Please Please Please

Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker, oh

[tmuses]

“ so, suppose you get to another world. what would you do there? ”

In the middle of summer, with the warmth of the sun shining down on her face, it was almost easy to forget where they were. She could pretend that the world hadn't gone to shit and that life wasn't one long nightmare she couldn't wake up from. Here, in the grass, she could pretend it was just another mid-July day. Her parents were in the backyard grilling something, or rather, her dad was, while her mom made herself busy tidying and making things look nice for people she didn't need to impress. If she tried hard enough, she could hear a faint pop tune in the background or her mom's voice calling her down to join the family. But then, it wasn't her mom's voice cutting through the chirps and buzzing insects-- It was Morgan's. "So, suppose you get to another world. What would you do there?" he asked softly, and she didn't need to open her eyes to know that he was looking at her. He often was; Staring with a longing, albeit sad gaze, she didn't quite understand. She couldn't be mad at him for pulling her out of her daydream and forcing her back into reality. Sun-bleached lashes slowly fluttered open, brows furrowed as her gaze met directly with the sun. She forced herself to stare at it, wait until her eyes hurt, and then continued looking. When she couldn't take it anymore, she sat up, blinking away the burn that it left behind. Daphne pulled her knees to her chest, resting her cheek against them, warm skin against warm skin. "Can it be any world? Whatever I want?" she asked, a subtle sadness in her voice as it often was. "Sure," he shrugged quickly, "Whatever you want." His response met with silence as she continued to think it over. It wasn't that she didn't know her answer-- she did, instantly. She just wasn't sure she was ready to be so candid, so... vulnerable. "I'd still be here, I think. Just without all of this," she whispered, quieter than before. "I'd go back home. I'd tell my mom and dad I love them... give my dog a hug. I'd sit on the couch and just... be grateful for everything," she finished with a sniffle. Tears had begun to wet her lashes, rolling over her cheeks and onto the skin of her knees. Daphne continued, voice wavering as the sobs began to build up in her chest, "I'd call my grandparents, and I'd ask them how their day was, and I'd make sure to do it every day, because I certainly didn't do it enough." She took a deep, shaky breath, the kind that hurt your chest. "I'd..." she continued before she finally broke down, burying her face further into her knees. She curled herself inwards, so tight that her muscles ached, as if she could make herself small enough that she'd cease to exist.

[utahbastards]

Wade’s face didn’t fall at her words, but his shoulders did—just a sharp, helpless sag as something small and essential inside him finally gave out. Her voice didn’t have that signature Birdie bite, but she still didn’t give him an inch. And God, it shouldn’t have surprised him. It was so her to hold the line. She’d been angry for months; she had every right to be. But standing there with grief clawing at his insides, it hit him like a punch that even now, even looking at him like this, she couldn’t let it go. Not even for tonight.

He’d never known a world where his mother wasn’t within reach. He could’ve moved out at eighteen—had a dozen couches he could’ve crashed on, a dozen more beds that weren’t two doors down from Hollie and her goofy husband—but he’d stayed. Happily. Other boys got embarrassed about loving their moms; Wade never had been. Hollie had been the anchor in every storm Rhett kicked up—his nest, his soft place to land, the one thing that never changed even when he did. Now he felt suddenly, painfully young without her. Young and small and desperate for someone to hold together the pieces that were starting to slip through his fingers.

He wanted family. Wanted the smell of Hollie’s perfume—the one he’d always sworn he hated, the same way he pretended to hate every perfume that wasn’t food-scented or whatever girls drowned themselves in when they brushed past him in the school hallway. He missed it now: that sage-and-warm-laundry scent she always carried. Wanted the circle of her arms, the grounding weight of her voice. Wanted, absurdly, to see her light Cash up and get away with it, wearing that wicked little smirk he’d inherited from her.

Anything. Any proof she’d been real.

His throat tightened so hard it almost closed.

“I know you don’t,” he whispered. “I know.”

He shifted his weight, boots scuffing the worn wood, and lifted his eyes to hers—raw, unshielded, begging without pride. He almost fucked up, almost let you’re all I’ve got slip out before he could stop it. Rookie mistake. He already knew exactly what she’d sling back at him like sand in the eyes: You got a matching uniform with people you’ve got. Seems like you’ve got plenty of company.

So he corrected course, sharp and intentional.

“But you’ve been my best friend since before I knew my own name, okay?” His voice cracked, the sound pitiful, but he couldn’t stop it nor the burning of the back of his neck. “I need you.”

And he meant it, more than he’d ever meant anything. There were things he could never tell anyone else, things he’d seen today that no one would ever understand but her. He felt ridiculous—a tall child looming over her, waiting for the smallest sign that he was allowed to lean.

“You can hate my guts tomorrow, I swear… But please, Birdie. I can’t do tonight alone.”

