#mitch x reader

Marlon’s voice reverberated through the courtyard, his shouts clashing with those of Clementine. The argument had turned the courtyard into somewhat of a battlefield, a duel but with no winner. With the lightest thud, almost inaudible, the gun slipped from Marlon’s grip to the soft, waterlogged ground.

Everyone had gathered around the two, not believing what they were hearing. But most of all, you; you were in pure disbelief, or more like borderline denial. There was no way you were going to believe what Clementine was saying. Your brother—your good-hearted, caring, older brother—giving up the twins to the raiders? No way in hell.

Though as much as you wanted to have faith in Marlon, a part of you still doubted him. Could what Clementine was saying really be true? Would your brother really have given up Sophie and Minnie and let you believe they were dead? But why? This wasn’t like him. It couldn’t be.

The very next second, a shot rang out. It snapped you right out of your spiralling thoughts.

At first, Marlon stood there, wide-eyed, chest heaving. He was trying to say something, anything, that could fix something far beyond reparation. Before he could, his body just… fell, head-first into the sodden earth. The gun he’d dropped mere moments prior lay by his side now, just inches out of reach.

Everything around you halted: the shocked gasps, Louis’s yell for his best friend lying in the dirt with no physical sign of life. You froze, not breathing, not moving, not even blinking. Your body wouldn’t let you do anything but watch as your brother bled out, staining the already-darkened ground.

Mitch tensed up beside you almost instantly, having been by your side through the whole thing. The argument, the confession and now this. His gaze flicked to you, feeling his breath hitch at the expression on your face. You looked so pained yet so vacant at the same time. Mitch basically felt his heart break for you. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what you were thinking.

“Y/N…” he muttered your name softly enough so that only you could hear him, and that seemed to be enough for you to snap out of your trance-like state.

That was when you finally processed what had just happened.

“Marlon!” you screamed, legs moving before your brain had the chance to catch up. Your heart pounded so hard that you were sure it was going to burst out of your chest any moment. You couldn’t even focus on the sound thundering in your ears as you tried to reach for Marlon.

That was your brother, the only family you had left, and he couldn’t be dead. He simply couldn’t.

However, you barely made it two steps before a hand grabbed you, pulling you back. Mitch pinned you against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head so you couldn't turn around. Normally, Mitch’s touch would’ve made you all giddy, causing heat to rush to your face. But not this time; this time, it only filled you with dread.

When you tried to shove Mitch away, his grip just tightened. He wasn’t going to let you go. He had to shield you from the sight of Marlon’s body sprawled across the ground, or else what kind of boyfriend would he be? If you saw your brother like that for any longer, the image would never leave your mind. It’d haunt you for the rest of time.

“Fuck, Y/N. Just—Just don’t look, okay?” he muttered, voice shaking with emotion. Mitch didn't know what to do. I mean, what do you do when your girlfriend has just had to watch her brother get shot in front of everyone?

“Mitch, let go!” Your hands pushed against his chest, panic clawing up your throat. You had to get to Marlon. You had to fix this, or help him, or rewind it somehow. You had to do something!

Mitch didn’t budge.

His chest heaved against you, breath ragged. “Stop fighting me,” he hissed, but his voice cracked, softer than it should’ve been. “He’s gone, Y/N. You can’t—” He cut himself off, the words unable to escape the lump in his throat. It hurt him too much to say, and he knew it’d only hurt you worse.

You tried to twist out of his grip anyway, but your strength faltered. You could feel Mitch’s heartbeat hammering against your cheek, almost as erratic as your own. His arms trembled ever so slightly, but he didn’t loosen his hold on you. You shook your head against his chest, muffled sobs breaking through your teeth. “No, no, no… this isn’t real. He’s not gone.”

Your fingers curled into Mitch’s shirt, gripping the fabric so tightly your knuckles whitened. Every fibre of your being screamed at you to break free, to see Marlon one last time, yet all the fight had left you. Mitch’s chin pressed lightly against the top of your head, his breath shuddering, trying to keep himself together—not just for himself, but for you.

Mitch hadn’t ever exactly been great with words. And at that moment, he couldn’t say anything. It’s okay? It wasn’t. You’re gonna be fine? He knew you wouldn’t. He’s in a better place now? That was probably bullshit. So, he opted for just holding you, one hand awkwardly rubbing up and down your back in a pathetic attempt at comfort. But it was all he could do. And it seemed to calm you down, even if only a little.

Voices rose all around you: Omar’s murmur of disbelief, Ruby futilely trying to fix what happened, and Louis mere moments from blowing up on Clementine and AJ. The other kids looked at you in Mitch’s arms, having heard your muffled sobs. To you, however, it was just white noise.

Nothing mattered to you. Not when your brother was dead. Gone with a single shot from a 5-year-old who probably had no idea the extent of the damage he’d caused. The one thing tethering you to reality was Mitch’s heartbeat. Without him, you weren’t sure what kind of headspace you’d be in right now.

Mitch felt a raw, ugly creature claw its way from deep within his gut, then. Nothing about the situation was fair to you. He turned to Clementine. You noticed the way his whole body went rigid, though you didn’t comment on it. You were too busy crying your heart out, each tear a reminder of what you’d lost.

Mitch’s hoarse voice rose above the noise before he could stop it.

“What the hell have you been teaching that kid?” he roared at Clementine, still shielding you from the sight you desperately wanted, yet at the same time didn't want, to see. “Is this it? Shoot first, deal with it later?! Marlon was giving up! He—he was done! And you—you let this happen!”

Clementine’s lips parted, trying to think of a response. A couple moments of silence passed. Nothing came. And that only seemed to anger your boyfriend more. Mitch scoffed, shaking his head.

“You—” he started, but was quickly interrupted.

Your small voice cut him off, lifting your head up to look at him. “Mitch, don’t. It’s not worth it,” you sniffled, unable to help the way your face contorted with grief.

Mitch didn’t want to listen. But when he looked down at you, your tear-stained cheeks glistening in the noticeable lack of light in the stormy dawn, and your broken expression, his anger gave way. His shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he sighed. “But we’re going inside. You’re not staying out here.”

It didn’t take much for you to agree.

With one last scowl at Clementine, Mitch led you away from the scene, straight to the comfort of your shared dorm. The entire way there, Mitch made sure to keep an arm wrapped around you, keeping you as close to him as possible. Because he knew you needed it. And if he was being honest, so did he. Even if he’d never necessarily been one for physical touch.

Mitch opened the door with his free hand, sending a slight ‘creak’ echoing down the hallway. He entered the room first, holding the door for you, then closing it as soon as you made it inside. His arm moved down, now lacing his fingers through yours, guiding you towards the bed.

He sat down, leaning his back against the headboard. He pulled you down with him, where he silently tucked your head against his chest.

