious I am. I don't understand it, the difference between loving him and loving him that's caused such a failure in my composure. Where looking at him used to be pleasant, now it's a friendly predicament. I can't even cast my eyes to his lips, this overwhelming secrecy driving me crazy but impossibly pleasant to feel as well. This boy makes me so goddamn happy.

Not that he'd know by the way I'm frowning most of the time. Phil accustomed himself to my scowls a long time ago, knows how to read in between the lines. I bet he even knows how desperately I want to get away with him for a while. One day is all I want, one day and one night if could have anything, away from all of it. Does he even want to, after how terribly I've delivered it? Does he even really want to do this when it means being vulnerable with no one but me?

"Of course." He breathes unexpectedly. "Oh god yeah, let's do this."

I'm stunned by his enthusiasm as he starts forward a little more willingly than before, still yawning but expression inexplicably happy. He walks right past me before stopping and turning around, and I'm caught up in his look so fast I almost want to blurt to him that I know what he's hiding. It feels massively unfair that it's given me confidence.

I shake my head to clear it and follow him, feet swishing on the carpet floor of the hall.

We both make our way to the living room and find Felix and Mark on the larger couch. Beard is cooking over a small fire set on the stove and Cat's nowhere to be seen, Earring also missing but his bag sat on the floor.

The living room is small. It's painted a warm neutral that suggests the landlord picked it to meet the needs of several different lifestyles and there's two couches, one smaller than the other with a coffee table in front of it and a TV, black-screened obviously, just set in the corner. The sliding door to the balcony rises up just to the right of it, giving a slight view of the immediate city and reminding me of all that transpired behind it last night.

Phil sits down on the smaller couch and his head droops a little, eyes shutting again and betraying how sleepy he still is, and without even thinking about it, I sit down next him. Mark meets my questioning gaze and I wonder if maybe Phil isn't even tired but avoiding his eyes, waiting for him to say something but awkward in the face of what was said between them yesterday. Neither of them know what I heard of course, but Mark might as well for the look he's wearing.

"Morning." Is what I end up hearing, Mark choosing to address us. "Cat's gone with Earring to check out the streets and see how dangerous it actually down there. She says good morning to both of you."

Felix looks up involuntarily as I settle down and our eyes meet, making me remember just how much there is between us. I look away first.

"How long have you been up?" I ask Mark conversationally.

He lifts a spoonful of food to his mouth, eyeing me attentively and apparently not missing this exchange. "About an hour. I heard some monsters wandering by my window before the sun even rose. Pissed me off, actually."

He gives me a tentative smile and I see Felix still watching us both silently. I wonders if he knows what Phil told Mark last night. I wonder if Cat does. Mark clearly still feels he's responsible for making things bad last night but I can't honestly be angry about it. Not when I woke up in bed with my best friend sleeping next to me.

"It's fine." I say quietly, in answer to the expression. Though he hasn't vocally asked it and Felix won't understand, I can tell right away that he knows what I mean. Phil and I are fine. More than fine actually, we're hoping to sneak away from him today.

My body moves before my mind does and I find myself reaching out to wrap an arm around Phil's shoulder, rubbing a comforting circle and quieting any doubts Mark might have. Nobody comments, which is strange, but I don't care anyway, which is even stranger.

"Wake up." I mutter to him quietly, earning me a lazy head lift and a small fleeting smile, at least assuring me he doesn't mind. He doesn't actually answer though, not even when Beard walks over to us with a bowl of soup again like yesterday, but with different ingredients, he just accepts it, so I nod thanks for the both of us.

"Come on, you're hamming it up so much." I mutter as our companion turns away and Phil sinks back into the sofa crease behind himself, smiling dreamily and also pinning my arm so I couldn't let go if I tried. I'd blush, but it's far too clear what I'm feeling already without me allowing that. He's not as tired as he's playing it up to be, he's just using it as an excuse to make me look stupid, but it's so incredibly adorable in unto itself that I could almost punch him for the smile he's making appear on my face in front of everybody.

"Welcome to Broxbourne, my friends." Beard announces. "Home of the confederation." He he hands me a spoon that he probably found in the cutlery drawer of this house and for some reason my mind actually thinks to wonder whether it's clean. It's not that I care, really, it's just a distinct thought. I spoon some of the soup into my mouth and since a bit at the heat, but it tastes good and we eat in silence for a while.

Beard eventually puts out his hazardous fire and sits up on a stool to eat his food which is balanced next to a porcelain pig sculpture on the countertop, the colour of its skin matching the accents on the room. It's a strange sight to see as he pulls out the gun I traded him and begins to reload it with bullets from his bag between eating, his gruff figure comically out of place.

"Now that you guys are awake there was something my brother and I wanted to talk to you about," he says thoughtfully. "But, as he's conveniently gone off to help a perfectly capable half-life of yours on exploration duty I'm just gonna have to do this on my own."

He looks over to Mark and Mark nods at him encouragingly, making me question what this is about. After such a grand introduction I've been reminded suddenly of where we are, so close to headquarters of the people who want me dead.

"Talk to us about what?" I ask, confused.

"There's been... a bit of a change of plans." Beard elaborates.

Plans for what? I nudge Phil and he sits up reluctantly, raising his eyebrows as my arm draws away.

"What do you mean?" He asks for both of us, and Felix looks at me solemnly, his friend filling in the blanks.

"I may have told him about your immunity." Mark admits haltingly, "but it's for a good reason! Just listen to us."

My heart skips a beat in my chest. "You what?!"

"Listen." He assures me. "If you hear the reason it'll make a lot more sense."

My chest tightens and I feel uncomfortably vulnerable, exposed to a stranger a secret that can't afford not to be kept.

"If they're with the confederation they could turn us in right now." Phil immediately protests. He looks to Beard apologetically but his tone doesn't change, his shoulders tensing next to me. He has a habit of spiralling into a small panic whenever something beyond his control happens, I can practically hear his mind screaming out all the dangers Mark has subjected us to.

"You don't have to worry." Beard assures us, or Phil mostly. "You think after all the people we've smuggled under their nose and all of their men that we've lied to that we'd ever be in alliance?"

"You'd be surprised what I'll believe." I reply darkly.

He nods at that, to my surprise not offended at all but actually understanding me.

"My brother's kids are the priority," he tells us. "We'll have to leave for a day to go get them but after that, I was thinking we'll all set up in central for this whole operation. We'll have to leave this place eventually because it's not nearly close enough to help your friends, but once Jamie and Mikey are back, I think we should move and think about our options."

I stare at him incredulously, realizing what this means. Our guides have decided to stay with us, we've somehow given them a reason to want to. "What's with the sudden increase in loyalty?"

Mark exchanges a look with him that I don't understand, but clearly I'm about to find out.

"They took the last immune guy a long time ago." He says quietly. "He was famous all through the city, because the confederation hasn't been able to find another one anywhere in the world. They post signs in sections of the city where large groups of people or gangs are- offering rewards if they find one. Nobody has. I hear it all the time from the people I drive: I wish I could find someone with immunity. The signs are everywhere so the reward must be good."

The man who Mark and Felix knew. The one who helped survivors out of London. He fell into their hands a long time ago, and now for all they know, I could quite literally be the only immune person left.

The only one. It doesn't feel real, honestly. It makes me feel sick.

"I don't want to alarm you, Dan." Beard says worriedly. Phil's now looking at me in a way he never has before and my breathing is getting far too shallow. This isn't good. "But you've been given a rare chance. The confeds are powerful but they're clumsy, in a way. They seem so imposing because everything they do is biological warfare. Nobody can get near them because they risk getting infected by anything, depending on how sensitive they are. A bite, a scratch, maybe even consumption of an infected animal, but the difference is you aren't affected by any of that."

"That's why they want you." Mark says. "Because they want to find a virus to combat immune blood."

Of course they'd want to. The virus can't continue without attaining full potential. Surely I can't be the first.