[tmuses]

Watching her words register on his face cut through her like a knife, sharp and stinging. She wished she weren't like this-- so much like Clyde. Bitter and angry and unable to move on from that. Unsure of who she was without that festering rage inside of her that never quite died down. Wade didn't deserve this-- not ever, but especially not now. When his eyes locked with hers, she looked away instantly, unable to hold his gaze. That churning feeling in her stomach intensified. She wished he'd fight back, say something that made her response feel justified, but he just continued in that sad, pathetic voice. I need you, he'd said. No one ever needed her, not Birdie. But Wade? When Wade said she believed him. Her eyes slowly shifted to look at him once more, a new wetness coating her lashes, mouth twisted into something tight as she internally scolded herself for letting it happen. His pleading continued, each word and its wavering strength biting away at her resolve. She took a heavy, shuddering breath, rising to her feet, slow and unsteady. Her limbs felt heavy as she stood there, unsure of how to override her pride, but one more look at his sagged shoulders and it didn't matter anymore. With a movement so quick it might have seemed as though her intent was to hit him she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his warm skin. "Don't be stupid, I don't hate your guts," she whispered, words muffled against his shoulder. Her arms squeezed him tighter, nails digging into his skin as if she could bury herself inside him and soothe him from within. She didn't have the right words to say, she wasn't sure if anyone could, so she settled for a hug so tight it hindered both of their ability to breathe.

[utahbastards]

The cabin was silent and noisy all at once. Nobody really spoke; those who did kept to a low murmur, uncharacteristically trepidatious about spoiling what pockets of disassociated peace the person next to them had managed to carve out. The rest was boots shifting on floorboards, dry throats swallowing, glasses being set down just to be filled to the brim again. The air smelled of whiskey, sweat, and woodsmoke, achingly familiar and valiantly shielding them from the faint rot of the outside world sneaking in through the cracks. It had been a day. A terrible, shit-stinking, festering fuck of a day that had robbed him blind. The cabin was the safest place they had—hectares of unkept wilderness between them and the carcass that had been Clearmont with perimeter fencing as tall as it was sharp—but it was cramped. Built to hold ten at most, it was bursting with at least thirty. You couldn’t move two steps without catching an elbow or boot heel, but everyone had tried to carve out a space, make it theirs. A jacket thrown down as a pillow, a crate flipped into a seat, a laundry basket bassinet. His dad hadn’t spoken a word since they made it back. Wade wasn’t sure he ever would again. Rhett had that hollowed-out look in his eye that Wade had only seen once before— his grandfather right between the second where his gargling had stopped and the flatline started. The let go, when the nothingness sinks in and you cling to it gratefully because at least the pain had stopped. It scared the shit out of him. Made him afraid to close his eyes, afraid he’d wake to find the old man’s brains splattered against the shed out back. Kiri sat beside Rhett, though it didn’t seem to matter. He stared through the bottom of his glass, gaze fixed on the dark spatters drying across his boots. She looked sick—like just being near him had poisoned the air in her lungs. Those black waves rolling off him had made her seasick, and Wade couldn’t blame her. The whole room felt warped by the gravity of his father’s unyielding silence. He couldn’t bear it. His own grief was already circling, teeth bared and hungry, testing its reach. It wanted to devour him whole—to drag him under before he could even gasp. But Rhett’s grief wasn’t a mouth. It was a black hole. A slow, crushing pull that didn’t chew or swallow—it just consumed. Everything nearby, everything still breathing, got dragged toward that center and ground away into nothing. The silence pressed against Wade’s ribs until he thought he might crack with it. Every word his father didn’t speak filled the space instead, a darker voice from the bottom of his own mind, whispering what he didn’t want to hear just to fill the blank. If it had just been the world that ended, she wouldn’t have budged. Javi was testament enough, as he sat by himself; given no quarters. Birdie could hold a grudge like a dog with a bone, and she’d made it clear over the last few months that Wade’s patch had caused a T-Rex sized femur of a fury locked between those teeth. But this wasn’t just the world ending. This was his world. And that meant something different between them. Everyone knew by now—Wade and Rhett had gone to get Hollie and come back without her. No one needed to ask what happened. He knew Birdie. Knew every tick and trigger, every quiet way her heart turned over. He knew before he even stood that she’d thaw. That was the thing about her—she could rage like wildfire, but she couldn’t watch someone she loved burn alone. Still, his knees wobbled as he pushed himself up, the ground uneven under his sneakers as he threaded through the bodies in the dim cabin hall. When the floorboards creaked under his step, she looked up. Her hands were clasped tight, knuckles pale, but her eyes were softer than he’d seen them in months. “Truce?” he asked. His voice barely cleared the distance between them, the tremor in it small but impossible to hide.

[tmuses]

