Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.
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You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.
“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.
“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.
“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”
“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.
Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.
It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.
“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.
“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.
You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.
“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”
“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.
Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”
You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”
She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”
You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”
“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”
“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.
Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”
You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”
She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”
Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.
“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”
“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”
“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”
You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.
“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”
You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.
“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”
Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.
“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.
“No buts!”
“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”
“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”
A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.
“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”
“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”
“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?
“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.
“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.
“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.
“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.
“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”
You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.
“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.
“Thank you, Yuri.”
“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”
“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.
She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”
“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”
The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.
“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.
“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.
The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.
“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.
“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.
You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.
“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”
Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”
“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.
“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.
“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.
A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.
“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.
You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.
He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”
“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.
“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.
“Archeologists beg to differ.”
“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.
Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.
“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”
Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”
“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.
“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.
“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.
Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.
“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”
“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.
“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.
A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.
“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.
“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”
“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.
Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.
“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”
“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”
“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.
“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.
“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.
Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”
He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”
“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.
“Now, what were you about to tell me?”
“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.
“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.
You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.
What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.
“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”
Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.
They're quickly gaining speed.
“Love?”
The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.
Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.
Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.
Your breathing stops.
In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.
“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”
“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.
“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.
“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”
Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.
“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.
“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”
She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.
Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.
The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.
“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”
You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”
Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.
Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.
Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.
“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.
You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.
“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”
The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.
You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”
Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.
You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.
He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.
You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”
Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.
“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.
More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.
“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.
“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.
Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”
You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.
“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.
They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.
You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.
He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”
“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.
“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.
“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”
“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”
“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”
“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.
Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”
“Do you think it's contagious?”
“What?”
“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.
“Rabies?”
“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”
“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.
The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.
“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.
“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.
“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.
“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”
“Hobie—”
“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”
“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”
He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”
Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.
“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.
You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”
“You alright?”
Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.
“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”
“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”
“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.
“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.
A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.
“I think we should turn back.”
“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”
You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”
“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.
The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.
Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.
The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”
“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.
The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.
“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”
He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”
You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.
—
Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.
Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.
He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.
“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.
“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.
His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.
The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.
Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.
With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.
Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.
There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.
On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.
You have to be alive. You have to be.
As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.
Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.
Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.
—
Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.
“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”
You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”
His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.
“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.
He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.
Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.
“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.
“J–James? How?”
“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”
“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.
“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”
James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”
“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.
“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”
“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.
“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”
You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.
James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.
James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.
You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.
“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.
“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.
“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”
“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.
“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”
“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”
As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.
With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.
“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.
“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”
The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.
You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.
“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.
The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.
“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”
Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.
“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.
—
Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.
It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.
“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.
He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.
With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.
With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.
The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.
Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.
The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.
Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.
But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.
He promises to find you, even if it kills him.
—
Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.
His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.
You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.
“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.
“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”
You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”
“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.
“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.
James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.
“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”
“Guns? That's—”
“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.
You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.
“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.
His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”
“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”
“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”
You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.
“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”
“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”
James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”
You chuckle, “that's probably true.”
He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”
“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.
James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”
“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.
“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”
“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”
“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”
You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”
“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.
“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.
“C’mon, you're not that old.”
“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”
“Shit, is Yuri the father?”
You push him playfully. “Fucker.”
“Congrats? Shit timing though.”
You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”
“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.
“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.
James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.
You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.
You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.
James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.
Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.
James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.
A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.
Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.
“James, we need to go!”
James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.
You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.
You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.
Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.
James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.
You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.
Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.
The smell of the river has you running faster.
Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.
“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.
“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.
With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”
You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.
You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.
“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.
He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.
“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.
“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.
“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.
The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.
The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.
Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.
“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.
You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.
“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”
You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.
Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.
James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.
The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.
Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.
Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.
There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.
You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.
“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”
With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.
—
Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.
Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.
His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.
The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.
The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.
He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?
At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.
The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.
With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.
The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.
In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.
Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.
The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.
The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.
He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.
He's utterly alone.
With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.
He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.
Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.
He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.
His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.
Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?
As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.
Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.
It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.
Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.
There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.
Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.
“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.
“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”
“How fucking poetic of you.”
Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.
He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.
But it's clear that you're not here.
With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.
Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.
He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.
His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.
Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.
“What was that?!”
“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.
The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.
“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”
Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.
“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?
A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.
“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.
Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.
His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.
“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.
The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.
His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.
Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.
He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.
Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.
He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.
Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.
The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.
Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.
He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.
Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.
Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.
There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.
He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.
As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.
Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.
—
Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.
“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”
“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”
“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”
He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”
“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”
“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.
“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.
Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”
“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.
“Ow, what?”
“Wake the fuck up!”
Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.
“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.
He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.
Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.
The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.
“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.
Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.
The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.
—
The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.
It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.
Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.
You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.
It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.
According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.
James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.
The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.
You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.
With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.
James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.
The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.
“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”
He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”
You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”
James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”
“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.
James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”
“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”
He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”
You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”
Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.
“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”
“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”
“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”
He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”
“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”
Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”
“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”
He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”
“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”
“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.
You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”
He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”
“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”
“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”
Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”
“Do you think they're alright out there?”
“Don't change the fucking subject—”
“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.
You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”
He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”
You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”
He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”
“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.
His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”
“James—”
“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”
Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”
“Y–Yeah, I want that.”
“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.
“Thank you, boss.”
“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”
“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.
—
After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.
You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.
James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.
“We fucking made it.”
“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.
“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”
The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.
You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.
“We need to go!”
“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.
Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.
“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.
The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.
“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.
You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.
“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”
The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.
“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.
You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.
Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.
Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.
The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.
The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.
James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.
“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.
Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.
With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.
“It's probably fine—”
“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.
The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.
Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.
Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.
Five.
“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”
Four.
“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”
“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”
Three.
“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”
“Get the fuck down.”
Two.
“I can't.”
James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.
One.
Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.
He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”
“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”
“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”
You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”
—
“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”
“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.
“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.
Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”
“And?”
“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”
“You have a way with your words, boss.”
“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”
James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”
“Out of my seat?”
“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”
“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”
He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”
“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”
“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”
“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.
“Uh, yeah!”
“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.
“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”
“I'm sorry, James.”
“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”
“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.
“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”
You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”
“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”
You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”
He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”
Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”
“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”
You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”
The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.
You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.
“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”
“I know.”
“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.
“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”
“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”
With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”
—
“Wake up, Hobie.”
Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.
He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.
Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.
A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.
A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.
It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.
But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.
Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.
Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.
The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.
His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.
—
Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.
He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.
It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.
They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.
Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.
He feels like the last man alive.
He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.
When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?
Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.
It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.
The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.
There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.
A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.
Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.
He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.
Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.
Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.
“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.
Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.
With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.
“Why won't you just die?!”
Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.
“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”
“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.
“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.
“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.
“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.
His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.
“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.
“Are you—?”
“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.
He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.
You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”
His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.
A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️
Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.
Navigation
You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.
“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.
“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.
“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”
“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.
Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.
It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.
“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.
“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.
You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.
“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”
“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.
Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”
You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”
She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”
You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”
“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”
“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.
Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”
You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”
She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”
Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.
“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”
“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”
“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”
You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.
“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”
You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.
“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”
Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.
“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.
“No buts!”
“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”
“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”
A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.
“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”
“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”
“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?
“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.
“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.
“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.
“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.
“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”
You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.
“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.
“Thank you, Yuri.”
“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”
“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.
She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”
“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”
The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.
“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.
“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.
The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.
“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.
“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.
You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.
“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”
Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”
“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.
“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.
“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.
A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.
“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.
You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.
He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”
“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.
“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.
“Archeologists beg to differ.”
“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.
Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.
“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”
Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”
“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.
“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.
“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.
Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.
“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”
“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.
“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.
A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.
“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.
“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”
“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.
Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.
“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”
“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”
“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.
“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.
“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.
Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”
He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”
“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.
“Now, what were you about to tell me?”
“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.
“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.
You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.
What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.
“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”
Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.
They're quickly gaining speed.
“Love?”
The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.
Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.
Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.
Your breathing stops.
In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.
“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”
“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.
“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.
“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”
Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.
“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.
“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”
She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.
Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.
The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.
“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”
You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”
Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.
Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.
Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.
“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.
You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.
“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”
The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.
You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”
Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.
You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.
He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.
You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”
Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.
“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.
More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.
“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.
“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.
Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”
You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.
“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.
They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.
You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.
He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”
“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.
“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.
“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”
“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”
“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”
“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.
Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”
“Do you think it's contagious?”
“What?”
“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.
“Rabies?”
“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”
“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.
The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.
“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.
“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.
“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.
“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”
“Hobie—”
“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”
“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”
He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”
Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.
“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.
You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”
“You alright?”
Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.
“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”
“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”
“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.
“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.
A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.
“I think we should turn back.”
“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”
You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”
“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.
The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.
Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.
The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”
“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.
The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.
“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”
He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”
You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.
—
Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.
Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.
He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.
“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.
“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.
His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.
The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.
Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.
With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.
Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.
There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.
On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.
You have to be alive. You have to be.
As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.
Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.
Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.
—
Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.
“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”
You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”
His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.
“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.
He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.
Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.
“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.
“J–James? How?”
“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”
“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.
“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”
James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”
“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.
“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”
“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.
“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”
You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.
James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.
James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.
You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.
“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.
“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.
“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”
“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.
“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”
“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”
As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.
With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.
“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.
“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”
The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.
You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.
“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.
The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.
“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”
Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.
“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.
—
Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.
It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.
“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.
He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.
With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.
With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.
The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.
Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.
The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.
Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.
But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.
He promises to find you, even if it kills him.
—
Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.
His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.
You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.
“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.
“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”
You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”
“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.
“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.
James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.
“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”
“Guns? That's—”
“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.
You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.
“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.
His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”
“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”
“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”
You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.
“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”
“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”
James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”
You chuckle, “that's probably true.”
He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”
“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.
James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”
“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.
“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”
“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”
“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”
You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”
“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.
“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.
“C’mon, you're not that old.”
“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”
“Shit, is Yuri the father?”
You push him playfully. “Fucker.”
“Congrats? Shit timing though.”
You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”
“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.
“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.
James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.
You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.
You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.
James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.
Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.
James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.
A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.
Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.
“James, we need to go!”
James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.
You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.
You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.
Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.
James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.
You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.
Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.
The smell of the river has you running faster.
Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.
“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.
“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.
With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”
You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.
You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.
“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.
He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.
“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.
“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.
“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.
The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.
The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.
Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.
“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.
You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.
“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”
You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.
Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.
James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.
The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.
Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.
Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.
There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.
You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.
“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”
With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.
—
Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.
Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.
His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.
The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.
The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.
He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?
At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.
The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.
With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.
The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.
In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.
Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.
The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.
The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.
He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.
He's utterly alone.
With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.
He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.
Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.
He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.
His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.
Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?
As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.
Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.
It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.
Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.
There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.
Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.
“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.
“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”
“How fucking poetic of you.”
Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.
He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.
But it's clear that you're not here.
With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.
Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.
He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.
His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.
Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.
“What was that?!”
“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.
The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.
“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”
Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.
“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?
A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.
“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.
Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.
His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.
“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.
The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.
His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.
Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.
He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.
Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.
He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.
Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.
The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.
Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.
He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.
Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.
Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.
There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.
He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.
As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.
Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.
—
Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.
“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”
“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”
“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”
He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”
“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”
“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.
“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.
Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”
“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.
“Ow, what?”
“Wake the fuck up!”
Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.
“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.
He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.
Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.
The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.
“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.
Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.
The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.
—
The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.
It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.
Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.
You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.
It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.
According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.
James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.
The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.
You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.
With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.
James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.
The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.
“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”
He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”
You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”
James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”
“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.
James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”
“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”
He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”
You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”
Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.