At first, you didn’t speak; the words in your throat felt like lead, far too heavy to force out. The only sounds filling the room were the occasional creak of the old bedframe and the uneven rhythm of your breath against Mitch’s chest.

He kept rubbing circles against your back with a calloused thumb. Though the movement was still a little awkward, it was steady and grounding, which was all you realistically could’ve asked for in that moment. Mitch wasn’t good at this kind of thing, but right then, he was trying like hell. For you, he’d try anything.

Still, there was only one thing that you couldn’t help but feel selfish for wishing for, especially when you had your boyfriend right beside you.

And that was your older brother.

But that could never happen. Not when Marlon was now out there, in the courtyard, face-down in the ground with a bullet through his head.

“Y/N…” Mitch’s voice came out quiet and uncertain. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear him talk, but he couldn’t take the silence between you two any longer. “I know it doesn’t feel real. I know you wanna wake up and just… just have it all be some fucked-up nightmare. But it’s not. And I hate that I can’t change that.”

Your fingers tightened around his shirt again, twisting the fabric until your knuckles hurt. You wanted to say something, scream even, but the words remained stuck in your throat as you continued silently crying.

“I should’ve stopped it,” you whispered eventually, the words breaking apart as soon as they left you. “I could’ve done something—I could’ve…”

“Hey, no.” Mitch interrupted instantly, a harsh edge cutting through the otherwise gentle tone he often used with you. He shifted so he could look at you properly, thumb wiping away a tear that had fallen down your face. “Don’t do that to yourself. You hear me? This isn’t on you. It’s not.”

Mitch knew how badly you wanted to say something else, except it felt like something was holding you back. You collapsed further into his chest, letting the sobs take you again. And Mitch just let you, resting his chin on top of your head, tightening his grip around you.

Minutes passed like hours. By the time your sobs had dulled into exhausted hiccups, Mitch spoke again. “We’re gonna get through this,” he murmured. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. I swear.” He tilted his head down, pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline, lingering slightly longer than necessary.

You smiled against his chest, the initial shock of seeing your brother having mostly worn away. “Thank you, Mitch,” you said, grateful. Before Mitch could say something about how ‘there was no need to thank him,’ you continued, “I love you.”

You’d said those three words countless times before. It wasn’t something out of the ordinary. However, this time it felt deeper—like there was more meaning, more certainty in a way. And Mitch just smiled down at you in his arms, responding with his own, “I love you too.”

There was so much you’d have to deal with after today. But having your boyfriend by your side made it feel more manageable. Somehow, you knew you’d get through it. Together.

It was supposed to have been just like any other supply run.

When Marlon had came up to you that day, asking you to go with him and the twins, how were you meant to say no? For starters, Marlon was your leader and you felt it wouldn’t’ve been the best idea to go against him. Secondly, Minnie and Sophie were some of your closest friends, and safety in numbers, right? So, like the naive, trustful girl that you were, you agreed.

Marlon and the twins were already waiting for you at the gate. You were running quite late since Mitch had chosen that exact morning to be stubborn and hold you captive in his prison. By holding you captive, you mean cuddling. By prison, you mean your bed. Now, not that you minded — after all, he was incredibly warm and comfortable — but you had some serious things to attend to.

To this day, you wish you hadn’t.

“5 more minutes,” he murmured, voice husky as a result of having barely just woken up.

You tried to escape his grip, yet his arm only tightened around you in response. “Mitch.” You sighed. “I told Marlon and the twins I’m going on a supply run with them today. They’re probably already waiting.” Once again, you tried to get up, but your boyfriend refused to budge. “I swear to god, Mitch, if you make me late—”

Mitch cut you off with a snore, a very fake one at that. You could tell by the smug little smirk on his face, a telltale (ha, get it?) sign that he was very much awake and very much aware of what he was doing. All you could do was just sigh again, having been left with no other choice but to endure his behaviour.

Though you couldn’t complain much. You enjoyed the way your bodies fit together, your head resting on his toned arm, which wrapped around you to bring you impossibly close. The warmth of his skin seeped through your shirt, and your scent almost overwhelmed his senses. In a good way, the best way, of course.

Your moment of peace was short-lived, however.

A red-headed figure burst through the door, causing both you and Mitch to jump up, immediately alert. Mitch’s hand reached for the knife he always kept under his pillow, ready to strike whoever it was before they could reach you. Until he realised who it was. Minnie. The tension in his shoulders dissipated almost instantly.

You, on the other hand, indeed did not relax. Because you knew you’d messed up big-time. You flashed her a sheepish smile, knowing there was no way out now. “Sooo, Minnie, y’know, about that supply run—”

“Y/N, we’ve been waiting for you literally forever!” Minnie neither looked nor sounded impressed. “So, care to explain why you’re here with loverboy and not out there, where you should’ve been about… 15 minutes ago?”

You groaned internally, knowing you really didn’t have any justification, at least not one up to Minnie’s standards.

Not long after that, you were being dragged along to the gate, where Marlon and Sophie waited. Marlon, you noticed, seemed a little off. He was rather quiet and had planted himself a couple of feet away from you, avoiding eye contact at all costs. But you just chalked it up to stress. What else could you have possibly thought? That he was about to give you away to some group of raiders whilst you were all completely unsuspecting?

“I didn’t even get to say bye to Mitch!” you complained, making sure to stare at Minnie while you did. She knew what she’d done. You shot her a glare, though it was only playful. You weren’t actually mad at her.

“I’m sure your boyfriend will be just fine without his goodbye kiss. We won’t be long anyway, about 2-3 hours tops,” Minnie said in response.

Boy, did you wish it’d taken only 3 hours.

Marlon took the lead, saying he’d seen a new place not far from the school. Again, he remained mostly quiet, only speaking to give directions or one-worded answers to your questions. It was strange, the way he refused to look any of you in the eye, as if doing so would completely and utterly destroy him. Yet, none of you thought much of it. Leading a group of kids placed all sorts of stress on you, especially when you were just a kid yourself.

Suddenly, he came to a stop.

“Marlon?” Sophie called, stepping forward to get a look at his face. Before she could, a woman dressed in military-style clothing blocked her way.

The woman’s hair was brown with a hint of grey and short. It looked like someone had hacked her hair off with a saw rather than cut it with scissors. “So, these are the recruits, I take it?”

At first, you weren't sure who she was addressing the question to, but when Marlon simply nodded, it all clicked into place. He was giving you away to these people. But why? And recruiting for what, exactly?

The woman nodded at the rest of the raiders, and they immediately understood. You saw them grab Sophie and Minnie, both of the twins yelling for the other. That was when you felt someone grab you from behind. You brought your boot down on their foot, making sure to apply pressure. Yet, they didn't let go, only let out a noise of what sounded like pain, or even frustration.

