If there was anything that he didnât know about Tate, it was most everything. While that worked for the both of them, never once speaking on what made them become who they were when theyâd made, Hunter had chosen that path to walk down with her by his side. Most of the time it felt like he was racing to keep pace with her, always two steps ahead and far out shining the rest of the world with her presence, but Hunter had made it last through one way or another. Whether it be the way that he refused to let up or give into the desires in his head that pleaded with him to give up or fall prey to the ways that plagued so many others in the world that he could practically feel the wound in his leg reopen just at the thought of them and the damage they left on those who were still fighting - he continued to fight by her side.
Thatâd been enough for a time, to be silent and strong, resilient in the fact that whatever theyâd gone through separately had been enough to turn them into survivors that walked this world together but there were moments, quiet ones, ones that silenced all others, when he wanted m o r e. Moments when he wasnât satisfied with what heâd gleamed from the time theyâd spent together or the bits of her past that were far harder to erase than one might have liked, knowing that he carried his with him everywhere that he went. It wasnât hard for anyone to see the way that he buried them down in his chest, letting them rest on his lungs and work to suffocate him beneath it all one day. Not today was all that he could hold onto when the nights were too long and the days were exposing all the cracks in his skin.
The places that her fingers pressed against and held him together by the sheer force of will, refusing to let him to fall to pieces either. Those were the places that he could feel stronger than the rest, the places where she entered his life and patched it together without so much as a reason why. The question was there, poised and ready to be asked, but would he want to hear the answer? Most of the time he didnât need it, yet his spirit couldnât live on the fumes and crumbs that she threw him in the times that called for more than blind trust. It was there, but it wouldnât be forever if they acted like they were two separate people from the ones theyâd been before theyâd met. They counted too. But before he had a chance to delve deeper, her lips spoke his favorite word and made fast work of the walls thatâd been strung up high since theyâd lost sight of each other, again.
âTease.â
He chuckled lightly, finding the sound was rough on his vocal chords as she led and forced him to sit, choosing to treat him first rather than inspecting the bruises that sheâd shown him earlier. Not that his eyes or mind would let them go, fingers already reaching for the hem of her shirt as she made fast work of the bandage on his leg that he hadnât checked or changed in days. The leg still hurt, but it was still there and thatâs all that mattered to him as he didnât meet her eyes when she chided him. âObviously that means you should stop tryinâ to leave me behind,â he told her with a cock of his head to the side, squinting through his lashes to read her face, looking for any indication that sheâd read between the lines and speak what he needed to hear, not just what he wanted to hear.
Their words were a careful, intricate dance -- sidestepping and sashaying, gracefully avoiding treading on each otherâs toes for both their sakeâs. Tate had learned to master this artful dance a long time ago, had learned the special moves that were necessary to diffuse her father or coax her mother into cooking a substantial meal.  Yet she found herself getting sloppy, found herself stumbling over her words or revealing more than she had intended. Those prying eyes and long lashes had a way of catching her off guard. They couldnât be more effective than if he had taken a sledgehammer in his hands and hammered away at the fortress that surrounded her heart. She wondered how anyone could have ever said ânoâ to him when he was a child. Those Bambi-like eyes had probably been torturous to bear if he were upset, all welled-up with a pair of matching pouty lips. The image of a younger, more innocent Hunter in her head made her lips twitch up in a slight smile despite the pain that wore away at it.Â
It was a pain that was easy to ignore in favor of lessening his. Her hands made quick work of the wounds, fingers falling into an easy rhythm of cleaning, stitching, and dabbing. What wasnât easy to ignore was the way that those damned eyes were raking over her grime-smeared features. âThatâs me, Teasing Tatum...â she murmured in agreement as her eyes lifted from his wounds, brow raising in response to his name-calling. The raven-haired woman practically rolled her eyes as she let out an exasperated sigh when she noticed his fingers reaching towards her bruises. She knew him. She knew that he would be just as eager to make sure that she was alright, to the point where he would be willing to bite down on his own agony for a little longer. In any other situation she would be fine with having him taking her shirt off ( might even beg him to ) but not while she was stitching up his wounds.Â
Nothing stopped her blood from rushing at the thought of it, though. Funny, how the mere thought of his skin touching hers was enough to give her a head rush, how his eyes were able to pull away the blinds the kept her in the dark, how his protectiveness didnât make her feel weak but stronger. Her lips pursed when she listened to his words, a statement but carrying something more under their weight. A careful mask settled on her features as she toyed with his words in her head, mulling them over as she finished her work on his leg, the silence stretching between them. Finally, she met his eyes, her chin lifting slightly. He was asking for something that she wasnât entirely sure she was ready for, but here she was baring herself for him anyway.Â
âI donât think I could ever leave you behind. You do realize that the only reason Iâve lived for so long is because of you, donât you? I donât mean surviving -- making it day after bloody day no better than those clickers -- I mean lived.  Why would I ever want to leave that behind?â She knew what he was asking beneath all that, though. There were layers within in layers in these words, caverns that ran so deep that they had no hope of seeing the light of day. âYou may not realize that, but you do realize that I donât mean to leave you behind, Hunter. Iâve...been alone for so long that Iâm not sure I remember how to be anything other than what I am.â