“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”
“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”
“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”
He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”
“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”
Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”
“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”
He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”
“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”
“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.
You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”
He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”
“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”
“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”
Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”
“Do you think they're alright out there?”
“Don't change the fucking subject—”
“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.
You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”
He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”
You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”
He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”
“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.
His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”
“James—”
“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”
Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”
“Y–Yeah, I want that.”
“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.
“Thank you, boss.”
“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”
“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.
—
After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.
You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.
James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.
“We fucking made it.”
“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.
“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”
The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.
You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.
“We need to go!”
“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.
Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.
“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.
The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.
“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.
You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.
“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”
The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.
“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.
You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.
Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.
Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.
The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.
The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.
James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.
“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.
Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.
With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.
“It's probably fine—”
“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.
The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.
Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.
Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.
Five.
“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”
Four.
“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”
“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”
Three.
“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”
“Get the fuck down.”
Two.
“I can't.”
James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.
One.
Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.
He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”
“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”
“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”
You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”
—
“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”
“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.
“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.
Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”
“And?”
“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”
“You have a way with your words, boss.”
“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”
James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”
“Out of my seat?”
“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”
“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”
He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”
“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”
“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”
“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.
“Uh, yeah!”
“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.
“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”
“I'm sorry, James.”
“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”
“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.
“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”
You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”
“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”
You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”
He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”
Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”
“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”
You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”
The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.
You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.
“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”
“I know.”
“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.
“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”
“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”
With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”
—
“Wake up, Hobie.”
Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.
He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.
Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.
A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.
A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.
It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.
But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.
Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.
Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.
The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.
His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.
—
Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.
He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.
It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.
They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.
Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.
He feels like the last man alive.
He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.
When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?
Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.
It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.
The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.
There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.
A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.
Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.
He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.
Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.
Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.
“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.
Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.
With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.
“Why won't you just die?!”
Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.
“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”
“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.
“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.
“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.
“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.
His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.
“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.
“Are you—?”
“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.
He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.
You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”
His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.
A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️
As requested, here is Subong vs. Thanos 🙂↔️ These are so fun to make lol
Warnings: Smut, MDNI 18+, lil bit of bondage, pill poppin purple boy
Choi Su-Bong
⊱ Subong, who has never given a fuck about a girl or her interests, wanted to know every single detail about you because he just found you so fascinating.
⊱ Subong, who wanted to make an actual effort to keep you in his life, learned to cook, just to impress you. He even learned a few Italian words just to use when he served you his famous fettucine alfredo that was mid at best but you loved the effort.
⊱ Subong, who became an avid gift giver. If he wasn't in debt before, he certainly was now. Every time he saw something that reminded him of you, he'd get it. Any time he passed a shop displaying a gorgeous dress, he had to buy it. He just loved spoiling you.
⊱ Subong, who had never given a fuck about the state of his apartment, had suddenly become embarrassed the first time he invited you over. His mom was almost ecstatic to get his call as he stood in the aisle of the grocery store, asking her what he needed to deep clean his house.
⊱ Subong, who once he read your "I'm on my way home" text, immediately sprang into action, drawing you a bath, adding your favorite bubbles, and pouring you a glass of wine to enjoy so you could unwind after work.
⊱ Subong, who sat next to the bathtub, rubbing your feet as you bitched about your stupid coworkers.
⊱ Subong, who told you to relax as he laid you down on your bed, trailing kisses down your skin and savoring your taste.
⊱ Subong, who took his time getting to know every inch of your body because he just loved the way you melted under his touch.
⊱ Subong, who made a playlist for everything, including having sex with you specifically. You loved the way his tongue moved to the rhythm of the music against your body.
⊱ Subong, who took his time. Making sure every inch of you was cherished before he even thought about his own needs.
⊱ Subong, who moves slowly, but with passion as he makes love to you.
⊱ Subong, who always keeps a hand on your cheek, his forehead pressed against yours, as he moved in and out of you because it kept him grounded, reminded him that this was real. That you were really here, his only treasure.
⊱ Subong, who was sure to pull atleast three orgasms from you so that you could sleep easily, cleaned you up as you laid still before presenting you with a fresh pair of silk pajamas, because his girl deserved it.
Thanos
✞ Thanos, who watched you through blown out pupils and hooded eyes.
✞ Thanos, who kept his hand on your ass whenever the two of you were in public (in private too, let's be real), to make it known you belonged to him.
✞ Thanos, who wore sunglasses as he sat in the club, holding your hips tightly as you grinded on his lap. Other girls would shoot their shot but he just dragged you on his lap, his hands groping your tits as he made it known he didn't want another bitch on him.
✞ Thanos, who popped pills with his friends and laughed loudly, making himself the center of attention. Tucking you under his arm because he didn't want eyes on you. Not because he was jealous, but because you were his and his alone. He didn't want others gawking at you.
✞ Thanos, who made out with you in the back of the car as you were driven home for the night. His hands reaching up your skirt, moaning into your kisses loudly, surely making it awkward for the driver.
✞ Thanos, who loved seeing his ringed fingers wrapped around your tiny throat.
✞ Thanos, who throws you on the bed and demands you strip.
✞ Thanos, who pops another pill as he watches you do whatever he asks.
✞ Thanos, who loved nights like this, mostly because you loved it too, groveling on your knees as you begged to please him.
✞ Thanos, who loved the feeling of your plump lips wrapped around his aching cock.
✞ Thanos, who loved cumming on your face and tits, cuz you just looked so damn sexy covered in him.
✞ Thanos, who didn't let you clean up because he was far from done.
✞ Thanos, who grabbed a handful of your hair, forcing you to stand before he bent you over the bed (or the nearest surface) to examine how much that pretty pussy was oozing for him.
✞ Thanos, who had since moved on from handcuffs, loved using rope and wire to tie you up in whatever position he chose. Whatever position he could could nail you the deepest in.
