🏹🎧🩰

At the welcome feast, you tried to reach his eyes when Headmaster Black made comment about the Restricted Section, hoping to share with him once more a quiet laugh that nobody else could claim, but his gaze never left the table in front of him, as if he were trying to etch the grain into his mind.

A knock to your knee jolted your from your daze and reminded you that you were not in a fable of love, but instead a droning Divination class. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"

Almost more shocking than the lack of Sebastian's correspondence that summer, was the excess of Imelda's. It seemed the girl had grown fond of you, the only one who made effort to see her as more than a hyper-competitive prodigy. By the end of June, she'd taken you flying through further parts of the Highlands and introduced you to most of her family, all just as charming and intense as she was, although you couldn't tell if that was good of not. Regardless of that, she had quickly cemented her place as one of your best friends.

She'd been there while you wrote most of your letters to Sebastian, judged you for most of them, but melted the wax for your seal nonetheless. She held mild distaste for the boy before, but it had grown to pure hatred now.

"Perhaps." You responded, hoping your vagueness would spare the remainder of your dignity.

"Perhaps." She mimicked with a teasing smile. "It would do you good to think about this instead, you know I'm no good at reading these stupid bloody cards--"

"It would do you good, Miss Reyes, to respect the Arcana and keep such language out of my classroom." Professor Onai's voice cut from over your shoulder's. Imelda's cheeks flared, while yours puffed in a poorly-veiled laugh.

"Apologies, Professor." She mumbled, embarrassed, delivering a harsh elbow to your side after Onai left and you let a giggle slip out.

"Remember, students, draw three cards each. What was, what is, and what will be."

Imelda took the deck in her hands. "I'll draw for you first if you check the meanings." You nodded while she shuffled. "Alright, what was..." She turned the top card to reveal The Hanged Man. It's morbid illustration had you sucking in a harsh breath. You turned to find its page.

"The Hanged Man, upright meaning sacrifice and martyrdom."

"Seems fitting, Hero of Hogwarts." Imelda laughed to herself as you kicked her shin. "Now, what is..." She turned the next card and paused. "Death."

A knot tied in your stomach, but a soothing voice washed over you soon after. "The meanings of cards will often betray your perception of them." Professor Onai warned. "Find it before you worry." She offered you a kind and encouraging smile.

"Death, upright meaning the end of a cycle, new beginnings, and change." Tension bled from your shoulders with a deep sigh.

"Not as scary as it seemed, hmm?" Professor Onai hummed.

"Depends who you ask." Imelda retorted, more to herself than anyone else. "Last card, what will be..." She bit her lip in concentration as she turned the final card. "Four of Cups. Reversed."

You hurried to find its page, buried in the book's centre. "Reversed meaning sudden awareness, choosing happiness, and acceptance!" A relived smile made its way across your face.

"I told you this year would be your best yet." Imelda chided.

"Quite poor competition to go against." You countered with a laugh, calming just in time to hear the loud voice of Everett Clopton reciting Sebastian's reading.

"...what was...The High Priestess reversed. Often meaning..." He trailed off, searching for the definition. A quick glance over showed Sebastian was barely paying attention to the boy beside him, instead staring at the crystal ball on their able. "Lack of centre, loss of judgement, and repressed feelings!"

As Everett delved into a tangent on his own interpretation of the cards, you busied yourself with Imelda's reading, revealing a past of repression and isolation, as well as a future of bountiful success. "Didn't need a lousy deck to tell you that." She joked, rolling up her parchment while the rest of the students around you packed their things.

"What will be..." Clopton's voice rang clear and made Imelda stifle a snort.

"Is he still going?" She asked you, but you barely heard, ears straining to catch a glimpse of Sebastian's future.

"Ten of Cups, upright meaning... inner happiness, dreams coming to life, and fulfilment."

Sebastian stiffened in an instant, his relaxed and bored disposition gone so quick you'd wonder was it there at all. "Cheers, mate." He rushed out, gathering his things in his arms and fleeing as soon as Onai dismissed the class. For a second, a blink and you miss it beat, you could've sworn he looked right at you.

"That was strange." You mused as you and Imelda descended the Divination ladder.

"I don't want to know what that creature dreams about." Imelda sneered. "Other than a lifetime of solitude."

"Who dreams of solitude?" Natty chimed in from your left.

"And I hope you're not using 'creature' as an insult again." Poppy followed after her.

"Sebastian." Imelda answered before you could. "And there's no better way to describe him, Poppy. He's a beast."

"He's not that bad"

"Beasts aren't that bad." You and Poppy responded simultaneously and the awkward, bordering on judgemental, silence that followed made your skin crawl.

"Regardless," Natty began, swatting her hand to bat away the tension, "Shall we go to Hogsmeade tomorrow night? I heard Leopold the Bard is playing in the Three Broomsticks."

