547 days in -

"Slaine, do you think we're going to die?"

It was almost pitch black in the poorly lit room inside of the shack. There was one window, covered by bloody, ragged curtains that let the tiniest bit of moonlight shine in, casting the room with one sliver of light. The window wasn't open, but the sound of light rain was heard through the glass, giving the setting a dark feeling.

Slaine and Inaho were occupying the only bed in the room. It was a pretty large bed, so they could lay comfortably facing their backs towards each other without having any bare contact. The mattress was dirty, so was the dark gray blanket that covered them, stained with some sort of black substance on some spots. But it was all they had, it was better than sleeping on the cold carpet at least.

Inaho's question out of the blue definitely caught Slaine by surprise. His shoulders tensed up and his eyes opened slightly, his light blue orbs piercing towards the window on the wall. He still stayed facing away from the dark haired boy, but his fingers curled around the blanket and he gritted his teeth.

"Why are you asking me that?" His voice was low, almost inaudible and Slaine shut his eyes again.

Inaho, also staring blankly at the door at the other side of the room, kept his neutral expression and simply blinked. He hadn't noticed that he had been holding his breath. Not because of the musky smell of the bed, but because he himself had been surprised he said such a thing.

"We're in the apocalypse. It's foolish to think that there's not a chance of us dying...now I guess it's just a matter of when it's going to happen." Inaho explained, narrowing his eyes, "You know what I'm talking about."

Slaine rolled over onto his back so he could see the boy, forcing a small smile, "This won't last forever, Inaho. Things will go back to normal."

Inaho sensed that Slaine was looking at him, and he instinctively rolled over himself so he faced him, "You really believe that?"

Slaine nodded reassuringly, gliding his eyes towards the ceiling, "I do. I also believe that we will survive long enough to see that. To see the world recover from this mess. Even if you and I are the very last ones...we'll see it together."

Inaho stared at him, processing his words. He didn't know what to say for a while, thoughts running through his mind. Slaine has always been an optimist. But sometimes living with people like that can hurt you more. Especially if their claims never come true, and you have to watch their optimism slowly fade away until they're nothing but dead inside.

Inaho mimicked the boy's grin, closing his eyes and relaxing his shoulders, "I can doubt myself surviving through all of this, but I can certainly see you being the last one standing. You're more capable of that."

Inaho didn't hear Slaine reply after a few moments, and he opened his eyes to scan the boy's face. The smile was gone, replaced with a frown that shadowed his handsome features. His eyes were still locked on the ceiling, but they had an intense flare sparkling inside of them.

"You won't die." Slaine declared, his voice steady but very serious.

Inaho stayed silent. He didn't know how on earth Slaine could have so much certainty in his voice while saying those words. Did he really have absolutely no doubts about it?

"Other people die because they're weak," Slaine went on, glancing at Inaho once he realized how taken back his companion was, "But you aren't weak. No matter how helpless you feel...you're living."

Inaho's eyebrows knitted together, his eyes flashing, "Living? Slaine, this isn't living. We're surviving, that's what we're doing. If we were living, we wouldn't be awaiting our own deaths that would surely release us from this world, that we call hell. If we were living, death wouldn't sound like a pleasure. But it does, you know it does, Slaine!"

Without a word, Slaine rolled onto his side facing him and grabbed Inaho's wrist. The icy feeling of his hand startled Inaho and he didn't resist as Slaine pressed his hand against his own chest, not a hint of emotion showing on his face. Inaho tensed up and he stared at him, biting his lip.

"Tell me what you feel." Slaine demanded, tightening his grip on Inaho's wrist.

Inaho paused and tried to find out what Slaine was talking about. He did feel something, in his chest. It's his heartbeat.

"Your...heart." Inaho murmured, sadness glowing in his gaze as he averted his eyes to his own hand that was placed on Slaine's chest.

"That's right, and it's beating. Which means I'm living." Slaine snapped, glaring at him, "What more evidence do you need?"

Inaho felt like his voice caught in his throat, like he was being choked. His eyes began to burn and he could no longer look at the boy, who had so much faith that he was in fact going to live. He shut his eyes tight and clenched his teeth, lowering his head so his hair covered his eyes like a curtain.

"You won't die." Slaine repeated, releasing Inaho's hand and raising his own to run his fingers through the boy's dark hair comfortingly. He didn't know what else to say really, so he just stayed there with him while petting him, looking out towards the window. Inaho eased into the touch and pressed his forehead against his side, shaking slightly. Slaine knows Inaho's crying into his shirt, but he keeps silent and pretends he doesn't notice. The boy always felt mortified whenever his emotions ever got the best of him. Especially in front of Slaine.

They lay there for about half an hour, not saying anything and just listening to the sound of the rain. Slaine can feel himself drifting off but he blinks open his eyes when he hears Inaho's voice.

"Can you tell me that you're not going to die? Please."

Slaine froze, a feeling of uneasiness in his chest. He knew he had said earlier that they both were going to be the last ones standing, but part of him just didn't see himself being there. He saw Inaho being the last, but it was almost impossible for Slaine to see himself beside him. If he told Inaho that he wasn't going to die, would that be a lie?

"You should get some sleep." Slaine muttered, avoiding his request. He couldn't bring himself to say it, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't risk lying to Inaho about it.

Inaho doesn't say anything, and Slaine can hear his breathing ease. Perhaps he had just said that in his sleep. Slaine sighed, relief washing over him. He continued running his fingers through his soft hair, using this gesture to not only comfort the sleeping Inaho, but to comfort himself as well. He finds himself staying up the rest of the night, staring out at the window until he could see the faint hint of sunlight out there as the sun began to rise. During the whole night, the same question kept coming to his mind:

Am I ever going to die?