She'd never seen this side of the club-- never been allowed to. Cash had pushed their father to let her help, and with enough pressure, Clyde had finally budged, but it was different. She wasn't there on the road with them, wasn't there in the cramped spaces after a long ride and a job well done. She wondered if this was what it had been like, men's bodies strewn around the room, lazy with exhaustion, and a few quiet souls filling the gaps of silence with heavy pours of liquor she'd never grown fond of. She could've asked her brothers, could've asked Wade, but if she had, she feared the last brick in the poorly made barrier of nonchalance might crumble. As if they couldn't tell how badly she wanted to be a part of it-- of their lives, of her family. Wade had known, even if her brothers hadn't, and he'd still done it. She wasn't sure what was worse, the betrayal in itself, or the fact that they both knew he didn't really regret it-- despite what it'd done to them, and to her. Even now, she knew she didn't fit, like a puzzle piece that made its way into the wrong box somehow. All of them belonged in the space, despite the claustrophobia-inducing nearness. Even Kiri and Sloane felt right in the room, like they deserved to be there. Birdie was used to finding the center stage in a room, whatever it took to get the attention she hated herself for craving so much. Not today. She'd pushed herself so far out of the way and pretended it would numb the sting of it all-- as if cramming herself as tight into the corner as she could would make her feel like any less of an aberration. At one point, Wade had stood out, too, a thorn in the side of the much more serious and capable members of the business —her family business. Now he was just another wave in the waters that made her so fucking seasick. He wasn't hers anymore. Like everything else in her life, he was theirs, and she hated him for it. Hated them for it too. She wanted to hate him now, too, as he approached her with an uncharacteristic timidness. The anger she felt towards him made her stomach turn, but it was the guilt she felt that threatened her ability to keep her dinner down. Even now, she'd shut him out when he needed her most. The rage that burned inside her threatened to light her up entirely, but with each sad step he took towards her, it began to flicker. Rhett wouldn't have come back with Hollie, not if she'd been alive when they'd reached her. No one had to say anything; they all already knew. Rhett and Wade's grief tainted the air like something infectious. Hollie was as dead as her own mother; the only difference was that her corpse was a hell of a lot fresher, and Hollie had actually loved her kid. The way his voice wavered when he spoke to her made her heart sink. She'd never seen him so defeated. Wade was a lot of things, but above all else, he was relentless. Another roll of nausea hit her as she bit the inside of her cheek. Every fiber of her being ached to start a fight, but her heart ached more, a pain so visceral she could hardly contain it. "What if I don't want a truce?" She asked, though there was no bite in her voice. Her response was a force of habit, a defense mechanism curated over years of denial. "I still don't like you very much," she added, even weaker resolve than before.

[ahrigifs]

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content warnings include: drinking, blood.

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[mad3lyncline]

𝑴𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑳𝒀𝑵 𝑪𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑬 . Via Tiktok ( x ) .

[tmuses]

For Rhett:

Arsema Thomas - Became a teacher because she couldn't have kids of her own, but spent a lot of time depressed abt it, Was visiting her brother in prison when the outbreak happened

Lea Seydoux -

Natasha Lyonne - Scam artist before the apocalypse, scam artist after-- has been walking the states posing as a helpless woman and then robbing people and leaving to find her next target

Kathryn Prescott- Been around the club a while, dad was friends with clyde, husband died on the road post apocalypse

Aslihan Malbora - Secretary to a v rich man, was taken to his bunker with him and others but when she refused to be a part of his harem he kicked her out and she's so not equipped to rough it in the wilderness

Lyrica Okano - Was part of a small group that ultimately resorted to cannibalism to avoid starvation and when she found out about it she fleed and has been on her own since-- they're tracking her down bc she was one if the pretty girls used to lure in survivors for dinnertime.

[tmuses]

Carson MacCormac

Douglas Smith

Rohan Nedd

Alex Saxxon

Alex Rider

Dominic Sessa

[tmuses]

[ MASSAGE ] — sender gently rubs their palms along receiver's bare back

Growing up the way he had, Warren had never really been taught how to process his emotions. The best thing a Slivko could do with sadness was swallow it down until it inevitably turned into pure, unbridled rage. Tears were met with the sharp sting of his father's palm or the biting cruelty of his mother's words. Violence was the only form of communication in his household, and anger was the only valid emotion. He thought it'd made him stronger-- better than the rest of the human population. He'd watched weaker men crumble under the pressure of the military, choke on the guilt that came with taking lives. He, on the other hand, only needed to be told where to aim and how many times to pull the trigger.

Things didn't faze him. At least, that's what he'd convinced himself until he found himself drowning in a sea of gnashing teeth and clawing hands. He told himself he was angry, that he HATED Ransome for leaving him there to die, but what he felt was betrayal. When he thought about it for too long, he felt like a kid again, desperately seeking validation from people who'd never give it to him. It was different with Caroline. She saw him for what he was, and she still let him into her bed at night. Unlike Ransome, she knew what it felt like to be angry all the time. She knew what it felt like to find catharsis in the violence.

He hadn't given her a second glance when they'd first started working for Boone. What he felt for Caroline had crept up on him like a cancer diagnosis in Stage 4. By the time he realized how much he cared, there was nothing he could do about it. Fuck, if that didn't scare him. But she hadn't treated him like Ransome-- hadn't acted like he was gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe that she just couldn't get rid of. She wanted him around, and just like that he found himself softening. He wasn't angry all the time, long forgotten feelings, and ones entirely unfamiliar to him were starting to surface.

However, it made him negligent. He'd been too distracted, too happy. And suddenly it wasn't him beneath a swarm of gnashing teeth, but the one person he couldn't lose. The work they did was dangerous, but they culled often enough to avoid a horde. With the storm over the last couple of days, they hadn't been able to get out there and take care of things. He hadn't been expecting it, and he should've. He shouldn't have been joking with her, laughing and fucking around. At first, it was just one, then three more had descended on her. He was on them as soon as she hit the ground, and by the time they'd finished them off, one had been close enough to her neck to leave a trail of blood and saliva.