✞ Thanos, who gave you no warning before he stuffed his cock deep inside you, barely giving you a moment to adjust to his size.
✞ Thanos, who was quick to set a brutal pace, biting into your shoulder as he humped you like a dog.
✞ Thanos, who wasn't overly concerned about getting you off, he needed this more, and you loved when he used you like a toy.
✞ Thanos, who wrestled with the thought of where he should cum. Inside of you? On your ass? Stomach? He just loved the way you looked cover in his cum.
✞ Thanos, who ultimately always opted to finish on your body, rubbing his cum into your skin like his own personal brand of lotion.
✞ Thanos, who left you tied up and covered in cum as he laid beside you and lit a cigarette.
✞ Thanos, who took long drags of his cigarette as he stared at your silent, pleading eyes. If you were good, and didn't bother him, he'd allow you to shower once he was finished.
✞ Thanos, who decided if you didn't stay silent like a good girl, would have to punish you all over again.
✞ Thanos, who if he was feeling nice, would untie you and carry you to the shower, where you could clean both yourself and him up for the night.
A/N: Okay so this is a ROUGH DRAFT of the first little part of the series I'm working on. I will be editing and there will be more. I might possibly delete this too lol but I decided to give ya'll a lil treat on this Sunday night since we have to get back to real life tomorrow. Enjoy ;)
Warnings/Disclaimer: This story involves heavy angst and smut. As always, I am in no way shape or form trying to convey that this is how Seunghyun or Jiyong are in real life. I'm simply using them as characters in this story. First draft, unedited.
You couldn’t remember exactly when this all started—only that it had been a collision waiting to happen. One drunken night, a heated argument with Jiyong had turned into something neither of you could take back. You still recalled the fire in his eyes, the way his fingers had wrapped around your throat before slamming you against the wall. His lips had crashed against yours, all fury and desperation, his hands roaming your body like he needed to claim every inch of you. Your legs had locked around his waist, his name spilling from your lips between breathless moans as he fucked you against the cold surface. He had buried his face in your tits, groaning with every ragged thrust, his anger bleeding into something darker, something insatiable.
And that’s how it had been for the last six months—rage, resentment, and raw, reckless lust. The fights never stopped, but neither did the sex. The bruises on your skin from his grip always faded just in time for new ones to take their place. It was a secret, one that weighed heavy on your conscience. You hated Jiyong, and he hated you. That was the rule. It was just meaningless, hate-filled sex.
But then, everything changed.
Choi Seunghyun was the opposite of Jiyong in every way. Where Jiyong was sharp edges and biting words, Seunghyun was warmth and patience. He greeted you every morning with a soft smile, a cup of coffee waiting in his hand just for you. He asked about your day, listened intently when you spoke, made you feel seen in a way you hadn't in so long. You found yourself looking forward to those moments, the easy conversations, the way he treated you like you were worth something more than just fleeting pleasure.
And then came Valentine's Day.
Seunghyun stood before you, a bouquet of roses in one hand, a cliché heart-shaped box of chocolates in the other. His expression was shy, almost uncertain as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“There’s, uhm… this new restaurant that just opened up,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I thought maybe we could try it? Together?”
Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat.
You knew he liked you. You had felt it in the way he looked at you, in the way he lingered just a little longer whenever he spoke to you. But you never thought he’d actually do something about it. Not when you practically worked for him.
You stared at the flowers, your mind racing for a response. From the corner of the room, Jiyong sat frozen, his normally unreadable expression cracked wide open. His lips parted slightly, his eyes dark, unblinking as he watched the moment unfold.
You liked Seunghyun. A lot.
But you had been hate-fucking his best friend for months.
“I-uhm…”
Seunghyun’s face faltered for a second before he quickly masked it with a polite smile. “You don’t have to. I mean, you probably already have plans. Just—just forget I asked. Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.”
He turned to walk away, the blush on his cheeks deepening, but something in you refused to let him leave.
“Wait!” The word slipped out before you could stop it. You barely recognized the sound of your own voice. “I-I’d love to actually…”
Seunghyun’s expression lit up like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Really? Great! I’ll pick you up at eight?”
For the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled—genuine, unforced. “Sounds great.”
Seunghyun walked away with a barely concealed skip in his step, leaving you standing there, the scent of roses still fresh in the air.
And then the moment shattered.
Jiyong scoffed, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade. You had almost forgotten he was there. Almost.
He sauntered toward you, plucking a single rose from the bouquet and twirling it between his fingers. His lips curled into something cruel, something wounded. “You’re really gonna go out with my best friend? After spending the last six months screaming my name?”
“Shut up, Jiyong,” you snapped, turning away. You didn’t want to have this conversation.
But he wasn’t done. “No, really, I’m curious. You trying to work your way through the whole band, or just the ones closest to me?”
Your blood boiled. “It’s not like that!”
“Oh? Then tell me, what is it like?” He stepped closer, his breath warm against your skin. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You gonna let him touch you the way I do? Gonna let him fuck you the way I do?”
“I actually like Seunghyun.” The words were out before you could stop them.
Something flickered in Jiyong’s eyes. Something you’d never seen before. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “We fucked this morning, Y/N,” he bit out, his voice barely above a growl. “This morning.”
You held his gaze, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “Well, that was the last time.”
You turned on your heel, walking away without another word.
Jiyong’s chest heaved, his hands trembling at his sides. The moment the door shut behind you, he grabbed the glass of water you had left on the table and hurled it against the wall.
The sound of shattering glass filled the empty room.
💕𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂💕: Aspiring diva Kang Mi-na takes part in this year’s Squid Games, challenged among the fellow lower class. In order to have a safe chance of winning, the aspiring fashionista teams up with former-rapper Thanos. Not only is she tested on what she is willing to risk for money, but her place as one of Thanos’ confidants.
