The longer they stay there the longer Evan grows uneasy. Not because of the boy — he’s just a boy, after all — but because of how open she feels. Of how much time has been wasted. The longer she stays still the more likelihood of something happening. You stop and you die. “Not far,” she answers, swallowing. Her head flicks briefly towards the direction. “Just a few, uh, few houses down.” There’s a part of her that wants to ask if he’s out here alone and that’s from a source of concern, but she knows he probably won’t tell her. Or shouldn’t, rather. Telling a complete stranger that you’re alone wasn’t smart.
A frown creases her features at his next question, mind wandering briefly to the few infected she’d killed not half an hour ago. “Not, uh… not anymore.” Shrugging, she shifts her gaze back down the street towards the limits of the allies area, a fraction more comfortable now that he’s lowered his knife. She’s taking too much time. She can feel it. “More might come, though. So you shouldn’t, uh… you shouldn’t linger.”
The longer they stay there the greater Liam’s chances of actually getting something from her. It’s a delicate balance: try anything too soon, and she’ll get away. Wait too long, and she’ll still get away. A few houses down, she tells him, and again Liam pokes his head out to peer down the road, as if trying to gauge whether he can make it that far. For all she knows, the awning he’s tucked away under is the only shelter he’s had in days. Is it worth him leaving? Especially with infected still wandering around.
He looks back to her wide-eyed, wills discomfort to settle into his face as he swallows hard, like there’a s lump of fear in his throat. He shakes his head. “I don’t -- ...I can’t.” His voice is a whisper as he pulls his knees to his chest, like he’s scared and he’s ashamed of that. “I’ll just....I’ll be fine.” He lets his eyes drop to his knees, like he wants her to believe him. It’s a risky move; she may just decide to leave him now. But she’s stuck around this long, and she’s too far away for him to get anything from her just yet. He’ll just have to hope she bites.
Talia had a tendency to push on boundaries – most of the time, she wasn’t aware, gravitating toward people like a magnet. But with this one, she was absolutely doing it on purpose. Her fingers clenched tightly onto his skin before he jerked himself away. “Sure,” she said quietly with a half-shrug, continuing to play this game. “We can go with that.”
He didn’t like how easily she agreed, how easily she let him go if he ignored the way her fingers dug into his skin for one long, uncomfortable moment. Her words echoed through his mind: I know. Anyone who managed to survive this long was sharp; Liam had a sinking suspicious she might very well know the on thing he was hoping she didn’t. But there was also the chance she was bluffing, and if that was the case, he sure as hell wasn’t going to give her anything more to go on. “Okay, well just...” He took a step backwards, eying her with distrust. “Stay away from me.”
The eyes were an obvious giveaway. Italia wasn’t much of a face person ; Features all blurred together after a while - Never could tell who was who. But, that was the one feature that always stayed the same. Her own emerald ones lingered on him, narrowing as she watched him spin slowly in her snare. It hadn’t been meant for him, or for anyone. She’d hopped to have caught something to eat ; And supply may have been scarce, but human flesh never did sound appetizing.
He’d been kind ( a loose term ) to her, the last time they’d met. Caught her off guard with his youth. Italia hadn’t seen many who had been children before all this happened. Most were dead. Others infected. An easy prey. But, not him. Two peas in a pod, against all odds. Her arm rested against the edge of the bridge’s pillar, never taking a step forward, or backward as he started to speak. Pipe hugged against her chest for easier access to it did she need it. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the greeting odd in their situation. But, she gave him a nod of acknowledgement in response nonetheless. ❝ TEN. ❞ Name slipped off her tongue. An eye for an eye. ❝ What are you doing out ‘ere ? ❞
As she fixed her gaze on him, moving neither closer nor farther away, Liam wondered if he’d chosen the wrong words. In his years with the Heathens, away from the protection of his parents and brother, he’d learned to play a specific role, to say and do what he needed to earn respect within his group and pity from those beyond it. What he hadn’t learned was how to interact with his peers: he’d been awkward before the Outbreak, and since ten years old he’d been notably lacking in peers to practice on. Until he ran into her. He would have been glad to see she was alive if he wasn’t hanging upside down right now.