Next thing you knew, a sharp crack echoed in your ears. A dull throb started in the back of your skull and quickly escalated to a blinding headache. Ringing filled your ears like white noise, blocking all other sounds out. Your vision blurred, and the last thing you saw was Marlon's guilty expression, then… darkness.

A year had passed since then, or at least you assumed so. Nobody really kept track of time anymore. All you knew was that you missed your boyfriend and you had to get as far as possible from the Delta. But you also knew you couldn’t. When the twins had tried, only one of them had made it back: Minnie. This place had changed her completely, and it certainly was not for the better.

You refused to let it transform you, however. You continued to latch onto the hope that one day, you’d be able to leave this place and finally reunite with Mitch and the rest of your friends. This whole soldier thing wasn’t you. It wasn’t who you were. Though if you dared even utter such nonsense to the Delta, you were sure to pay the consequences.

Bang!

Your heart skipped a beat as a shot rang out somewhere on the boat. But it didn’t stop there. Shot after shot was fired, piquing your interest. Looking through a small window nearby, your eyes set on what it was. It was rather hard to miss a herd of zombies heading straight towards the ship that you were currently on. That wasn’t all, however. You could make out a couple of other silhouettes — people, not undead.

There was a little voice in your head which told you it was Mitch and your group coming for you, despite the fact you couldn’t actually see who it was. That little flicker of hope you’d held onto for so long began to glow brighter as if newly ignited.

You began to imagine Mitch’s reaction to seeing you; his green eyes widening in disbelief, his breath hitching. You imagined the way his lips would part, the way his expression would falter between heartbreak and relief, before he inevitably stormed forward and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

But you didn’t have time to get lost in that fantasy. Not yet. Not when Dorian was right behind you watching your every move, as if she still didn’t fully trust you. And rightfully so.

Her attention shifted to Minnie. “Minerva, focus.” Then, she turned back to you because, of course, she couldn’t look away from you for more than a couple of seconds. “You too, Y/N.”

Your mouth opened in an attempt to respond, but before you could get a word in, Minnie spoke. “I… I have a little brother. Short, scarred-faced. Is he… he’s not out there, is he?”

“Look, we’ve discussed this. Your family is Delta now. There ain’t no room for anyone else.” Dorian seemed annoyed at the fact that Minnie would even suggest she had family outside of the Delta, who really weren’t much of a family anyway.

“Yes, ma’am.” Minnie sounded almost… defeated, but it was as if she tried to hide it with faux confidence. Seeming content with the response, Dorian walked off, leaving you and Minnie alone.

You could only frown as your mind drifted back to Mitch. If Minnie thought it was a possibility that Tenn was out there, then it wouldn’t’ve been that far-fetched to believe the same about your boyfriend.

Unbeknownst to you, hiding behind a crate near the stairs was your boyfriend, who’d been watching and waiting for the right moment. When he’d climbed the stairs with Clem, AJ, and Violet, he’d never expected he’d find you right there, so close yet so far. All it would’ve taken was a few steps, and you’d finally be back in his arms where you belonged.

A year ago, Marlon had came back to the school alone, you and the twins nowhere in sight, and told everyone you were dead. Devoured by walkers. Mitch had felt his entire world collapse. The moment Marlon spoke those words — that you were gone, that there was nothing left — Mitch had punched a hole through the wall of the dorms and hadn't spoken to anyone for a week straight. He’d refused to believe it at first. Then the grief turned to rage. Not just at the world, not just at the raiders, but at himself.

He should’ve stopped you. He could’ve stopped you. If only he’d held on a little tighter that morning. If only he’d followed you to the gates. If only he hadn’t let Marlon get into your head. A thousand “what ifs” had haunted him every night since.

Now, you were right there.

Vi had to physically hold Mitch back because she knew the moment she let go, he would run straight to you and instantly blow their cover. Mitch bit back the urge to cry out your name. Clem glanced at him before her eyes flicked back to where you and Minnie were, before approaching. She revealed herself, bow pointed straight at Minnie.

Minnie, in return, pointed her crossbow right back at Clem. “Get. Out,” Minnie commanded, and you began to wonder if perhaps she knew who this girl with the cap was. It seemed like they had some sort of history, though you wouldn’t know. You’d never met her, and Minnie had never mentioned her.

“Not without our people.” As Clem said that, the others came out of their hiding spot and to her side.

Your breath caught in your throat.

There was a little boy no older than 5, and Vi. But next to Vi stood… Mitch.

You didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or run into his arms. Maybe all three. Maybe more. For a moment, all sound around you dulled. You didn’t hear Minnie shout something. You didn’t hear the groaning of the approaching walkers outside, or the frantic footsteps of soldiers rushing through the halls of the boat. All you could focus on was him.

Mitch.

He was staring at you like you were a ghost. Like if he blinked, you’d vanish, and he’d be thrown right back into the hell he’d been living in for the past year. His chest rose and fell rapidly, jaw clenched like he was holding something, everything, back.

Then he took a step forward.

“Mitch—” Violet hissed, grabbing his arm, but this time, he shrugged her off.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was the universe deciding that enough was enough and pushing the two of you together. Either way, the next thing you knew, he was in front of you, arms wrapping around your body so tightly you swore he’d never let go.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice breaking as he buried his face in the all-too-familiar scent of your hair. “You’re real. You’re actually—fuck, you’re alive.”

Your arms clutched at him like your life depended on it. “I’m here,” you whispered, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. “I’m here, Mitch. I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his calloused hands gentle and trembling all at once. His green eyes searched yours desperately, as if trying to make up for the last year of believing you were gone. “I thought you were dead,” he said. “Marlon… that bastard said you were dead.”

“I know,” you nodded, throat tight. “I know. I wanted to come back, Mitch, I tried, but I couldn’t—”

His lips crashed into yours with a kind of desperation you’d never felt before. The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was messy, shaky, soaked in grief and soaked in longing, but it was yours. His hands framed your face like he was afraid you’d disappear again if he let go. It was as though, through that kiss, he was trying to make up for every day, every hour, every moment you’d both spent apart. You kissed him back with equal urgency, one hand gripping the back of his hair, the other his jacket, as if that alone could keep you tethered to this moment, to him, forever.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and dazed, your foreheads touched. “I don't care. You’re here now. That’s all that matters,” he said, still somewhat catching his breath.

Mitch didn’t care about the walkers or the raiders rushing to subdue the intruders. His entire world had narrowed to the space, or rather lack of it, between you and him. Your presence was the first real thing he’d felt in a year. After drowning for so long, the air had truly returned to his lungs.

Clem’s voice broke the moment. “Mitch, Y/N, we need to move. Now.”