"Why don't they just kill me then?" I blurt, making Phil flinch. "Why do they want to capture me so badly if they could just have me out of the way? That would solve the problem!"

My voice is shaking but I don't care. This all means only one thing to me.

It means I could be the only immune person left in the entire world, and that's fucking terrifying, having that dropped on me out of nowhere. The entire confederation knows about my secret, plus the half-life camp and god knows how many others that have been told now. The brothers have decided to stay because they think I could start some kind of revolution, a way to take action that they just couldn't initiate.

If I'm the only one that can resist their disease then I'm the only person alive who can possibly stop them, and that means I have a choice.

I can stay in hiding forever, dodging the literal thousands of people seeking me and fighting to keep Phil and my friends alive forever, but that means risking the freedom of Chris and PJ and possibly even solidifying their deaths.

I remember the brief few days where the group was all together. How Chris and PJ never left the other's side until the end. The way their hands would brush absently when they were nearby, even if there was no cause, how PJ's expression lightened every time their gazes met. They way the whole world was put on hold for Chris to whisper reassuring words to his boyfriend. That was love. I know that now.

I'm a boy with a boyfriend. Chris had told me. I know love when I see it, Dan.

He made me realize what's probably an even bigger part of myself than the status of my blood, and yet I still have the option to sacrifice him for safety. I could keep Phil out of danger but essentially betray my other friends with my inaction.

Or I could fight to take the confederation down. If there's immunity then they're must be a cure, and rescuing Chris and PJ could be the only way to find it. Chris knows the inner workings of the government like the back of his hand after working with Wirrow, who I'm now beginning to suspect might even be the leader of it all. Making the attempt would be incredibly dangerous, and my friends would never let me try it on my own. I'm caught at a near impossible crossroads, torn between doing what my heart wants and what the world needs.

The possibility of ending the apocalypse had never seemed real before. But it might actually be in my hands, and I have to pick one of the two options because I can never get away now. They'll pursue me my whole life if they have to, it has nothing to do with whether or not I'm scared. And I am scared, I'm not a hero. I have to balance my heart and the existence of others, the choice before me to save the earth or to stay out of the way and shelter Phil from all of it.

A drop of water in the desert versus a rainstorm in the jungle. A safe house with a broken core or a mansion in the path of a hurricane. It comes down to choice, the overwhelming terror I have as a person versus the greater good of all. Oddly enough a line from a Muse song comes floating into my mind, the message echoing my situation grimly.

Counterbalance this commotion. We're not droplets in the ocean.

The danger of protecting Phil versus the pressure to save the world. We aren't irrelevant faces in the crowd. Considering we're the only ones who ever managed to escape, we might be the only people left who can do anything.

I suddenly feel really sick. My face must go white because now Phil's hand is on my knee and everyone has fallen silent, and my heart is beating way too fast.

Even so, Beard quietly answers my question. "They want you alive, Dan, because you're more useful alive... than dead."

And that's when the dizziness starts. I hear the fuzzy ringing starting up in my ears and feel more intensely my heartbeat, and it hits me like an old friend.

"I-I-"

My bowl slips and Phil somehow manages to catch it in time, setting it aside and shuffling closer frantically. I'd never thought about it that way before.

I feel a warm hand touch to my face. My eyes are squeezed shut because I don't want to freak out now when everybody's watching but reality is overwhelming, I cling to the hand until they can open again.

It's no surprise when I open my eyes and see Phil staring back at me. I can feel his breath ghosting my face as he looks at me with wide eyes.

"Hey," he whispers. "You're all right. You're okay."

"All of us are behind you Dan." I hear someone else say unexpectedly.

My eyes jump over in disbelief, seeing Felix looking at me with a serious expression.

"You know that, right?" He looks at me sadly and I don't know how to answer him, my throat closed and mind racing like it is. Phil's hand retracts and he lowers it to start running his thumb gently over mine instead, subtle and yet calming as Felix holds the gaze.

"We want to save Peej and Chris." He continues. "And it's not like we want you dead. We're still a group."

"We look out for each other." Mark agrees. "We're your friends."

It's silent for a moment and we all exchange glances, and then Mark scoffs and shakes his head.

"Wow," he breathes quietly, shrugging at our confusion. "I don't think I've ever said that out loud before. Try not to choke on the sentiment."

The tension breaks and Phil laughs lightly, looking to me with an almost-smile. It's odd but somehow amazing in itself. I don't hate him anymore and it's come right from his mouth, we're their friends now and it's actually a given that we defend each other's lives.

Felix for obvious reasons doesn't add to that but instead lowers his eyes, and I feel no urgent need to press him.

I close my eyes for a moment, my breaths deep and slow.

"I'm not... I'm not some kind of weapon that can help in any way." I protest wearily. "I'm not some sort of vigilante figurehead."

"You have us too." Beard puts in. "My brother and I know our way around this city really well. We're experts at avoiding the confederation, if you've forgotten. It's not all on you."

They're reminding me that I'm not alone, but they can't risk their safety for someone they barely know. The task he's imagining is massive.

"I'm dangerous." I continue. "I've already put so many people in danger."

I'm thinking about Phil, about Mark and Felix. I'm thinking about Chris and PJ who got kidnapped in my place and Marzia who died because I wasn't fast enough.

"That's not on you Dan." Felix blurts.

My eyes widen. "Not on me? Aren't you the one who said that what happened to-"

"-Marzia wasn't your fault." He says heavily. His head lifts and suddenly blue eyes are boring into me with an urgent expression, and his voice is so tremulous I can't even think to protest. "I know what I said, listen to what I'm saying now."

It's like a massive weight lifts off my chest in that moment. The worry doesn't dissolve but the sheer responsibility and aloneness does, slowly being replaced by awkwardness at the thought of handling it so badly. I need to get out.

"Okay, he needs some time to uh, process that." Phil blurts awkwardly. "Great."

"Uh, yeah. Th-thanks." I manage, shooting what should be a confident stare in Beard's direction but mostly just feeling flustered. Phil's hand on mine is not helping the situation and I remember Mark mentioning that moment in the tube, but I'm not going to correct it. It's what I want and it's true.

I grab Phil's arm and pull him to his feet. Our walk is beginning a lot earlier than planned, I can't be here another minute longer. I'll figure it all out later but for now I definitely need to vanish.

Mark gives me a weird look.

"Do you guys have somewhere to be today?" He asks confusedly. "You only just got here"

"I'm just... gonna... talk to Phil." I lie, already backing out of the room. "We'll be back."

Nobody stops us out of confusion and I let go of Phil as soon as we're out of sight. Rather than moving, though, we just stay in the hallway for a second. I see Phil's hand curled tightly into a fist, his stress balled up in a hidden way that went unnoticed during the conversation and reach over to uncurl it, sliding my thumb into the gap and prying his fingers free. He doesn't even seem to mind really, just opens his hand and lets it drop back down to his side.

We lean back against the walls and just stare at each other tiredly, similar ideas crossing our minds in a very similar fashion.

"Screw breakfast." He whispers decidedly.

While short, I wouldn't say the meal was the most successful conversation I've ever had. Now our alliance is bigger and my fears even greater, I hardly even know where to begin.

