Being Human || Lashton AU - boyxboy

chapter eight.

I UNDERSTAND THAT ITS BEEN NEARLY FOUR MONTHS SINCE I UPDATED THIS STORY AND IM SORRY HOPEFULLY THIS BEAUTIFUL 4674 WORD CHAPTER WILL MEND THE WOUND THANK U ENJOY

a.i.

After a few days of living on the down low, so as to avoid as many rotters as possible, I find myself laying awake in the car sometime after midnight. His snores fill the silence from the back of the car, and the wind outside blows hard against the exterior, causing these constant, eerie whistling sounds that send chills down my spine. It's all because of these goddamn windows. Despite being in a locked car, we are still so goddamn vulnerable because of these windows, and it paralyzes me with fear, not knowing what's the wind and what's not.

Earlier, he wouldn't stop shivering, since it's cold enough to simultaneously freeze over Hell and kill the Devil in this car, so I gave him my blanket. He fell asleep within minutes, so I can live without it if he can sleep easy. He's been through some traumatic shit recently. For now, he can sleep as much as he needs to. He's going to need to be well rested when we get back out there.

Speaking of, I'm awake so late because I'm thinking of going back out tomorrow. I won't take the kid, of course, because he's probably not ready just yet. That, and I'm terrified that I might freeze up because of what happened with that teenager a few days ago, when I shot him through his right eye and shattered whatever hope there might've been for that kid, even though I knew there was none at this point. There could've been. If he had more time, he might've had a chance.

The kid--despite his inclination to ask me any question no matter how much it bothers me--doesn't ask why I spent three days here with him instead of out killing rotters or doing something productive, and while I don't feel I particularly like him, I appreciate it.

Surely, he might be avoiding the question because whatever strange relationship that's  materialized between the both of us over these past few days has been set out on the rocks, ever since I expressed my distaste for the exchanging of names and refused to call him by his despite his insistence. I just keep thinking of that last rotter, and how he could've had a chance, and it makes me think of this kid. This kid could've had a chance. He still might. But I don't want to familiarize myself with him in the likely event that things turn sour. I think that would just be hard on the both of us. He got real quippy with me after I made that clear.

I kick open the glove compartment with the toe of my boot, leaning forward to rummage through it for the pack of smokes I've kept in here for a few weeks. It's difficult to sustain a nicotine addiction in the apocalypse, having to ration them out for only the most stressful situations, and all. I pull the lighter from my pocket and light it, literally having to suppress a moan as I inhale and throw my head back in bliss. Fuck. I haven't smoked in days. I almost forgot how good it feels.

"Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth. You pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette." I hum quietly, taking another drag, exhaling the smoke in rings. The sight, the smell, the taste--it all soothes me. Like the tight fist in my stomach is finally loosening it's grip for a few minutes. "The wall-to-wall is calling, it lingers, then you forget, oh, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide."

I rest my head back against the seat, humming Ziggy under my breath, when the serenity is cracked and shattered by the sound of screaming. My head snaps forward, eyes tearing open, and the cigarette slips from my mouth into my lap where it burns a small mark into my already-ratty jeans. I burn my thumb as I scramble to pick it back up. "Fuck!" I hiss.

I can hardly pay attention to the cigarette, however, as the kid in the backseat screams bloody murder in the midst of his sleep. His eyes are still closed but his adrenaline is in full drive, it seems, as he scrambles until his pushed up against the door, kicking his legs and flailing around like there's something chasing him, like something has him cornered, yet there is nothing in the car except for the two of us. Tears start to pour rampantly down his cheeks despite looking like he's barely even awake, but even when his eyes open, and it seems he's woken up, he doesn't stop flailing like I expect him to.