They'd gone home covered in viscera, neither willing to break the heavy silence that lingered between them. Caroline had showered first, a mistake in part, given how long he was left alone with his thoughts. He felt sick thinking about just how close it had been, and that it was no one's fault but his own. His parents' sentiments echoed in his head on repeat. Violence and anger were all he could know if he was going to keep her safe. He couldn't allow himself to feel comfort. When it was finally his turn to shower, he took longer than they were allowed on the outer rim. Someone was sure to go without hot water tonight, but no matter how many times he washed his hands, he couldn't clean the blood off them. The blood that wasn't there, but could've been. Caroline had already crawled into bed by the time he was out. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with her, to feel her heart beating under his palm and know she was safe, but that was what a weak man would do. Anger and Violence, he reminded himself.

Towel still wrapped loosely around his hips, he sat down on the corner of the mattress and placed his head in his hands. She could yell at him about the wet spot later, and he'd take it. When he felt the tears begin to prickle at his eyes, he bit down on his cheek until he tasted metal, and then he bit down harder. His fingers dug into his scalp, twisting in his hair and pulling until it hurt– but no amount of self inflicted pain could stop the tears from flowing.

He was so caught up in himself that he hadn’t heard Caroline shift behind him. He hadn’t even realized how close she was until he felt the mattress dip behind him. Her hands were soft on him, softer than anything he’d ever felt before. They roamed over his back delicately, stopping at every spot of buried shrapnel and jagged edge. She paid extra special attention to the cigarette burns, long healed marks left over from his father. He wanted to shrug her off, afraid of the vulnerability he felt, but instead he leaned in to her touch. It made him feel weak, how badly he craved it. Slowly, her arms slid around his neck, blonde locks spilling over his shoulder as she leaned in to press her nose against his neck. They stayed like that for minutes, breathing in tandem, sharing each other’s heat, once again afraid to breach the silence.

[tmuses]

"All this time, I was convinced you were dead."

Things had been difficult since her group had officially merged with those on the campus. It wasn't the former students who made it uncomfortable, however-- it was the people who had moved in only a year prior. Her people. Her real group. Even on the ranch, she'd had memories of them. They came slowly at first, and then all together in a confusing stream of consciousness. Snippets of her life would come and go, faces and names within situations that held no context. As far back as her memory went, she couldn't recall how she'd ended up with a bullet in her head. Unfortunately, it seemed like none of the others knew either. While she had distinct memories surrounding a few of them, Tansy didn't seem to be one that had left a lasting impact. She'd catch glimpses of her in the background, and conversations of non-importance. Most of her memories had only surfaced after seeing her again. What Sloane could recall, however, was the feeling of discomfort that hadn't seemed to go away. She couldn't remember the reason for the discomfort, but she knew well enough that Tansy was the cause. Sitting next to her at the bar left her feeling on edge, and the hair on her arms stood on end when the woman broke the silence. "It's so surreal to see you," she mentioned softly, "All this time, I was convinced you were dead." Sloane didn't tear her eyes from the countertop in front of her. Instead, she took a sip of her beer, desperately wishing it was cold instead of the frequent lukewarm temperature that persisted with all of their alcohol. She let out a heavy sigh, her free hand absent-mindedly reaching to touch the spot on the back of her head that served as a reminder of the gunshot that had nearly killed her. "Yeah," she finally responded, turning to face her, "Seems like everyone did...And, sure as hell seems like a lot of you are wishing that was still the case." She'd picked up rather quickly on that fact-- she only wished she knew why that was.

[tmuses]

"After what happened before, I can't let you out of my sight."

Penelope was disoriented when she finally came to. Her body ached in ways she hadn't thought possible, and the pain was so overwhelming she couldn't imagine how she'd stayed unconscious, to begin with. Her head was throbbing painfully, her ears ringing, and there was an all-consuming pain radiating through the left side of her ribcage. She pressed her palm to her forehead, immediately feeling the warmth and stickiness of what she could only assume was blood. Penelope winced, eyes still squeezed tightly shut as she tried to make sense of the pain she was in. The people from the prison had attacked, that much she knew for sure, but whether it had been a grenade or a bomb, she wasn't sure.

When she finally opened her eyes, everything was a blur, only made worse by the fact that her glasses had been knocked off during the explosion. The room was dark, and a thick coat of dust and dirt further obscured her vision. With a grimace, she rolled onto her side, only to cry out as a sharp pain shot through her side. It hurt to move, but it hurt just as bad to breathe. Attempting a shallow breath, she twisted her face in agony while blinking back tears. Though her medical knowledge of human biology was limited, it felt safe to assume at least one of her ribs had been broken, if not more. She hoped desperately that she hadn't punctured a lung in the process.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Squinting into the darkness, she fumbled for her glasses on the ground beneath her. She was careful not to breathe a sigh of relief when her fingers found cool glass. Clumsily, she slid the frames over her nose, furrowing her brows when she noticed a crack in one of the lenses. Still, she could see—albeit a little better.