“Ten” His brows knotted together in confusion, not understanding. “Uh....ten what?” His eyes scanned their surroundings as best he could from his current vantage point, but he didn’t see anything she could be saying there were ten of. As for her question.... “Uh...same as everyone, I guess? Looking for shit.” That probably wasn’t the type of answer that got a girl to let you free and not rob you. Liam tried again. “I don’t, ah...I don’t mean any harm. Didn’t know anyone else was around here, but if this is your turf or whatever I’ll leave you alone. If, you know, you don’t mind cutting me down? This is starting to make my head hurt.”
It’s a rare conundrum she’s found herself in. A part of her is telling her to stop and help — he’s just a kid. Pre-outbreak Evan says to stop and check if he’s okay, see if he has something to eat, has somewhere to go. Yet post-outbreak Evan knows better. Stop and you die. Help a stranger and the risk of getting killed skyrockets exponentially. It’s a shitty thing to believe — that people are no longer kind. But not adapting to the way the world is now can get you killed. And Evan’s lost far too much to end up dead.
“If I, uh… if I were you’d be dead already.” She’s seen those kinds of people. The ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind. And while she’s not entirely sure she’s one of the good guys, she certainly isn’t a killer. At least not outright. “There’s, uhm… ” she points back over her shoulder towards the way she’s just come from, still keeping her distance, still cautious, eyes wandering discreetly around them. “A house back there has a, uh – a few things you might need. Should all still… still be there.” Evan doesn’t dare get closer. The boy is fine enough to brandish a knife. Fine enough to talk. To not shoot if he had a gun. Though, really, it could all be one, large, elaborate trap — she’s gotten caught in one of those before and it nearly cost her everything (in a way it had).
“....Oh.” Liam answers her after a beat, as if she’s presented a point he hadn’t considered himself. As if he’s really that stupid. Slowly, with feigned hesitation he lowers his knife, accepting that she isn’t going to hurt him. He allows himself to lean forward slightly, a mouse poking its nose outside its hole to check for danger, and look in the direction she indicated. As if he’s interested in the stuff she’s left behind, when she’s clearly laden down with the loot that was truly worth taking. That’s what Liam wants.
But just because she’s still got some compassion after the last ten years, doesn’t mean she’s foolish. She’s keeping her distance, and she’s wise to. It doesn’t deter Liam, though; he’s not done, yet. Eyes wide with trepidation he turns his gaze back to the woman. “How....how far is it?” His voice is meek and cautious, like he’s terrified at the thought of venturing anywhere too far. “Were there a lot of....y’know. Infected?”
Her brown eyes quickly moved from the source of the smell to the source of the familiar voice: Liam. A small smirk came on her face as she pointed at him. “I will kick you out,” she teased, not minding the moment of banter. It was nice to let loose for a brief moment before going back behind the wall. She kicked the corpse again. “Dead or alive doesn’t matter. It wasn’t going to harm any of us either way.” She was more than capable of handling a single infected on her own. She looked at the pack slung over his shoulders and folded her arms. “Keepin’ your end up, I hope.” It was a genuine hope. She had grown slightly attached to Liam - though she would hardly admit that to herself, let alone anyone else - and it would be a shame for the group to lose someone with such potential. “What did you get?”
“No ya won’t,” he shot back easily, flashing her an impertinent grin. This sort of banter was normal, Liam secure enough in his position in the group -- and his relationship with Dahlia -- to know she didn’t mean it. Not so long as he kept coming back with things the group needed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Sure, ‘cause I got here just in the nick of time.” Another insolent grin sent her way as he toed that line between camaraderie and disrespect; it worked because Dahlia knew he didn’t meant it. And because she was right: he was holding up his end. Just because she let him make his dumb jokes didn’t mean entertained any foolish notion that she cared. He was here for one thing, and he was lucky to be good at it. “Yeah, check it out,” his grin evened out into something more innocent, pride in a job well done, never mind whomever he’d screwed to get it. He shrugged off the backpack and unzipped it just enough so she could examine the contents as he held it out for her to see, various pill bottles, gauze and bandages.
SUN KISSED skin laid beneath thin clothing, Italia positioned under a torn bridge, her back pushed against the semi cool stone. Rope traps were placed around her area but her FAVORITE, the snare was placed just below an old hanging tree, on the strongest branch.
ZIP !!
The sharp noise of the rope rubbing together making it known that it had caught something. Someone. Often, it was the infected. But she was so quiet there was never more than one. She stood, pipe in hand ; ready to defend. But her eyes laid on something she was not expecting. Someone alive.