💜𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰💜: Choi Su-Bong(Thanos) x Kang Mi-na, Thanos squad + Kang Mi-na
💕𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮💕: mi-na lives au, se-mi dies instead tho :( , romance, angst, fluff, casual, flirty bantering, lots of jealousy on nam-gyu’s part
💜𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼💜: graphic depictions of violence, murder, mild gore, explicit language, drug usage, mentions of suicide, major character deaths, spoilers for squid game s2,
💕𝓘𝓶𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸💕: like the original show, this is intended for a mature audience, please proceed with caution. updates will be posted biweekly at the latest, constructive criticism is welcome as long as it is dmed to me!!
💜𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓼💜: work in progress 🤭
———-
💕𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 💜𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻
———
The dormitory was casted under a dark golden light, everyone huddled in the back of the room. Heads in their hands, fetal in position. All of what had happened back at the arena finally sunk in, weighing on their shoulders. They avoided death, in a twisted version of an old game. Whatever came next was entirely in the hands of those masked men, now all they could do is wait.
Mi-na sat on one of the beds, trying to rub the blood-stains and dirt off her tracksuit. It was a good distraction, the quality of her outfits was always a go-to for forgetting things.
Thanos sat right below her on the ground. Which was..a choice, not one she would personally make. He still had blood on his face, now dry. It bothered her enough to the point where she was ready to wipe it off herself. She knew Thanos would never let her hear the end of it. He sniffed loudly, wrinkling his nose.
“You not feeling well?” A man asked.
It was Nam-su, or was it Nam-gyu? -she couldn’t be bothered at the moment. Thanos briefly introduced him and one other young man when they got back. Everyone was far too shaken-up to properly interact at that point.
Nam-gyu had a sharp face with even sharper cheekbones. If it weren’t for the visible Adam’s apple, Mi-na would’ve mistaken him for a girl.
“Don’t worry,” Thanos brushed it off, “I’m okay.”
Next to her on the mattress was the other man, Gyeong-su. The guy was rather plain-looking, his haircut had no help in differentiating him with the other male contestants. The only thing that stood out to him was his small yet happy eyes.
A loud buzz came, the bright white lights switched back on. As if on cue, the pink soldiers emerged from the doors. Mi-na kept her ground alongside the group, feeling her stomach tighten at the sight of them.
Congratulations was extended, but fear was still lingering.
The square soldier spoke: “Here are the results. Out of 456 players, 91 have been eliminated.” 365 people remained.
An elderly woman and her son suddenly cried for forgiveness, begging not to be killed next. When one goes, so does the crowd. Mi-na watched condescendingly, the thought of bowing to some random masked man was way below her.
“There seems to be a misunderstanding, we are not trying to harm you-“
“Seriously!” Mi-na called out, “Ya pump up a bunch of people with bullets and expect us to believe you?” Hesitant agreement came from the players.
As though the guard was told this many times before, he replied dully. “To ensure a fair gameplay, the following players were eliminated for breaking the rules. Please understand that we are presenting you with an opportunity-“
“Clause three! The games may be terminated upon majority vote.” A new voice entered, but it was nowhere near unfamiliar
The crazy man was at it again, though for once his information seemed useful, now that she knew what was happening. He was right, again.
If the majority of contestants wished to leave, Mi-na could head home and forget this ever happened. Just like that, she was ready to head out the moment the guard confirmed the clause..
💕𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂💕: Aspiring diva Kang Mi-na takes part in this year’s Squid Games, challenged among the fellow lower class. In order to have a safe chance of winning, the aspiring fashionista teams up with former-rapper Thanos. Not only is she tested on what she is willing to risk for money, but her place as one of Thanos’ confidants.
💜𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰💜: Choi Su-Bong(Thanos) x Kang Mi-na, Thanos squad + Kang Mi-na
💕𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮💕: mi-na lives au, se-mi dies instead tho :( , romance, angst, fluff, casual, flirty bantering, lots of jealousy on nam-gyu’s part
💜𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼💜: graphic depictions of violence, murder, mild gore, explicit language, drug usage, mentions of suicide, major character deaths, spoilers for squid game s2,
💕𝓘𝓶𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸💕: like the original show, this is intended for a mature audience, please proceed with caution. updates will be posted biweekly at the latest, constructive criticism is welcome as long as it is dmed to me!!
💜𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓼💜: work in progress 🤭
———
💕𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 💜𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻
——-
The grounds were like a stage for Thanos, and he was the star of the show. The star of the show with an unexpected twist. Make the wrong move and it costs your life, death no longer fazed the main performer,
Blue-green and white were the colors of his costume, and blood was his signature makeup. Sprinkled all over his face after being too close to an unworthy star, that is what happens when one gets in the way of Thanos the great. Like a coked-up ballerina, Thanos flailed his arms wildly as he galloped down with Mi-na as his backup dancer.
Mi-na was sucked back into her senses, she was still alive. Her eyes flitted to the rapper as they ran, unable to comprehend the strong feelings of gratitude that came over her.
‘Red light!’
Thanos skidded his feet and stopped just before the doll could catch their motion. It was as though he was frozen in time. Arms outstretched mid-cheer, with Mi-na basically hanging off of him like a ragdoll. Yet the weirdest of all? He was smiling.
Gratitude was then replaced with confusion. This wasn’t normal. He was nowhere near as carefree as the Thanos she briefly got to know, especially in the face of danger.
“What are you doing?” She hissed.
“Having fun.” Thanos’ mouth twitched, the shit-eating grin never falling. Bang! Another player collapsed by the two, blood surrounding the fresh corpse.
‘Green light!’
They took off once again. Mi-na scrambled alongside him, clutching onto her scrunchie with her remaining hand. Her arm nearly popped out of its socket as Thanos did another heel click. She was lucky that she was able to keep up with the exuberant movement. Genetic flexibility truly paid off.
‘Red light!’
Another shot rang, forty seconds left. The finish line was still several feet away. A moment of exhilaration coursed through her veins, the end goal was right there.