Poppy gasped excitedly. "Absolutely! I can't pass on the chance to see him in person. The cousin of a girl in the dorm beside mine met him in Ireland a few months ago and he dedicated Ode to The Willow Tree to her!"

"You'd have to fight every girl in our year to be the Willow Girl, Poppy." Said Imelda, a fond smile growing on her face.

"Don't tempt her, she might actually do it." You added with a laugh.

"Then I'll definitely go." Poppy swatted Imelda's arm, though it was barely a tap.

A sudden twist of nerves hit you, whether it was lingering thoughts of Sebastian's reading, or the idea of a crowd when people still called you 'Hero', the notion of going out that night stirred nothing but worry. "I think I'll stay in this time."

A look of minor heartbreak flashed across each of the girls' faces. "Are you alright?" Poppy asked.

"I'm perfectly fine, just been feeling slightly run-down lately is all. I was planning on finishing my Potions report and going right to bed. You three must go, though! And tell me all about it the next morning." Natty and Poppy nodded, but you could see in Imelda's eyes that she didn't believe your half-truth. "Have a Butterbeer in my honour."

Begrudgingly, the Reyes girl nodded. "We'll drink in your name when he plays Hollow Eve."

"And get him to address a love letter to me, as well."

"Poppy would change her name and keep it as hers before we could reach you." Natty teased, to which Poppy let out an indignant 'Hey!'.

As the four of you made your way to the Great Hall you could feel your ears burning, the eyes that followed you practically burning a hole into your robes. This was, unfortunately, your new norm. The whispers followed you wherever you went, be them of reverence or fear, all of them added to the fire surrounding your name. You were not a mere student anymore, no, that title was too mundane. Now you were a legend to some, a god to most. It made your stomach turn, the attention, the weight.

After protecting the repository, you were told you would live a normal life, that the danger was gone and although the Wizarding World would forever be in your debt, you were now allowed to take your time to find your true place in it. How stupid of you to believe that even remotely true.

You were a weapon, in truth. A tool for the Ministry to wield at their whim because they knew at your core you were weak to the helpless, that your servitude would save them time and manpower. What did the mental toll on you matter if it meant families didn't suffer the loss of a father dead in battle? How selfish of you to ask for a break. Danger waits for no one, don't you know?

Ranrok may have fallen but his death deified him to his followers; the God struck down too soon. Though many retreated at the mere threat of your name, enough to harm still lingered and loitered with the sole intention of causing pain. They followed no organised regime, pillaging whatever poor village they passed, silently praying you would arrive and they could enact vengeance. You had them dealt with before tea got cold.

"Your fan club is waiting for you." Imelda teased, subtly pointing to the group of roughly 15 underclassmen huddled outside the doors to the Hall. They whispered amongst themselves, quiet enough to hide the specifics of their worship, but loud enough for anyone near to know who they spoke of. Parchment was gripped to the point of crinkling in their grips, and one of the smaller ones' eyes lit up when she saw you, batting the others' arms with an elated gasp.

A feeling of dread crawled up your throat. You couldn't ignore them now, it was too late for that, but their praises made you feel ill. They loved you for the wrong reasons, for the blood your drew, you lives you saved only by slaughtering men and women who had children waiting for them at home. Why was it so easy for people to forget people they disagree with have people who miss them too?

But weapons do not feel remorse, nor are they allowed to question their purpose. You swallowed your bitterness and let your friends carry on without you with the promise to save you a seat. You smiled with practiced grace as they passed you quills and shouted out their names. Shallow compliments received hollow thanks in return. It felt like even more people were staring once they were done, and the prospect of entering that Hall was something you couldn't stand, so you turned on your heel and walked towards the Dark Arts tower instead.

Perhaps your new destination was foolish, you hadn't stepped foot there since the school year started, but you knew Sebastian had History of Magic now, so the main threat was gone. The Undercroft had been a sanctuary to you last year, a solace. A familiar warmth filled you as you tapped your wand against the door and stepped through its unfurling mechanism.

It stood just as you remembered it, vast, dusty, echoing and seemingly endless in the illusion of its dark corners. Your shoes tapped against the stone as you entered and in the quiet you heard the sharp suck of a breath. Your heart jumped in your chest. "Ominis?" You called, voice taut with shock. Only silence greeted you.

Your brows furrowed, had you only imagined the sound? Surely not. Over the past few months, you'd learned to read silence better than most. You were not alone in this room. As you pressed on, walking further in, your eyes scanned the walls. "Hello?" You called again to no avail.

It was only when your eyes crossed the forgotten corner where Isadora's triptych stood that you saw a shadow out of place. The soft billowing of a robe that swayed with the wearer's breath. Slightly too high at the ankles.