As her vision adjusted, she scanned the room. The amount of rubble she was buried in indicated the attack had been no mere grenade. As she continued to look, her gaze settled on a familiar mess of black hair. "Warner," she shouted, pushing herself onto bruised and bloodied knees in an attempt to crawl over to him. Each subtle movement, every breath, was pure agony, but she had to be sure he wasn't dead. When she finally reached his body, she rolled him over onto his back, fingers quickly finding his pulse point. His heart was beating steadily, and relief flooded her veins. They all knew loss, but after the death of her Fiance, she couldn't lose him too. Warner had been a bright spot, guiding her out of the dark tunnel. Losing him would have completely undone her. Though logistically it wasn't wise to wake him, she couldn't deny the urge to shake him away. Hands firmly gripped his shoulders, shaking softly with the occasional mumble of his name. He startled awake after a moment, hand reaching out to grab her before realization settled into his features. "Penelope," he affirmed, coughing up some dust that had surely settled in his lungs. This time, it was impossible to resist the sigh of relief, regardless of the discomfort it caused.

"Are you okay?" she wheezed, finding talking just as challenging as breathing. He nodded, though his motions were fatigued. He tried to sit up, but she gently placed a hand on his chest and forced him to stay down. "Don't get up…Keep the blood flowing… to your brain. In case of concussion," she warned, barely able to get the words out. As observant as ever, Warner looked over her with worry, "Are you okay?" There was a pause, a quiet moment between them before she finally nodded. "Fine," she lied, attempting a smile that looked more like gritting her teeth than anything. "You're bleeding," he challenged, clearly doubting the truth behind her words. "So are you. I'm fine, really," she reassured him, slowly letting herself fall back to sit comfortably. Her knees ached from the bruises and the gravel embedded in them. Crawling over to him had only further shredded the delicate skin.

She took this time to look over his body more thoroughly, mentally noting each of his wounds. He'd managed to avoid any serious injuries, though as she'd mentioned, the possibility of concussion was very high. When her eyes made it to his face, his gaze was already on her, piercing and quizzical. Gingerly, she placed her hand over the top of his, "Really…I'm okay." Penelope gave his fingers a squeeze, which he very weakly returned. The corners of his lips turned downwards into a frown. "I just wor-" he began, only to be interrupted. "Wait, do you hear that?" she asked, closing her eyes to focus on the sound. It came again, another cough in the distance. He furrowed his brows, straining to hear the noise she brought attention to, but nothing came to him. "Someone's alive… down here," Penelope realized, eyes snapping open, "I have to go see if they're okay." With little thought for her own well-being, she pushed herself back up onto her knees, nearly vomiting from the pain that overwhelmed her senses. Warner was becoming restless beneath her, struggling to sit up. "You can't go; it's not safe," he hissed, features wild and panicked. It was unlike anything she'd seen before. He was always so composed, even when he was falling apart. "I can't just leave them," she protested, "If they need help--"

Warner's fist encircled her wrist, stunning her into silence. His grip was strong, and she knew it'd take significant strength to free herself from it. Brows furrowed, her eyes finally met his, and she felt she could drown in the depths of them. His eyes held so much sorrow, something she'd only ever seen in the mirror. "After what happened before, I can't let you out of my sight," he nearly croaked. His voice was hoarse, and she could see a buildup of tears on his lashes, though she wasn't sure if it was due to his raw emotion or the debris around them.

Her heart ached for him. Though they'd all known loss, few knew as well as Warner. They'd both suffered at the hands of Beckett and his minions. The one person that mattered most to them had been violently ripped from their lives, haunting them since. She knew then that she couldn't leave him. Penelope refused to be the one to retraumatize him, even if all of her instincts were screaming to go help the stranger. "Okay," she finally nodded, "I won't leave." A silent understanding enveloped the two of them, both instantly realizing just how much they'd come to mean to each other. They sat like that, her wrist still caught in his hand, unable to break their eye contact.

[courtrps]

Avi tilted his head in some form of nonchalant agreement, for numerous reasons she was right, but he'd only said it that way to express his lack of intention without pinning anything on her. " Oh, but you'd never do that, you're not that type of girl, and that's just the ambiance of the bar I seemed to carry with me." He replied confidently, but once she'd turned to lock the door he brought his chin to his chest and attempted to see how bad the smell was. He thought himself perfectly enough intact when he'd excused himself to go to her. The trip maybe shook that belief a little, but he had been drinking impairment happens once it's in your bloodstream. He couldn't recall anyone dumping a drink on him, so perhaps he was further gone than he realized, all he could do was hope not embarrassingly so as he was already locked in her home. " Determined, Love, I think it's the word you're looking for." Avi called back as she'd left him in the room.

It wasn't long before she returned with a cup in hand, filled with water, likely for him and not herself considering what she thought of his condition. Her answer was quick, and defensive, as if the question had been an accusation- and perhaps she was not entirely wrong. Either way, he found the leap to defense amusing. "Yes, there is nothing wrong with it, it's just a bit late, and a Friday night. Just thought you might have something better to do. " He paused taking the glass from her hand, bringing it to his lips and taking a drink, lowering it, passing a look towards asking if she was satisfied. " I think if you cut them the right deal you could find someone, I don't know if they'd meet your standards. though." Abi thought about the kids he'd worked with on campus and not many were shining examples of cleanliness.

