(AUTHOR'S NOTE ABOUT THE TIMING OF THIS FIC: So I originally started this as a post-S1 fic and now that we've been graced with S2, I'm continuing it as what happened between 1 and 2, branching into 2. c:

ALSO, I cannot believe the love you guys have given my writing. The fact that so many people love it makes me want to cry. I recently broke 2k views on this story, so as a thank-you, I'm going to be releasing a redone version of the first two chapters. 3 Expect better writing, MORE writing, and more delicious INF details! You are all my best dead friends forever!)

The Walker household was an entirely different portrait of a British family than it had been a few years ago. If the members were gathered together for a picture, the gales of change would have turned them away from each other without them even noticing - Jem, off to the side, Kieren, scraping up a nervous smile, their parents, tense and holding each other but no one else. Kieren thought about this a lot while he sat alone one morning working on a sketch. He had just dropped out of his local community college. He had lasted two months and found that he had a sudden distaste for schooling.

Maybe it was the 6th sense for staring he'd developed since he rose from the grave, but he knew that people were keeping an eye on him. It was required in his application that he mention his date of rising so that the administration knew. The work he did felt pointless and he found himself longing to be home in his room, tooling around with sketches and acrylics, stepping over piles of paper. His sanctuary was home now and school was a poor substitute for comfort, so he simply stopped showing up.

Today, he was working on a landscape piece. He liked to work all at once- he tended towards a very light sketch - oh, say, 15 minutes of concept work at the very most, before he dove right in with a brush. Kieren found the risk-taking exciting and more tastefully with a thing like expression. If he wanted his true ideas to come out, he didn't want to give himself time to misthink, he wanted to get the colors down as soon as possible.

He was sketching out the background and his heart sunk as soon as he heart boot steps on the landing above. Jem was going out. He heard her go into the bathroom, drop something, come back out, and start down the stairs. He found something in his heart boarding itself up as if in defense during wartime. He focused very intensely on his line quality while she stomped past him without stopping. He felt- even though he hadn't looked up- he felt like she hadn't seen him or even bothered to look.

I had my contacts in, he thought weakly, numbly, setting his pencil down and rubbing his eyes once she closed the door. She could've looked at me.

There was nothing he could tell anyone at this point that would help, because most of the people he knew in Roarton were the living. His parents bristled and fell into an uncomfortable silence about anything concerning the feelings of a PDS sufferer, especially their son. So he wrote dedicated letters to Amy in the time he had to spare, now that he was out of school.

Amy,

You know, this town is very different without you. I know you'd probably laugh at me for being dramatic, or whatever, but it seems grayer. I'm having a hard time talking to people.

Tell me more about your commune. Is there one closer to Roarton? I need to talk to someone about how I feel. I can't just pop into any self-help group, because they're not made for US. I need to talk to other PDS sufferers. I don't want to deal with any movements or ideologies, I just want some support. You would think there would be more, but Roarton is so isolated, you know.

It's nothing health-wise. I'm feeling fine! I'm just very alone these days. But don't worry about me.

How are you? Have you met anyone? (Don't cancel our wedding!)

Forever your optimist (and missing you sorely),

- Kieren

These letters were always complimented two weeks or so after he sent them by an envelope bursting with excitement and correspondence. When Kieren pulled her letter out of the mailbox, he could feel the ghost of her arms around him, squeezing him in childlike jest, Amy's enduring need to play and touch coming through in her looping script.

MY KIEREN!

Oh Kieren, you're such a ROMANTIC writer. I hate to think of you moping and dragging yourself around town without me. I'm not supposed to say anything, but here's a little hint - don't call the presses, but - you might be seeing more of me soon! So snap out of it!

The commune is so lovely down here. We've got all sorts of creative people - lots of dancers! We're trying to inspire PDS fashion and dance across the globe (or just the countryside). I don't think it's catching on, but I'll model some new moves out for you once I swing by, if you can handle it. OOPS! I SPOILED THE SURPRISE!

Anyways, I've met someone. WINK WINK! Well, maybe. He seems interested.. oh Kieren, you should see him, he's really gorgeous. I was looking of him, and I thought he was MOREGEOUS - more than gorgeous. He works as one of the prophets and he's very, very inspiring. We spend a lot of time on the theory of the risen and the gifts that it gave us, you know, and it makes me feel blessed.. we're special, Kieren, especially you.

Don't forget that! And don't be too love-sick.

Your BDFF,

AMY