As you stepped closer, you saw a sight that would've made you laugh last year. Sebastian's shoulders were tense and he stood so close to the wall it seemed as though he was waiting for the stone to swallow him. He looked like a child caught stealing in Honeydukes. It was the closest he'd allowed you to be since May.

He didn't say anything, didn't even look at you. For a moment, you didn't either, wracking your brain for something that wouldn't scare him off because this was all you'd been waiting for.

"Hello." The words left you soft, tentative. It was a tone he recognised, had seen you use on injured civilians and trembling creatures in cages. He felt more like the latter. Your greeting was met with no answer.

"I worried for you over summer." You noticed his fingers tighten as they pulled on a loose string. "I wrote to you. I'm not sure if you got them." Your heart ached. "Ominis told me you were well, that you wrote to him." His next breath shook slightly, something one would only notice if they paid the utmost attention, which you always did. "Sebastian, have I done something to-"

Suddenly, in a fast motion that cut through the budding tension, he turned to face you, jaw clenched and eyes wide and red-rimmed. "Are you thick?"

His tone was like a slap to the face. Gone was the gentleness he once reserved for you, now he spoke with anger. Anger so visceral that if you thought about it enough sounded a lot like hatred. "Excuse me?" You winced at how fragile you sounded, how small you stood.

"Do you really think it's a coincidence that I missed every single letter of yours, and haven't said anything to you since we got back? I'm wondering if you're a lot more idiotic that I gave you credit for or if you just can't imagine someone not revering the Hero of Hogwarts." He spat it like poison, every word a dagger. "If you only understand plain speak, then let me help. I do not want to talk to you. Whatever happened last year does not mean I owe you anything."

Your mouth opened and closed foolishly. It was clear to you that it was now you who looked like a child. "I never said you did. But I- I thought we were friends."

Something vaguely similar to guilt flashed across his face before he blinked it away. "You were wrong. I needed something, you had it. We were allies at most." There was a finality to how he said it, a kind of authority that let you know all memories you had tucked away in your head were false.

You thought you knew Sebastian Sallow, you were wrong. The boy whose breathing matched yours in a cold cave by Cragcroft was different to the boy who had more freckles on his right cheek than on his left who was different to the boy before you now.

A harsh swallow brought you to your senses, a spark of anger breaking through the hurt. You once told yourself you would take anything you could get from Sebastian Sallow, but that was the boy you loved. This was a stranger who earned no such allowances.

"If that is how you feel, then I shall leave you to it. And you need not worry about me bothering you any longer." You turned and walked away with your head held high. As you reached the door, you spoke again. "Sebastian?" You didn't need an answer to know he was listening. "If you ever speak to me like that again, I won't grant you the grace of a friend."

The first time Sebastian Sallow looked at you, a selfish need stirred in his gut. There was a want deep within him, a carnal urge to take and to twist. Maybe it was the lamb-like innocence with which you took each tentative step along the length of the Great Hall. The nervous pulling and popping of your knuckles as the hat deliberated your future.

He was not a boy born cruel, in fact his cruelty was so far from his blood that is was hardly recognised as cruel. But his intent was always there. He was angry. He wanted to cause hurt. In every duel where he went too far, in every argument he spat venom, in the way he wanted to make you preen to his every word, it was there. His hunger for control.

So much in his life had been taken without consideration, so much was out of his control. His parents, his sister, his life. He needed to feel as though he mattered, that his voice carried some semblance of weight. He hadn't felt that in a pure sense, nothing truly good was drawn to him, so he let darkness take it for him.

It had worked in his favour for so long, leeching off your kindness, playing mentor and savant. He almost believed it was true, that he deserved this. You were the best person he knew, so utterly devoted to a world you hardly knew. He taunted you with the title at first, but there was an earnest to it, you truly were a hero.

Maybe that was where his envy stemmed. Your friendships with others was proof that one can be good and still hold power. Poppy Sweeting hung to your every word, followed every whim you presented to her, and loved you still. His excuses had no ground left to stand on. There was no reasoning for his cruelty now. He couldn't hide behind the guise of attempted good. Beside you, he couldn't hide from what he was. A villain.

He knew if your roles were reversed, he wouldn't have spared you from Azkaban. Not as blind as he was then, anyway. He wouldn't have covered for you, taken the blame for leaving grounds, for causing fights, for any of it. He knew if your roles were reversed, he wouldn't have had to, because you were far too good to cause half the trouble he had.

His guilt tore up his stomach with a vigour that convinced him that the only way to spare you from its wrath was to abandon you. Your first few letters had his eyes clouded and bile inching up his throat, the rest he learned to ignore.

The worst hurt, though, was when Ominis met him at a teashop in Diagon Alley and told him Anne had been writing to you. Often, too, by the amount of stories you had relayed to Ominis. She was in Paris, she prompted you to visit some coming weekend, you were delighted to accept and tell her you'd begun your own research, that you found a way to channel your magic to heal her, no collateral needed. She was cured, set to finish her studies in Beauxbatons, set to live a full life.