You turned to face her, quickly wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeve, while Mitch positioned himself slightly in front of you instinctively, in between you and Minnie. You couldn’t help but glance at Minnie, who stood frozen a few feet away, crossbow still held loosely in her hand. Her face was unreadable — shock, confusion, conflict all swirling beneath the surface.

“Minnie,” you said softly, almost a plea. “Come with us.”

Her expression twisted, exhaling through her mouth as she remained silent. After a few moments, she muttered, “Shit.” That was when you knew she couldn’t refuse you. “Fine. I’ll help you get everyone out. Then you take my brother, and run. Get him back to where it’s safe.”

Mitch nodded, his jaw set, grabbing hold of your hand like it was a lifeline. You could feel the tension in his fingers, his silent promise that he wasn’t letting go again, ever. There was so much he wanted to say; questions to ask, apologies to give, more things to hold you for, but right now, survival had to come first.

So, you got everyone off of the ship: Omar, Aasim, and Louis. You and Mitch also made it off but Clem, AJ, and Vi didn’t. Something inside urged you to go back, to get them to safety, except Mitch held you back.

His grip on your hand was iron, but it wasn’t just about keeping you safe anymore. It was fear, pure and undiluted. Fear of losing you again.

“Let me go back,” you urged, attempting to tug your wrist away from his hold. “They’re still in there!”

Mitch shook his head, looking at you as if you were crazy. “No. No way.” He couldn’t swallow down the fear that was creeping its way into his words. “You just got back to me, Y/N. I’m not risking losing you all over again. I can’t.” His tone was almost pleading now.

You looked at his face, seeing the way his brows furrowed ever so slightly, the way his jaw clenched. “Mitch—”

“Just trust me. If there’s anyone who can make it out of that hellhole, it’s them.” His voice cracked as he added, “Please. Don’t make me lose you again.”

The fire in your chest fought the panic that bloomed in his. You wanted to argue. You wanted to scream. But before you could do anything, a giant boom sounded from the ship. It’d exploded.

The blast lit up the night sky, a searing flash followed by a wall of heat and a deafening roar that knocked the breath from your lungs. You barely had time to react before Mitch’s arms were around you again, pulling you to the ground and shielding your body with his own.

Debris rained down around you. You couldn’t see anything, just smoke, dust, and the blinding orange glow of the fire. But you could feel Mitch over you, his entire body tense, braced against the shockwave, protecting you with everything he had.

A second blast rocked the earth, smaller, but close enough that your ears rang and the air itself seemed to disappear for a moment. Then silence. A sick, suffocating silence broken only by the crackling of flames.

Mitch didn’t move.

You were pinned beneath him, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the weight of him both terrifying and comforting. It wasn’t until you felt the subtle shift of his breathing, the sharp, ragged pull of air into his lungs, that you realised you were both still alive.

“You okay?” His voice was hoarse, close to your ear. There was a rawness in it, laced with panic he was trying and failing to bury. He picked himself up, rolling over to sit beside you.

“I think so,” you managed to whisper, though your whole body trembled. “You?”

“Yeah,” Mitch said, but it wasn’t convincing. You lifted your head, just enough to look at him properly. His face was streaked with soot, a gash bleeding near his temple. “You’re okay. That’s all I care about.”

You started to push yourself up, coughing as the smoke invaded your lungs. “The others—”

“No,” he said firmly, helping you sit. His hand gripped your wrist tightly. “No, Y/N. You can’t go back there.”

You turned to look at the boat. Or what used to be the boat.

Flames devoured it, the hull now a shattered skeleton swallowed by fire and black smoke. Screams and groans had ceased, replaced by the low, endless roar of fire consuming everything. You searched desperately for silhouettes, for anything resembling Clem, AJ, or Vi. But there was nothing. Just fire.

Some minutes later, you learned they were, in fact, alive. They had all made it off, maybe not necessarily safely, but they’d made it. That was all you cared about.

As soon as everyone was back together, you headed back to the school. You and Mitch sat a little apart from the others, his arm draped around your shoulders. The rest of the group looked just as worn out as you felt: bruised, bloodied, eyes hollow from smoke and grief and relief all tangled together. Clem had a bandage wrapped around her arm, AJ clung to her side. Vi looked like she’d seen a ghost — maybe she had. You figured you looked no different.

Mitch hadn’t let go of you once. You didn’t blame him since you were doing exactly the same thing he was.

“I thought I’d never get to see you again,” you whispered, staring at the stars littered across the night sky.

Mitch turned to look at you, his green eyes scanning your face. For a moment, he was silent, as if considering something. “When Marlon told us you were dead, I—I didn’t want to believe it.” He looked away for a second, like the memory physically hurt to relive, then glanced back, his voice lower, rougher now. “But after a while, I started thinking… maybe you were. And if you were, then what was the point of any of this? Fighting, surviving, all of it felt… empty without you.”

You turned slightly, grabbing his free hand. “You kept going, though. You didn’t give up.”

“I almost did.” He threaded his fingers through yours. “Willy pulled me back a few times. So did Aasim. And Louis, in this weird way. But every night, I still looked at your bed, half-expecting you to walk through the door. Like maybe Marlon had been lying,”

Your chest tightened. You’d imagined so many times what he might’ve gone through, but hearing it out loud made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You scooted a little closer, as if that could close the gap all that time apart had carved into both of you. “I thought about you every single day,” you admitted, voice soft and raw. “When things got bad, when I thought I couldn’t take another second in that place… I’d picture your face. I’d remember your voice. I’d replay that last morning in my head, over and over again. That was the only thing that kept me from losing myself.”

“I should’ve gone with you. I should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off gently, your hand tightening in his. “You didn’t know what Marlon was planning. None of us did.”

“I still should’ve known. I should’ve followed you. If I had, maybe—”

You leaned forward, placing your forehead against his. “Stop,” you whispered. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

He closed his eyes, breathing you in like you were oxygen. His hands found your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you. “I don’t wanna waste another second.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Then don’t.”

And with that, he kissed you again, slower this time, less desperation, more certainty. This kiss was different. It was soft, deliberate, heavy with all the things neither of you had said yet. His hand slid up to cup your cheek again, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he could erase every tear you’d shed in the Delta. You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, needing to feel him, needing to anchor yourself to this moment.

Someone nearby coughed loudly and obviously. You both pulled away, breathing a little heavier. You turned to see Louis watching with an exaggerated smirk. “Get a room, lovebirds,” he said, though his teasing was gentler than usual. “Seriously, though… I’m glad you’re back, Y/N.”

You rested your head against Mitch’s shoulder. His arm slid around you instinctively, drawing you into his side like you were a part of him, like you always had been.

“Thanks, Lou.”

As Tenn walked over to Lilly, you felt Mitch tense up beside you, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. Abel was standing right by your hiding spot, near the cart, not doing much to calm either of your nerves. It was all beginning to get too much for you, but this was just the beginning. You didn’t know what the universe held in store for you today.