"Yeah, screw breakfast." I agree. We turn slowly and try to take quiet, unnoticeable steps, heading for the fire escape while the conversation continues without us.

~~~

"I have a confession to make."

We've just stepped out onto the street and an idea's crossed his mind, hovering between us as we begin walking. I take in the homely looking street that I'd been too preoccupied to pay attention to when we'd arrived here, crumbling facades and broken shop windows not taking away from my imagination of what this place probably looked like before. I've taken to see a beauty in ruin nowadays actually, knowing it's attractive in its own way with the dark colours and pleasant isolation. It feels more like me than perfection would, the world stripped down the bare bones of reality but still beautiful in architecture, green ivy and plant life taking back the world it belongs to. It's calming.

I look to Phil and see a whole other kind of calm. Just like the city around us he's imperfect in the most beautiful way, pale skin bruised and scraped a little, hair tossed around and sleep-swept. He looks tired but older than he really is, worn but still full of life. He exists as a strange creature compared to the rest of us, blue eyes taking in the world and really seeing it while we go on cynical and unsure. I wonder if he knows, if he's every truly been told that his flaws aren't even flaws really. They're Phil things, rare and unfathomable that this person could exist. Just as there will never be another London, there will never be another Phil, and the parallel is strange.

How we're here together now is it's own phenomenon, I think silently. What a screwed up world we live in. We could die any day now and somehow that doesn't even matter to me, I see death as nothing more than a challenge to face. I've shot a man to death because he was going to kill the only person now left that I can honestly admit I love, and though his cause was evil, somehow it felt justified in his mind and I felt guilt in mine. This world brought Phil and I together and I can't see it without him, and we're still together. I don't know how it's possible.

"What's that?" I ask him absently, studying the street ahead and feeling my muscles relax the further and further we get from other people. We aren't totally helpless- Phil has his axe secured to his belt like always and I have the knife Mark gave me in the tunnel, and it's not like we're abandoning our friends. It's just the idea of having to spend the day in that flat trying to figure out how to breach the government and save our friends when we haven't even gotten a strong enough foothold in our location yet. We're taking a day trip, a day out, and even though Phil's eyes keep casting up to the sky, I don't plan to let weather stop that.

"I know where we are." He says unexpectedly. Whatever I'd been thinking, profound as it seemed to be getting, my thoughts cut off immediately at this admission.

He knows where we are. While this should be a given considering he used to live in London, it's still a massive city and the chances of that being so are close to nothing, especially since it's been heavily marred in the surface. Considering the situation, having Phil know this area in proximity to everything could actually be the difference between Chris and PJ's survival.

"Really?" I ask. "Why didn't you say that before? Everybody thinks we're grasping at straws."

"We're on the southeast side of central London, about to enter Broxboune." He says hesitantly, like there's more to it than that.

I've gotten about that far myself, considering Beard and earring announced it. I guess it's useful that this walk will be well-navigated, but I'm not sure how recognizing part of the city could really matter. I guess maybe he feels a bit weird, seeing his hometown covered in smoke and broken debris. I'm not sure.

"So... you know where we're going if we get lost or-?"

He shakes his head.

"No, this is near the station that I met you at." He says quietly, and the look in his eyes is a bit distracted. "It's about four blocks from my old apartment, Dan."

I blink, trying to orient myself.

Mistaking my silence, he gulps nervously. "I..."

Understanding slams into me immediately. "Woah. Phil."

He bites his lip and takes a deep breath earnestly, I take hold of his hands and he squeezes back. It's oddly emotional, but it's also just hard to believe.

"You mean like your apartment that we stayed at?" I ask, staring around the area as if his building will suddenly just rise up in front of us.

"The one we left a year and a half ago?" He questions. "Y-Yes."

He looks down at his shoes and I can practically feel the unspoken attachment to this in the air, the other half of his sentence that he can't bring himself to say.

"You want to go see it." I supply. It's the first thought I have in response to that, the immediate suggestion in noticing we're a mere twenty minutes' walk from the place where it all started.

Come to think of it, it's crazy to think that when the apocalypse started Phil and I had probably been this close to the confederation. We saw the first zombies on the streets and had no idea what was going on, the monsters let loose only a block or two from his home. They could have had us right then and there and we would've never known, gone before it even started.

And now we're back, back where it all began. Or at least almost there. I don't recognize the area we're in but Phil definitely does.

A strange expression crosses his face and more a moment it looks like he doesn't, a mixture of fear and uncertainty that doesn't take too much thinking to understand. He looks at me seriously, something deeper in the expression.

"I don't know." He admits.

And though it's not my situation exactly, I know exactly how he feels when he says that. Because it's real, it's not far away from us, and it'll give him closure.

But it also means he'll have to go back.

"Look at me." I insist. "Do you?"

"I think so." He admits. "I know there was a fire and its probably gone, but I just- if you had the chance, wouldn't you want to go home again?"

Wouldn't you want to go home.

Depends on which "home" he's referring to. I don't want to see my parents' houses. I don't want to know the whereabouts of my mother and brother if they're not alive or see the framed pictures of my father holding me as a baby lying cracked and dusty on the floor of his house like the family photo in the old apartment we stayed at. I don't really even want to remember those homes, it wasn't much of a home at all.

I guess really I felt more at home when I stayed with Phil back in the day. I remember the feeling I got as soon as I walked through his crappy apartment's door, the immense rush off relief like a weight lifting off my shoulders.

Back then, life away from Phil felt like strings pulling me down, the smallest effort to progress my life a weight too heavy in my mind. I saw the look in Phil's eyes the first time he visited my bedroom at my parents' back when they were still together, the surprise- I think- at seeing the lack of cleaning I did, the suggestion of a person who couldn't muster the effort. How could he have known? I was always so alive when we were together. The neglected state of my room was the perfect metaphor for what I'd been before him and likely what I'd be without him.

It catches me off guard, the fact that he so casually refers to the place I took refuge in as home, rather than him saying my home, like I'm included in the memory of a place that was all his own. It does strange things to my heart, and little does he know, it reaffirms the steadily growing feelings I can't pretend I don't have for him. It's unstoppable now- there's no way I can avoid it when he's so genuinely kind even in unconscious ways, and it makes it hard to stay looking at him.

I avert my eyes, blushing hard for the third time in less than twenty four hours.

"You're not just calling it both of our homes because my home life was shit, are you?" I ask him nervously. "I mean you're right, it never felt like home there but you don't have to say that when I was basically clinging to you."

He looks shocked, probably not anticipating the direction my mind was going in and rushes to reassure me. "No, no." He says hurriedly. "I wasn't even thinking. You don't have to like, refer to my old apartment as home because you obviously didn't live there but at the same time it kind of felt like... you did, you know?"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess. But wasn't I annoying you by showing up all the time whenever I was too scared to use the university's laundromat?"

"Dan this is going to sound so stupid." He admits quietly. "But I wanted- or I thought I might..."

I raise my gaze back to his again, curious, and though our hands slowly draw out of the hold they're in the conversation still feels oddly intimate. He's hesitating and I'm on edge in anticipation of what he might say.

I poke him, prodding his answer. "You might...?"

"I thought I'd maybe ask you to move in one day." He blurts. "You know, like a flatmate."

I'm planning to keep a neutral expression on my face but that resolve goes out the window the moment he says that. I gape at him, then realize we've both stopped walking, hurriedly moving forward again. We don't know where we're going but he follows along wordlessly, silent as I try to respond intelligently to that.

"You-"

"...yeah."

I gape at him like an idiot and he smiles at me sheepishly, probably about as flustered sharing that admission with me as I am receiving it.

"Yeah?"

"I mean you were over so much it was practically a given already, but I... yeah, I really wanted to ask you."

