How the hell could it be this quiet? Ironically, Luke always used to imagine what an apocalypse would be like among late night thoughts and spooky story telling during the attempted all nighters with Nick when they were kids. He would picture such an event to be nothing but nonstop chaos, nothing but earsplitting noise. Gunfire, screaming, explosions, roaring military tanks equipped with only the gnarliest machine guns.
He remembers how easily Nick would freak out by the exaggerated descriptions of Luke's idea of the end of the world, how he'd always angrily deny his fear when Luke should call him out on it, his face flushed right to the tips of his ears. God, how long ago all that seemed now. It was almost as if those memories didn't exist at all, as if they were nothing more than a fragment of imagination that was nothing more than an idea, a distant thought.
Luke missed sitting around in his room with Nick, both wrapped in far too many blankets for those hot summer nights, settling for the excuse that they were used for comfort opposed to security. It was always the same, chatting about everything they could think of, wishing they hadn't recited that last tale about some guy who killed his victims with a meat hook when it was time to go to sleep. Things were so different now, much less complicated back then when all they had to worry about was school and girls that never seemed too interested in them anyway.
None of that mattered anymore.
And now, miles away from the cabin, any preconceived ideas of any apocalypse was discarded and replaced with such an eerie silence, so out of place. These moments of tranquility often felt like a dream, like the way it was before, though Luke supposed that the way it was before didn't feel real anymore, either.
It wasn't always like this, of course. There was a fair share of noise on other occasions - too much of it sometimes, laying awake in bed at night with nothing but sickly groans seeping in through the open window. The sound of rotten flesh rubbing around broken bones, cracking and grinding as they squelched across dew covered grass. Luke never thought he would actually grow fond to the sound of Nick's snoring next to him until he'd become familiarized with all the gut-wrenching noise the dead made. One night in particular, he had gotten so fed up that he'd slammed the bedroom window closed despite the old, musty cabin air with enough force to chip the glass. Naturally, Nick had been pissed, and Pete even more so once he discovered the crack in the window that could easily have broken completely. Pete had lectured him like a child, how his actions could have very well attracted every walker within close proximity to the cabin, as if he didn't already know that. Luke didn't touch the window again after that.
They'd grown up too fast, even before the dead started walking, pressured by family to make something of themselves since neither went off to some fancy college after graduating high school. It was what drove them to go into business together, with no sense of direction or knowledge of what they were getting themselves into. Their lack of know-how proved itself fast; six months, in fact, when they were all out of money and all out of time. The epidemic hit shortly after their business went under, and shit, as much as Luke hated the mere thought, maybe it was for the best. Business with Nick was fun. It had even sparked their 'more than friends' status, something that Luke wasn't so sure would have happened if it wasn't for that damned business.
But fun wasn't everything. He'd learned that as effectively as a slap across the face. He told Nick he had a plan to sort out the mess they'd made, that everything would work out when really, he had nothing - less than nothing, if that was possible. Luke knows he shouldn't have lied to him, that was stupid. That pained look that Nick wore so often these days was something he used to try and avoid at all costs. Lying was just a prevention, though like homework, studying, and high school crushes, it didn't matter now.
"We don't have all day, Luke."
Nick's voice startled him momentarily from his train of thought, and he was brought back into reality, into the field they'd sought out, far enough away from the cabin not to cause any disturbance or danger to the rest of the group. It was late afternoon, and the sun was high enough in the sky to bring down a heat strong enough for Luke to break out a mild sweat, and he took a moment to dab at the dampness that had accumulated on his forehead with his sleeve, pushing back his hair with a free hand.
"Just give me a minute, will you?" Came his grumble of a reply, and he was answered with nothing more than a disgruntled huff.
It was funny, that although so much had indeed changed - the world had practically flipped upside down, after all - that so much had managed to somehow stay the same. Though all the death, heartaches, pain, and tension they'd all gone through, deep down they were no different than they ever were. A layer some might call it; something extra that hadn't always been there, that had formed over time since the end had started, a direct result from the new decisions they had to face on a daily basis. It was often that this layer became dominant, masking everything else in ways never thought possible outside of the movies and comic books Luke grew up on. Choices were made that would never even be considered before.
But still, beneath that newly developed layer, their old personalities still managed to find a way to shine through. Luke needed these moments so badly, and if truth be told, it was these rare, yet deeply important moments that kept him going. It reminded him that life before, as distant and unreal it may seem, did exist. None of them could afford to forget that.
And that was what brought Luke and Nick to their newest squabble earlier that morning.
The two had been sorting through what was left of their ammunition supply, when somehow or another, Nick had brought up the target practice he and his Uncle Pete used to do together on weekends. That conversation, as brief as it was, had ended with the accusation that Luke hadn't laid a finger on a gun of any sort since this apocalypse had started. Luke had shrugged it off, settling for the lie of a defense that he was used to his machete and didn't need to use a gun.
Truth was, Luke never felt comfortable around guns, even before. Nick, seeing right through Luke as he always did, immediately called bullshit, which lead to their daily argument.
They always managed to fit at least one argument in a day, and they were always centered around something completely foolish and idiotic. Today's agenda: prove to Nick that not only could he handle a gun, but that he could beat him at a round of their own session of target practice.
Of course, Luke knew from the moment that he'd spouted these words that he was, for lack of a better word, fucked, but he'd be damned if he'd back out now. Not with Nick's arrogance all but dripping from his teeth as he'd quickly retorted that Luke, "couldn't shoot a lurker if it stood still, five feet in front of him". That bastard. He'd show him.
The only thing was, all he was going to show him was that he was absolutely right.