It was the last reminder he needed to cement the fact he already knew. You were better than him in all ways. You did what he could not. Then an ugly resentment grew within him, made him question all he knew, made him question you.

One could not receive the praise you did and still remain good, he knew he wouldn't, so you mustn't either. You were playing a game, only trying to keep him beside you so his shortcomings made you look even more divine. He had thought he was the one controlling you, but you'd made him your dog.

He voiced this to Ominis, raving like a madman about how you must have been lying about the Keepers, they must have told you how to help Anne and you kept it to your chest until the right moment. His ramble was cut off with a sharp blow to the cheek. An angry red print lingered where Ominis' hand landed. The blond looked more furious than Sebastian had ever seen him.

"How dare you, Sebastian." He spat. "Whatever childish rage you have towards her is misguided and has turned you to a fool. Just because you cannot fathom kindness without reward does not mean that is the truth. You know as well as I do that she would do anything for anyone, especially for you. Whether you are jealous she is purer than you and I combined, or whether it is anger that you shut her away before you could atone and confess, I do not know, nor do I care. However, I will not allow you to spew such filth about the girl who saved your life. Your sister's life."

With that, he stormed away, not saying another word to Sebastian until the Sallow boy wrote to him a fortnight later to apologise.

Sebastian Sallow was no daisy-fresh boy. He was Eurydice, weathered by cold storms and heavy words. The strings of fate were woven tightly around his neck — tugging, tugging; his golden noose. With naught to his name but his devotion and his wits, Sebastian had learned that loving someone would only distract him from what he needed. To survive.

You were no sweet summer child either. No, you’d felt the breath of a dragon and tasted the air cleft in twain by goblin silver axes. There was no innocence left to take, but still you brought spring. Orpheus enters from the left wing, pulling sunshine in her wake. It was an enigma that puzzled the Sallow boy more than whatever sick spite drove the fates; how hadn’t your hardships hardened you in turn? How could you still love?

That, he realised, was what he really hated about you. You had both been hurt since birth, you had both witnessed and caused death, you had both been driven to the brink of insanity. You were able to look beyond it, to light, to joy, to hope. He was not.

It only became more apparent when you returned from summer, having clearly fared well under the sun and gentle love of your true friends, you came back more beautiful than ever. He hated how his heart pounded in his chest.

Even though you made sure nobody knew the extent of his involvement in your work the year prior, Sebastian had still ostracised himself from the rest of the student body. Ominis was the only one who actively spoke to him, Grace Pinch-Smedley would sometimes ask how he was over breakfast, but that was only during the first week, before Imelda told her how he'd been ignoring you. The most anyone else offered him was a nod and polite conversation when paired together.

You, however, seemed to thrive. It seemed you never went anywhere without at least one of your girls, and even if you were, for whatever reason, alone, it wouldn't be long before another friend or admirer clambered to your side. Gone was the girl who shook behind Headmaster Black and looked fit to apologise for breathing too loud. He heard what they called you, honestly dubbing you what he meant as a joke. The Hero of Hogwarts.

He could make peace with this, lay in the bed he made. He was close to grown, he could live with the consequences of his actions. He told himself all of this and truthfully believed it. Even though he felt like crying every time he felt yours eyes desperately search for his, even though he wanted to puke every time Leander Prewett leaned a bit to close while he commended your magical prowess. He could manage.

Or at least, he could manage before Everett Clopton's stupid tarot reading.

Judgement reversed on his present — regret, guilt, facing the consequence of past mistakes. He felt his face pale and his hands shake, that sinking feeling only worsening when he heard you laughing with Imelda, loud and unrestrained.

And then his future, that promise of dreams coming true, of happiness. Sebastian had told himself he was okay with this, with missing you, admiring you, ignoring you, but you still plagued his dreams, sleeping and waking.

Hope was a dangerous thing for a boy like him to have. Sebastian knew he didn't deserve that future, one where you inevitably forgive him and hold him like nothing before mattered. The dream of a picket fence and children with some of his traits and all of yours was one he knew, no matter what he did, he would never truly earn.

He had wanted it so badly it hurt, to wait for you to reach him under a veil of white as you wait to be dubbed Mrs. Sallow. He wanted the quiet moments stolen between the busyness of your life, the kiss to his nose as you woke with the dawn, the drag of his hand along your waist as he passed you in the kitchen. A domestic life where he cooks the meals and you clean the dishes while the kettle boils for tea shared on a swing chair on your porch, watching the sun set over a horizon you protected.

He wanted to grow old with you, to know if you'd still be as spry chasing Ashwinders in 20 years, if your hair would lighten, if the smile you wore so often would leave creases by your eyes with age. He wanted to know how you would change as the years pass, though he already knows you'll still leave him weak at the sight of you.

