A/N: Gelatokitty on tumblr chose the following from a fic prompt meme: "We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we're just waking up and there's something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair."

Welp. I didn't really do what they asked. Instead I did the sort of sequel to Chapter 33 of this story.

(Okay, like 2 people really dug this AU, but still. Not what you asked for.)

I have more of this AU planned out than I want to talk about and I don't have any real intention of writing it as a complete story, so probably every now and then some little ficlet will take place in this story line. And we'll all suffer and you'll all have to forgive me. Okay? Okay.

Human AU, Zombie Apocalypse AU, Fishwich Has Lost Her Damn Mind AU

Alfred woke with a start, the same brief terror ripping a hole in his chest like it did every time his eyes fluttered and tipped him into consciousness. He'd thought he'd be over it by now, that danger would be boring somehow, or at least predictable. But he still felt invisible nightmares pulling at him, heard the shuddering groans, seconds away from tearing into him. It felt especially real after last night. Alfred forced himself to take a deep breath, and laid back down on the battered air mattress.

Next to him, curled under Alfred's jacket, Arthur sighed and wrinkled his nose. Alfred carefully turned on his side to face him. It was just barely dark in the church hall, a few long, grey rectangles of light starting to slide over the tops of the boards on the windows. Alfred could vaguely make out Peter wrapped in his sleeping bag on the couch, and what might have been Katya or Matt on an equally beat up mattress a half dozen yards away. It was quiet, except for the occasional soft snore floating up from somewhere farther down the hall and Arthur's quiet breathing.

Arthur's face was pale except for the ugly trio of cuts down his left cheek. They'd cleaned them thoroughly, but Arthur hadn't wanted to waste a bandage on them. Alfred wondered if they would scar. It wouldn't matter aesthetically any more, but Arthur wouldn't want the reminder. None of them would. Arthur sighed again, his chapped lips parting and staying open. Alfred stared at them for several cycles of Arthur's untroubled breathing, then forced himself to focus elsewhere. Arthur's hair was a ratty mess. His eyes were puffy and bruised looking. Alfred's observations were tugging at his stomach, too sad to want to cycle through the rest of the injured features. All that was left to take in were the cuts again, and then Alfred was back at square one, staring at his mouth. Alfred tried to shake his thoughts loose and start over.

Even asleep, Arthur looked exhausted. Alfred had never felt so relieved as when Arthur had come stumbling back through the gates with Eliza, not even when he'd reunited with Matt. Somehow he'd known Matt was alive, felt it. But it wasn't until the moment Arthur was right in front of him, covered in dirt and so much blood, and had collapsed into Alfred's arms that Alfred had dared to believe Arthur wasn't gone forever. God, that had only been hours ago, Alfred thought. Arthur hadn't wanted to be alone or to close his eyes after everything that had happened, so Alfred had sat next to him on the mattress, talking about anything but what they were feeling, until Arthur's body had made the executive decision that sleep was no longer a suggestion. After spending the entire night wishing time would move faster, now Alfred wished he could stop it all together and give Arthur the uninterrupted hours he desperately needed.

Alfred needed the hours, too, to figure out what he was feeling, if nothing else. It burned, this troubling emotion that had grown steadily for weeks. He knew what it was, truthfully, but not what it meant, not what it could mean in this new world. At any moment everything they'd worked for could be taken from them, and everyone they loved could be dead. It wasn't exactly the ideal atmosphere for romance, and feelings were a liability if anything. Alfred knew that. And yet he couldn't shake the urge to give in, to reach out and hold tight to the only thing that made real sense in all the madness. It was one of the few things that still felt human, felt alive.

That's exactly what Alfred had felt as Arthur had pressed his lips against his for a split second before disappearing out the window and into the undead horde. Maybe it had just been a parting shot, the now or never moment that made the thought of dying the tiniest bit more palatable. But it had felt like more, and Alfred would have returned the gesture tenfold the moment Arthur had gotten back if Arthur hadn't been blood splattered and crying against his chest. Now, with Arthur close enough that Alfred could feel his body heat, and the weight of an endless night, the urge returned.

