A/N: Major spoilers and some explicit language ahead. Could become mature later on.

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| Mallory's POV | Flashback: 1 year at the outpost. |

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"You can't tell me you've never tried it," Kat exclaimed in disbelief.

I shook my head, staring up at the ceiling. "Bananas and mayonnaise? On a sandwich? You can't tell me you have tried it, you sociopath."

She turned onto her side and propped her head up with her elbow.

"I bet you'd change your mind if some banana and mayonnaise sandwiches appeared right now, Mallard." She smirked at the use of my nickname.

Still lying on my back, I groaned. "You're right. I would kill for any real food right now, even your nasty sandwich concoctions."

She laughed, and I turned onto my side to watch her face light up. There wasn't much room on my twin size bed, but we didn't mind getting close as we talked and laughed nearly every night on this bed. While the Purples got fancy suites, us Grays each got the simple dorm rooms with twin beds. Not exactly fair, but I didn't make the rules.

But amidst all the stupid, made-up rules and daily torment of living in that hellhole of a "sanctuary," Kat and I came to rely on our secretive daily hangouts to stay sane. As Grays, much of our days were spent serving the Purples, or at least socializing with them, so we cherished our privacy and were happiest in only each other's company.

And I loved seeing her laugh. In an underground, candlelit bunker hidden beneath a world of nuclear winter, her smile seemed to be the one beautiful thing spared by the fallout. I often thought about when I had first arrived and felt so alone, so degraded by the only "friends" I came with. Then Kat arrived.

I barely ever saw Kat smile, and she seemed to trust no one, so I remember feeling as if earning her approval would be my biggest achievement yet. And just like that, there we were, one year later, lying side-by-side on my bed, arguing about unpopular snacking habits. Granted, it took about four months for us to stop hating the world long enough to like each other, another two months to actually let down our guards down and trust each other, and the past six months for our friendship to actually grow. And boy, did it grow-like wildfire.

We got quiet, and I saw her searching for something in my face.

"Mallory, do you think we would have been friends in high school, or college?" she asked.

"You mean," I replied, "if we had met under circumstances other than an underground bunker shielding us from the apocalypse?"

"Yeah, yeah. You know, if we met at fifteen in a cafeteria, would you sit with me?"

I thought hard for a moment. Thinking about my past was like trying to look through a dense cloud of fog, but I could faintly recall my personality at fifteen years old.

"No, because I sat alone at lunch. You definitely would have intimidated me, and I never would've approached you willingly."

She seemed to pout a little. "Well, I would have sat with you," she flipped her dark auburn curls in a jokingly sassy manner. "I bet you were adorable at fifteen. Little Mallard."

At that comment, my heart fluttered. I guess I liked the idea of her thinking I was adorable.

"I was alright," I replied sheepishly.

"I think we would've been friends for sure," she said. "I can see us always being friends, ya know?"

Just as quickly as my heart fluttered, it simultaneously dropped. Friends. I don't know why the word bothered me. But at the same time, I do know. Because I often barely breathed whenever we touched, and I was always mesmerized by her voice, and I frequently caught myself thinking about her for no apparent reason, and I got butterflies the moment she mentioned not being straight. So, I suppose I do know exactly why the word "friends" bothered me, but I had no right to be bothered, and we both needed a friend anyway.

"Of course," I agreed.

"Did you ever fall in love before the world went to shit?" Kat asked, a tinge of sorrow on her face.

I shook my head. "No, I didn't. I never found anyone that I cared about enough. Did you?"

She looked down and seemed to ponder for a while. "I'm not sure. I mean, I dated, but I was never in love with the people I dated. But before the war, I had a best friend-not Emily, I mean she was my best friend too, but we had another friend, Aubrey-and I suppose I was rather hopelessly in love with her."

I could hear the sadness in her voice. "That's one of my biggest regrets, throughout this whole clusterfuck," she added. "Not telling her how I felt. I guess I'm not good at dealing with emotions."

I knew exactly how she felt. My heart hurt because she hurt, and even though I wanted nothing more than to be that person she cared so much for, a part of me wished she had lived happily ever after with Aubrey.

"I'm sorry, Kat," I said. "You never think the people you love could die tomorrow, so you don't tell them how you really feel. Especially your best friend, because you're scared of ruining your friendship."

I could relate. It was a tragedy that we were both too familiar with.

I don't know what possessed me, but I brought a comforting hand up to her face and caressed her cheek. Her sad gray eyes flashed up to mine, and something electric filled the air between us.

Before I could react, her face was moving closer to mine, and my entire body felt on fire.

Ms. Venable's cane stomped on the hard floor outside my door. We both jumped and sat up, Kat clearing her throat. I could have sworn we shut the door, but I suppose we didn't.

"Ms. Venable," I muttered.

"It's past curfew. Everyone should be in their own rooms," Ms. Venable barked. Her tone was firm but smug, as if she was thankful to have had the opportunity to ruin our day.

Kat gave a mocking smile. "Of course, Ms. Dictator."

"What was that?"

"I said of course, Ms. Venable," Kat rolled her eyes and stood up. She turned and gave me a defeated salute. "Night."

I offered a nod of defeat. "Good night."

Ms. Venable stiffly continued her patrol, followed by a reluctant Kat. Once they were gone, I fell backwards onto my bed, huffing at the ceiling above.

Barely a minute later, however, my door swung open and I sat up to see Kat rushing through.

"I almost forgot to give you this," she exclaimed with a grin, pulling something out of her pocket. It was an origami duck, striped with lines of black print. "I stole a page from some book about magic herbs and shit. It's a duck, for you, Miss Mallard." She handed it to me.

I smiled widely and took it. "I love it." I looked up to thank her, but she had already left.

I traced the edges of the paper duck with my fingers, imagining Kat's pale hands delicately crafting it in seclusion, thinking of me. I added the duck to the growing collection of origami shapes in my nightstand drawer, purposely placing it next to the paper cat that I had requested from Kat a while back. I thought it was fitting to have the mallard and the cat be together.

As I fell asleep, I imagined how Kat and I might address what almost happened between us that night. But, the truth is that we never talked about it. We never acknowledged it and never confronted the feelings that we knew we felt. Instead-for the next six months-we buried our emotions with the rest of the forsaken world and dealt with the demanding challenges of the outpost.

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