Love is Dead

Growth within the Greenery

The day unfolded in slow, deliberate moments, the rush of earlier chaos giving way to an uneasy calm. Logan leaned against a rusted metal beam, his knee bound hastily with torn fabric, his deep blackened blood seeping through despite his attempts to downplay the injury.

"Let me see it," I said, kneeling beside him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, he was gruff.

"Fine is not bleeding all over the place." I gave him a pointed look and tugged gently at the makeshift bandage, ignoring his grumble of protest. "We're not going to make it if you can't walk properly."

"I'll manage," he grunted, trying to shift his leg away from me.

I didn't let go. "Stop that," I said, my voice firm but gentle. "I'm not going to let your knee rot off just because you're too stubborn to admit you need help."

Logan's mismatched eyes softened, and he sighed, finally relenting. "It's not like it'll heal properly, anyway."

"Maybe not," I replied, grabbing a clean strip of fabric from my pack. "But I'm still going to try. You deserve that much."

He didn't respond and instead watched me silently as I pulled out a needle and thread I'd scavenged days ago. My fingers worked with shaky precision, threading the needle as Logan's gaze lingered on me.

"You've done this before?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"Enough times to know what I'm doing," I replied, my tone sharper than I intended. "Hold still."

As I stitched the wound, his mismatched eyes remained fixed on me. The rhythmic tug of thread through flesh filled the silence, each pulled a reminder of how fragile survival had become.

"You don't have to do this, you know, It's not like I feel it. I just can't use it for a bit," Logan said, his voice softer.

I glanced up briefly, meeting his brown and blue gaze. "You don't have to stay, either. But here we are."

A faint smile tugged at his lips, the expression almost human despite his decaying features. "Fair point."

The stitches were crude but firm, holding the torn skin together in a neat line. When I finished, I wrapped the knee with clean fabric I'd ravaged from an old dress I doubt I'd ever wear nowadays, tying it securely before sitting back on my heels.

"There," I said, exhaling deeply. "That'll hold for now. Try not to move too much."

"No promises," he said with a smirk, though the tension in his shoulders eased. ---The day passed in a rhythm of simple, necessary tasks. We worked in silence, moving between the scattered corners of the greenhouse. I cleared away the dried leaves that had piled up in a corner, setting up a makeshift sleeping area in the back with the few blankets we had. Logan helped me set up a better cover for the broken windows, dragging scrap wood across the openings to keep the elements out. We worked efficiently, and focused, but there was a subtle ease between us now, a growing sense of cooperation.

I boiled the water we had collected in an old metal pot, the steam rising gently as Logan shuffled around nearby, fiddling with a broken chair that he'd found.

"You're looking for a throne now?" I teased, glancing over at his slightly decayed yet, focused face. It's funny how normal it'd become for me to see.

Logan shot me an amused look. "Hey, if we're going to be here for a while, might as well get comfortable."

"Sure, Your Highness," I said, rolling my eyes. "Here, have some fresh food instead of your imaginary throne."

I pulled out the small bundle of tomatoes I'd found earlier and set them down on the table. They weren't perfect—slightly overripe, some with cracked skin—but they were still good. Logan raised an eyebrow as I grabbed a knife.

"What are you doing with those?" he asked, leaning back against the wall.

"Making something edible, what else?" I grinned.

I sliced the tomatoes in half, dropping them into a rusted tin pan over the fire I'd set up earlier.

 The juice began to sizzle, and the air filled with a faint, tangy smell.

"Really? You're cooking with tomatoes?" Logan raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"I'm making do with what I've got," I replied, adding some of the dandelion greens we'd picked.

 I wasn't about to pretend it was anything fancy, but after days of scavenging, this felt like a luxury.

Logan sniffed the air. "You're starting to get all domestic on me. Should I be worried?"

I shrugged, tossing a pinch of salt into the pan. "Maybe. I'm just trying to make things less... depressing."

I stirred the concoction for a few more minutes, just enough to soften the tomatoes and greens. Once it looked halfway decent, I scooped it into two jars.

"There. Done," I said, holding one out to him.

He took it with a reluctant smirk and gave it a sniff before taking a cautious bite.

"Well?" I asked, watching his reaction.

Logan shrugged. "Not bad. Surprisingly edible."

"High praise," I muttered, digging into mine.

 The tangy sweetness of the tomatoes mixed with the bitterness of the greens, a small, welcome distraction from everything else.

We ate in companionable silence for a while, the faint sound of gunfire in the distance barely noticeable now. ---As the sun dipped lower, casting the greenhouse in a warm glow, I leaned back, a small sense of accomplishment settling over me. Logan finished his meal and reclined against the wall, closing his eyes with a soft exhale.

"You're full of surprises, you know that?" he said, his voice sleepy.

I looked over at him and grinned. "Just trying to keep us alive."

His mismatched eyes softened, the exhaustion in his face briefly disappearing as he regarded me. "You're good at it."

The distant sounds of the survivors were faint now, their voices and gunfire echoing far beyond the greenhouse walls. We were still aware of the threat, still alert to danger, but for now, we had a moment of peace.

For now, we were safe. And that was enough. ---