[tmuses]

Though she was sure he was doing his best to be sly about it, she caught his movements out of her peripherals. She almost felt guilty, watching him presumably sniff his shirt for some odor that wasn't really there. She could smell it on his breath, sure, but he didn't reek of it like she'd implied. Odds are, she wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't tripped coming up her stairs. She rolled her eyes at the use of a pet name, a bold, yet expected choice. Try as she might to deny it, she did know he was right. Avi was determined--It was one of his most attractive qualities. Still, it didn't stop her from continuing to tease the man, "Obsessed might be a more fitting choice." The suggestion that she might have something more exciting to tend to was an uncomfortable reminder of all she'd missed out on growing up. She'd never been a socialite like Opie or Dita. Most nights, she was home working-- Whatever she could to earn her father's respect. It was a never-ending task that left her with little time to bar crawl and party. The unfortunate truth was that she'd never really had something 'better to do'. "Sorry," she shrugged with a frustrated raise of her brow, "I guess I'm not that exciting." He looked to her expectantly, as if his glass did not still contain water. When she made no nod of approval, she hoped he'd get the hint. "Yes, well I suppose I have impossibly high standards about most things--Or so i've been told," she sighed.

[courtrps]

The question seemed to cause some realization in him as his grip around her seemed to loosen, readying himself to pull away. Dita's fingers curled slightly trying to catch on to his coat, an absentminded attempt to keep him near, but she'd flattened her hands before they could. Instead letting the fabric pass under them as he created a small distance. He was happy to see she'd made it out alive, that was all, they'd cared for each other for a long time, but it didn't mean he wanted her clinging to him. At least, that's what she'd tell herself, too scared of what it would mean if he'd really felt everything that he appeared to. Especially now, with his hands cupping her face as he stared, she wished she could look away, but her eyes weren't as easily commanded as her hands. She wanted to look, to see the years she had missed, to see the man she had missed. For now, she could at least let herself admit it, if only as an excuse to herself for later.

Her face twisted as he released her face, unsure if it was at his answer or from the final tether between them being cut off. "On the highway to the prison? You were on your way when everything happened?" Her stomach dropped at the realization that if it'd happened just a day later he would have been there, that he was so close to being there. There were probably more important questions, like who was Gavin and what happened that he needed saved, but they could come later when her head was clear enough to get them out. She blinked a few times at the question, it had been an obvious follow up, and yet it surprised her. " Oh, we all were, the family, Opie had been there when everything happened to visit Wes and we couldn't leave anyone behind. When we got there it seemed Boone was running it and it was a lot safer inside there than anywhere else." She answered, a sudden guilt sitting in her throat that it hadn't been to see him, which made her feel foolish. He'd broken up with her, it'd have been crazy to go to the prison for him, even if looking for him there had been her first priority once they were settled. " I asked around to find you, even asked some of your biker guys if they'd broken you out of somewhere when they came, no one knew where you were."

[tmuses]

His first instinct was to laugh at the irony of it, but a gut-wrenching feeling settled in his stomach when he realized just how close he'd been to her. If the transport bus hadn't crashed, he'd have been in the prison when she arrived. He nodded solemnly, "We hit one in the road, swerved to avoid another and--It was a mess. Like I said, barely made it out alive." Julian hated to recall the details of his first encounter with the living dead. He'd had many run-in's since, a perk of being a wanderer before they settled on the ranch. The first, however? None had terrified him like that. He was pulled from his sour memories at the mention of Ophelia and the rest of her family. Her mom had passed before the outbreak, a real tragedy, but she'd still had her sisters and father, last he knew. "Your sisters and your dad, are they..." he trailed off, hesitant to ask in case the answer wasn't good, "Did they make it too?" He hoped for her sake that the answer had been yes. Dita had always been close with her family. She was the only woman he knew who still went home for dinner every night. He admired it, really, never having had a real family of his own. The closest he'd come to it was Javi, and much like Perdita, he didn't dare let himself dream he'd survived. The fact that she'd asked after him made him happier than he cared to admit. He didn't deserve her worries, not after what he'd done, but it was comforting to know she'd thought of him too. "Wait," he paused, curiosity striking, "You said you asked some of my biker buddies? They were there too?"

[courtrps]

The apology was quickly shrugged off by him, He hadn't meant anything by pointing out the gun. They were in a world with zombies for one thing, but she also was the daughter of a man whose one of his best workers was Boone. A gun in the doorframe wasn't peculiar, he'd just been a bit amused by it. Though the way she settled onto the frame with a smile she was failing to hide made it all the more clear that Avi had very little to worry of that gun, or at the very least that he wouldn't have minded if she tried to use it on him. " Good, I was hoping you wouldn't have been asleep." He responded, eyes on her as he felt hers on him, waiting for them to return to meet his.