“Fuck!” The cry escaped his lips in a rush of air as the rope snagged around his ankle and hoisted him into the air. Pay attention to everything, he’d been told over and over, first by Jesse and now by Ben, and still he’d neglected to notice the snare under the tree until it was too late. He didn’t dare make a sound, just in case the person who’d set the trap wasn’t around, but as the rope spun him in a slow circle he eventually locked eyes with -- oh.
He knew her.
Well -- kind of. They’d crossed paths, and Liam hadn’t forgotten. She was the first person close to his age he’d seen in at least a year. And this was fitting, really. He hadn’t attempted to rob her when he had the chance, and now his kindness was biting him in the ass. The exact same shit he pulled on most everyone he’d ever stolen from. Liam didn’t believe in karma, but he sure as hell believed in irony, and with his backpack full of food already threatening to slide right down his arms, he knew he was an easy target. His knife was still snugly in his pocket; if she came at him, he might be able to hold her off. For now, he offered the girl a grimace. “Uh. ...Hey. We never, like, officially met or anything, but -- I’m Liam.”
Talia decided to plop herself down on the chair beside him – a purposeful action done to gauge the young man’s reaction. Spreading her legs apart, she let out a laugh that emanated from deep inside her belly. “Dude,” she said with a curious head tilt, loosely draping an arm around his neck. Squeezing him in closer for good measure, she then whispered into his ear. “I know.”
Wait, what? Liam flinched as she sat down beside him, instantly angling himself away from her. Apparently she didn’t care, though, for a second later she was pulling him closer. Too close. What the hell was she -- oh. Liam’s blood ran cold, his whole body stilling as he processed what she’d said, what that meant. He knew she’d seen him around, just as he’d seen her. He jerked away from her. “Know what? That you’re a fuckin’ creep?”
She hadn’t heard him. That annoys her more than the fact that he’s actually managed to catch her off guard (unintentionally, she assumed). Ears straining as she slips down the seemingly empty street after her successful looting run, Evan halts the moment the voice calls out, eyes narrowing in a scan of her surroundings. When she finally sees him — the fuzzy outline of a boy huddled into a corner, the hand that had automatically slipped to the gun tucked into the back of her jeans recedes. Against her better judgement she straightens, drawing in a breath to calm her thundering heart. If he tries anything she’s sure she can take him. Evan has him beat in size and if he’d had a weapon she’s sure he would have shot her by now.
“M’not… m’not looking for trouble,” her hands raise as she slowly continues her path, keeping her distance. The knife’s brandished with a childlike ineptitude but it’s still a knife. It’ll still hurt if he decides to attack and gets in a good hit. And she can’t afford another injury. Can’t put that on the newfound groups she’s found herself apart of after such a short period of time. “M’just… I’m just, uh, just passing through. Are you…” she trails off, fighting the nervous shuffle of her feet. “Are you hurt?”
Her sudden stop tells Liam he’s probably caught her off guard, but he schools the amusement off his face. He’s not here for a laugh, he’s here for survival. Scared Kid is too scared to find any humor in their current situation. And it’s not all false, either. There’s always a risk involved. He could have been wrong about her. She could decide he’s a threat and shoot him right now. He notes the way her hand moves to the back of her jeans and then retreats. It’s a minute gesture, but it tells him three crucial pieces of information: she has a gun, he knows where she keeps it, and she’s decided he’s not enough of a threat she needs to pull it on him yet. Good.
His shoulders stay hunched, the knife stays pointed clumsily in her direction as she lifts her hands and continues forward. If he drops his guard too quickly, if she’s smart she’ll get suspicious. But he’s liking what he’s hearing. Liam stares at her, as if debating whether she means what she says, and then he answers her question with a small, jerky shake of his head. “I -- I don’t think so,” he follows up, because she seems like she might care, meekness still laced with distrust. This is a stranger, after all. Speaking of which... “Are you -- are you one of the bad people?” It’s a ridiculous question, intentionally naive; if she was bad, she certainly wouldn’t tell him. But what does he know? He’s lucky to be alive, and that part isn’t a lie.
