A/N: An experimental piece written in second pov. I really, really, really like zombies stories so of course I will dabble in it a bit. I like unusual relationships involving my bias so I hurt myself writing this. Have some Prussia, Japan and Denmark interaction.
"Oi. Oi, Shitface."
Erik glances up and stops flexing the arm which a walker had grabbed him from earlier on. Your grip tightens around your gun – a small pistol you remember stealing upon Gilbert's prompting back when the madness had began – and you look between your friends, noticing how Erik's eyebrow quirks up just as Gilbert's pale, chapped lips pulled into smirk.
"Ya still callin' me that, jerk?"
"Fuck yeah I am, shitface."
"Dick."
"Pussy. Oi listen." Gilbert shuffles a few steps forwards. He was scratching his stomach through his bloody tattered shirt. "You better look after my babe Keeks yeah? And you'd better stay awesome 'cause there's no fuckin' way I'd let you take the lead if you ain't. One more thing," Gilbert glances at you. Your eyes connect and he nods in your general direction. "Take up my legacy and bring him to the stars, yeah?" His lips stretch out into a wide grin. "Kiku."
Sensing something is wrong, Erik stands with his back straight and he is looking at Gilbert with a shaken look on his face. "Oi…oi, c'mon now. Wha…what are you sayi-"
BANG!
You jump at the sudden noise. Your heart leaps to your throat and you watch in horror as Gilbert's body drops to the floor. He is face down and unmoving. A pool of blood slowly forms underneath him.
"Jesus! Fuck! What the hell happened?" Erik looks panicky and he glances around frantically before his gaze finally settles on you. He pales. "Ki-Kiki? What the hell did you do!?"
Your heart is pounding and you can still feel the spring of momentum which had vibrated up your arms from the trigger you had just pulled. Your hands are starting to shake. "I…" you begin but you could not find the right words to continue with. Your mouth feels like it's full of cotton so you just snap it shut. All you could do really is just stare on straight ahead with your eyes bulging and your ears still ringing from the gunshot.
"What the hell, Kiki!? You just fucking killed him!"
"I…I didn't…"
Erik is running his soiled hands through his hair, pacing around in agitation. It didn't take long for him to start swearing profusely. The gun suddenly feels very heavy in your hands and you finally swallow back the lump which had formed in your throat.
"I had to," you slowly croak out as you train your eyes to the floor. "H-He asked me to."
"What?" The disbelief rings clear in his voice and you can't help but flinch.
"H-He was going to turn! I…I had no choice! I had to listen!" you explain desperately.
Erik is staring at you, his expression at a loss. When neither of you say anything, he starts to make a move towards you but stops when you jerk back and press yourself against the wall. You raise your gun in between you and you become aware of just how much your hands are clammy with sweat from the shot you had just taken to blow your best friend's brains out.
Your eyes drop to his corpse briefly and oh god, you shouldn't have done that. You feel nauseous by the sudden onslaught of grief which washes over you and your legs give out under you. You collapse to the floor with your mouth heaving desperately for air.
Concerned, Erik takes a step.
"Stay back!" you cry out hoarsely and he raises his hands up in surrender.
"H-Hey, Kiki-" he starts but a shrill sound pierces the air and makes him flinch. It was only a few seconds later did you realise that the sound actually came from you. You swallowed back a sob and the gun falls from your hands and lands on the ground with a resonating thud. You throw your head back against the wall and smack it against the grimy surface, uncaring if your shirt was getting soiled because you can't tear your eyes away from your friend's body. You make a strangled noise in the back of your throat and your hands fly up to your throat as you try to claw out the lump that was growing and suffocating you from inside.
You can't breathe.
It's too hard to breathe.
You shouldn't breathe.
You mustn't breathe.
"Keeks."
"Yes, Gil?"
"Say, if all of this is over and with society's all fucked up as it is, what d'ya wanna go an' do?"
"Sleep. And read manga."
"Hah! No, no, no, that won't do. That ain't awesome at all! I'm talkin' big here, babe. Like your all time wish. Before it all went to hells in this shithole. Ambitions, man. The big stars. C'mon, I bet ya was thinkin' of somethin' fuckin' wacky and nothing pansy like anime."
"Ah. Well. I suppose I've always wanted to go to the moon."
"No shit. Like an astronaut?"
"Yes…yes, I've always wanted to touch the stars."
"That so. Huh."
