A/N: This is my first time writing anything for Zombieland. Could you call this fluff? Maybe. Also, I apologize for the weird formatting.
"Why're you crying?" Tallahassee makes this gentle inquiry as he watches Columbus play with the drawstrings of his sweatshirt. The sight is a bit of a shock for him. He's only really seen this once before, when they were barelling down the highway and Tallahassee secretly glanced at Columbus to see tears in the boy's eyes.
"I. Uh. I'm not crying." Columbus tries to lie and then sighs, slumping further against the headboard of his twin bed. Opposite him, Tallahassee is sprawled on the couch, watching Ohio and becoming increasingly concerned.
He thinks that maybe losing Witchita and Little Rock has finally started to hurt his friend's heart.
Minutes pass in silence. Columbus sniffs loudly, freezes - this is so embarrassing. He's an ex-college student. A man. Men shouldn't cry, even in the apocalyptic shithole of Zombieland, the place where tears are at least somewhat justifiable.
"Bullshit, spit-fuck," Tallahassee scoffs, and though crass, the statement is not malicious. It's simply an observation, one Columbus has to admit is true. He is crying. There are tears everywhere, blurring his vision and his thoughts.
The Floridian crosses the tiny room they've turned into a two-man refugee camp to stand beside Columbus' bed, staring down at the kid. Tallahassee has to admit that Columbus brings out the father in him, he can feel all of the parental love he never got to bestow on Buck before he disappeared forever, now being projected onto his young friend.
He almost cries here, seeing Columbus so vulnerable. He hates that Columbus has lost his smile and geeky sense of humor.
Tallahassee wants to hate Witchita and Little Rock for leaving his friend abandoned like this. He realizes that before their group split up, the odd arrangement was the closest thing young Ohio had ever had to family.
It hurts to know what the separation has done to his friend, how quickly it has changed - it hurts to know that this was inevitable because Witchita and Little Rock are just stupid, flighty girls.
But mostly, it hurts to know they've hurt someone he cares for. Tallahassee, at this point in his life, couldn't give any less of a damn about his own feelings.
His only companion's current depression, however, means something entirely different to him.
So he says, "It's okay to cry, kid," suddenly stepping into the shoes of a parent and letting his spit-fuck drain his heart out on a leather-clad shoulder.
It's the least he can do.
Columbus pulls his head away from Florida's body sometime later. The red rings around his eyes have been there for so long that Tallahassee almost thinks they're a normal thing to see.
But he knows what 'normal' is for Columbus.
Not this, never this.
"I-I-I'm sorry, Tallahassee," Columbus murmurs, wiping his eyes. Tallahassee hugs Columbus - awkward, one armed, brief, a man to man sort of gesture, and stares out the window at the darkening sky.
"I'm gonna go get ready for bed, kid," he finally says, trundling off to the tiny bathroom they share without waiting for a reply.
"Okay," Columbus whispers to the empty air, left alone with his feelings eating a hole through his heart.
-ZLAND-
Columbus props himself on one elbow and watches Tallahassee, who is peacefully asleep on the couch.
It's hard, admitting his feelings.
Coming to terms with where, exactly, his heart stands.
It will always confuse him to some degree, but there's one thing he's absolutely sure he wants right now.
Isn't it worth trying to reach out and grab it?
Before he can chicken out completely, Columbus whispers, "Tally."
Tallahassee stirs, blinking sleepily, and stares over blankly at Columbus.
"Kid?" He whispers, his voice hoarse with leftover sleep.
Words are beyond Columbus now. He swallows thickly and gestures to the empty side of his bed.
Tallahassee stiffly rises, lying down beside Columbus.
Then he says what Columbus was both hoping and dredding he would hear.
"Is there something you need?"
"I need..." Columbus runs his tongue over his lips, but his mouth is so dry the action is useless. "I need..." he tries again, struggling for words.
"I have to show you," he says, mentally preparing himself for whatever response Tallahassee will hurl back at him.
Tallahassee lifts his hands in the air - the cowboy in a bad western staring down the sherrif.
Columbus stretches across the bed in a surprisingly nimble way and presses his lips to Tallahassee's.
All of the air is momentarily pulled from Tallahassee's lungs - and, it seems, the room.
This kiss isn't really a surprise to him. He kind of expected it. It wasn't as though Columbus' lingering glances had escaped his notice.
They break apart after a moment, and the searing heat between their lips vanishes with their contact.
"Not bad for a scrawny little spit-fuck," Tallahassee chuckles.
"You- you're not mad at me?" That sweatshirt drawstring finds its way into Columbus' mouth again.
"Hell no!" Though it's dark, Columbus swears he can see Tallahassee blushing a bit.
"I actually liked that, spit-fuck. No worries."
Silence.
Neither of them move.
"Goodnight, kid."
"Night, Tally."