Nighttime was always the worst. As bad as it was to see the infected that came for them during the day, not being able to see them was even more terrifying. The darkness turned every creak, every fallen twig or harmless critter into a monster, just waiting to snap him up. Liam had never been afraid of monsters in the closet or under his bed; now he was afraid of everything. He huddled in on himself, arms around his knees, and looked to the front of the small drugstore they’d made their shelter for the night. Dad stood at the front of the building, keeping watch while mom and the kids -- Jesse didn’t look like a kid anymore -- got some sleep. Only Liam couldn’t sleep. Closing his eyes only made everything worse, called upon images burned into his mind since that day everything went crazy. People turned to monsters, bloody-mouthed and murderous. The way those bodies looked slammed against the windshield of the family’s car when their dad hit the gas to get them away. From somewhere his dad procured weapons, and Jesse looked at ease with a gun in a way that was equal parts impressive and terrifying.
Liam’s eyes found his brother. He’d been so excited to have his brother back, even if he couldn’t come back in one piece. Jesse was a hero, now. He’d always been one in Liam’s eyes, but now he had an award to prove it. And with everything else falling apart around them, Liam was even more glad to have his big brother around. Slowly he slid over to the older boy, reaching out to poke him lightly on the forehead. “Jesse?” he whispered, their mom asleep on a bed made of pushed-together lawn chairs too close for him to dare speaking any louder. “Are you awake?”
Moving on her own was not something she did often since the group moved to Boulder. There was always a situation to take care of are a perimeter to secure, there wasn’t much time to get away on her own unless it was to scavenge for the group. But, today, she decided to escape if only for a brief moment, just to get a feel for their surroundings on her own. It would be naive to assume that, after only six months, they knew everything about their newest location. Dahlia walked cautiously, a pistol ready at her waistband if she needed it. She didn’t want to stray too far away from the confines of their camp. Her nose crinkled at a foul smell and she pulled her shirt up to her face, making sure she at least had some protection against possible spores that could be floating through the air.Thankfully, the infected was not alive, but that did not make the smell any better. “Christ, that’s disgusting,” she muttered, nudging the body on the ground with her boot.
Liam had done well today, a bag of medical supplies he’d...scavenged from a well-hidden nook of a building he’d watched someone enter and exit multiple times throughout the week slung over his shoulders. Finders, keepers. It was easy enough to shove aside the guilt -- for now -- when camp came into view; coming back empty-handed was hardly an option. A person came into view along with the camp, and he felt himself tense until he realized with vague surprise that it was Dahlia. Liam wasn’t used to seeing her outside their makeshift borders. He changed directions, heading toward her rather than the entrance to camp, and he pulled a face when he looked down at the rotting corpse she kicked at. Sometimes Liam wondered what it said about him, that he’d gotten used to the sight of them. “Better dead than alive,” he remarked, turning his gaze back up to Dahlia. “Did they finally kick you out?” He asked, a small twitch of his lips giving away the joke as he questioned what brought her out today. It was a dangerous joke to make, maybe, but but with so little basis he was pretty sure Dahlia would let him get away with it. Hopefully.
Boulder was the same as every other city they’d set up camp: the longer they stayed, the smaller the pool of people Liam could still trick became. He had to be smarter, quicker -- better. Wherever they were, he had to keep his eyes open, because there was no telling how long they might stay in one place. So Liam observed. He’d noticed this girl in passing a few weeks ago. She was new to the area, at least newer than he was. Fresh meat. Maybe the scared kid schtick wasn’t entirely used up just yet.
He’d been lurking near the Allies’ camp earlier in the day, spotting the comings and goings, and when he saw the girl set off on her own -- his plans for the day were set. Liam planted himself by some old buildings, close to the Allies’ base in the direction she’d set off in, but not close enough for anyone to be able to help her. His clothes were always a mess, jeans cuffed too many times, baggy shirts over a scrawny frame; Liam was pretty sure the Heathens had more food to give than he got, just to keep him looking pathetic. He topped off the look by scooping up some dust, rubbing it in his hair, then he huddled up against the front of a dilapidating building, knees against his chest. And then he waited. And waited....and waited. And finally she was coming back.
He shrank in on himself, like he was trying to blend into the shadows, and pulled out his hunting knife. Again he waited, this time until she was close enough, and he called out to her. “S-s-stay back! I’m n-not afraid of you!” His voice quivered with practiced terror, his hand trembling as he held the small knife in her direction, his grip on the weapon intentionally incorrect. Poor, scared kid, trying to look tough. They didn’t always bite, but Liam always had more luck with women. Hopefully today things would go his way.
