Chapter Eight : Cassie

Oh hell nah.
I’m standing outside the boys’ dorm, caught between dying out here or actually going inside. How did I even end up here? Remember when I was pedaling for my life away from the cafeteria? Apparently, I took the road to the boys’ dorms.

And now that I’m here, maybe it’s safe to crash here for the night and continue this whole apocalyptic adventure at dawn.
Ha. Yeah, right.
Like I’d ever wake up that early.
How could I sleep like a pig amidst an apocalypse?
Apocalypse or not, I need sleep alright. No judging. And I’m a heavy sleeper, which means I need somewhere safe to crash. I'm not going all the way back to girls' dorm. This is my safest bet as of now.
I stash my cycle behind a bush, take a deep breath, and creep toward the building.
The boys’ dorm is pretty much the same layout as the girls'. So that would mean there's a supervisor room that's unlocked and a guest room whose key's in the supervisor's room. Yeah, I could settle for a couch or whatever, but honestly? I want a bed. So here I am, ready to risk everything just to snatch that damn key.

I tighten my hold on the chainsaw and brace for impact. If any zombies wanna say hi, they’re gonna meet my new best friend. But as I step closer, I hear something --
Clanging metal, growls, the sharp whack of a rod hitting something.
Rod. Fight. Growls.
Someone's fighting the f*****g zombies just behind the door. I don’t even think -- something in me just moves. Maybe I don’t want to watch someone else turn if I can help it.
I kick the door open. Moonlight slices across the room -- and I see his face. Him.

Of course, the zombie he’s fighting lunges straight at me. Big mistake on the zombie's part though cause I have a f*****g chainsaw. I yank the starter, rev the chainsaw, and split that m**********r in half before it even brushes me.
Die, a*****e. What am I so mad about?
Nope. Not going down that road. Focus, caz.
Attachments. Not. Good. For. Survival.
Am I half-happy the reason I even came here was standing right behind the door?
… Maybe.
Am I thrilled that now I’ve got two people to keep alive?
Not really.

I don't think twice before I grab his hand and drag him toward the supervisor’s room.
“Uh quick question,” I pant, “do you wanna stay out here and watch out for any zombies, or do you wanna help me search for the guest room key inside?”

He raises a brow. “Why can’t we just crash in the supervisor’s room?”
“Because I wanna sleep in a bed. You’re free to camp here if you like though,” I say, already digging through drawers.
My fingers brush against cold metal and -- bingo. Got the key.
“So, you staying here or coming with?” I ask, glancing over.
He smirks. “We just met, and you’re already trying to get me into your bed? Whatever happened to hello, let me take you on a date?”
“Staying here all alone it is,” I say flatly, turning away.
“Although,” he adds, slinging an arm casually over my shoulder, “I can’t have you dying on me. So I’ll come with.”
“Says the guy whose a*s I just saved--”
Distant growls cut me off.
S**t. More zombies.

I grab his hand again and haul us down the hall to the guest room.
Shove the key in. Twist. Boom -- we’ve got a room for the night.
Okay, that sounded way better in my head.
I almost shove him inside and slam the door shut.
Lock engaged.

“You know,” he says with a grin, “if you wanted to hold my hand that bad, all you had to do was ask.”
“Is it just me or do you get more annoying by the second,” I snap, collapsing onto the bed. Screw this dude. I need sleep.
“Oh, and you’re welcome to sleep on the floor, by the way.” Naturally, the a*****e slides right onto the bed beside me. Of course he does. What did I even expect?

I’m a little relieved. He’s alive, breathing, here.
Why am I relieved, though?
See, this guy will be the reason you get your a*s killed. I'm telling you
Probably. But… surviving feels just a little easier with him next to me. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

The silence stretches between us -- until his voice cuts through the darkness.
“Is this the part where we f**k because we’re the only two left in the world?”
I roll my eyes so hard I swear they almost stick in the back of my skull.
“Maybe this is the part where I strangle you to death because you won’t shut up,” I shoot back, shaking my head.
He laughs softly, and the sound… okay, yeah, it does something to me, but I stuff that thought down for later.

“Have you eaten anything today?” I ask, and no, it’s not because I care. I just don’t want him passing out on me. Deadweight is the last thing I need.
“If you count half a protein bar and a few sips of water, then yeah,” he says, letting out a soft chuckle.
“I’ve got the rest of the bar, if you’re hungry,” he adds, already offering whatever little resource he has left.

I swing my backpack up onto the bed, rummaging through it until I find a big pack of trail mix.
“Knock yourself out,” I say, tossing it his way. Honestly, I feel like freaking Dora the Explorer with how much stuff I’ve got crammed in here.

“No, I’m good,” he says, shaking his head. “We should ration. What else you got in there?”
“Enough to last at least a week,” I shrug. “It’s a big-a*s bag stuffed with trail mix, beef jerky, peanut butter, blah blah. So don’t be a hero. Eat” I nudge the pack closer to him.

“Aww, look at you, caring about me and everything,” he teases.
“Shut up and eat,” I snap, already at the edge of my patience.