He wanted the plainness of a nightgown at dusk, the dimpling of skin under his hands and lips when your only company was the moon, the extravagance of a ballgown for a party thrown in your honour. Everything and anything that could come from a life with you, Sebastian yearned for, and he hated that Ten of Cups for making him think he could ever have it.

When he left that tower he knew the last thing he could do was listen to Professor Binns drone on about a fallen knight who Sebastian could simply read about later, if he didn't know him already, that is. So with a busy mind and his heart in his throat, he all but ran to the Undercroft.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he was pulling at the knot in his tie, suddenly finding the room far too suffocating. Pacing back and forth, he tried to clear his heed, tugging at his hair and breathing heavily when it didn't work. All the anger and fear he felt towards the world was creeping in once more, that far-too-familiar darkness rearing its head once more.

Like a siren's call, some unspoken lull pulled him slowly towards the triptych and something resembling a sob wrenched from his chest. He hadn't expected to cry, hadn't even felt the lump build in his throat. He figured he'd done enough of it during the summer, but the tears spilled out hot and fast nonetheless.

It was moments like this where he truly hated himself for pushing you away. You'd seen him like this before, during fifth year, when his mind was boggled with Salazar and he found himself slowly losing hope. You held him to your chest and cradled him with so much sincere love it put him to sleep in mere minutes.

It was moments like this where he truly realised he would never be half the man you deserved, though he could feel in the weight of your stare across classrooms that he was still that man you wanted. You were too good for him, too kind, too heavily burdened already to shoulder the weight of him.

The fabric of Isadora's paintings, torn from an outburst of his before the prior year ended, seemed to taunt him. Each wisp of paint wielded a separate voice, playing his own cruel words back on innocent ears. He heard himself now as you had before and wondered even more how you could still want him, how you could still care.

A sniffle masked the sound of the door opening, but upon hearing the click of shoes that could hardly be Ominis', a gasp tore through him. He heard how gentle your voice was, could practically feel the worry you had for him in the way you all but whispered your words. You still wanted him, and that was something he couldn't allow you to do.

Sebastian Sallow, he was now learning, was right about very few things. But he was right about being your dog, so he did what dogs in a corner do best. He bit. He barked, he threw all his anger at himself into words he could never truly mean in the vain hopes it would make you see him for what he thought he was. Nobody could love him enough to stay after this.

And he was right about that too, he thought. As you pulled away and threw ice his way at the door.

What you didn't know, what you'd never know if he could help it, was how his tears returned the second he was sure you were gone and how his robe gathered dust as his knees gave out and sent him crashing to the floor.

©voguesriot 2026

You looked through the windows of the door to see the mob that had been chasing you run after the van too, being reduced to miniatures against the horizon before long.

“Arms out.” Sugawara broke your silence with a gentle demand. You looked at him slowly, letting him run his hands and eyes over the skin of your forearms to check for bites or scratches. You said little more as he did the same to your legs and torso. He frowned a little at the nicks from pine needles and splintered trees, but did nothing more than wipe over them with a disinfectant cloth from his pocket.

“Good run?” He asked as he gave you one final once-over before deeming you free of any injury.

“Great run.” You smiled with a faint hint of arrogance, nudging the bag closer to him with your foot and taking a seat beside Kageyama. “Would’ve been better if I’d known a fuckin’ ambush was waiting for me though. Thought the radio said this was green?” You raised your voice at the end so Tanaka could hear you from the front.

“Don’t blame me!” He defended. “Dispatch this morning said it should’ve been clean. My guess is those Shiratorizawa pricks herded them here to keep ‘em away from their farmlands in the west.”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Sugawara chided, looking at your loot in marvel. “We’ve got enough food here to last at least another week and a half. Medicals should last us even longer.”

“Any artillery?” Kageyama asked from beside you. He didn’t smile when you passed him a round of bullets you’d stashed in the pocket of your cargos but he did softly nudge his shoulder against yours and nod in gratitude.

“A few more of those in the front pocket.” You said to Suga. “And two knives down the side.” He took the switchblades from the pack and passed them to you instantly.

You took your knife from your pocket and carved a K into the metal sheeth of both blades before giving them back to Suga for safekeeping.

“How many were there?” Kageyama asked you.

A tired groan escaped you as you shifted in your seat. “Maybe 20? 25 at most.” You twisted your knife between your fingers. “Not the worst we’ve seen but they were a lot more intense—hungrier. They’ll probably starve out before someone hunts them.”

Comfortable silence lapsed the rest of the journey. Tanaka was tuned to Station X, this you could tell by the crackling sounds of repetitive piano medleys that would only be broken by status updates on the hour. Sugawara made quick work of sorting the medical supplies you’d gathered into the kit he carried around, mumbling quiet counts to himself as he did. Kageyama ran his thumb over the hard plastic casing guarding his ammo.