Luke, unlike Nick and Pete, never went hunting in his life, let alone shoot a gun, and Nick knew this just as well as he did. Which is exactly why he'd have to prove him wrong now, standing on the edge of a clearing with an old tree stump of a target before them. The weight of the rifle clutched in Luke's hands felt so foreign, and he handled it awkwardly between worn fingertips, careful not to drop it and make an ass of himself right away.
"That was more than a minute." Nick muttered behind him, obviously growing impatient with him, and Luke made a sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat.
It was now or never, if he had any chance of making it through this bet without total embarrassment. Taking a deep breath, he carefully lined up the sights of the gun with t\he center of the stump, rolling his shoulder once before matching the two with as much precision as he could. Moving his index finger from trigger guard to trigger, he slowly squeezed.
The breath he'd been holding in flew out of him as the gun fired, and the resistance in his shoulder from the surprising amount of kickback soon turned to pain.
"Fuck, man!" Luke yelled despite himself, nearly dropping the gun as he hastily placed it on the ground to tend to his offending shoulder blade, mulling over the muscle with the heel of his hand.
It wasn't long after the excitement cleared that the distinct sound of restrained laughter could be heard beside him, and Luke wasted no time in spinning around to face Nick, eyebrows nipped down and mouth turned upwards.
"It's not funny, Nick. Damn thing nearly dislocated my shoulder," he spat, and sure he was probably overreacting, and yeah he was definitely making himself look like a wuss, but he did not appreciate being made a mockery of. He wasn't even sure if he'd hit the target. Right now he was too busy fuming at Nick to check.
Stifling his laughter, Nick shook his head. "No, no, just look," he objected before Luke could get further riled up, stepping closer to turn Luke around with a hand placed carefully on the small of his back.
Peering through the sunlight to the object of interest, Luke made a shocking discovery.
"I actually hit it?" he gaped for a second, making sure he wasn't misplacing what appeared to be a bullet hole lodged in the mossy bark of the stump for something else.
"Yeah, you actually did," Nick confirmed with a warm chuckle, moving his hand from the lower part of Luke's back to squeeze his hip affectionately. "Guess I owe you an apology," he added a second after, and Luke bumped against Nick's side with his own.
"Fuckin' right you do," he scoffed, though there was a hint of a smirk peeking through his sore attitude.
He always found difficulty in staying angry with Nick, even when considering how often they fought. Their arguments were rarely anything to be taken seriously, and they were both fairly forgiving, with each other at least. Luke took pride in being one of the very few people that Nick had actually let in beyond what he portrayed to everyone else. Beneath his signature temper and stubborn ways, Nick was downright soft to the core.
Squirming out of Nick's grip, Luke bent down to retrieve the rifle that he'd discarded to the ground. Nick would still have to hold up to his end of the bet, and after a second shot they wouldn't be able to stick around long in case any nearby lurkers decided to show up.
"Your turn," Luke says, handing the rifle over, and though Nick accepted it, he's already shaking his head by the time Luke's eyes meet his own.
"Nah, I don't need to. I think you proved your point."
"Afraid you'll lose, is that it?" The unmistakable gloating present in Luke's voice was enough to get Nick laughing again, and this time, Luke is laughing, too.
"C'mon, you've seen me shoot before. It's not a competition." Nick's tone was joking, but his words true, and for once, Luke decided to accept it without further discussion.
He did indeed prove his point here today, and he was damn sure proud of himself for that. Although it was likely that Nick would never admit it, Luke had the inkling of a thought that he was proud of him as well. Feeling sharing wasn't exactly either of their domain, and they were both okay with that.
"Well let's get goin', then. Can't be stickin' around here forever," Luke said, crossing his arms and choosing to ignore the sting in his shoulder that resulted in the movement.
Then Luke was turning, but Nick was turning too, next to him, in front of him, gun forgotten once again as it fell to the ground. Before Luke could respond, lips were suddenly connected with his own, and big hands came to grip lightly at his arms.
Luke wasted no time in returning the pressure against his mouth, eyes fluttering closed and hands moving up to rest around Nick's ribs. They're more prominent that ever, he discovered, jutting out beneath the thin cloth of his shirt, so delicate against Luke's fingertips and it made him want to yell as he was faced with the truth of it all. They're all hungry, there's never a time when they aren't anymore, and it killed Luke to watch Nick wither away like this beyond his control.
Nick could feel Luke's fingers start to trace each bone, likely absentmindedly, but Nick knew the thoughts going through Luke's mind without having to ask.
"Stop it, Luke," he mumbled against the other's lips, and Luke simply hummed in understanding. Then his hands were gone, relocating to Nick's elbows instead where they held on a little too tight. "Stop thinking so much."
And Luke did, his grip relaxing shortly after. He shut his brain up long enough to actually enjoy himself for once. It was rare that they get to express any sort of intimacy towards one another, especially after the Carver incident, followed almost immediately by what happened with Nick's mother. Nick had become so distant afterwards, and for a short period of time, Luke feared he would lose him, right up until one night that Nick decided to roll over in bed and wrap his arms around Luke. They hadn't said anything, Luke settling with grasping onto Nick's hands and really, nothing needed to be said. Things slowly but surely returned to normal after that, and Nick vowed never to let himself detach like that again. So far, he'd kept his promise.
"We really need to go." Luke's voice was quiet, tentative as he forced himself to cut the kiss short with the consideration that they were in real danger of meeting up with lurkers out in the open. Nick's responding sigh earned a coy grin from Luke, and he pecked him once more before removing himself from Nick's grip. "If we're not needed, we can always take the day off," he proposed, raising an eyebrow before adding a subtle, "In our room."
Nick grinned himself at such a proposition, and reaching down to pick up the rifle, he slung the strap over his shoulder. There was a certain glint in his eye that Luke appreciated so much more nowadays. "Well, what the hell are we waiting for?"