¨Could we… do something about this ?¨ Peter asked around, not sure if anyone was actually listening to him. Who knows, maybe one of them would have some idea. Peter only asked that they didn’t speak with their mouth full. ¨I don’t know, I just feel like if we could expand just a bit on that side, it would give us more wiggle room if we have to get more vehicles inside.¨ he continued, adding some pin to his improvised board, not minding one bit that he was essentially talking to himself. Sometimes, he felt like this, talking, singing, on his own, was the only thing keeping him sane. It felt like retreating back into his own little bubble, when the camp felt too loud.
“....You’re asking me?” Liam looked up from where he sat writing in his journal, eyes scanning over the board for a moment. He didn’t love what was happening here, the changes Peter was considering making to their camp. That implied permanence, and for a kid who pulled his weight by conning those around him, being in one place as long as they already had been made things difficult. Boulder had a lot to offer, but he was getting anxious to move on. Not what Peter was asking for, though. Peter wasn’t asking anything of him, not really. Liam’s only job was to nod along and agree. So he nodded. “Uh. Sure, yeah. Makes sense.”
“Hey there, hot stuff,” Talia cooed with a half-cocked grin toward the other person, mischievous gleam swimming in her eyes. “We should drink, make out, jump off cliffs. I’m in the mood for, y’know, fun.”
Liam stopped in his tracks when he heard a voice. Always aware of his surroundings, he’d spotted her in his peripherals. What he hadn’t seen was anybody else her words could have been directed at. Still, Liam couldn’t stop himself turning to look over his shoulder, half-expecting to see some giant, ripped person he’d somehow missed. But -- no. She was talking to him. “Uh.” He turned to look back at the woman, torn between amusement and discomfort. This felt like a trap. “No....thank you?”
[ LIAM HART ] is a [ TWENTY ] year old that has been part of the [ HEATHENS ] for [ TWO ] years. They have been working as a/an [ THIEF ]. The people in Boulder say that [ HE ] is [ RESOURCEFUL ] but also [ CYNICAL ]. Lets see what this wasteland has in store for them.
Hey fam! Meet Liam, sneaky nerd with a chip on his shoulder.
BIO:
A naturally bright and inquisitive youth, Liam’s days of sci-fi and video games were cut short when the Outbreak began. With a scrawny ten-year-old and another son recovering from war injuries, the family was lucky to find a safe haven as quickly as they did. His whole life was flipped upside down, everything he once knew gone in the blink of an eye, but his family was still together, his brother with them after three long years away, and that was all that mattered. With the protection of the city, his parents and his older brother, Liam remained relatively sheltered despite the dangers. His days were spent reading and learning from his brother and various others in the small city, doing his best to get some semblance of a normal education.
Everything changed when the clickers attacked. Liam was in the makeshift library when the city fell apart – attacked and infiltrated with infected before Liam knew what was happening. Alone and with no way of getting to his family safely, his only instinct was to hide. As much as he’d always wanted to be, he wasn’t a fighter like Jesse. Liam had long since accepted his strengths lie elsewhere – his creativity and resourcefulness put to the test as he waited out the initial chaos then made his escape from the city. His situation was bleak; Liam knew this. At 18 he was still scrawny, unaccustomed to survival and without the fighting skills it would take to stay alive in a world overrun with infected. It was pure luck that he was spotted by the Heathens. Alone, grieving and afraid, he was quick to latch onto the first help offered.
It quickly became apparent that Liam hadn’t been taken in out of kindness, but rather utility. Small and helpless, he made the perfect bait for lone travelers or small groups, stumbling into their camps looking pathetic and then turning on them so his fellow Heathens could swoop in and rob them blind. It was all kinds of wrong, but Liam felt trapped. Sticking with the group was his only chance at survival, and voicing any kind of doubt was a certain death sentence. So he kept quiet. He did as he was told. He proved himself useful not just for his youth but for his creativity and quick-thinking as well. And eventually he learned to quiet his doubts and that rebellious voice in the back of his head, reminding him that if Jesse was still alive out there – Liam wouldn’t want to see him again. Not like this.
FUN FACTS:
Ever since the start of the Outbreak, Liam has been keeping a record of events -- ones he is and isn’t proud of -- in a journal. A small part of him can’t help but hope one day the world might look normal again, and when it does humanity will need an accurate account of what really happened, as it happened. Who says that can’t come from Liam?
