The Zombie Apocalypse with MCR (Complete)

Ancient Sites

The days pass quietly, and I've got time and room to heal. The wound wakes me in the night and aches in the day, but I grow stronger. I start to keep up with Ray. I gain weight - my thighs and arms swelling, my cheeks filling out. The black veins don't fade.

Frank still lingers, but he does his best to give me space. He checks the wound and handles the medication I take. Even though I get stronger every day, he still hovers.

Three weeks after waking up, I'm sat writing at the kitchen table, with Gerard bent over some artwork opposite. Frank has just made us both sandwiches, but he's been sat with us for most of the afternoon. He disappears to shower.

"It's as if he's worried I'm going to collapse like Sleeping Beauty." I frown. "I'm better. I don't know what he's waiting for."

Ray is eating a packet of crisps noisily, "Maybe he just likes spending time with you."

Gerard chokes on his cup of coffee, and it splatters against the pages of his art. He groans and glares at Ray, spewing curse words.

"What?!" Ray lifts his shoulders innocently, "I meant nothing by it!"

This is a brand new idea, however. One that unsettles me.

But now that I'm paying attention, I notice it. Frank and I drift towards one another. We read quietly. We lounge in the garden. We play pool and darts in the games room. We sit next to each other in the evening for films and TV shows. Sure, someone else is always nearby, and maybe that's why I didn't notice sooner.

Maybe... That's why Natalie and I aren't as close as we were. I try to rectify this distance as best I can.

But it doesn't mean I distance myself from Frank. I don't know what it is, I just... Feel at ease in his presence. I feel calm with him. Free to be whatever I want, whether that's lazy or mean or ridiculous. I can guarantee he'll never bat an eye.

I hope I give him that same sense of freedom.

Evidence of that exact hope presents itself four weeks after I wake from my sickness. I haven't ventured out yet to gather supplies, but the need is becoming dire. The days are long and hot and the sun is pretty relentless. We've got enough fans for everyone. We switch quilts for blankets and sheets.

Just as I'm about to climb into bed, feeling bone-tired but knowing I won't be able to sleep for a while, there's a knock on my door.

There's only a little lamp on, and it takes a moment to make out the figure in the black hallway.

"Frank?" I blink, "You okay?"

He's stood in a pair of grey cut-off shorts. He's got bare feet and a bare chest, and his hair is mussed.

He purses his lips and gives my room a once over like he expects me to have company. His eyes flick up my own attire; nothing but a baggy, loose shirt. He frowns.

"That's mine." He accuses.

I glance down. It's a Misfits shirt, torn at the hem and the collar and the right sleeve.

"Are you here to get it back?" I lift an eyebrow, bewildered.

"No." He shrugs, itching at his shoulder. "Could I sleep in here?" He says it so casually, it takes me a second to work out what he's said.

I blanch. "Pardon?"

"You don't have to say yes." He says hurriedly, and even in the dark I can see his cheeks blossom pink. "I just... Fuck. I haven't been able to sleep for days. The only time I sleep through the night is when I'm on the bus on the sofa or... Well," he shrugs helplessly, "I slept okay when I was in your bed."