The sound of the double doors cracking open and a burst of rushed whispering broke his concentration, and he half sat up to see what was going on. Ivan had just come in from watch, and was arguing with Eliza. It didn't look like she had slept, but she was still trying to take the rifle and walkie-talkie from Ivan, who shook his head and pushed around her. He strode over to the foot of Alfred and Arthur's mattress and jerked his head to indicate that it was Alfred's turn to get up for watch. Eliza was right at his shoulder, about to argue again when Matt came stumbling over, hopping as he struggled to tie his shoe.

"Ivan, I'll cover him," he whispered quickly, glancing down at Arthur's sleeping form. He grabbed the walkie-talkie and shoved it into the pouch of his sweatshirt as Ivan opened his mouth to retort. "I said I'll cover him."

Ivan shot Alfred a dirty look as he handed the rifle over to Matt, then stalked away. Alfred mouthed his thank you, and Matt nodded, smiling knowingly. He shared a look with Eliza, who was grinning loopily around her fatigue, then put an arm around her shoulder and led her away. Alfred hoped it was to make her lie down, but he couldn't blame her for being unwilling to shut her eyes.

Careful not to jostle the mattress too much, Alfred laid down again. He carefully moved closer to Arthur, his sleeping breaths tickling Alfred's face. Alfred wanted so badly to throw an arm over him and pull him against his chest again, and might have acted on the feeling if he hadn't noticed the discolored clump in Arthur's shaggy hair. Blood had matted the locks of hair behind Arthur's ear, and Alfred brushed his fingers over the area gingerly, trying to determine if the blood was Arthur's or just a spot he'd missed in his frantic scrub down. Arthur twitched and whined as Alfred's fingertips reached skin, thankfully unbroken.

His stomach plunged as he watched Arthur wake up in his own panic and scrabble to slap away his hand. Arthur flailed and kicked blindly, and Alfred did his best not to react as a few of the blows landed painfully, instead holding his hand up and shushing Arthur gently.

"Shhh, shhh, Arthur. Arthur, it's okay, you're okay. It's me. You're fine."

Arthur came to with a trembling inhale, tired eyes sparking with just enough recognition to make him stop fighting.

"You're all right."

Alfred slowly reached out and touched Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur stared at him for a long moment before his face crumbled and he covered it with both of his hands. He was shaking almost imperceptibly, and Alfred wasn't sure if it was with tiny sobs or panicked breaths or the last traces of fear still running through him. Whatever it was broke Alfred's heart and he stroked the side of Arthur's face and his hair until Arthur relaxed and lowered his hands.

"Hey," Alfred whispered, and immediately lost whatever he was going to add to that as Arthur took Alfred's hand in both of his and cradled it against the side of his face. Alfred brushed his knuckles along Arthur's jawline since it was all he could reach. The burning ache in his chest returned as Arthur smiled weakly and then yawned, releasing Alfred's hand so he could cover his mouth. Alfred allowed himself one more indulgent stroke of Arthur's cheek, careful to avoid the cuts, before adjusting his jacket back over Arthur.

"Go back to sleep. I'll be right here."

Arthur smiled again and nodded, almost closing his eyes before inhaling sharply again, and twisting to look over his shoulder.

"Peter's fine, he's sleeping."

He didn't lie back down until he'd seen for himself, but then Arthur finally relaxed with another giant yawn. He blinked sleepily at Alfred a few times, the bleariness of his eyes sweet instead of sad, and Alfred smiled. Arthur's eyelids got progressively heavier, taking longer and longer between blinks. Just when Alfred thought he'd finally fallen back asleep, Arthur's eyes opened and he shyly placed a hand on Alfred's cheek.

"Thank you," he murmured, and leaned forward to brush his lips against Alfred's.

As much as Alfred wanted to give in to the ache inside his chest, he knew it wasn't the right time. If he let those feelings flood out of him now, he wouldn't want to stop. It could wait until after they'd gotten some more rest, until their heads were clearer and they had some privacy. For now, Alfred simply took Arthur's hand and held it in his own against the mattress, his other moving to rest lightly on Arthur's bony hip.

Arthur's eyes slipped closed just as the thin beams of light shifted from grey to golden and the day arrived. As they relaxed into one another, Alfred let the promise of one more day fill his chest with warmth, letting himself feel the hope it brought.