You leaned your head against the cool metal of the van, taking in a deep breath and somewhat off-put by the fact the lingering metallic stench of blood and sweat no longer made you wince. You were used to this now. As your chest rose, you closed your eyes and flexed your fingers, willing every muscle and tendon to relax. Your legs still screamed and ached, but the pain eased as you kneaded your palm into the flesh of your thighs.

In one week winter would be over and spring would crawl through the clouds and it will mark three months since the outbreak. Three months since your life had been stolen from you. What a lovely thought.

You could still remember the day The Strain broke out. It only took 72 hours to change your world. When it first began, scientists claimed it was a mere airborn virus, with symptoms similar to colds or flus. By hour 43, they could hardly believe how wrong they were. Violent mutations took over the bodies of those you’d grown up beside.

It was harrowing, really, to watch the woman you helped cross the street, the shop vendor who always let you off if you were short change, your first kiss and old friends turn angry and murderous.

Before you could think about that first week any more, Tanaka let out a sharp whistle. “Home sweet home!”

Karasuno’s base wasn’t much, but it was something. An abandoned community centre with sturdy walls that was tall enough to provide decent observation from the roof. It was nearing the end of your second week there. You wondered how Yamaguchi was faring on his research for somewhere else.

The four of you neared the entrance, Kageyama slightly ahead as he knocked on the door four times in rapid succession. The sliding panel Asahi built on your first day peeled back to reveal narrow eyes staring out at you. “Injuries?” Kiyoko asked plainly.

“No.” Suga replied, nudging you with his elbow. “Checked her as soon as she got back in the van. The rest of us didn’t go outside.”

Kiyoko hummed, closing the panel once more. You could hear the grating and sliding of the locks you’d enforced on the other side of the door before she pulled it open with a grunt. She nodded at the boys who trickled in ahead of you, but reached out to hold your arm with a tentative hand.

“Are you okay?”

Kiyoko had been your closest friend since you were first learning your times tables. She was one of the few people who seemed to understand you without needing you to explain your every thought. Similarly, she sought refuge in your friendship. In one of your many nights shared, she’d indulged in you a secret she feared to tell anyone else. The perfect Kiyoko Shimizu was lonely. In a world where it seemed she was as good at the attention she gave, Kiyoko knew that by your side she didn’t need to try to be anything. She could breathe with you.

“We got ambushed.” You said, standing beside her as she locked the door again. She turned to you in shock.

“What?! Station X said that area was green.” A deep line furrowed between her brows, concern washing over her face.

“It’s okay, Mizu.” You soothed, placing a gentle hand on her bicep. “It wasn’t anything worse than a light orange. An undead hoard crossed my way when I was going back to the van but I’m fine. They were weak ones anyway.”

“Still.” She insisted. “What if it was worse? You left with enough ammo for a run-in with a walker. What if strikers had caught you?”

Prior to the outbreak, Kiyoko hadn’t been a particularly anxious girl. She tried not to delve too far into hypotheticals and worst-case scenarios, but you supposed this change is expected after so much loss in such little time. You placed both hands on her shoulders to hold her in place.

“Shimizu.” You said slowly, with enough authority to snap her from her spiral but still gentle enough to remind her she was safe. “Yes, it could’ve been worse, but it wasn’t. We can learn from this. I’ll take a few extra rounds on my runs from here on out. We’ll make sure Hinata does the same.”

She hardly seemed satisfied, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, grating against the already cracked skin. But she trusted your faith and relented, walking beside you as you followed the voices in the base’s main hall.

Desks that were once used for science fairs and arts and crafts markets were now repurposed to hold your weapons and medicine. To your right, Noya was helping Kageyama and Tanaka organise the bullets you’d picked up with the dwindling supply you had left. The shorter of the three looked up at you and Kiyoko as you entered and simply bowed his head towards you. You never thought you’d miss his declarations of love, but it seemed the apocalypse leaves no time for devotion.

“Y/n.” Daichi called from across the hall, making his way toward you and Kiyoko. “Can we talk?” He was far too aware of how the rest of your team pretended not to watch with pricked ears as he motioned towards the adjacent room you’d turned into a bedroom of sorts for you, Kiyoko, and Yachi.

You knew it wasn’t a question but instead a gentle demand. He walked two paces behind you as you opened the door.

Three sleeping bags lay strewn across the floor; a yellow one for Yachi, purple for Kiyoko, red for you. The girls’ rucksacks sat beside their sleeping bag, crammed with changes of clothes and small sentimental objects. It was a dull room, but it had heart. The crayon scribbles on the skirting boards reminded you of the children who lived happy lives here before. It was an innocence you’d miss.

“Suga told me about the ambush.” Your leader was as curt as always, speaking in a hushed tone after he heard the door click shut. He leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Small scars littered his forearms, something you made a point not to look at but seemed to bulge as he tensed his arm. “The others can’t know.”