The idea of living with Phil floats around in my head. It's nice. Overwhelmingly so. I don't know what it is about the idea. Maybe it's the fact that in this world, permanently sharing a flat with just him is currently not possible, or maybe it's because he was going to be the one to ask me.

"You actually wanted to... live with me?" I ask in disbelief.

A small smile appears on his face and he looks up at the buildings around us, meeting my gaze eventually with a renewed shyness to his voice.

"Yeah, more than anything actually."

My heart leaps and before I can stop myself I'm grinning, feeling so inexplicably happy about the notion that I can hardly contain it. He chuckles at the expression, pleasantly surprised, I suppose.

"It sucks that it can't happen now." He sighs, kicking a stone at his feet.

"You know this whole blood thing is probably the worst thing to ever happen to us." I point out tiredly. "Think about how much has happened just because I'm apparently virus-proof."

Phil meets my dejected gaze and for whatever reason looks uncomfortable with it, looking down to my hands instead.

"Honestly," he tells me, "with Mark and Beard, I think they should have been a little more tactful when they brought up their plan."

I'm surprised by the way he's jumped straight to that, but I suppose that observation isn't wrong.

"But it's true, isn't it?" I remind him.

"It doesn't matter. You're your own person and it's not your job to have to suddenly attack the government because you have something you can't change."

Our friends might all be quick to claim that they'd stand behind me no matter what went wrong in our desperate motions to save Chris and PJ, but Phil has me realizing that I might be putting too much pressure on myself. I can't think of another way out of this, though. Eventually we'll have to figure something out.

"We don't even know for sure that you're immune." He continues. "I don't want you get thrown recklessly into a crowd of zombies or something and then find out I'm never gonna see you again. Do you know what I'm saying?"

I nod. "Yeah, but it's not about me, Phil. It's about our friends and the rest of the world and you."

"And me." He repeats.

"Of course. If it were up to me the world would probably be screwed because I'd be saving you from a burning building or something."

He blinks and hides his face, trying to conceal the way his lips have curved up into a smile.

"You're just saying that because you know I wouldn't have said no to you even if it were pouring rain out here." He groans, knocking his shoulder into mine and making me stumble. Despite myself, I feel a smile cross my face too. "You secretly hate me and think I'm wrapped around your finger."

"And here you are walking with me." I observe quietly. "Taking my mind off it all after ditching our friends. You soppy fuck."

His eyes widen and he stares at me, concern crossing his features even though his eyes are still appreciative of me.

"Did you tell them we were going?"

I shake my head.

"Oh god," he exclaims, laughing at the realization. "I didn't either. We just totally left them! They're gonna kill us."

We didn't tell the others we left, we just did. It's a risky idea to separate like this in an apocalypse, but honestly I'm coming to crave this element of danger in my life. If I look at it honestly, it's basically counterbalancing every other part of my life. I can't have death hanging over my head all the time and simultaneously stay stationary.

"They'll live without us for one afternoon." I say dismissively. "I don't feel like hanging out in there all day."

"Let's just talk about something else." He suggests brightly. "It doesn't have to be all doom and gloom all the time."

I just stare at him for a second. It sinks in that he's genuinely trying to comfort me, to keep me happy, making a conscious effort to assure that what's been dropped on me earlier won't weigh on me like the other events of the last did. To move past it, to move on, he's prodding me forward. It means so much and I don't know how to tell him.

"That's not my branding, though." I complain jokingly, hoping he feels the warmth in my words. "I wouldn't be being true to myself."

His hand brushes mine and I nearly jump out of my skin, looking slowly over at him and feeling his finger curl around my index. His eyes are on my face and I can feel my hand twitch, a niggling need to just lace our fingers together finding me while my mind feels suddenly shy.

"It's just walking." He reminds me. "And there's no one around to look composed for."

He bridges the distance and squeezes my hand gently before letting go, and I feel it in tandem. A burst of nerves, a pooling of warmth spreading from the core of my chest. A fondness and calm that's eluded me for three days. I feel the warmth of his touch even after I've lost it, and I just can't fathom how important it feels. My thoughts gather like the clouds above and Phil's pale hand hovers close enough to touch, nothing but my own doubt keeping me from reaching again.

And so we just walk for a while.

The sky darkens and even begins to emit low rumbles but for whatever reason, I don't mind. The wind picks up and the temperature drops, but with Phil's black hoodie hung over my shoulders, it's not like I'm feeling it much.

There's no real direction to our wandering. The streets all look rather similar, we're obviously on the outskirts of Broxbourne district based on the borough-like arrangements of these shops and flats. Everything looks washed-out and dull in the greyish light of the mid day but it doesn't matter, the vibrancy of the figure next to me dulls it all out.

Walking with Phil is pleasant because we can exist together in the silence. We follow the path of our street until side streets and a main road become visible, wandering down the main road out of curiosity for whether or not we might find a familiar landmark. There's a comfort in not needing to say anything. It's relaxing beyond belief to let the wind and the storm to do the talking, I don't even sink into my own thoughts but just let myself be nothing, the sounds of our feet tapping over the cracked pavement the only sound.

It's times like this where I'm reminded of how big a place the world is. It feels like we're the only people for miles around, big buildings with blank windows staring at us from all sides.

Phil gets excited about one street in particular and insists we turn down it, and after only about a minute of wandering it we encounter a zombie corpse. It's dead, long-dead, but we still skirt around the ominous spectacle and see no other signs of life, previous or current alike. I'm worried that he thinks he recognizes the scenery and I don't want him to be let down if he's wrong, at the same time he's gained a new kind of energy in his step and I'm treated to small grabs and touches every time he directs me somewhere else, which of course I won't object to.

"Just be honest," I pant after he's walked us at an above normal pace for several minutes in a row. "Do you know where we are currently?"

He hesitates before slowing his pace at my obvious exhaustion, probably cursing me inwardly for being so out of shape even a year later.

"No, but if I see my house, I wanna stop and look at it." He murmurs, his hand bumping mine on accident as he starts forward again. It makes my heart jump and I have no idea how can't feel the nervous sparks every time it happens. It's happening every time now that I'm aware these little moments exist.

I wonder if these small things have any meaning to him. I try to imagine being Phil, pretending his heart would start beating faster every time our hands touched, his eyes softening every time our gazes met, a smile unable to stop itself from pushing onto his face because he just couldn't stop himself from doing so when we're both happy. I want it more than anything else in this moment, a giddiness creeping into me again as his fingers wind around my elbow and direct me onto the next block. You can't force someone to fall in love but you can't stop yourself from doing it either, just his damn touch is making my mind reel far too much.

"Hey, Phil." I start haltingly, only to realize he's off in his own little world right now.

He's started to walk slightly ahead of me, his eyes raised to the higher floors of the buildings and the tops of the trees in avid fascination, a childlike look of fixation in his eyes. I jog up to walk next to him again and he steps a slight bit to the left so that we're walking closer, but otherwise his focus seems to be somewhere else.

The need to hold his hand again prods gently at my subconscious. It's just the pleasantness of it all, the way it felt so right back in the tunnel. It's not like some movie or novel or something, I don't feel a burning urge or an overwhelming love for him that's forcing me to think this, it's just a simple thought, the idea of how nice it could be. I'm quickly coming to realize that not all of this is as complex as I'd expected, it's just genuine comfort in small contact and physical affection.

You're gay as hell and you have no idea that I know that. I think to myself as I cast him a sideways glance, his blue eyes the turning the colour of the sky right now, a heavy, cloudy grey. You're walking along probably thinking about being home and making pancake breakfasts, no concept at all of a person thinking these thoughts about you.

As if on cue he stops in his place and looks down the road to a crosswalk, and his look takes on a sudden intensity. I just follow along and let him choose the path, one moment of freedom for me from my own thoughts.

Then we round a corner.

I see an array of shops, their windows broken and old merchandise littering the street at times. There's a smell in the air, a smoky scent that hangs oddly though there's barely any signs of a fire yet, and it stops us both for a second.