It’s pretty obvious from looking at him, but combat is not one of Liam’s strengths. He can aim a gun and he always carries a knife, but it’s more for appearances than anything else. He makes up for what he lacks by outthinking his opponents, humans and infected alike, his creativity and resourcefulness getting him out of more than one tricky situation. On top of that -- he’s learned to be a very fast runner.
Among the Heathens, Liam tends to keep to himself. He’s not intentionally unfriendly, but rather guarded and independent, keeping his thoughts and feelings close to the chest lest the wrong person catch wind of his misgivings.
WANTED CONNECTIONS:
Confidant - Someone from the Heathens who Liam has gotten close to, maybe someone he’s come to look up to in place of his brother Jesse. Whether they’re trustworthy or not (I am so open to someone just completely playing him!), this is a person Liam believes he can trust, someone he may share his worries and fears and doubts with, and hope that it won’t come back to bit him.
“Mentor” - Conversely, this is someone from the Heathens would would be a self-proclaimed mentor to him. The person who taught him to use his small size and perceived weakness as a weapon. I imagine this person would have a forceful hand, constantly reminding Liam that if he can’t prove his worth the Heathens don’t need to be weighed down by a kid -- essentially forcing him to swallow his guilt and do what he must to survive.
Victims - This could be a loner, rebel or ally that Liam’s pulled his ‘help me I’m a scared kid’ act on, earning their momentary pity or trust before robbing them blind, and they haven’t forgotten.
***These are just the first few things off the top of my mind -- definitely hmu even if none of these strike you and I’d love to work something out!
favorite male characters → joe mcalister. (under the dome)
“It’s weird and it’s scary, but it’s the first time anything like this has happened on earth. that’s awesome in the true “awe” sense of awesome.”
Her words did nothing for him. Diana saw the panic in his eyes, the way they shifted uncomfortably before focusing on her arm. She knew it needed attending to, especially if she wanted to protect it from infection. The atmosphere around her was littered with all kinds of sharp objects and dirt that could easily slip under her skin. As much as Diana wanted to keep moving, Liam was right. She couldn’t leave the sloping makeshift bandage on, new blood pouring onto the old. She needed it to be stopped – sooner rather than later.
At the mention of her turning around, Diana smirked. It was unnecessarily coy and unfitting for the situation at hand, but her lips betrayed her. “Liam, as hunky as ya’ are, you’re not my type.” She couldn’t even see Liam in a romantic manner if she tried. Once she got him out of the batshite camp they were in, he became a little brother. Quicker than she anticipated, unexpected. Being out in the woods meant protecting him from whatever danger showed itself. Diana wasn’t a killer; it didn’t mean she wouldn’t go down without a fight. When there were moments of peace, Diana cracked her jokes. The tension was able to dissolve and it was a way of keeping herself calm. Honestly, she was scared of what was to come. She was scared of the earthquake taking more from the museum. She just wasn’t going to show it.
Despite the teasing, Diana did obey Liam’s wishes. He was sarcastic and witty as could be, though still had the shyness of a child. It was another reminder of why she had to keep him safe. Liam was smart for turning around, she thought to herself. If he were anyone else, she would have looked and she would have said worse. Diana sobered up as Liam focused on the wound again and the fear swallowed him whole. She had been the healer outside the walls. Now, it was his turn. “Trust me when I say this is gonna be simple, ay? You’re gonna take the other bandage off. I don’t have anything to clean the wound with so we’ll worry about that later. Ya’ are going to take one half of your shirt and wrap it around, as tight as you can. Tie it. I need to stop the bleeding. Then ya’ are going to take the other half and do the same so it’ll hold. Ya’ can do it, Liam.”
“Ugh!” Her quip had Liam pulling a face even as he hastened to pull his shirt off, the back of his neck turning red despite the gravity of the situation. There was no part of him that thought Diana would ever look at him that way, nor did he ever want to think about her doing so. She was as good as a sister to him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still somewhat aware that she was a girl, and that he was a very scrawny teenage boy who could do without any eyes on his bare chest. It was a testament to how much he cared for Diana, really, that he’d done it at all.