Your shock was clear in your voice. “I’m sorry?”

Daichi sighed heavily. “They can’t know Station X made a mistake.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Look, I know how bad it sounds, but they’re on edge as it is. Station X is the one reliable thing they have in this world, and if they find out that they can’t even count on that, then I don’t know what will happen.”

“Daichi, they need to know. What if that mistake happens again when Hinata’s on a run? What if it’s worse than mine?”

“You don’t get it!” You tensed as he raised his voice. Daichi sighed again and shook his head, shoulders deflating slightly. “I’m sorry.” He said in a much softer tone. “I heard Tsukishima speaking to Yamaguchi the other day. He wants to split off. Thinks we’re stagnant here. They’re good kids. They’re quick and they’re smart, but they won’t survive on their own.”

Your feet moved on their own until you were stood beside him. You placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, thumb running across the fabric of his t-shirt. “I understand, Daichi. I really do. But keeping them unprepared is worse.”

He placed his hand over yours. “We can still prepare them, give them extra ammo on runs, make sure they have enough bandages. We can say it’s a precaution.”

“They’ll find out on their own, Dai.” Your voice was soft, like you were speaking to a wounded lamb or fallen fawn. “We have to tell them.”

After a moment or two of silence, Daichi nodded. “Give me a day. I’ll come up with a way to do it right, then we’ll tell them.”

A small smile grew on your face, a comforting thing. “Good call, cap.” Daichi rolled his eyes. Even before the outbreak, you teased him for his authority and he hated it every time. He was a leader, their leader, but he was your equal. He knew it, you knew it too, which is why it was so fun to play the role of subordinate.

“Do Kageyama and Tanaka know they’re not supposed to talk?”

“Suga should be talking to them now. By how pale she looked, I’m guessing you already told Kiyoko?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “But she won’t tell.”

He hummed and you stood in a few more moments of comfortable silence. “We’ll be okay.” He said finally. You weren’t sure who he was trying to convince.

As you and Kiyoko sat on the rooftop, watching the clouds pass over midnight sky, passing a bottle of whiskey you looted three weeks ago between you, no words dared breach the silence. Shoulder to shoulder, you braved the final chills of winter and watched the weather redden her cheeks.

An uneasy feeling churned in the pits of your stomach, something you were hoping the amber liquor would quell, but the earthy cinnamon taste could barely cover the bile lying dormant in the back of your throat. Another swig had you wincing and wiping your mouth with the back of your palm. Strong stuff, expensive. Something your father would’ve gotten for his birthday. The thought made you take another drink.

You wondered if Daichi had been serious in his intent to keep the truth from the others. If he truly wished to guard the secret or just needed to be reminded that telling them was right. He was a man only by law, but still a boy as heart. He was still gentle and foolish in his beliefs. He clung to the fleeting sense of hope and trust he had before the outbreak, but he bore the weight of a king.

Daichi turned eighteen a month before you, almost to the date, barely old enough to drink when his youth was stripped from him and the fates of eleven of his dearest friends were thrust to his trembling hands.

He crumbled only in the presence of you and the other three of your classmates, refusing to be any less than a beacon of strength to the younger members. If he kept the truth of Station X’s mistake, he risked civil outcry when they inevitably drew their own conclusions, but by telling them he risks worse. He risks losing the boys he has strived to protect every day for the last three months.

“Mizu?” You asked eventually. She let out a quiet sound of acknowledgment. “I’m worried for the others.” Her silence willed you to continue. “I can’t stop thinking about what Daichi told me—how Tsukishima and the others are restless, losing trust. He was so concerned about them leaving, he wasn’t planning on ever telling them about the ambush. But what if it’s not just a once-off, Mizu? What if we can’t trust Station X any—”

CREAK.

“What was that?” You asked, head snapping to your left in search of the sound, Kiyoko doing the same to her right. Your gun was already in hand, as was hers. Eyes strained against darkness, even as you lifted your lamp and Kiyoko waved her flashlight, you could see nothing out of the ordinary.

“Maybe it was just the wind.” Kiyoko suggested. “It’s an old building. It was probably nothing.”

The thought did little to put you at ease, and she could tell as much, but without another answer you were left to put your faith in her and settle back into your seated position, albeit with a much stiffer back and a much tighter grip on your weapons. The whiskey remained untouched until Noya and Tanaka came for their shift of watch.

You were woken by Yachi’s voice, muffled, but you could still sense the panic. With a start, you shot up to find yourself alone in the room. You could hear much more now, the raised voices of your teammates and what you swore were fists.

“He’s a fucking liar!” Tsukishima’s distinctly sharp voice rang out as you ran into the main hall to see him being pulled away from Daichi by Suga and Kageyama with a bloody lip.