"Hm?"
"Oi. If I was to take ya up to the moon, d'ya wanna come with me? I've got a pal who works with NASA and since he owes me, I think can get us a ride up. Think about it, man. Just the two of us and no one else. Up alone in space. Sounds sweet, yeah?"
"Do you think we can reach it?"
"What, the stars? Babe, if you can't reach 'em, I'll lift you on my shoulders so ya can. Whad'ya say?"
"Well if it's with you Gil…I don't think I'll miss it for the world."
"Kiku!"
A sharp slap is delivered across your cheek and the painful sting wakes you from the darkness. You gasp and your lungs heave painfully as you greedily gulp down air, like a diver who had almost drowned. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was what had happened. You must have slipped and swallowed some dirty water when you were escaping through the underground sewerage system with Erik and Gilbert. Yes, that would explain that metallic smell in the air.
Was I dreaming?
Your head lolls back and it was then that you notice Erik is sitting on his haunches in front of you. He looks pale and his lips are moving fervently. He seems to be talking to you but for some reason, you can't hear him clearly. It almost feels like someone has placed a goldfish bowl over your head and all you can hear are the sounds which bounce off the surface.
You blink.
Apparently this pleases Erik and he lunges forward. You feel his fingers skirt across your skin and his hands, large and clammy, cup your cheeks. In an instant, he tilts your head back, his nails digging into your skin, and you find yourself looking straight up into his blue eyes. You can't help but notice how disturbing it is to see how the pupils of his eyes are blown so wide and you can clearly see how much fear there is within them.
It's so human.
You blink once more.
"Oi! Oi!"
Ah. The glass bowl is breaking. Slowly, you can hear his voice permeating through.
"Oi! Can you hear me!? Oi! Come on, don't do this to me! Not here, not now! Not after all of this! Jesus, Kiki please!"
You try to move your mouth but your jaw feels heavy as if it hasn't been used for a long time. Your brain is sluggish and after finding much difficulty in trying to coordinate the movement of your muscles, you try to move your head instead. You are only able to tilt it to the side a few centimetres, just enough to catch how his blue eyes seemed to glimmer, shining bright with emotion, in the dimness of the room. Fortunately, Erik seems relieved by this and he yanks you close, pulling you into an embrace.
"Oh god. Oh thank god. You're alive. You're fucking alive," Erik gasps out in relief and he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing your chests together to a point where you can actually feel the way his heartbeat thunders between you.
Alive?
Somehow, the word causes your gut to clench and for a moment, you feel a prickle of distress overwhelm you. So it seems you really did almost drown. It must have been when you were running from the walkers that were unexpectedly lingering in the pipes. You can't help but cringe a little because that was unbelievably clumsy of you. You can't fathom just how much worry you must have caused for both Gilbert and Erik. The fact is troubling to you (especially now that you know you owe your life to both of them) and it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You lick your dry lips and croak out a feeble, "I'm sorry."
"Jesus Christ, why the fuck are you apologising?" Erik barks out a short laugh and it sounds so dry, so raw. It was almost as if Erik had been screaming all day. " 'sides the fact that you almost gave me a fucking heart attack, I'm just glad you pulled through from whatever the fuck that was, Kiki."
"Kiku," you correct him and he pulls back to look at you. He gives you a smile which fails to meet his eyes.
"Yeah…yeah, it'd be Kiku from now on, innit?" he agrees with a strained look.
You wonder what he means by that. You think that Gilbert would have stepped in and explained the nuances of Erik's words to you by now, being the close friend he is, but he hasn't. In fact, he hasn't said a word so far. Digesting this newfound fact, you feel a little queasy. You feel distressed. Something doesn't sit right with you and you look Erik in the eye.
"Is Gil angry with me?"
He stares at you.
"Ah."
My, how presumptuous of me. Of course Gil couldn't be very upset.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hold the group up. It must have been very difficult for the both of you and I thank you for your patience. And for having a little faith in me," you say.
"What? No…no. Kiki…what are you saying?" Erik asks through a harsh whisper, his voice tight and watery, and that was when your gut twists horribly. That was when you knew that something was terribly wrong. Because never in your time of knowing each other has Erik ever whispered. Ever.
"Erik –" you begin but he silences you with a single look which was far too broken.