I remember watching the fire leap up behind us as Phil drove us out of the city on that very first night. I remember in the week after when we were still wandering along the road we crashed by and he talked numbly about how it probably consumed his home. With one year and several months behind us now, it makes me wonder if we've truly made it back.

"I definitely know where we are now." He says quite abruptly.

We step out onto the street and my feet immediately sink into dusty grey, a carpeting of ash washed out by months' worth of  wind and rain, but still gathered at the corners, the scar of the blaze still left behind. These buildings were lucky; they weren't at the heart of the fire when it began. A small part of my mind wants to reason that it might not even be home, it could be a whole other section of the city, but the look on Phil's face is telling me otherwise.

"Holy shit. We're so much closer than I thought we were."

I can see it in his eyes. This neighbourhood is his. His head has turned and he's looking at the area on the other side of the road where there's an intersection with slightly ash-covered lights. The brick townhouses are all mostly still standing and I can see the taller apartments rising up ahead, I can see the sheer disbelief, the fixation in his eyes.

I see a broken-down building in the corner. A coffee shop, the Starbucks logo broken on one side, the windows gone. Almost immediately, a memory floats up out of nowhere.

Phil steps into the Starbucks with a spring in his step, holding the door open and giving me a meaningful look.

"Okay." He proposes. "Stay here and don't move. I have a surprise for you."

I scoff in protest and roll my eyes at him, hugging my arms to my chest and watching a snowflake float and flip through the air, coming to land in his hair. It's thirteen below and even with my furry hat on my ears are freezing. I'd been looking forward to stepping into the shop for a bit just to get out of the cold.

"What do you mean, stay out here?" I whine. "It's a Starbucks. Can't you surprise me in there?"

"Nope!" He proclaims. "Just wait out here for five minutes. I promise it'll be worth it."

He looks so excited I hesitantly decide to listen to him, despite the fact that a shiver runs through my body and the tip of my nose feels like ice.

"Fine." I grumble. "But if you take longer than that I'm walking home without you and starting up Mariokart by myself.

He's only just gotten the new Mariokart Wii game, my early Christmas present to him because I didn't want to wait until January to be able to play it. I still have another present for him that he doesn't know about yet, but I'll let him think this ones being wasted for the inconvenience he's causing.

He throws a hand over his heart, a dramatic, sweeping gesture that catches the attention of several confused onlookers. "You wouldn't dare!"

I just half-smile. "Hurry up then. I totally will if you don't go."

"I hate you." He groans.

"You don't." I tease back, sticking my tongue out.

Christmas lights dot the rooftops and windows of the shops and homes along the square, festive music trilling out through the doorway as Phil smiles at me and then ducks in, carefully pulling it shut. I step out of the way of the doorway slightly, watching the snow tumble down heavily from the sky, piling up on the cars and buses waiting at the lights which flicker red and green just like everything else.

The festive season has never been anything exciting for me. For the past eighteen years of my life I've stayed home at my parent's house, putting up a tree with my brother and smiling politely as friends of mum's and dad's and our relatives traipsed in and out on different days, criticizing me for my "trashy" haircut and praising my sibling for keeping his naturally curly hair and being generally gifted at everything. This is the first year where it's December twenty fourth and I'm with someone else instead, and though it's weighing on the back of my mind that I have to leave at the end of the night to make it home by six in the morning, I'm quietly thankful that him and I are here, together.

I don't actually plan to up and leave him. I'm not about to ditch Phil to walk alone when I've been waiting all month to take that bus across the city to see him. At least it's only a ride from the university now. Tomorrow I'll be reminded of what it's like to have to take the train all the way home.

The shop is full of people but Phil walks right up to the counter and is met by a strange blond girl I've never seen before, speaking to her quietly for a moment before she reaches down and pulls out a paper bag for him. It crosses my mind that he must have ordered us cookies or something, the part-time employees probably rueing the new "preorder" promotion for those living in the area. He says something to her as he takes the bag and she laughs, her eyebrows going up in question, and I stare longingly at the red sofa in the corner where Phil and I normally sit. Why I'm not allowed to see this order until after he's out is beyond me...

"I swear to god, Phil, if you made me wait out here for a couple of overpriced cookies..." my voice is muttering but there's no actual threat or malice. I really would like to go soon, though, sweeping my toe through the snow for something to do.

I see Phil turn. He points at me suddenly and I stumble out of surprise and embarrassment, seeing the girl's eyes settle on me, her confused face turning to amusement. I back out of the view of the window and try to disappear.

It's a minute or so later when Phil steps back out, "Santa Baby" playing over the speakers in the store before he has it closed, and I see an awkward expression on his face as he approaches me, holding a single take out bag with the name "Phil" written on the side.

"Okay, what's this all about?" I ask in confusion, seeing his sheepish stare and raising my eyebrows.

"I needed to make sure she knew what you looked like." He says with a shrug, which of course makes absolutely no sense.

"Why?"

"Just wait." He says, laughing awkwardly and holding out the bag. "Look at this. They thought I was crazy for getting my best friend a cupcake for Christmas but.. I had this idea."

I stare at him, feeling sudden shyness at the notion, going over what he just said. "You got me a cupcake?'

He grins at me, his tongue peeking out from below crooked teeth. I get caught up in that smile, that strange contagious happiness, trying figure out how someone would care enough to think of buying me a personal gift.

He lifts from the crinkly bag a single chocolate cupcake, the body rich brown and fluffy and decorated with a swirl of cream cheese icing. I stare at the little thing dumbly and then realize that it's been decorated to look like a face, a swirl atop the forehead settled to look like a fringe, a curly one, and two icing drops for eyes.

"Oh my god," I breathe, half amused and half in disbelief.

"It's a Dan-cupcake!" He exclaims, laughing at his own notion and passing it over. I shake my head at him and just stare down at it in amazement, trying to picture him instructing the girl to draw that, requesting dotted eyes and an emo fringe.

"She must have thought you were so weird." I tell him. The cupcake cupped in my palm smiles up at me and I wonder if he asked for it to have that expression. My hand goes up to touch my perfectly straightened hair and I see him follow the motion, eyes looking forward in anticipation.

I realize how dumb that must sound and move to make up for it, stepping forward and giving him a quick hug.

"Thank you." I mumble. Christmas at home tomorrow will never compare to this stupid present given to me by my idiot of a best friend, standing here awkwardly with me outside of the overcrowded Starbucks.

"Merry Christmas." He laughs, sticking his hand in the bag and pulling out a second cupcake as well. "I also made them make a Phil one. The Starbucks lady agreed with me that you'd honestly suit your curly hair."

Back in the present I look at what's become of it and blink. Now I know where we are too.

I see movement out of the corner of my eye.

"Phil-"

Before I can process his expression, he's brushed past my side and taken off running, crossing the broken street and heading for the corner.

Phil doesn't run, never has, and neither have I. Spurred by adrenaline we can certainly make it far, but this is out of nowhere and because I didn't anticipate it there's a moment of hesitation, a fractional moment of confusion before I think to run after him. His look is frantic and he seems to have forgotten where we are or who he's with, and a burst of fear runs through me because I'm terrified of being separated.

I can just barely see him up ahead as he rounds a corner, pushing past a street sign that isn't legible anymore, but I still know what it says. I've walked this way dozens of times and through some of the houses are burnt there's are others that are still recognizable and standing, a surreal image before me as I move almost by muscle memory to where I know he's going to go.

This isn't arbitrary. I know what's happening. Mere minutes ago it was a notion, but Phil wasn't wrong. We're actually here.

Around the block, up the alley. Past the storefronts and to the taller apartments with their treed front yards and underground parking. Thunder rumbles and I see a flash up in the sky but it's far away, I lose Phil in his frantic motions and scramble over the pile of junk stacked in the middle of my path that he'd crashed past just seconds before, heart in my throat and breath bated in my chest.

When I finally find him, he's in the middle of the street.

He's abandoned all caution, standing in the middle of the road where there's a yellow-painted line, and I stop running rather abruptly when my eyes fall on what's rendered him still.