He didn't answer right away, and if he hadn't already had a smile on his face it would have appeared at the offer. " Yes, I would very much like to come in, but I must warn you I'm in no position to take advantage of you," Avi said his tone light, "I just wanted to see you." He added as he passed by her with the space she allowed and entered the home which was much more welcoming than the outdoors. It was just as tidy as the last time he'd been around, which shouldn't be surprising, if there was anything Bianca was it was in line. The apocalypse would not be the reason she let something out of place. " So, not sleeping, but cleaning?"

[tmuses]

His candid reply had her fully smiling now, though she pulled her lower lip between her teeth to nibble on it. Once they'd gotten past the games they liked to play with each other, she'd grown to understand he was a rather forward man. He knew what he wanted, and he had the confidence to back it up. He rather unashamedly admitted to his interest, something that made her stomach turn with equal parts excitement and nerves. It was refreshing, to feel wanted for once. Not in the sick, skeevy way that men at the bar implied, but legitimate interest. "You? Take advantage of me? Hardly," she replied with a roll of her eyes as she ushered him in. "If anything, you're the one that needs to worry about being taken advantage of, you smell like booze." Once he was in the entryway she closed the door behind him, turning the deadbolt. "You know, you're starting to sound desperate, Avi," she teased, walking past him towards the kitchen to get him a glass of water. By the time she returned to him, cup half full, his eyes had begun wandering around the room. She quickly followed his gaze, looking for something out of place, before turning her attention back to him upon hearing his question. "It's perfectly normal to want your house clean," she replied defensively, "Besides, it's not like you can pay people to do it anymore." With that, she held the glass towards him, waiting expectantly for him to take it.

[courtrps]

It had felt like every action of his had been laced with a frantic urgency. He closed the distance between the two like it had hardly existed. He searched her face with such intensity it was as if he was looking for an answer he knew he'd only find written across it. It was in total contrast to herself who had felt a stiffness crawling back up her body the moment he came close enough. As if it knew that there was too much to say, too much to feel, that the only way she could exist here was as a statue. Dita had lost him before the apocalypse, in it she buried everything surrounding him without his body, and now with a new life breathed in it clawed its way out.

When Julian's hand met her face with a gentle touch instinct screamed for her to both pull away and lean into him to which her body did neither. Instead, she found herself just staring, like she was hoping that somehow everything could be understood without a word being uttered. That one unbroken look could tell each other everything that had happened in the missing years. So lost in her thoughts his voice almost didn't register when he finally spoke again. Dita attempted to nod, but his other hand closed around the free side of her face preventing it. " Yes." She weakly uttered, it was probably not very reassuring, but her standing there would have to be good enough supplemental proof of life.

Just as she had thought she was gaining herself back enough to string together a more substantial sentence, he'd found a way to stop her. Words of her beauty were the last thing she expected to hear from him, and before he even allowed her to process it she was wrapped tightly in his arms. " I'm real, I promise, I'm real." Dita reassured, slowly wrapping her arms back around him unsure if it was the right thing, but knowing deep down she craved to be as close to him as she could despite it all. "Julian, why weren't you at the prison?" She asked, finally able to say more than a few words. " I thought you were dead because you weren't there."

[tmuses]

Her words were quiet, muffled against his thick winter coat. As if entirely by instinct, his lips curled upwards at the sound of her voice. The gentle lilt to it, that subtle gravel that often caused a shiver to run up his spine--It felt familiar, like home. The soft words of reassurance had Julian exhaling a shaky breath if only to draw in more of her scent upon his next inhale. She swore she was real, and GOD, she felt real. For a moment, he thought to himself that even if she weren't, and this was some cruel trick played on his weary mind, he wouldn't have cared. He'd have given anything to have her back in his arms 5 years ago, and that longing hadn't dulled over time. Dita appeared to finally find her voice, and though he dreaded to do so, he knew he should let her go. He released her from his grasp, though his hands refused to meet his sides. Calloused palms found her face once more. Though she'd asked him a question, he couldn't deny himself another moment to take her presence in. She looked the same, older, more weathered, sure, but truly just as beautiful. He noticed little scars that hadn't been there before, a sign that he really wasn't conjuring her up. Finally, he pulled his hands away, though he longed to feel her touch once more. "I never made it there," he said plainly, "The bus--we crashed on the highway. I almost didn't make it out alive. If not for uh, Gavin." After a quick turn of the gears, he realized that in order for her to know that, it would've meant she had to have been there. "You-- You went to the prison?" He questioned, knowing it was too much to hope she'd gone looking for him.

[courtrps]

As the door swung open a smile started across Avi's face only becoming slightly sheepish when he'd realized he might have startled her. "Yes, well, I suppose that would explain the warm welcome." He nodded down towards the gun in her hand. Dignified would be the last way Avi would describe his entrance. However, Zombielike also would have been lower on that list, though he did quite literally go bump in the night, so he couldn't blame her.

Avi stood what felt like somewhat awkwardly now as Bianca's eyes seemed to dart around the porch. He hadn't assessed for any damage, though now he was wondering if he should have. She was always particular, it was more endearing, but he hadn't been entirely been on the harsher side of it. "Oh! Yes, that last one I found rather tricky- didn't lift my foot as high as I should have." He answered, turning to glance back at them as he did so. " It wasn't terribly loud was it? I didn't wake you?"

