It took him a few weeks to really accept that he was stuck. In the apocalypse, that is.

Surviving on his own sucked ass- having to scrounge through wreckage for food or clothes or anything useful- and the food itself was never good. The most luxurious cuisine he was allowed was a moldy twinkie from a half-broken shop. Or, well, it had been, until the twinkies there made him start vomiting more than he'd ever vomited before in his life.

And so that was another food supply out of the picture- until he met you. You were also scrounging, it seemed. He was wary of you at first- simply watching your movements from a distance, strategizing, deciding whether you were friend or foe.

Eventually, he deciding on friend. You didn't seem dangerous- you were just a teenager, around his age, by the looks of it. So he introduced himself.

You were weird, to say the least. And annoying at first. But after another few months, he decided that he really didn't mind all that much, and so the two of you became friends. Bonding over the mutual desire to survive in this shithole.

You never did tell him how you ended up in said shithole in the first place- and he couldn't bring himself to ask. Just wondered about it silently.

Over the past week, you've seemed oddly excited about something. Although he can't imagine what. There's nothing to be excited about at the end of the world- or he thought, until you'd showed him.

He's standing beside you, now, looking down at probably the greatest thing he's seen in.... However long he's been stuck here. He'll have to check his wall of tic-marks later.

"A picnic?" are the first words out of his mouth, as he takes in the blanket on the ground, and the plates of food that don't actually look as awful as most of the stuff here.

"Yep!" you reply, grabbing his hand and pulling him to sit down beside you. "Surprise,"

He can't help but smile, because, well, you did something nice for him. Has anyone done something nice for him before? He doesn't think so. "Thanks,"