You swallowed anxiously, watching Clem, who was determined to take down Lilly and her group, just as you were. Mitch must’ve noticed the way your breathing quickened, heartbeat thundering in your eardrums, because he glanced down at you and pulled you closer into his side without a word.

Lilly moved towards Tenn, reaching out to grab him, yet she missed. That was when Mitch lit the bomb. The moment he did, he yanked you up, his hand grasping your wrist. Before the explosion could reach either of you, he ran, still not letting go of you.

The cart set alight, spooking the horse which was attached to it as well as the other horse. It also knocked Lilly and the raiders, dazing them. You stumbled after Mitch, your legs barely keeping up with the sheer force of his grip and the adrenaline tearing through your veins. Heat licked at your back, and the deafening roar filled your ears, replacing the sound of your own heartbeat.

You found a hiding spot behind some bushes in front of the gate. Mitch crouched down behind the dense shrubs, pulling you down with him. Your chest was heaving, lungs burning, but at least you were alive.

You stared at Mitch, eyes wide and searching every inch of his face for signs of pain or injury. His green eyes flicked over you in return, equally frantic, his hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist like he was afraid letting go would mean losing you in the chaos.

You grabbed his face, gentle but insistent, forcing him to look you fully in the eyes. "Are you okay?" you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Are you hurt?”

He blinked, breathless and flushed, then shook his head. “I’m okay. Are you?”

You gave a jerky nod, though your whole body trembled. “I think so.”

For a second, neither of you moved. The fire crackled, shouting echoed across the schoolyard, then something inside Mitch shifted. His gaze landed on the scene playing out in front of him. Tenn was on the ground, Lilly not far from him.

You felt Mitch’s hand leave your wrist. You barely had time to react before he was on his feet and sprinting. Straight at Lilly. Your heart lurched into your throat as Mitch charged headlong toward danger again — toward her. The person who'd threatened your home, your family. The person who'd pointed a gun at innocent kids and dared to call it leadership.

“Mitch!” You called after him, but he didn’t hear you. Or maybe he did and chose not to listen.

Around you, chaos reigned. Smoke curled into the sky like dark, angry ribbons. Screams cut the air, horses thrashed, and flames crackled as the schoolyard turned into a battlefield. But your world had narrowed in on Mitch. He was going to get himself killed.

Mitch tackled Lilly hard, slamming her into the dirt with a grunt that sounded more like a snarl. They tumbled, fists flying, her gun flung from her hand and skittering across the ground. You couldn’t see Tenn anymore; someone had pulled him away, maybe Clem or Louis. You barely registered it because all you could see was Mitch and Lilly, struggling in the dirt, rage pouring out of them in equal measure.

Lilly managed to slam her elbow into Mitch’s ribs, and he let out a rough gasp that made your blood run cold. But he didn’t let up. He was fueled by something deeper than anger: grief, vengeance, maybe fear. You weren’t sure. You only knew that he wasn’t stopping.

And then, finally, with a grunt of effort and a flash of movement too fast to process, he pinned Lilly down with a knee to her chest and drew back his fist one more time.

“Mitch, stop!” Your voice tore through the chaos, ragged and loud enough to carry over the fire and yelling.

He froze, fist still raised in the air. Breathing hard, sweat clinging to his face, eyes wide and wild. His gaze darted to you. For a moment, it was like he remembered where he was, who he was. His arm dropped, and he backed off, chest heaving.

Lilly spat blood onto the ground and laughed a low, broken sound. “You don’t have it in you,” she hissed, her voice full of venom.

“Yeah?” Mitch growled, but he didn’t hit her again. He didn’t need to. She was done.

Clem was already moving in, weapon drawn, rounding up the rest of Lilly’s remaining soldiers. Someone shouted that Abel had gone down. The fight was ending. It was finally coming to an end. Sure, you’d won, but at what cost? There was still so much fire, spreading throughout the school, showing no sign of stopping anytime soon. Omar had been shot, Aasim and Vi taken alongside him by the raiders.

Yet, Mitch was still standing. You couldn’t help but feel guilty at the fact that you were relieved that Mitch was here, when not everyone was.

The moment the threat was neutralised and the Delta was gone, you rushed to Mitch, your legs unsteady, boots crunching over blackened gravel and scorched dirt. He turned just in time for you to crash into him, arms looping around his waist, holding on like you were scared he’d disappear if you blinked.

Mitch stumbled slightly from the force of you slamming into him, but his arms wrapped around you just as fast, strong and sure, like he’d been waiting to hold you again. His fingers gripped the back of your jacket tightly, grounding himself in your presence. You buried your face into his chest, your breath hitching as everything hit you at once: the fear, the adrenaline, the overwhelming relief.

“You fucking idiot,” you whispered, the words muffled against his shirt, voice trembling. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Mitch huffed out a weak laugh against your hair, and you felt the sharp rise and fall of his chest as his adrenaline began to drain away. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Well, I wasn’t going to let her take anyone else.”

Mitch held onto you like his life depended on it. Maybe in some way, it did. His arms were tight around your shoulders, trembling slightly, though you didn’t point it out. The heat from the fires still scorched the air around you, smoke mixing with the metallic sting of blood in your nose.

You finally pulled back enough to look at him properly, your arms unwrapping themselves from around him. Mitch would never admit it out loud, but he already missed the way your body felt against his, as if it was made just to fit right there.

You could see it all over his face — the pain and the exhaustion that he didn’t want you to see. He was trying to stand tall, trying to be strong in front of you, but his posture wavered. Eyes scanning his body more carefully now that the fight was over, you frowned. His lip was split, his cheek was bruised, and blood was smeared across it. Some of it was his, some not.

Your eyes trailed down to a dark patch spreading steadily on his orange shirt. “Mitch,” you said almost urgently, your voice betraying the concern behind your words, “you’re bleeding.”

Mitch followed your gaze down to the blood soaking into his shirt. His expression twisted in vague surprise, like he hadn’t even noticed it until now. Adrenaline would do that to you. Mask the pain until it was too late to ignore.

He swayed just slightly, and your arm immediately grabbed his to help him keep his balance. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, a little dazed now that the fire of the fight was burning low. “I didn’t even realise.”

You didn't waste another second. “Come on,” you said, slipping your arm around his waist again. “You’re done playing hero for today.”

“No argument here,” he grunted, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, letting you guide him across the smouldering wreckage of what had been your safe haven.

You led him toward the admin building, where the old nurse’s room was. The halls were eerily quiet compared to the chaos outside, but it didn’t comfort you. It just felt wrong. You pushed open the door to what was now used as an infirmary, leading Mitch over to one of the beds. He winced, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as he sat. Blood had begun to soak into his waistband.

“Where is it?” you asked gently, crouching down in front of him. “Where’s it coming from?”