I can hear every roll of thunder and tap of my feet on the pavement as I slowly wander up to him, eyes fixated only on what's ahead. There's the pavement and a walkway between us and the building but it's so terrifyingly distinct that might as well be a ghost for all the significance my presence holds to even hope to distract him, his thin frame nothing against the city that seems to swallow him whole.

His blue runners are a beacon of colour in this sea of grey, perched on the traffic line as the only bit of artificial reality in the moment.

He's silent as I step to his side, but his blue eyes are staring blankly ahead at the redbrick apartment lined with with windows and balconies, the main door broken open and the ground floor flats left open to the world. Garden chairs and random objects line the lawn, graffiti and spray paint have the walls. But I know this place.

"That's it." I mumble. "It survived the fire."

Some of the buildings on the street are collapsed or blackened and others have fared fine. All down the road there are collapsed trees and abandoned cars, a shell of what this neighbourhood once was. I see the way Phil's paled and set a hand onto his back, he   presses into my side and sinks into the hold as I wind an arm around him as if seeking assurance, his eyes still cast up to the balcony on the fourteenth floor.

How long have we been walking? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? It's felt like nearly nothing and yet in no time we've stumbled upon the very place in the city we never thought we'd see again. This is where it all started for us, this is where our normal life came to an end.

"I can't do it."

I look up at him, seeing the way his eyes are going glazed, and can scarcely imagine how complex and chaotic his feelings must be right now.

"Phil, it's okay."

"I can't go in there." He says quietly, matter-of-fact, turning his head and backing away from it as if he doesn't want to see it. It stops me in place, seeing the conflicted expression on his face.

"It's okay." I breathe again disbelievingly. "Let's just look for a minute. Can we do that?"

He nods, awe in his expression.

So we do, and I know there's a lot to look at but I just can't tear my eyes away from the one I know is Phil's, only a lamp visible from the vantage point of his balcony door so high above.

It looks as if one half of the building was met by smoke, the walls a bit blackened but not actual burns to be seen. It's damaged but it's okay, mostly. My first thought in this odd moment is that when we ran away the day it all began, we didn't even bother locking the door. I wonder if anyone stayed. I wonder if there's zombified people in there.

"You know it's weird." He says after a while. "I don't feel sad or anything. Just really, really weird. Like I don't feel like I have a home anymore."

"That's... literally it right there." I have to say the words out loud to even grasp them and even then it still doesn't sink in.

Low sounds emit from the sky again and then suddenly a bang cuts through the air, making us both jump and turn to each other.

"It is."

A raindrop hits my shoulder. Then another.

He stares at the incriminating circles on my jumper like they've done him a great wrong. "Of course it would start raining now when we need to be still for a while."

Even so it becomes apparent very quickly that we can't stay, rain a much more threatening presence in this life than our old one now that we have no heating or medical attention to speak of, making us far more susceptible to anything from a cold to pneumonia. We both turn as if in mutual agreement to head back the way we came before it gets really bad, and I brush my fingers over Phil's cold hand, reminding him it's all right. He knows we can't cling to the past, but I'm desperate to go back to it, if only for one last time.

We walk for about twenty minutes and I'm shivering with the chilly drizzle that's started. My mind is filled with thoughts of the apartment and the neighbourhoods have given way to shops and flats once again, at least indicating we're almost back before the real weather sets in.

"We have to come back to it." I say abruptly, seeing Phil cast his eyes to the sky. "We can't just end up there after so long and forget about it."

He stares up at the black clouds silently, then back to me.

"Okay?" I ask him.

His gaze goes back to the towering facade, barely visible now above the rooftops as it lingers like a ghost in the distance and then he takes a deep breath, nodding his head.

"Yeah." He agrees. "We should go in, even. But later."

"Of course."

Thunder cracks above us again and then suddenly the heavens open and a gust of wind picks up ferociously, knocking into us both with a tide of chilly water.

He shouts in surprise and takes off running towards the nearest store with an overhang, and with no desire to get sick from the icy water running down my back, I follow in close pursuit. I can barely make out the other side of the street through the sheets of windswept water, it's that kind of rain that stings when it hits you and falls in an angled way rather than straight down. Just another almost-autumn day in central London, England, unfortunately true to itself as it's ever been.

The ground is slippery and my heart jumps when I see lightning overhead. Stupid. This was such a stupid idea to get Phil alone. I should have just swallowed my embarrassment and gone right back to bed.

There's a shop with an overhang nearby and we run to shelter under it, the water hammering down so violently there's droplets dripping from my hair and into my face in a steady stream.

When we get closer, I can see that building is made of old, greying brick. We stumble under the overhang about as ungracefully as humanly possible and I'm already shivering, The paper taped to the window of the door is barely legible, the ink paled from being in the sun far too long, but I can just make out the words:

Half-price drinks Friday Nights. No minors after 9:00. Thanks, Management.

Phil pulls off his hoodie and holds it out in front of him, wringing out the soaked fabric and sending tiny droplets to the damp concrete below. His T-shirt clings to him, apparently having not been spared, though some of it is at least dry whereas I'm feeling soaked to the core.

I wonder what he's feeling right now. The mood feels serious but he's isn't actually talking. He'd said he wasn't sad about the loss of his home, but how could he not be, with a physical reminder right there in his face?

"No minors." He observes.

"So I guess you can't go in." I reply cheekily.

He shoots me a look and then lifts his axe out of his belt, balancing the weapon in his hand before holding above the doorknob.

"Shame. It's freezing out here. I'm going in anyway."

He swings it down and the butt of the axe catches the side of the knob but then bounces off, making Phil stumble and a laugh to escape me, easing the tension at the sight of Phil being such a loveable idiot.

"You clumsy twit." I groan. "It's probably unlocked."

I reach forward and twist the knob and yes indeed, the door swings open. The knob is in fact a bit too loose and I wonder if this place has been broken into already, but all the same it's probably safer to shelter during a rainstorm than be outside, the risk of zombies being able to track us whilst we can't see them a huge risk on top of potential sickness. We've seen one already.

"Shut up." He groans, face red. "In my head it was gonna be one of those cool badass break in scenes like in all the movies. You know, like James Bond or something."

"Oh yes, Phil." I reply, smirking. "That well-known James Bond scene where he breaks the old pub doorknob with an axe."

"Yes." He says stubbornly.

"Okay."

He rolls his eyes and moves to past me but I jump in his path, blocking the doorway, meeting his gaze at this close proximity and placing a hand on his chest.

It makes him stumble back, blushing at the touch, and I prod him back a few steps while an expression of confusion crosses his face.

"What? Is there a monster in there?"

"No minors." I tease.

He strides forwards and shoves me out of the way, arm pressed into my chest so that I trip and am forced to walk backwards to avoid falling.

"You're nineteen." He singsongs, dragging me along as I clutch at his wrist, trying not to fall backwards onto the floor, which is definitely a hardwood of some kind.

"I'm mature for my age." I retort. "And I'm taller than you, I look older."

He shrugs. "Height does not equal age." He reminds me. "And fact of the matter is, I am older. Sorry, I don't make the rules."

I roll my eyes and shiver, noticing a coat rack with a jacket hung on one of the hooks by the door. It's a denim one, the exact opposite of anything I'd ever wear but I take it and pull it around myself anyway. It smells dusty and a bit smoky, obviously having not been touched since before the apocalypse. As far as bars go though this one isn't nearly as sleazy as the ones in my hometown, in fact it almost looks like an Italian winery.

I feel reassured that everything with Phil is in fact fine. If anything he looks more worried about me, and I'm finding it hard to focus when his hair is all mussed an rainswept and his cheeks red from the cold.

I shrug the jacket on and saunter over to Phil, throwing my hands out and striking a pose, and he smirks at me.

"Cute." He comments sarcastically. "Fall fashion, twenty-ten."

My face burns and I suddenly feel like an idiot in my oversized garb. I look at him incredulously, striding forward and jokingly placing a hand on his chest.

"Call me cute again." I mutter. "I dare you, Phil Lester."

His eyes widen and he smirks, reaching down to fold down the collar.

"So cute." He teases. "Like Winnie the Pooh trying to be a badboy."

I nearly smack him for the comparison, biting back a laugh at his self-satisfied expression.