But watching him dig into the food, watching him actually eat after probably starving all day -- I can’t help feeling a little… content. Like I got to him in time.

“We’ve got enough water, too,” I say, handing him one of my bottles. “We can refill them tomorrow at the purifier by the gate.”
“Thanks,” he murmurs, chugging it down greedily.
And God, that shouldn’t make me feel this warm.

“So why’d you come all the way to the boys’ dorm to see me?” he asks, lips curling into that infuriating smirk he wears like armor.
The scowl creeping up my face must be obvious, because the f****r laughs again--unbothered, amused. And suddenly this whole thing feels like something I take on if only he would keep laughing like that. Because of me.

“Figured a zombie apocalypse would be the perfect time to get laid,” I shoot back. “So yeah, drove my a*s straight down here.” I pause, watching his grin grow. Then I twist the knife. “Although I was actually here for Taylor, not you. Couldn’t help rescuing a stray on the way. Don’t flatter yourself, lover boy.”

That lands. He stiffens--barely, but I notice it anyway. If I didn’t know how to read people like open books they wish no one would ever touch, I wouldn't have the caught the slight glimpse of pain that reflected in his eyes before he managed to slip the mask of normalcy back on.
“Something happened to Taylor,” I say, not a question, but a quiet conclusion.

He huffs a laugh, like he’s brushing it off, but I know better than to buy into his bullshit. “Didn’t have you pegged for the psychic type really, but not bad.” Then, with a shrug that doesn’t reach his eyes: “Yeah. Taylor turned into a f*****g zombie. Right in front of me. I guess that's what happens in a zombie apocalypse.”
The air thickens. Even the old ticking wall clock seems to pause.

Rath’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t cry. Just exists in the kind of pain that makes you forget how to breathe.
I swallow, throat dry. “I’m sorry.”
“I know how much he meant to you,” I say, softer now. “It’s okay to grieve. You don’t always have to hide behind the masks. None of this was your fault, Rath. Just... a brutal twist of fate or whatever the f**k you want to call it. Don’t carry the weight of something you had no control over to begin with.”
Something shifts. Just a fraction, but I see it--a tiny bit of the storm in him calms. Relief, maybe. Or just the start of it.

I mean hey if you saw your best friend turn into a f*****g zombie right in front of you, that ought to haunt you for the rest of your life. It ought to make you guilty for being alive when they're not. I see it written all over him, hidden beneath the battle-hardened smirks and devil-may-care sarcasm.

I hate seeing him like this. Vulnerable. Lost. And yet, all I want to do is shoulder some of that weight for him.
So I do the only thing that feels right.
I step forward and pull him into a hug--tight, grounding. I press my face into his shoulder and whisper, “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either. We stand there, wrapped in silence and the heat of each other. I'm not sure if this is how emotional support works. But I hope it helped, even if just a little.

“Cass?” he says after a long beat, voice low and strangely steady.
The way my name rolls off his tongue so smooth startles me. “Yeah?”
He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, just stares at the wall like it might offer a way out.

“Can I hold you tonight?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “To get through this nightmare of a day. Even if it means nothing tomorrow. Just for tonight. Can I hold you, just so I don’t fall apart? Can you fight my demons off, just for once?”

I didn’t expect him to say that. The words twisted something deep in me--tight and sudden, like a wire pulled too far. All I know is that I want him to feel better. That’s it. That’s the only thing that matters right now.
I smile--soft, maybe a little sad--and squeeze him tighter.
“Whatever you want, lover boy,” I murmur, tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

He smells like cinnamon and cedarwood--somehow still carrying the scent despite the blood and smoke of the world falling apart around us. That scent calms something wild in me. Drowns out the fear and dread. For a moment, there’s only this: the feel of his heartbeat, the weight of him in my arms, the silence between us.

And god, how I wish we could stay here forever--forget the monsters outside, forget the dead, forget everything but this impossible, fleeting moment of peace.

We hold onto each other like that for what seems forever until he calls out my name again.
"Hey Cass". I pull back just enough to look at him, but not enough to let go. There’s a pause. Heavy. Warm. And then -- “I’m glad you came”
Goddammit.
I look away, because if I don’t, I might do something stupid. Like kiss him. Or cry. Or worse, both. And I really don’t have the emotional bandwidth for either right now.

“We should sleep,” I mumble instead, retreating from the moment like a coward. “Big day tomorrow. You know, more zombies to murder and all that.”

He gives a half-smile. “Yeah. And more awkward emotionally repressed bonding sessions. Can’t wait.”
I roll my eyes and flop back onto the bed, turning my back to him. “Sleep now, lover boy.” Behind me, I hear the creak of the mattress as he lies down, his breathing steadying as the silence stretches between us once more.

I shouldn’t care about his grief. Shouldn’t care if he’s alive, shouldn’t care if he’s hungry, shouldn’t care if the moonlight slipping across his face makes my stomach do backflips.
And yet here I am. Ready to offer my own life up in a platter if it meant I could see him smile. This man will be the death of me. Quite literally.