Putting his jacket back on was a welcome relief, albeit one that was short-lived. He’d taken his shirt off for a reason, and as he stared at the blood dripping down her arm he couldn’t help but wonder if it would even be enough. Diana’s voice pulled his eyes back up to hers, his heart pounding as he tried to focus on her instructions instead of the fact that he was going to have to touch the blood-stained bandage already on her arm. His skin paled but he nodded all the same, swallowing hard as he forced himself to take a small step forward.
He could do this. He had to do this. And he had to do it right, or -- he didn’t know. He didn’t know what would happen, and he didn’t want to find out. Diana had to be okay. He could do this. For her. Because she’d saved him, and now it was his turn to return the favor. If only his hands would stop shaking. Again he swallowed hard, sucking in a deep breath as he reached out for her arm. Instantly his fingers were coated in red, and Liam was struck by how warm the blood was. "Oh, god,” he pulled a face and withdrew his hand quickly, shaking it out as if that might get the blood off of it.
He couldn’t do this. He was going to throw up, or pass out or -- something. This wasn’t what Liam was good at. He drew maps, he set traps, he improvised -- Diana was the one who dealt with the injuries. Playing violent video games had upped his tolerance for looking at blood and guts, but looking and touching were two very different things. But Diana needed him. She needed him, and he was letting her down. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his gaze flickering over to Diana’s before it went back to her arm. “I can --” He paused, taking a deep breath before he reached tentatively for her arm again, fingers hovering over the bandage. “I can do this.”
At the end of the day, Liam was still a kid and that was something Diana valued highly. He didn’t deserve to be in the midst of this, though she couldn’t say anyone deserved this. It was worse to see it happen to those who were younger; they hadn’t experienced everything they should have. Diana wasn’t old, not by far, but she had been given some extra time to enjoy the world before it crumbled to the ground. She wondered what Liam would be doing right now in an alternate time – going to college, dating someone, playing a shite ton of video games. Either was plausible and Diana was saddened that these things had been stolen from him despite how glad she was about meeting Liam. He had kept her going, kept the carefree part of her alive.
Diana knew Liam wouldn’t ignore her arm like she had chosen to do. It was a hindrance. She needed to get outside, get both of them outside. Her gaze drifted to the wound. The sleeve she had torn to wrap around it had grown useless, beginning to fall from the weight of the blood. “I don’t think we’re going to reach the infirmary for a while. It’s blocked off. Unless we find a back staircase.” She hadn’t considered the option until now. “I’ll be alright, really, Liam. Given what the fuck just happened, I got lucky.” A small smile rose to her lips, an attempt at reassuring the boy. She knew it wouldn’t work. “Come on. We’ll go around the floor. Put those puppy eyes away."
Despite Diana’s assurances, the more she said the more his panic only grew. Because she was right. Getting to the infirmary wasn’t going to happen right now, at least not without a whole lot more trouble than it would ultimately be worth. Which was saying a lot, given the fact that she’d already managed to bleed all the way through the fabric wrapped around her arm. He didn’t smile back when she told him she would be alright; Liam had always been a realist, and while he tried not to let himself get bogged down by the negative he also knew better than to believe things were always going to be okay.
Diana was not okay right now. “No,” he shook his head, his voice insistent. “No, you’re not -- we’ve got to at least do something.” Worry seeped into his voice even further, because what that something was he didn’t know. When it was just the two of them, those kinds of things had been Diana’s job, and he didn’t like that she was so quick to brush her own safety aside. He still didn’t know what had happened to Jesse or Luca or Frankie -- what if she was the only person he had left? He couldn’t lose her, too. “Okay, hold on,” he told her, coming to a quick conclusion in his head and pulling off his jacket without waiting for her to answer. He examined the fabric for a second, hesitating before he made another decision.
Blue eyes flickered back up to Diana, and in spite of the desperate situation he couldn’t help the wave of self-consciousness that rushed over him, the faint blush that he hoped she couldn’t see in the dim light. “Just -- close your eyes for a second, okay?” Once again without waiting for her compliance he turned around (because he wasn’t sure he trusted her to do as he said) and pulled off his t-shirt, quickly putting the jacket back on and zipping it up. If he could only have one layer, he figured the long sleeves would protect him better. With that done he turned back to face her, finding a tear in his shirt and ripping it down the middle. “Here -- we can wrap it with this, at least. Do we --” he eyed her bloodied sleeve, unsure of himself and scared of making things worse for her. “Should I just put it on over the one you have now?”