"Did you just-"

"Might've."

A strange confidence passes through me at the jab and I lean forward, slowly pushing my hand through his sodden hair and making him start at how close we are. I fold it back and it stays glued in place, his forehead on display. Then, almost as quickly as it's happened, I abruptly draw back.

"You're not a badboy just because you slick your hair back, weirdo." I shoot and he scoffs, hurriedly rubbing his hands to muss his hair and trying to plaster it back into place. He runs his hand through his fringe frantically and I laugh at how idiotic he's being.

"Hey! I don't want my scar to be visible." He complains, touching his hand to it subconsciously. "And technically it wasn't me slicking my hair back, it was you."

I stick out my tongue. "You're the one who got caught in the rain."

"Going out was your idea." He fires back, staring right into my eyes. "What kind of date is this, anyway?I was expecting fine wine, vol au vents."

I bite my lip. I have to fight to keep my voice level, not wanting to betray how much my heart picks up pace at the thought of taking Phil on a fine dining date. I imagine Phil in fancy clothing. Phil sipping wine and talking to me miles above the city in some expensive skybar. Phil with his hair all swept back. I've dug myself into my own pit and the bastard is teasing me for my wording relentlessly. No, no, no. This is stopping now.

"What high uh, standards you have." I squeak, cursing myself inwardly.

"Where's my caviar?" He inquires in a ridiculously good French accent I didn't know he could do, the sound lilting and way too uncomfortably attractive, and that's when I start to lose myself completely.

"You still look good with a scar on your head." I say stupidly, catching up with myself only after the words are out.

This time, it's Phil that blushes, and even though I know it's not for the reason I want him to, it's still far too tantalizing to stare at.

"I- what?"

"There's fine wine!" I proclaim, stumbling away from him and running over to the oaken panelled bar. My fingers grab for the first bottle I see in a surprisingly still present lineup of drinks on the lower shelf and I spin around to hold it out to him, trying to distract him from the blatantly not-straight comment I've just aimed his way.

"Can't have a... a bro date without fine wine!"

His eyes land on the bottle and he laughs in disbelief, starting over to look at it as if he's never seen an alcoholic beverage in his life.

"Hey." He says wickedly. "This oughta warm us up."

He wanders over to the bar and hops up to sit on the counter, and though I'd only been joking his look is way too serious for how he should be staring at it.

"Phil." I breathe in mock surprise. "That doesn't sound like the innocent guy our friends know." He reaches out his hand and I pass the long, narrow thing obediently, watching him turn it over as if looking for a label.

"I don't even know what this is, but I like it." He decides, ignoring me. "Makes me wanna relive the whole fresher year of uni again."

"You're a lightweight." I remind him. "You know that."

"That may be so." He agrees. "But we're stuck here, aren't we?"

"You know I was only joking, right?" I say nervously. The idea of being even the slightest bit drunk with Phil makes my heart skip a beat, especially considering what happened the last time. As tempting as it is, as much fun as it would be to pass the time,   I'm afraid of what I'll say to him.

"It's raining." He points out.

"So it is."

"We might as well, right?"

The memory of that night in the confederation bunker comes rushing up at a blinding speed, fear coursing through me at the mere memory.

"I don't think we should." I say abruptly.

He's still smiling until he looks over and sees my face, and then, in that one small instant, the smile drops from his face entirely.

"Oh, I- I'm sorry." He says worriedly. "I wasn't trying to make you do anything you didn't want to. I just thought you know, it's just us and we're not in danger this time, and I don't think we've had a chance to have fun in a while. Just you and me."

"Like a party for two?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, basically."

He looks a bit confused and I decide that the best idea right now is to redirect his thoughts for a while. I hop up next to him on the counter and take the bottle from his hands, observing the mahogany-coloured drink from all angles and leaning against him companionably.

"You know, I only went to one party in high school." I tell him.

He shuffles over and settles his head into the crook of my neck, closing his eyes. I rest my head against his and ignore the chilliness of his damp hair as I play with his fingers, relaxing while the rain pounds more heavily outside and fills the air with a muted thrumming. He lifts his hand so I can reach it better, making me realize he actually wants me to.

"Did you?" He asks, letting the previous subject drop.

There's something relaxing about being inside during a rainstorm. The world is darker and the sounds are calming, the petrichor and the comfort of home around you, Phil's voice somehow sounding gentler and muted through the pattering.

"It was only one time, and I got really drunk, Phil." I tell him softly. "Back then I was obsessed with the idea of fitting in and nobody ever seemed to like me. It was shit, honestly it was. So when the girl I liked invited me to come and then asked me to drink, I did it you know? To impress her."

He hums in acknowledgment but doesn't say much more. I'm not sure why it bothers him so much that I was unhappy then. After all, it's the past.

"Did anything happen that night?" He asks after a while.

"Yeah." I mumble. "I got a girlfriend."

He chuckles softly and doesn't ask the details, and really it wasn't that bad. The truth is, that night I felt bolder, cheerful. I ditched the party to talk to her in the garden and she kissed me, and then we stayed together three years before breaking up unanimously when distance became a sudden obvious issue and we already knew we hadn't been as close as usual lately. Knowing Phil, though, I don't even want to know what his mind is picturing. We didn't talk about her much.

"But the thing is, I needed a ride home and I found out I left my wallet at home." I continue. "She offered to pay for a taxi home and I was so out of it so I invited her for a sleepover-" I catch his grin and drop his hand, glaring at him for the assumption. "-not that kind of sleepover!"

"Sorry." He teases. "I'm just imagining you fumbling trying to ask a date to a sleepover."

"This is a date according to you." I remind him. "And we had a sleepover last night. Maybe shut the fuck up." He laughs.

"I came home really off-kilter, having never really drank in my life before, and though I didn't know it at the time, it was two a.m." I tell him. "And do you know who answered the door after I'd been gone without answering my phone for hours and arrived being literally held up to keep from falling by a strange girl?"

He looks at me, raising his eyebrows. "Who?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Oh, god."

"My dad." I sit up and shake my head, recalling the look on the man's face and the words that had followed after. "Needless to say, she got driven home and I was in a lot of trouble, his intentions made clear to me the whole way back. He yelled at me for getting drunk and ignoring his and mum's texts and I got forbidden from going to another party after that, since I was too stupid to handle myself."

"Dan, stop." He says quietly. "Don't think about him. Don't tell me you believed the things he said."

"I did then. He was such a dick." I groan, ignoring him. There's more to the story than just the bad things I was told, and I need to try and express that to him.

A heaviness hangs in my chest and I try to keep my voice from quieting, knowing Phil will definitely freak out if I do.

"But..." I continue, trying to articulate it for him but now sure how.

It's odd, really. I've forgiven dad for most of the things he said and did back in the day. He fears weren't right and neither were his actions but he did have a point there. Falling in love with Phil made me aware that he knew more than even me.

His hand slides to my back and I feel my cheeks heat, confession on the tip of my tongue and warm circles being rubbed over the tension in my shoulders. I relax immediately, looking at the floor instead. Out of anyone in the world Phil will understand. Phil won't judge me.

"I miss him, Phil." I get out, shame welling at even having the audacity to do so.

He falls silent and his hand settles in one place, the curve of my shoulder, pulling me close to him and letting me know without speaking that I don't have to say anymore. I need to though, I need to say it aloud before it eats me alive.

"I have to live the rest of my life knowing that the last things I ever said to him were negative." I explain. I sink down a bit and my face comes to rest against his chest, the skin echoing the beat of his heart, and in this moment I'm so thankful he's alive. "I went to uni with the knowledge that I never wanted to come back. Hell, I would've moved in with you if I wasn't so scared to ask. I guess I know now what the answer would have been."

"Yeah." He agrees quietly. "I would've let you stay."

"Of course you would."

"I'm sure he knew you cared about him." He assures me. "And he must have cared about you. Even if they're being awful, parents tend to try and control their kids because they think the kid's making a mistake."

"A mistake." I laugh drily. "Yeah. He thought I was queer."

Phil's eyes widen, and I realize it's because I've never actually voiced that aloud before. I pretty much told him that last night without admitting the word but he deserves honesty, especially after I've learnt something so monumental about him.

