Settling down in a saferoom for the night, the survivors prepared for bed. Zoey went to her own room while Bill kept watch, leaving the other two men to share the remaining room.
"I hate sharing rooms." Francis scowled as he looked about the tiny room he was to be sharing with Louis.
"Francis, is there anything you don't hate?"
"Shut the hell up, Fancy-Pants. I don't hate-" Louis interrupted him.
"Vests, I know. You don't hate your stupid vests."
Francis advanced on him, looking pissed as hell. Louis immediately regretted calling the vests 'stupid'. He was definitely going to get pounded now. Really, it hadn't been that much of an insult, but Francis was Francis, and he was violent when angry.
Backing up, Louis's back connected with the wall. Knowing he was stuck, he waited for the upcoming beating to begin, watching the other man get unbearably close.
Francis leaned over Louis menacingly, shortening the already hardly-existent distance between them.
"You know what I don't hate?" He asked, grabbing Louis by the front of his shirt.
He doesn't hate beating the living shit out of me, that's what. Louis thought in a panic. He turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that somehow that would lessen the pain of what was bound to happen next.
"I don't hate-"
Francis tugged him forward, smashing his fist into Louis's mouth.
Or not.
Something had connected with his lips. It sure as hell didn't hurt, though.
Francis had pulled Louis to him and brought their lips together, catching Louis completely off-guard. He'd thought for sure he was going to get punched, not kissed. Getting kissed was probably what he expected the least, coming from Francis. He found himself enjoying it.
Francis pulled away, and looked Louis in the eye.
He finished his sentence.
"You."