"What are you saying?" he whispers once again, almost painfully, and this time you can clearly hear the disbelief which rings in his voice, you can see the hurt reflected in his eyes. It freezes you up. It makes you feel ill. It makes you feel like there was so much cotton growing in your mouth. It makes you feel…
"Kiki," Erik breathes. You feel his hot breath against your lips. His hands are still cradling your face and when you move your head a little, he squeezes your skin. It was then you realise he is forcing you to keep your gaze trained onto his, he is forcing himself to make sure that you won't look elsewhere.
Why? What's happened?
You feel panicky.
Your heart jumps to your throat and you feel that horrible, familiar suffocating feeling return a tenfold.
Return?
Oh god.
You try to jerk away but Erik digs his fingers into your skin, forcing your head to still. "Kiki," he says warningly.
"Where's Gil?" you demand. Your hand springs to life and it wedges itself between you as you try to push Erik aside and out of your peripheral vision. "Where is he? Erik, tell me. Please tell me what happened. How long was I unconscious? Did I actually almost drown?"
"Hey, come on. Just take it easy, I'm here. Just calm–"
"Where is he?" you plead. "I want him here."
"He's here," Erik tries to reassure you. "He's here."
"No. No he isn't." Your voice is shrilly from accumulating distress. "I don't feel him. I can't feel him. Where is he?" You thrash in his grip and jerk your head, successfully freeing yourself from his hands.
"Kiki, don't–!"
You rear your head back and peer over his shoulder. That is when you see him.
Gilbert, who is five feet away from you.
Gilbert, who is lying face down on the cold, hard floor.
Gilbert, who is unmoving and lies in a small pool of dried blood. His skin is becoming mottled and it's pale – so, so pale.
Gilbert, who is dead. Or rather, he has been dead.
Your heart stops.
Erik swallows.
"Gil…" you feebly croak out, shaky with emotion.
You are met with silence. There is no noise. No gravelly chuckle. No sassy remarks. No breathing.
"Gil…"
Gilbert, your best friend, is dead.
Something cracks inside you.
Your chest is wrecked with so much grief and heartache that when a sob escapes you, you feel your entire being collapse in on itself. You want to – you try to scramble to your feet, you to try to get close to Gilbert but Erik prevents you. He grabs your head once more, his nails digging painfully into your scalp, and forcefully pulls you into his chest. He wraps his arm around you.
"Gil!" you sob. Your arms extend out by Erik's sides, hoping that those familiar calloused hands would grab them and hold on them. That Gilbert would be standing above the two of you, snickering down at you at how pathetically childish you look. That Gilbert would lean down and pat the crown of your head fondly, whispering the right words at the right time you needed to hear.
But nothing happens because Gilbert is dead, so so dead, and your arms fall uselessly to your sides. You can feel the palms of your hands itch and burn – the gun, oh god, you remember taking that one decisive shot – and it makes you bawl hard like a anguished child because you know. You know that it is your fault that Gilbert is dead. That it has always been your fault since day one, when everything first went to hell. It was your fault that he had always stubbornly and unfailingly risked his life in countless perilous situations in order to keep yours going. It was your fault that he had finally gotten careless and was bitten as a consequence. It was your fault that he trusts you so much with the power to end his life for the both of you.
It's okay, babe. Knowing that it's you doing it, I'll pass on with a shit-eating grin on my face and your name on my lips. Great way to close a hero's tale, eh?
You howl.
Erik tucks your head under his chin and he is shushing you, whispering nonsensical soothing words but it only makes you feel all the more shittier than ever. You choke and whimper, blubbering as you cling on to him as if he was your lifeline. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to drown out the sound of your blood pounding in your ears and the laboured breathing of only two – not three, no more three – people.
"It's gonna be alright, Kiki. I got ya, babe. I've got ya."
Stop crying, you little shit. Look, I really didn't mean to be that reckless. I'm fine. See? No bite. Now come on, where's that gorgeous smile of yours?
You whimper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
Erik presses his nose into your hair and you claw his shirt, seeking solace in the folds of his shirt as you are unable to stifle the distressed sounds that were leaving your mouth.
"It's okay, babe. It's gonna okay."
That's it, babe. That's the smile I fell for. Now come on. We gotta reunite with that shitface before we're forced to blow his head out for being fucked sideways by zombies. Here, hang on to my book. Go on take it. When you're cool enough, you can write our stories in there for me.
No, it's not okay, you think. It's never going to be okay. It's never going to be cool.
Day 72: A party of three becomes two.