"Queer as in-?" He asks hesitantly.

"As in not straight." I confirm.

He look at me seriously and I can see his almost imperceptible nod, appreciation that I actually said it.

"I always wondered." He admits. "Is that why you were always so worried about how people saw us?"

Shame wells up inside me and I want to tell him no, but I'm a different person from who I was then and I'm speaking in a slightly detached way.

"Yeah. But I'll never do that to you again." I remind him softly. "I promise."

He contemplates this in silence, his knees brushing the side of mine as we sit up on the counter listening to the rain.

"What are you, Dan?" He asks suddenly. I can tell by the way he asks me that he doesn't want to do it, feeling bad for a question so personal. But even though my heart begins beating out of nerves and my brain fights to shut down to push away the vulnerability creeping in, I'm not at all upset by the question. He's the reason I figured it out.

I thought it would be easy to tell him, to say it out loud. I told it to Cat no problem and he's told Mark about himself, but somehow we've been keeping these things from each other. I think I know why.

With people you're not as close to, or with friends that you aren't tied to in deep, complicated friendships, it's easier to share yourself with them and not feel a thing after because there's no strings attached. It's not that you like them less, it's just a relationship free of implications. I'm too afraid to tell Phil the exact truth because it could change the dynamic of our relationship entirely, and the idea that I could do something wrong is much too frightening.

But I can't lie to Phil either.

My hand finds his wrist and I run my thumb along the inside in absent circular motions, trying to collect my thoughts. "I don't know what I am." I tell him quietly. "I grew up hearing I was never allowed to be anything but this singular sexuality, and my dad took it so seriously that every time someone even saw me brush your hand or something my mind immediately expected to be jumped by him, told I was wrong and just faking even though it's nearly two years later and we basically do live together now to survive."

He stops my hand where it's circling and sets both our hands atop my knee, a simple, small gesture of comfort that makes me feel safe for whatever reason.

"You have your whole life to figure it out." He says unexpectedly. I want to know how he knew, how he discovered the unique part of himself that I can hardly describe but understand in me too. It's the part of me that makes me want to take his hand right now, makes me feel things more strongly when he's in the room and makes me all-too aware that being physically close to him is a near painful need. He's so beautiful and gentle and he doesn't even know it. In a world like this that's so hard to find.

The words float into my mind suddenly, the exact overused line that you'd think would go stale after decades, centuries of usage, but somehow sums up every feeling and instills a sense of wonder with each uttering. I want to tell him, but I can't make my mouth say the words. There's a lot of ways to say what I want to. It's just one small phrase but the weight it carries makes it impossible to say it to him outright, the sheer honesty and revelation in the words something I'm not ready for him to hear. I can say it in other ways, safer ways. Because I honestly don't know if I've ever said it to anyone.

"It's not a bad thing at all, Phil." I say firmly instead. I look him in the eyes and I know he doesn't know that I'm aware of his secret, suddenly able read the worry in his face for what it really is. He's afraid that if I found out that I'd never look at him the same way, never accept him for the very thing my dad saw in me.

The thing that, crazy as it sounds, has got me sure that I've fallen for him.

My voice falls to a low hush.

"It's wonderful, honestly. If I could go back and tell him now what it is," I rest my cheek on his shoulder and try to convey meaning with my eyes, "I'd tell him that there's nothing wrong with queer. It's like, it's... literally just love."

His expression changes from worried to something undefinable in an instant. I see his eyes widen,  disbelief cross his face.

"You... think so?"

You'd think I told him I was adopted or something. The surprise on his face is a little saddening, but I know what he needs to hear.

"Yeah." I say emphatically. "Love is amazing. Look at Chris and PJ. Felix and Marzia. Even I can see that. I don't care who you're in love with as long as you're happy even if..." I meet his eyes and nearly lose my breath at the emotion in his expression, blue eyes transfixed. "... if it's you who's in love, or anyone else."

"Yeah?" He breathes an I nod, and oddly enough it feels like a moment where a much bolder person in this scenario would just tilt his head and kiss him.

He falls forward, pulling me to his chest and holding me so tight I can't see anything but darkness from the folds of his shirt.

We stay there for a while, by now I'm holding him back, and I don't ever want to let go. It's profound, really, this moment where so many chains unexpectedly broke. I feel like I've banished something internal and now he hopefully knows what I think, maybe eventually he'll stop hiding who he is. Does he know that I know? Likely not. But I don't need to.

"You... you know that right?" I ask him shyly. "You can be whoever you want and you'd still be my best friend. My dad can't change the fact that we basically require each other and it has nothing to do with me being straight or not."

"I know." He manages, his voice heavy with emotion. I know I should be putting up a face and acting confused as to why he's so happy but I know now how afraid he'd been of such a small thing, my acceptance. It reminds me of how real this is. This really is Phil, and that somehow makes it mean a hundred times more.

"You're amazing, Dan." He says quietly. "I'm so proud of you for telling me that. I feel like you've been worried about his thoughts for longer than we've known our friends."

"I'm not going to leave you again." I promise determinedly. "This isn't some movie. They can say whatever they want about us you know."

The hug is a bit awkward posture-wise because of the way we're sat on the counter and Phil having a wine bottle in his hand, reminding me of how the conversation started. Without really thinking about it, I reach over and extract it from his hand.

"This is the gayest friendship ever anyway." I joke. "Like we just went on a fucking date to your old broken down apartment building only to get caught in a rainstorm, and now we're just chilling in a pub together. Alone."

He laughs, blushing hard. I feel slightly bad for the way my wording came out considering who I'm talking to, but he doesn't seem hurt.

He shrugs. "Could be gayer."

I shake my head. "You really think so, huh?"

He rolls his eyes. "Any friendship can get gayer. There's no limit."

I lean over to where he's sat and, after hesitating, cup his face and kiss his cheek. He squeaks in surprise and his face turns even redder. My heart is beating incredible quickly and I can see him lifting his hand to playfully smack me.

I dodge his hand, sticking out my tongue and pitching my voice stupidly. "Was that gay enough?"

He shoves me off the counter and points to the drink in my hand. His expression is flustered but cheeky, and he's laughing in disbelief with a hand touched to his face even though it's nearly a minute later. God, he looks so good. I hate my own impulses, but this is probably the best I've ever felt.

"I'm gonna have to drink that entire thing to forget that ever happened." He groans. "You aren't funny."

I smirk at him and raise my eyebrows at the phrasing, lifting up the full contents of the glass bottle. "I fucking dare you to actually drink all of that."

He jumps down and flops on the floor next to me. "Oh god no. I'm not getting drunk without you."

"Then maybe you should." My mind changes in an instant. Suddenly, the idea of drunken Phil is all I can think of.

"I don't know if I want to." He admits haltingly. "I'm going to embarrass myself, probably gonna end up crying about my apartment and falling asleep on your shoulder."

I consider this for a moment, before lifting my head and meeting his eyes.

"Is that even really a bad thing?"

"Not really. I like the idea of getting drunk together."

"It seems pretty reckless." I agree. "We're already this far from from our friends which is probably breaking some rule anyway. When's the next time we'll be able to be regular young adults without the confederation looming over us?"

Exactly. We look each other in the eye as we sit making dusty trails with our fingers on the dirty floorboards, pretty wooden beams and dining tables the only thing besides rain and lightning in the darkening sky to make any impression on the scene.

"Well that settles it." He sighs. "Lets just forget it all then. For now."

And out of all the things I've heard today, there's nothing I more heartily agree with.

"Only one thing to do." I say decidedly, looking him dead in the eye.

I crack the cap with the edge of my teeth, then very carefully pass him the bottle.

A bit of an extra filler-y chapter to celebrate my transition into another school year. Woop. Long live the updating schedule.

lmaowatsdat
EvErY sUnDaY
Fr though there's an update coming next Sunday that's gonna be lit love u
Just... just think of the alcohol
That is all

I've been working practically every day for the last two weeks in case you really wanted to know why I missed the update by four days. :((( this one was kinda bad I knOW

If I made a spam book would anyone read it sometimes I just feel like ranting