Hello, lovelies! Happy Thursday (wow shocking, I'm updating two stories on the same day again), and good evening! At least it's evening over here. I'd like to thank you lovelies for the nice reviews that almost made me cry because I'm really sensitive when I'm tired, lol. They gave me the burst of energy I needed to finish this chapter that I've been sitting on for a little bit. Hopefully you enjoy the chapter! I feel like I'm getting used to writing in third person. ~Shaymie

"It's been months and nothing's changed."

"He's grieving, Hercules."

"He's depressed, Laf. There's a difference. We've all done our grieving. We all miss Alex, but we've moved on. Everyone except John has…"

Their voices faded away as their footsteps got further. John burrowed into his sleeping bag, dark curls covering his cheeks. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but he couldn't sleep. He didn't want to risk having nightmares again. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was his precious Alexander, getting nearly eaten alive. His Alexander, bleeding from his neck, choking on his own blood. His Alexander...

He let out a groan and rubbed the bottom of his palms against his eyelids, trying to wipe away the terrible thoughts. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in ages, it felt like. His screams would wake the camp in the middle of the night, and he couldn't risk making so much noise. Not with the possibility of zombies being attracted to the noise. Just because he wanted to die didn't mean that he wanted to risk everyone else's safety. There was an extent to his selfishness, and he didn't want to drag everyone down with him.

He pushed his sleeve back and looked at the bandage that Hercules had wrapped around his wrist, sighing deeply. He had gotten the lecture of a lifetime for the new cuts, but he couldn't care less. He hated being in so much pain and yet feeling so empty all at once. He felt everything and nothing all at once. It should have been him. He should have been the one to die. He was useless. He didn't do anything for the camp, he didn't have any special skills. He was just… himself. And that wasn't good enough for the apocalypse.

Sometimes John would hear Alex's voice. On really bad days, he would see him. He tried his best to ignore it. He knew it wasn't real. He knew that it was just a figment of his imagination. Alex was dead, and he just had to accept that. A tiny bitter voice in his head said that no, Alex wasn't dead, he was still alive in a way. John couldn't bring himself to kill Alex before he buried him far away from the camp. He let him turn. It was incredibly selfish of him, seeing as Alex said that the last thing he had ever wanted was to be allowed to turn. But the thought that Alex was still alive in a way comforted him.

You're fucked up, you know that? He scowled at the thought as he reluctantly pulled himself up from the sleeping bag. If he didn't leave his tent today, he was sure to get another lecture and he wasn't in the mood for that. He ran his fingers halfheartedly through his hair and decided to forego brushing it. Instead he simply redid the ponytail. He couldn't be bothered to do much more. He stretched, feeling some joints pop as he held his arms above his head. His gaze fell on an old T-shirt in the corner, and his heart broke all over again.

"My father will kill us if he finds out about this." John looked down at their intertwined hands anxiously and frowned. They shouldn't be doing this. Why had he agreed for them to have their first date at his house? There was a huge possibility that they'd get caught and then he'd have to move again and he would get the beating of a lifetime for "painting a smear all over the family legacy" and he'd probably get sent to one of those conversion camps-

"Jackie, chill. It's alright. We can go somewhere else if you'd like?" How could Alex have such an easygoing grin on his face? Did he not understand how dangerous this was? They could get in serious trouble for this. John should have known better than to do this. He chewed his lip in thought. This was their first actual date, and he was already ruining it. He shook his head.

"It's fine, 'Lex. I just-"

"Do you want to go upstairs for some privacy? I mean, nobody's here but maybe it would make you feel better." John nodded wordlessly, a flush spreading across his face as Alex grabbed his hand and led him upstairs. They ended up in the attic. Sure, it was dusty and drafty, and smelled terribly of mold since it hadn't been cleaned out (or even used) in years. But the draftiness gave the boys an excuse to huddle together for warmth.

John closed his eyes in content, his head resting on the shorter boy's chest. Nimble fingers toyed with his hair, occasionally brushing against his scalp. The steady rise and fall of his boyfriend's chest was a comfort. The fabric of the shirt was soft against his cheek. He was almost asleep when Alex spoke again.

"We're like Romeo and Juliet. Forbidden love and all that shit."

"How poetic," John snorted, shifting slightly so that he was nearly in Alex's lap. "...Is this alright with you? Sneaking around like this? Are you… happy?"

"Jack. Look at me." He lifted his head and found himself staring into pools of molten chocolate. Alex's mouth turned up in a smirk as he kissed John's cheek. "I wouldn't do all of this for you if I didn't love you. I don't care if nobody can know that we're dating. I only care if we're together. As long as we're together, nothing can go wrong."

John let out a bitter laugh and left the tent before any other memories came back to him. They had been together when the dead came back to life and started eating people. They had been together on that fatal supply run. It felt like everything went wrong when they were together. He knew he should get rid of Alex's things (it would honestly make it easier for him to move on), but he felt like doing so would dishonoring his memory. He didn't want to forget him just yet. There were eyes on him as he walked through the camp, looking for his friends. He knew that he looked like a mess. He knew that everyone probably hated him for being a waste of space, but he could deal with that later.

He found Hercules and Lafayette in the medical tent, counting supplies. A pang of guilt went through his chest when he realized that they'd had to waste precious supplies on his stupid self-inflicted cuts. He looked at the supplies. They were running low again. They would have to go on another supply run soon. He cleared his throat and chuckled slightly when they jumped and turned around.

"You're out of bed," Hercules noted, a tiny smile gracing his face. John nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious underneath his gaze. His hair was a tangled mess of knots, his skin was most likely the palest it's ever been, and he didn't need a mirror to know that he had shadows underneath his eyes. He chewed on his lip anxiously, stopping when he felt how chapped it was. He didn't want to make it bleed.

"How are you feeling?" Lafayette asked, worry coating his tone. He opened his mouth to say more, but clamped it shut, thinking better of it. Instead he chose to walk over to John and pat him on the shoulder.

"I… It's hard," John admitted, deciding that it was best to tell the truth. These were his friends. They wouldn't judge him. His shoulders started shaking with dry sobs. The past few months had been tearless. He had refused to cry. Crying meant that it was true, Alex was really gone, and he didn't know how to accept that. He had been through every emotion on the spectrum except the one that everyone expected out of him. Sorrow.