He hesitated for a second before lifting his shirt. There was a nasty gash just under his ribs, deep, angry, and oozing blood.

You drew in a sharp breath, similarly to how Mitch had done just moments prior. Only yours wasn’t out of pain, more so out of alarm.

“That bad, huh?” Mitch said, trying to smirk through the pain, though it came out more like a grimace.

“You need stitches. And probably antibiotics. And painkillers,” you muttered, already grabbing for the supplies: half a roll of bandages, a chipped bottle of antiseptic, a needle and thread which you hoped had already been sterilised. “Take your shirt off.”

“Oh,” Mitch grinned tiredly, “you’re getting straight to the good stuff now.”

You shot him a flat, unimpressed look. Still, you couldn’t help how your heart fluttered. “Mitch, take it off.”

“Alright, alright.” That got him moving. He hissed as he peeled the blood-soaked fabric away from his skin, wincing every time it tugged at the wound. When it was off, you could see just how bad it truly was. Not just the gash under his ribs, but the growing mosaic of bruises along his side, the swelling on his jaw, the already purpling spot on his shoulder where he must’ve been hit hard.

You soaked a rag with the antiseptic and pressed it to the wound. Mitch hissed sharply through his teeth, his hand twitching toward yours before he stopped himself. “Fuck,” he bit out. “That stings.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how you know it’s working,” you said softly, though your heart clenched at the sight of him flinching under your touch. You tried to keep your hands steady, even as your fingers shook. You cleaned the gash carefully, wiping away blood and grime until you could see the wound clearly.

Mitch leaned back on one elbow, jaw clenched, breathing shallow as you worked. “Not exactly how I pictured you seeing me shirtless,” he joked, the corner of his mouth twitching up. But the laugh that followed was short and strained.

You glanced up at him, the edges of your lips curving despite yourself. “Pretty sure this wasn’t in anyone’s fantasy, Mitch.” Your voice was soft, though, threaded with worry.

He hummed faintly in agreement and looked away, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then his eyes met yours again, softer now. “Still glad it’s you,” he murmured.

Your throat tightened. The sound of the fire outside was faint now, just a distant crackle beyond the infirmary walls. Inside, there was only the two of you and the sharp scent of antiseptic, the tension in your chest, the warmth of Mitch’s skin under your hands.

You threaded the needle with a practised flick of your fingers, or as practised as you could be given the limited resources and even less training. “This is going to hurt,” you warned, positioning the needle above the wound.

Mitch huffed a weak laugh, resting his head back against the wall. “Kinda figured that out when the fighting part happened.”

You shot him a look, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk grew. Until you pushed the needle through his skin.

“Shit!” he hissed, body tensing instinctively. His free hand gripped the edge of the bed like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I know, I know,” you whispered, biting your lip to stop the wave of guilt. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be gentle.”

“You are,” he gritted out, sweat beading along his brow. “It’s not you. Just—fucking hell, this sucks.”

You continued carefully, hand steadying at last. With each stitch, you could feel the tension in him shift, his body gradually giving in to fatigue. He blinked slowly, his jaw unclenching between sharp inhales.

You finished the last stitch with a careful knot, snipping the thread with trembling fingers. Mitch was pale now, his skin clammy, but his breathing had evened out some. He hadn’t passed out, which was honestly impressive considering the blood loss and pain. You wrapped the bandages gently around his torso, not wanting to aggravate anything more than necessary.

When you were done, you sat back on your heels, exhausted. “Okay,” you breathed, exhaling a tension you hadn’t even realised you were holding. “That’s it. You’re done.”

He exhaled a long, shaky breath. “Tell me I don’t have to do that again anytime soon.”

“You don’t,” you said. “Unless you decide to run headfirst into danger again. Then, maybe.”

Mitch gave you a look, somewhere between exhausted, fond, and exasperated. “No promises,” he muttered, though the spark in his eyes was dimmer now. Fading. You could see how much he was crashing after the rush of adrenaline wore off.

You didn't respond to the quip. Not with words. Instead, you reached up, brushing some of the sweat-matted hair from his forehead, fingers lingering there for just a second longer than necessary. He leaned into the touch, barely, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment.

The silence that fell between you wasn’t awkward. It was heavy with everything unspoken: fear, gratitude, relief, affection. And grief, too, buried underneath it all. The price you paid for surviving.

After a while, Mitch broke the silence again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I know,” you said, your throat tightening. “But you could’ve…” Your voice trailed off, unable to get the word past your throat. ‘Died.’ It felt far too real, too heavy.

“I wasn’t gonna let her hurt you. Or Tenn. Or anyone else.” The layers beneath his voice peeled back, raw and honest. “I know I do stupid shit. I just… I couldn’t stand by. Not again.”

You understood full well why he did what he did but it didn’t mean you liked it. The fact that he was so ready to possibly get himself killed, to leave you behind, ignited a flame of anger within you. However, you pushed it down. You couldn’t be mad at Mitch just for wanting to help. Instead of responding, you just stayed silent, your gaze landing on the floor beneath you.

Mitch seemed to notice your silence. He shifted a little on the bed, sucking in a breath when the movement tugged at his bandaged side, but he didn't complain. He leaned forward just enough to brush his fingers beneath your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His touch was gentle, uncharacteristically so.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough. “I’m still here.”

You blinked up at him, eyes stinging. “Yeah,” you breathed, refraining from saying anything else about the topic. You just couldn’t. So, you changed the topic. “Why don’t you lie down? You need to rest, Mitch. Doctor’s orders.”

Mitch didn’t argue. That alone told you how drained he really was. Normally, he’d make some crack about doctors or orders or how he was fine, but right now? He just gave a small, exhausted nod.

You stood and helped ease him down, one hand at his back to keep pressure off his ribs. His breathing hitched when his body finally settled, but he didn’t complain. He just exhaled, long and low, like he hadn’t realised how badly he needed to lie down until now. The moment he was still, you could see the strain start to ease from his face.

You tucked a pillow behind his head and reached for the clean-ish (probably as clean as it could be during the apocalypse) blanket at the foot of the bed, draping it over him. Before you could move away, his hand caught yours.

“Stay.” It wasn’t a question, more of a demand if anything. But that was to be expected most times with Mitch.

You didn’t hesitate. You kicked off your boots and sat on the narrow edge of the bed. He shifted again, groaning softly, and made just enough space for you to curl up beside him. You weren’t exactly comfortable. There wasn’t enough room, the bed creaked with every breath, and his skin was still clammy with sweat and blood. But you didn’t care.

You were where you needed to be.

Mitch let out a shaky breath as your head found its place near his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the uninjured part of his chest. His hand found yours again, gripping it loosely. It was quiet now, save for the distant crackle of dying flames and the occasional distant shout from the others cleaning up the wreckage. You weren’t ready to face them yet. Right now, all that mattered was him. That he was here. That he’d made it.