[tmuses]

The near-immediate smile that graced his features made her regret her aggressive greeting. He seemed happy to see her, something that admittedly brought her a little relief. They'd yet to talk after-- well, their 'hook up' if you could call it that. It'd be a lie to say he hadn't been on her mind since. His subtle nod toward her pistol had her sheepishly mumbling an apology before setting it down on the entryway table. She brought her hand to head, brushing her fingers softly through her curls as she gave him another once over. His response to her rather demanding question had her lips curling upwards into a smile, though she tried to stifle it. Bianca opened her door a bit wider, enough that she could rest her weight against the frame and cross her arms over her chest. His concern for her was sweet, and it only made it harder to suppress her smile. "No, I wasn't sleeping," she reassured him with a small shake of her head. Her eyes wandered over his frame again, before rising to make eye contact. "Do you want to come in?" She offered with a nod over her shoulder. In truth, she wasn't sure it was the best idea. The last time he'd been over things had devolved quite quickly, and she didn't want to give him the wrong idea. However, letting him stand outside in the dark and the cold also seemed like the wrong option.

[courtrps]

There were a lot of cows. Dita had heard in the conversations of this new settling group that they'd come from a ranch, but she did not really believe all the commotion of this return would be cows- arguably too many cows. She sighed, squinting as she looked at the herded animals. It wasn't really anything for her to report to her sisters and now she was beginning to believe that they were right in their decision to not accompany her. Too many years in the prison must have made her jump too eagerly at the opportunity for something new, something entertaining. Campus had opened doors that weren't previously there, but they were weary, and well this new group had no reason to be.

While she debated herself on if she should go home so early after she left, a voice cut through calling her name freezing her in place once a recognition of it took place. "Julian," the name fell off her lips in a whisper, sparking a whole new debate within her about how it couldn't be. He wasn't at the prison. He was never at the prison. He had to have been dead, she was sure of it. The shock that froze her in place had been thawed enough by her confusion and curiosity that she began to turn towards where the call had come from. There he stood, a lot more solid than any ghost could. " Julian? How?" Dita questioned, stepping towards him.

[tmuses]

When her body froze in response to his call, he felt a surge of hope that she was real, that she was there. His feet hadn't stopped moving, even as he'd shouted for her. She'd begun to move towards him too, as if drawn like magnets, and it took little time for them to close the gap between them. His brows furrowed, and Julian tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as his eyes roamed her face. In all the years they'd been surviving he hadn't allowed himself to hope that those he loved had made it too. It was better to accept that they were dead than deal with the all-consuming unknown. Letting his bag drop to the ground once more he reached a trembling hand towards her face. His palm cupped her cheek, fingers softly caressing the skin as he allowed himself to feel her. If he was imagining her, she felt pretty damn real. "You're," he began, breath hitching in his throat, "You're alive?" While his tongue slid out to wet his lips he brought his other hand to her face, cupping the other cheek. He tilted her head back with a gentleness that implied he might break her if he weren't careful. "God... You're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you," he breathed out in disbelief before pulling her tight to his chest. Julian didn't want to let go of her, for fear that if he couldn't feel her, she might not really be there. "This can't be real...You can't be real" he whispered against her neck as he squeezed her even tighter.

[courtrps]

The breeze of dusk felt cooler against his face than it should have in the summer, an effect of the alcohol coursing through his veins. It was enough to cause more than a buzz, just a few drinks in the sake of comradery with his coworker Jasper, and whoever else he'd invited along. It wasn't boring certainly not enough so to justify wandering off, but he'd seen Perdita across the way and knew that likely meant that Bianca was home alone. He wasn't expectant of anything, but he hadn't seen her since they'd slept together and if there was a friendly face he'd prefer to be looking at it would be hers.

Having reached her porch, he climbed the few stairs walking towards the door. Avi's foot caught at the top of the last step causing him to stumble slightly, not graceful, and perhaps louder than he wanted for his approach, but he didn't fall. After steadying himself on the doorframe he knocked, waiting for her to open the door.

[tmuses]

For as regimented as Bianca was, she found herself quite terrible at enforcing a bedtime routine. She'd always been a light sleeper, and that wasn't considering how difficult it was for her to actually fall asleep. She often felt she did her best work at night, and though that work was now far and few between, old habits remained. She flitted about the living room, tidying things she'd already given a once over when she heard a loud thud from outside her door. Her body immediately went into high alert, silently making her way over to the pistol she kept near the front door. Though things were relatively quiet, the lone zombie had been known to wander into the neighborhood, and it was often best to handle those situations as quickly as possible. Tiptoeing toward the door, she reached for the door handle with one hand, pistol aimed and ready to fire with the other. Just as she was about to throw it open, a knock came, causing her to exhale a sigh of relief. Last she knew, zombies couldn't knock. Lowering her gun to a resting position she twisted the handle and threw up the door, only to be greeted by what appeared to be a rather drunk Avi. "What the fuck," she sighed, "I thought you were a zombie?" After glancing over him, she looked around her porch in hopes to find the source of whatever loud noise she'd heard before finally asking, "Did you trip coming up the stairs?"