Her grip tightened on Thanos’ hand subconsciously, unaware of the smug smirk he gave in return.
When the doll rang the first syllable, Mi-na took off and left dust in her wake with Thanos skipping alongside her. The squeaky creak of the doll blared into her ear, it would move its camera-contained corneas and take out the weak. Not Mi-na. Not the boy who saved her life. Not when they were so close.
Their feet pounded into the ground, yet all Mi-na could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat and the high-pitched gasps that came from her throat.
Her only focus was the final destination. Mi-na’s breathing quickened as she followed the sea of players to the finish line.
No matter how much her lungs ached, the woman kept on pushing. With a final leap, they passed the vibrant red line, skidding safely onto the other side.
‘Red light!’
Mi-na ceased all movement, far too tense to move when that doll was looming over. Would the game truly be that cruel? She pursed her lips together, by moving her foot just by a millimeter to test the waters. Mi-an waited. Nothing hit her. She was safe, finally. Mi-na closed her eyes, bending into her knees as she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Everyone else on her side was catching their breath as well, trying to register the shock.
A loud buzzer went off, signaling the end of the game. Every player that lived managed to make it in time, only the dead remained in the wide field. Yet the moment of immense relief was cut short by a final gunshot.
..perhaps everyone didn’t make it after all.
Thanos laughed maniacally in victory, punching his fists to the sky. She nearly forgot he was there.
“Yo!” He cheered, punching the air energetically “That was freaking boss!” The rapper stumbled back, landing on the sand like a cartoon character. He began making dust angels, cheering as though it were the best day of his life.
💕𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂💕: Aspiring diva Kang Mi-na takes part in this year’s Squid Games, challenged among the fellow lower class. In order to have a safe chance of winning, the aspiring fashionista teams up with former-rapper Thanos. Not only is she tested on what she is willing to risk for money, but her place as one of Thanos’ confidants.
💜𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰💜: Choi Su-Bong(Thanos) x Kang Mi-na, Thanos squad + Kang Mi-na
💕𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮💕: mi-na lives au, se-mi dies instead tho :( , romance, angst, fluff, casual, flirty bantering, lots of jealousy on nam-gyu’s part
💜𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼💜: graphic depictions of violence, murder, mild gore, explicit language, drug usage, mentions of suicide, major character deaths, spoilers for squid game s2,
💕𝓘𝓶𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸💕: like the original show, this is intended for a mature audience, please proceed with caution. updates will be posted biweekly, constructive criticism is welcome as long as it is dmed to me!!
💜𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓼💜: work in progress 🤭
————
💕𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 💜𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻
—————
“What’s that?” Mi-na asked. The tickle of tiny legs crawled over her neck in simple curiosity. Thanos paused, spotting the fuzzy insect. He whispered tensely, using this as an opportunity to flirt.
“It knows you’re a flower, you’ve got a bee-“
BANG!
.
.
The deafening boom of a gunshot cut him off.
There was a player right in front of them that lurched back, collapsing into the ground.
‘Player 380, eliminated.’
Buzzing followed shortly, the bee floated off of Mi-na and to the supposed player. A girl-that was the first thing that Mi-na noticed. Thick crimson liquid pooled from her forehead, metallic and thick..it was blood.
Blood?
Another player noticed and shrieked, a shot followed shortly after. The single shriek soon became a chorus of screams. Mi-na’s heart began to accelerate, pounding in sync with the rapid fires that came out of nowhere. Blurs of teal and white dashed off in an attempt to flee from the bullets. Blood decorated the area in seconds before a chance was given.
Mi-na saw plenty of action movies, if peering over the TV at the salon counts. It was nowhere near comparison. The players fell fast and hard, no overdramatic tumbling. Not everyone dropped dead either. Some were still alive, gurgling and gasping as they choked on lead and their own fluid. It was enough to make Mi-na hurl.
Not even the crazy guy from earlier could stop the chaos, no matter how much he begged for them to freeze. Seconds felt like minutes until the final shot rang. Then eerie silence came once more.
‘Let me repeat.’
The calming voice returned, Mi-na felt anything but calm.
‘You can move forward while the tagger shouts, “Green light, red light.” If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.’
He was right. The guy that she and Thanos were mocking was right. How the hell did he know that?
The game was back on track, round after round, the doll sang its uncanny tune. Mi-na kept still. It was as though her feet were trapped in cement, all thoughts of keeping herself collected vanished from her brain. Nothing remained but throbbing, intensifying anxiety.
Mi-na couldn’t even look to see how many contestants remained. Time was running out, if she didn’t make it in time it was a guarantee she would soon join the dead.
Several pairs of blood-soaked shoes left her peripheral vision with unnatural desperation.
Mi-na was left with the scattered array of corpses as her only source of company. Her anxiety soared, she was alone. Mi-na squeezed her eyes tight and gritted her teeth, her throat closing up but she refused to let any sound come out. This was how she was going to die, wasn’t it? In a strange place in an ugly uniform, playing a children’s game. What could be more embarrassing than that?
A lurch of her body snapped her out of her panicked notions. A clammy hand was tugging her forward. Mi-na's eyes shot open, astonished that someone had come to the rescue. The messy purple hair gave it away.
When your annoying ex boyfriend sneaks into your bunk during curfew, after a whole day of avoiding him, things are bound to get messy. What could possibly go wrong? (Hint: everything)
❁ Seunghyun, who always picks up dinner for you on his way home, excited to sit on the couch and watch a movie with you.
❁ Seunghyun, who refuses to buy you your own hoodies because you're just so stinkin' cute in his. He loves how big they are on you.
❁ Seunghyun, who could never get close enough to you. He'd lay in your lap and pick up your hand, placing it in his hair so you'd play with it. He'd reach inside your hoodie, his hands roaming your stomach and breasts, not in a sexual way, he just needed the skin to skin contact.
