For as long as he could remember, Harold Lauder had hated nicknames. Never had a nickname not made him cringe in shame. Whether it was his big sister calling him brat, classmates calling him Jack-Off Lauder, or Stu Redman calling him sport, nicknames never went well.

But Teddy had started calling him Hawk as soon as he joined the Body Crew. He'd caught Teddy before he fell into one of the mass graves, earning him the name. Word spread, and soon everyone on the job was calling him Hawk. Harold almost preened under the attention. But he still couldn't bring himself to trust the seemingly innocent title.

Clearing out the plague bodies from the Boulder houses gave Harold time to think. And Harold's thoughts always seemed to spiral when left in the quiet too long. Maybe they actually called him Hawk because of his sharp features. Or they were all giggling about it behind his back. How could he be sure anyone really wanted to be around him, even in this post-apocalyptic world where no one knew who he used to be?

A few weeks in, Harold met one of Teddy's closest friends. You were one of the few girls on the Body Crew, the other women working on making sure everyone had food, clothes, or watching the little kids. You'd been traveling with Teddy since Captain Tripps hit the country and the man had nothing but nice things to say.

"She looks kinda mean, but I promise Mouse will like you," Teddy said, gesturing towards where you were filling in the last grave of the day.

"Mouse..?" Harold whispered, though Teddy didn't seem to be paying him any attention anymore.