“Never seen you this quiet,” he mumbled after a while, voice thick with sleep. “Kind of nice,” he teased lightly.

You gave a soft, tired chuckle, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Don’t get used to it.”

He hummed, the sound low in his chest, and squeezed your hand once. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. You weren’t sure anymore. Time felt weird after everything — drawn out, stretched thin with adrenaline and fear. Mitch’s thumb brushed the side of your hand in slow, absent strokes, enough to let you know he was still there.

Eventually, you’d dozed off, your fingers still tangled in his. Mitch stirred faintly in the dark, blinking up at the ceiling, body aching and stitched together, but his first instinct was to glance sideways to find you.

You hadn’t let go.

A ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Despite everything, despite the loss and the pain and the wreckage of what used to be home, you were here. And damn it, that meant something.

You were on your way to meet the others in the courtyard. Clementine had mentioned something about playing a card game, and although you didn’t necessarily feel like joining in, you still wanted to be there. To watch, to laugh, to simply exist beside the people you cared about. Especially Mitch.

Speaking of Mitch, you had caught sight of him and saw that he seemed to be waiting for you. As you made eye contact, you sent him a small wave. He responded with a simple nod, Mitch’s own way of greeting. Suddenly, a rock jutting out from the path caught your boot; your body lurched forward before you could register what was happening. You were sure you were going to hit the ground face-first until you felt a pair of lean arms wrap around you.

“Whoa, easy,” Mitch grunted, catching you firmly against his chest.

You blinked, heart thudding. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as you stared up at him. His brow furrowed, but then he smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Can’t leave you alone for five seconds, huh?”

You playfully shoved at his chest as he set you upright again. “You act like I trip that often.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “You do trip that often. Or did you already forget what happened just yesterday?”

You groaned, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at the mention of the memory. You’d been walking up the stairs, Mitch to your left. He had already made it past the last step, and you only had one more — or at least, you thought you had. Turns out you had indeed just gone past the last step, so like a fool believing there was an extra stair, you tripped. Luckily, Mitch had caught you, similarly to how he had today.

“Don’t even remind me.”

Mitch chuckled under his breath, the sound low and rough. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, amusement mixing with something gentler. He opened his mouth, probably to remind you of another embarrassing moment. Before he could get a word out, however, a voice called out to you.

“Y/N! Mitch!” It was Louis, waving exaggeratedly at you both and beckoning you over to the table that he and the others were sitting at.

The table consisted of Louis, Clem, and Vi on one side, Marlon on the other, with just enough space for you and Mitch to fit. Vi was shuffling a well-worn deck of cards, Marlon watching, pretending he wasn’t excited to play.

As you sat down beside Marlon, Mitch followed suit, sitting on your left. You felt the warmth of his palm as it came to rest on your upper thigh. The simple action, his touch against your skin, was enough to send a small shiver down your body, though you weren’t sure why. You and Mitch had been together long enough for you to have grown accustomed to it by this point. It was almost starting to feel like you were some love-sick teenager with a middle-school crush.

You were snapped back to reality by Louis’ voice, and a gentle nudge to your side from your left.

“Hellooo? Earth to Y/N!” Louis’ hand came up, as if ready to wave it in front of your face.

You smiled sheepishly in return. “Sorry.”

Louis lowered his arm back to his side, a confident grin on his face. “So, Y/N, are you ready to lose at War?”

“I’ll pass,” you said, lifting your hands in surrender with a small smile. “Just gonna watch today.”

“Suit yourself,” Vi muttered, starting to deal the cards to the other 5 members.

Mitch leaned back slightly, stretching his arms out, which meant letting go of your thigh. For the moment that he pulled away, you found yourself missing how warm he was against the chill of the evening. His hand came back down to rest comfortably on your thigh. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he watched Louis dramatically boast about how unbeatable he was.

“Bet Louis loses first,” Mitch murmured under his breath, low enough for only you to hear.

You stifled a laugh, biting your lip as you turned your head slightly toward him. “Wanna bet on it?”

He shrugged, still not looking at you, his expression calm but with that familiar spark in his eye. “Only if I get something out of it.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head curiously. “Like what?”

Finally, he turned his head to face you fully, his smirk returning, softer this time. “You’ll see.”

That made your face warm again, and you were thankful the lighting was dimming with the sky. You turned your attention back to the game just as Vi flipped the first card, which was a jack, and Marlon groaned in response, his four clearly not enough to beat it. Mitch flipped his card, a nine, and Clementine flipped hers, getting a six. However, Louis’ card, a queen, was enough to beat everyone else’s. He whooped obnoxiously, throwing his hands in the air.

“That’s right! One step closer to victory!”

“One step closer to getting punched in the face,” Vi mumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips as she leaned forward, ready to go again.

You laughed quietly, leaning into Mitch’s side, as the game continued. You watched as everyone argued, playfully, over card values and previously-unheard-of-rules Louis insisted were legit. The sounds of laughter and good-natured teasing echoed softly through the courtyard.

At some point during the game, you felt Mitch’s hand leave where it was resting on your thigh, only to thread his fingers gently through your hair. It wasn’t intentional — he was focused on the game, brow furrowed in concentration and a hint of competitiveness he couldn’t help. His hand had moved without thinking, fingertips grazing through your locks with slow, rhythmic motions. It was a habit he’d picked up early on in your relationship, something he didn’t even realise he was doing most of the time.

You leaned further into him, your head tilting just slightly so you could rest it against his shoulder. The feeling of his fingers weaving absentmindedly through your hair made your chest feel light, almost lulling you into sleep.

The next round went quickly. Mitch won with an ace, and Louis let out a theatrical groan, slumping back like he’d just been mortally wounded.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he whined, throwing his arms up. “You people are cheating. I don’t know how, but I will find out.”

“Right,” Vi deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “Maybe the cards just hate you.”

“That’s impossible. I’m charming. Cards love me,” Louis said with an exaggerated wink in your direction.

Mitch made a scoffing noise beside you. “That’s rich.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped, and Louis pointed an accusatory finger at you. “Traitor!”

You lifted your hands in mock defence. “Hey, I’m just the audience tonight. Totally unbiased.”

“Uh-huh,” Louis grumbled, though the smile on his face never faltered. He leaned back, folding his arms. “I’ll get my redemption arc next round.”

As the game progressed, the voices around you faded into a soft hum. Clementine’s laugh, Louis’ dramatic groans, and Vi’s biting sarcasm all blended into a pleasant blur. And then… sleep came.