“What the fuck is going on?!” You asked in a thunderous voice that echoed off the walls. Chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, you took in the scene before you as you waiting for an answer.

Closest to you, Kiyoko had pulled Yachi back with a firm hand on her shoulder, now holding the younger girl close to her with a hand covering her mouth in shock.

Yamaguchi and Hinata stood between Daichi and Tsukishima with red faces and panicked looks. Noya and Tanaka had just ran down the stairs from the roof, panting from the panic and adrenaline of being pulled from their post. It mustn’t be sunrise yet, you realised.

Tsukishima had crimson cheeks and rage in his eyes. His pumping lip was pulled into a snarl as he glared daggers at Daichi. Suga held his left arm, Kageyama his right.

You could see Daichi’s shirt was ruffled from what you assumed was Tsukishima shoving him or Asahi holding him back. He had a blooming purple mark on the side of his face.

“Anyone gonna answer me?” You tried once more, giving Daichi a sharp look.

The blond answered you instead. “I heard you an Kiyoko last night. That prick was keeping us in the dark. He’s pathetic!”

“‘Keeping us in the dark’? What are you talking about, Tsukishima?” Yamaguchi asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“You wanna say it or do you still not have the balls, Captain?” He spat it as a taunt.

Daichi pulled his arm from Asahi’s grip and with a heaving chest turned to face the team. “Yesterday, the guys got ambushed by an undead hoard in the run. Station X was… wrong.”

Everyone held their breath, either waiting for the storm to break or letting the weight of the truth settle in their minds, still riddled with sleep.

“What do you mean ‘wrong’?” Hinata asked slowly, eyes blown wide in fear.

“He means the same thing we base our every move on lead them straight into a hoard and he didn’t want to tell us.”

“Tsukishima, enough.” You warned, but his glare turned to you instead.

“You’re just as bad as him. His right-hand-man. Were you gonna keep this a secret too? Huh? If I hadn’t heard you would I be sent out next? To a fucking striker den?”

“Hey!” Daichi yelled, a deep and grounded thing strong enough to rattle a beast. “Watch your mouth, Tsukishima. Be mad at me, I get it, but she’s the one who convinced me to tell you all today. Don’t speak to her like that.” You sent him a quick look of gratitude and he bowed his head in return.

“You got ambushed?” Yamaguchi asked in a voice so small you would’ve missed it anyone dared to do more than breathe. Everyone turned to look at you.

“I was clearing out an abandoned convenience store when I heard rattling coming from the back. I left straight away, but then I heard more noise from the woods. Twigs cracking, but too out-of-sync to be human steps. Then I smelled them. I nearly got sick where I stood but I threw the bag on my back and started running. There wasn’t too many, and they were much slower than me so I was fine.”

“You said there was 20. 25 maybe.” Kageyama mumbled, looking at the floor when a few members turned his way.

“That’s enough for an orange zone.” Noya realised. “Station X said that entire area would be green. That’s not just a small mistake.” He looked at Daichi with a mix of betrayal and anger. “You weren’t going to tell us?!”

That was all it took for the hell to break loose. Voices piled on top of each other and climbed in volume until nothing said was legible. Insults and attempted defence spewed from the lips of boys who shared soba and victories together not even four months ago.

You weren’t sure if Kiyoko moved toward you or if you moved toward her, but suddenly you joined Yachi being tucked under her arm, watching the spectacle unfold with a sinking feeling of dread.

What managed to catch your attention, however, was the crackling of static as your radio came to life. The 5am broadcast of Station X. You peeled away from Kiyoko to kneel by the desk it was set up on. None of the others took notice.

Seconds spilled into minutes as you waited for the voices you’d grown so used to tell you of newly blackened areas and reclaimed green zones, but the greeting never came. Instead you heard a new voice, more gravelly than you were used to, foreign to you. His words were broken by static, but you could make them out if you focused. He spoke direct, ending each sentence with an army honorific. A military channel.

“I see… south of Saitama… Tokyo coast… Garden… Eden.”

A gasp escaped you. “Everyone shut up!” You yelled, unaware of the timbre in your voice until the team listened, looking in your direction in confusion. Two numbers were rattled off in the radio dispatch, repeated twice before the line went dead. You mumbled them over and over in confusion, as if their meaning would appear as they became familiar to your lips. Then it did.

“Get me a map.” Silence ensued, a stillness of confusion and slight concern settling over the group. “Now.” It was Yachi who scrambled to get you one in the end, looking at you worriedly while you get repeating those two numbers.

Your eyes flitted over the map of Japan like a mad woman, finger pressed against the paper almost hard enough to go through it, following the lines and curves until you saw it. The coordinates.

Slowly and with shaking hands, you stood and looked at the nervous faces of your family. If it was the fear of unknowing that struck them, you were about to grant salvation.

“I know where the Garden of Eden is.”