❁ Seunghyun, who loved sleeping naked with you, because again, he needs that skin to skin contact, it makes his dreams feel real.
❁ Seunghyun, who always brings you to the studio with him so he can show you the new music he's been working on. His eyes lit up every time you praised his work.
❁ Seunghyun, who loved the way you fell asleep in his lap, clinging to him like a spider monkey while he finished editing his songs. He loved carrying you to bed and tucking you in.
❁ Seunghyun, who loved your body so much. When the two of you got intimate, he took his sweet time exploring every inch of your body. And I'm not talking normal fan fic stuff. This man would take a good hour showing love to every part of you, making sure you felt worshipped. Sometimes you almost got angry because god you were just so fucking horny.
❁ Seunhyun, who got lost in making out with your pussy because you tasted so damn sweet.
❁ Seunghyun, who would hold your hands over your head as he grinded into you, holding eye contact with you even as he kissed you because your eyes were just so pretty.
❁ Seunghyun, who whimpered when he felt you clench around him, his release soon following because god he loved the way your body needed him.
❁ Seunghyun, who'd run a bath for the two of you and sit silently as you leaned back against him, peppering kisses on top of your head and temples as he ran soap over your body.
❁ Seunghyun, who clung to you so tightly when you slept together, because he just needed you more than anything.
T.O.P
☆ TOP, who was protective and possessive over you. His hands never leaving your body when you were out in public.
☆ TOP, who broke a mans jaw for trying to grope you.
☆ TOP, who was fucking dominant.
☆ TOP, who's demeanor changed around the paparazzi when you were with him. He had a primal instinct to protect you.
☆ TOP, who loved to tease you in public. Brushing his fingers over your clothed pussy under the dinner table, telling you to settle down when your breath hitched.
☆ TOP, who'd say, "We're at a business dinner, Y/n. Compose yourself." He'd mutter as he pressed harder against your core.
☆ TOP, who loved watching you squirm in public.
☆ TOP, who prayed you'd crack because that means he gets to punish you when you get home.
☆ TOP, who tsked at you the second you walked through the door. Loving the way you looked up at him with those big innocent eyes. "Strip." He'd say, as he removed the watch from his wrist. "You didn't settle down when I told you to, did you?"
☆ TOP, who watched you with hungry eyes as your dress fell to the floor. "On your knees."
☆ TOP, who loved how you did exactly as he said, you looked so cute on the floor looking up with him at him with needy eyes.
☆ TOP, who'd throat fuck you relentlessly, telling you you were such an obedient girl as he watched your mascara run down your face.
☆ TOP, who'd throw you over his knee, landing relentless spankings on your pretty little ass until your cheeks turned red. He loved the way you whimpered.
☆ TOP, who'd pick you up and throw your legs over his shoulders as he slid you down on his cock, the pressure was almost too overwhelming.
☆ TOP, who'd fuck up into you, loving the way your tits bounced as you came undone around him.
☆ TOP, who'd cum deep inside you and force you to sit upside down after because the man had a breeding kink and he wanted to make sure you got pregnant.
☆ TOP, who'd light a cigarette as he sat next to you, making sure none of his cum spilled out of you, using his thumb to push back in any that threatened to spill out.
☆ TOP, who when he decided you'd been a good girl for him, would take you to the shower and clean you up.
☆ TOP, who'd make sure you were tucked sweetly in bed, admiring his pretty girl, before he stepped out for his final cigarette of the night.
When your annoying ex boyfriend sneaks into your bunk during curfew, after a whole day of avoiding him, things are bound to get messy. What could possibly go wrong? (Hint: everything)
You curled onto your side, yanking the thin blanket up to your nose.
It barely helped.
The bunks here weren’t so comfortable. thin mattress, stiff pillow, the tiny scent of bleach.
But after the hell of your first day in this place, you should’ve been exhausted enough to pass out immediately.
But you weren't tired.
Your mind kept running into thoughts you didn’t want to think about.
As if summoned by your thoughts, your bed dipped.
You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.
A low obnoxious whisper tickled your ear.
“Wassup, my baby princess?”
Oh, for God’s sake!
You clenched your jaw, eyes squeezing shut.
Maybe if you ignored him, he might disappear.
But the weight only shifted closer beside you.
The audacity!
You felt his body heat press into your back as he shamelessly slid under your blanket. The faint scent of cologne and something kind of… fruity filled your nose.
His vape?
Your stomach twisted. Half from irritation, half from something way more annoying.
You turned your head just enough to hiss, “Get off my bed, Su-bong.”
He did the exact opposite and made himself comfortable instead.
“Wahh, so cold~” he whined dramatically, pulling at the edge of your blanket. “Let me in!”
He was whispering way too loud!
“I’d rather freeze to death.”
Su-bong grinned. Even in the dim lighting, you could see his ridiculous purple hair and that smug look you wanted to slap off his face. “Then we die together, Romeo and Juliet style.”
You scoffed. “Yeah, except I’d be the one poisoning your drink.”
“Oooh, kinky.”
You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Go away. I swear, if the guards see you—”
“Pfft. Who cares? They respect me.”
“No one respects you.”
“You’re just mad ‘cause you still want me.”
Oh. This bastard.
“In your dreams, asshole.” You smacked his arm. He cackled, stifling the sound into the pillow.
The worst part? You caught yourself grinning.
You were still not over this man.
A beat of silence.
Then his voice dropped, quieter now. “You okay?”
You blinked.
Su-bong didn’t do serious. Not often. But there was something about the way he said it. Like he actually wanted to know.
You looked at the bunk above you.
“It’s cold,” you muttered.
There was another silent pause.
Until he replied with, “Damn. That’s crazy.”
You elbowed him. Hard.
He almost flinched, biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Then he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You went stiff.
“W-what are you–?”