Mitch felt the exact moment you had fallen asleep. Your head had settled completely on him, the weight pressing against his shoulder. He barely reacted, his hand now having gone back to your thigh. Still, when he finally glanced down and saw you sleeping, he couldn’t help the faint blush that dusted his cheeks. A small smile crossed his face at the sight of you looking so peaceful, a contrast to the world you lived in.

This, of course, didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the group. Louis was the first to catch sight of the soft look on Mitch’s face. His card halfway to the table, he froze, then slowly turned to the others, eyes wide with mischief.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to sound scandalous. “Guys. Guys. Look at him.”

Vi quirked an eyebrow. “What now?”

Clementine was already looking, and she was smirking. “He’s blushing.”

That was all the confirmation Louis needed. “Well, well, well,” he sang, grinning like he’d just discovered buried treasure. “Would you look at our tough guy Mitch, all soft and googly-eyed.”

Mitch shot him a glare sharp enough to kill a walker. “Shut it, Louis.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Louis said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “We’re just celebrating the very rare, and might I add, adorable phenomenon of Mitch having feelings.”

Vi smirked, tilting her head just enough to catch sight of you, completely asleep against his shoulder. “Didn’t peg you as the cuddly type.”

“I’m not,” Mitch grumbled. “She’s tired.”

“Uh-huh,” Clem added, trying and failing to suppress a chuckle.

Mitch’s jaw clenched. His ears were pink now, too. “Do you guys ever shut up?”

“Nope,” Vi said flatly.

“I swear to God-”

“Oh, relax,” Clementine interrupted, grinning. “It’s cute. Besides, it’s nice seeing you act so… coupley.”

That earned a small laugh from Marlon, who until now had been quietly watching with an amused smile. “Yeah, man. You’re practically domesticated.”

“I’m gonna kill all of you,” Mitch muttered.

Louis nudged Vi with his elbow. “You think he knows he’s smiling?”

“Doubt it,” Vi replied, eyes glittering. “Let’s not tell him.”

“Dead men. All of you.”

“Love you too, buddy,” Louis said sweetly, reaching over to pat Mitch’s arm, only to get his hand slapped away.

Everyone was grinning now, even Mitch, despite himself. He huffed a breath, shaking his head, but didn’t move from where he sat. Didn’t pull his hand back. Didn’t shift you off his shoulder.

You stirred slightly, eyelids fluttering as you mumbled something incoherent under your breath.

Instinctively, Mitch lowered his voice. “Go back to sleep. You're good.” And you did, completely unaware of the teasing, of the jokes, of the looks.

Another groan from Louis interrupted the moment as he dramatically slammed down a losing card. “Okay, seriously. Someone has stacked the deck against me.”

“Maybe it’s karma,” Clem replied smoothly.

Louis crossed his arms, sulking. “I hope Y/N wakes up soon. At least she believes in me.”

Mitch glanced sideways, murmuring under his breath without looking up. “Not if she saw your last three rounds.”

A soft chuckle escaped from Clem and Marlon, and Vi cracked a tiny grin.

Eventually, the game came to an end. Mitch laid down a card, victorious, as everyone handed their final cards to him.

“Hah!” he said, a little louder than he meant to. Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused.

“Mm?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” Mitch said quickly, lowering his voice. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You blinked at him, then closed your eyes again, nuzzling closer to his shoulder. “S’okay…” you whispered, already halfway back to sleep.

The others all exchanged amused looks but wisely kept their mouths shut this time. Clementine stretched, declaring another game, and so they continued. You shifted slightly in your sleep, unconsciously curling in closer to Mitch, your fingers brushing against the hem of his jacket.

He stilled, just for a moment, eyes glancing down again. Then, so carefully it was barely noticeable, he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders gently. Mitch didn’t say a word as he settled his hand on your thigh again. He’d never really been one for PDA, but with you, it felt different. 

It was Louis who broke the quiet first, but even he seemed to sense the shift in mood. His voice came softer, more genuine. “You two are kind of gross, y’know that?”

Vi gave him a light shove with her elbow. “Leave them alone.”

“Hey, I meant it in a wholesome way,” Louis defended, both hands raised.

Clem just chuckled and finished shuffling the deck. “Everyone ready?”

The game picked up again, Mitch’s free hand occasionally rising to toss a card down. Your warmth pressed into his side, your soft breaths brushing faintly against the collar of his shirt.

When the game finally ended, darkness had settled over the schoolyard. One by one, the others left, waving and offering goodnights. Mitch, however, remained. He looked down at you, still slumped against his arm. He didn’t want to move, but he also knew you couldn’t stay out here all night.

“Hey…” he whispered, shaking you very lightly. “C’mon, we’ve gotta go inside.”

You shifted slightly, letting out a sleepy grumble that sounded vaguely like his name but nothing intelligible. He sighed, looking around the empty courtyard. “Of course,” he muttered.

He stood, slowly, making sure not to jostle you too much as he scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your shoulders.

The door to the dorms creaked faintly as he nudged it open with his foot, stepping inside with you in his arms. The hall was quiet now, filled only with the occasional creak of old wood and the buzz of insects just outside the cracked windows. He walked slowly, more to keep from waking you than anything else.

When he reached your room, he pushed the door open with his shoulder. The moonlight streamed faintly through the window, silvering the edges of everything it touched. Mitch walked over to the bed and knelt slightly, lowering you down with more gentleness than anyone would’ve ever expected from him.

Your brows furrowed briefly in protest when his arms left you, a faint whimper leaving your lips, and his heart gave a soft, reluctant ache.

“I’m not going far,” he said, voice low. “Just hang on.”

He pulled the covers over you, tucking them around your shoulders like he’d watched you do for AJ more than once. Mitch stood there for a long moment, eyes fixed on you. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, as if debating something, then turned to leave.

Just as he turned to leave, your hand reached out, half-asleep, fumbling, and caught his wrist. “Mitch…” you mumbled, barely audible. “Stay…”

His breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected that. You weren’t fully awake; you probably wouldn’t even remember saying it in the morning. But that didn’t matter. Not right now.

“…Okay,” he whispered.

He climbed onto the bed beside you, lying on his back. His arm wrapped around you, holding you close, and you immediately curled into him, your head on his upper arm, hand resting on his chest.

The room fell into a hush, the kind only nighttime could bring — not silence, exactly, but a sort of stillness that felt sacred. Mitch could hear the wind moving softly through the trees outside the window, the distant creak of a door settling somewhere down the hall. But all of it faded compared to the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his chest.

He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, his mind unwilling to quiet as easily as yours had. He shifted slightly to glance down at you, taking in the way your lashes fluttered faintly, your face relaxed in sleep. You looked so soft, at peace, and for once, he felt a bit of that peace too.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the broken window. Mitch stirred, blinking groggily. He tried to move, and immediately winced. His arm was completely numb. Dead. Gone. Useless.

You were still asleep, snuggled against his side, your breath warm on his neck.