“Shhh.” He nuzzled into your hair, his body warm against yours. “Baby cold. I am heater. Shhh.”
Your face went hot…
But you didn’t move or shove him off.
Not because you wanted him there. Obviously.
It was because of the guards.
They were unpredictable as hell and the last thing you needed was some pink robotic-looking psycho deciding that an argument at curfew was a punishable offense.
That was the only reason you let Su-bong stay.
Still, that didn’t change the fact that there was no space on this tiny ass bed!
And of course, you're annoying, oversized ex boyfriend was hogging most of it.
Your leg was literally slipping off the edge. “Can you move?”
“Ah, baby. I wish… but my body? Too powerful.”
“Uhm…What?”
He patted his chest dramatically. “Too much muscle. No room.”
“Of course there's no room. ‘Cause you’re a big back.”
“I’m a… what?”
“Dude! You’re the one crushing me!”
“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue, wiggling into the mattress even more. “You should be grateful. You have the great honor of sharing a bed with…. South Korea’s sexiest man alive~”
“Oh my God. Please shut up.”
He didn’t shut up. He just laughed and… oh no. No.
His breath tickled your ear.
You flinched, heat prickling down your spine.
Su-bong noticed.
And because he was the worst person alive, he did it again.
This time, you jerked away slightly “Stop rubbing on me!”
“Baby… that sounds so dirty.”
You kicked him.
“OW! Yah!” He whisper-shouted. “That hurt! You abuser! You need– how you say…” His voice switched back to English, “anger issue~”
Your fists were now balled up. “Su-bong, I swear—”
“Shh, shh.” He patted your head gently. “S’okay. Thanos still luv you.”
“I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”
“Kinky~”
You were this close to elbowing him again, but then…
He nuzzled into the back of her head, his nose grazing your neck.
You froze.
You felt the warmth of his breath again. The way his stupid, soft hair brushed against your skin. The lazy way he—
Nope. Nope.
You turned your body around, face-to-face with him now.
He blinked at you.
You glared at him.
It was quiet again.
Then… his mouth curled into that annoying, stupid smirk.
You immediately regretted turning.
You’re eyes narrowed even more.
He didn’t stop staring.
It was annoying. And weird. And making you way too aware of how close you both were.
“…What?”
The words barely left your lips before his smug grin got bigger.
“Ahhh,” he breathed, dramatic as ever. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“You like looking at me.”
You stared. Then snorted. “You look like a failed SoundCloud rapper.”
He gasped with a fake pain written all over his face. “How can you say this after all our beautiful memories?”
You rolled her eyes. “Memories?. Like on the day you cheated on me, right?”
His smirk faded.
You saw it.
The way his eyes darted away for half a second before snapping back to you.
“Still bringing up old news?”
The way he said those words were unsurprisingly apathetic and mocking. It wasn’t hard to notice how he was trying not to grin.
Your jaw tightened. “Oh, my bad. I forgot it doesn’t count when it was ‘just a kiss,’ right?”
His face hardened.
You kept going. Why stop now?
“Tell me, Su-bong. was it still ‘just a kiss’ when you let her sit on your lap?”
Silence.
Then he clicked his tongue.
“So dramatic,” he muttered, flopping onto his back. His arm folded behind his head, like this wasn’t a big deal. “You always overthink things.”
Ah, yes. There it was.
That calculated indifference. The bull crap he used to pull when he knew he was in the wrong but too stubborn to admit it.
Your brows furrowed. “You’re unbelievable.”
“No, you are.” His voice sharpened. “Always nagging. Always twisting things into some big betrayal. Seriously, bro! do you ever get tired of being like this?”
‘Bro?’ Who does this man think he is?
Your nails dug into your palms. “Being like what?”
“A pain in the ass.”
A rush of heat shot through your chest.
He did NOT just gaslight you!
Your body tensed. The anger in you bubbled so fast you nearly saw red.
Before you could snap, a groggy voice groaned from a few bunks away.
“Can you two shut the hell up?”
Shit.
You exhaled sharply, forcing your muscles to relax.
This wasn’t the time. The last thing you needed was to cause a scene.
“Go back to your bunk.”
Su-bong chuckled under his breath. “Wow, Look at you. Finally learning to control that temper.”
You almost went stiff again. He was obviously trying to start shit on purpose.
“Wouldn’t want the guards dragging you away, would you?”
“Screw you, Su-bong.”
“Haha. You wish, baby.”
Your eye twitched.
He still didn’t leave.
He just kept staring until your patience snapped
.
So you did what any mature, rational person would do. You whispered the meanest insult you could think of.
“Choding.” (Elementary school brat.)
Su-bong snorted. “Ohhh, scary~”
“Dumbass.”
“Stupid.”
“Egomaniac.”
“Goblin.”
“Failed rapper.”
Oops!
His grin faded almost instantly. “Yah. Watch your mouth.”
“Cry about it.”
“You first, loser.”
“Truth hurts.”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay… crypto hater.”
“That’s not even an insult.”
“Yes, it is. ‘Cause you didn’t believe in me.”
“I didn’t believe in your dumb crypto.”
He grinned again. “Same thing.”
That grin was too contagious.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
No, you were NOT about to laugh.
You heard a stiff breath leave his nose like he was trying to hold something in.
Then a quiet snicker slipped out.
That was it.
You almost lost it before you buried your face into your pillow, laughter bubbling out uncontrollably.
It only lasted a few seconds before you caught herself.
Dammit!
You cleared your throat, forcing your lips back to normal.
You were supposed to be upset!
“Yah,” he whispered between chuckles, “you’re so childish, you know that?.”
“Whatever.”
He nudged your side, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s cute. The way you’re playing hard to get.”
“Am not!”
“Mmm.”
You knew he didn’t believe you.
He inched closer. Too close.
His voice was lower now, the teasing edge still there, but softer.
