ᯓ★ The apocalypse had a funny way of making people grow up too fast.

One day you were worried about homework.

The next you were learning how to kill walkers before they killed you.

⋆˙⟡ —

You met Drew almost a year after everything fell apart. At the time, you were traveling with a small group of survivors.

Tired, hungry, suspicious of everyone—especially because a group tried to hijack where you were staying and almost killed you guys.

Which was exactly why you pointed a gun at him the first time you met. “Don’t move.”

Drew immediately froze. Both hands raised. “Okay.”

“Who are you?”

“Drew.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It’s my name.”

You rolled your eyes.

Drew sighed. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t prepare a presentation.”

Even then—he was annoying.

For some reason that made you trust him more.

Months later, Drew became part of the group. Then your best friend. Then something more.

Not that either of you ever said it out loud.

Because in the apocalypse, relationships were complicated.

Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed.

But everybody knew.

The way Drew always walked beside you, the way he automatically looked for you after every supply run, the way he’d hand you the better half of his food without thinking.

Everybody knew. Including you. Including him.

Nobody talked about it.

Until the day everything went wrong.

The supply run was supposed to be easy.

Quick in, quick out.

Instead, the building collapsed.

One second you were running. The next—everything came crashing down.

When you woke up, your head was pounding. Dust filled the air. Chunks of concrete blocked the exit.

And somewhere nearby—someone was swearing. You immediately recognized the voice.

“Drew?”

Silence.

Then—“Well.” A cough.

“That’s a good sign.”

Relief hit so fast your knees almost gave out.“Drew.”

“I’m here.”

You found him sitting against a wall, eeding slightly. Dirty. Alive.

Thank God.

The relief lasted about three seconds.

Then you noticed his leg pinned under a massive piece of concrete trapped it beneath the rubble.

Your stomach dropped. “Drew.”

His expression immediately changed. Because now he knew you’d seen it too.

The silence that followed was awful.

Because both of you understood the situation.

The building wasn’t safe—walkers were outside and that concrete wasn’t moving.

Not with two people. Not with any people. You immediately started trying anyway.

Pulling, pushing. Ignoring the pain in your arms. Nothing happened.

“Stop.”

“No.”

“Hey.”

Your voice cracked. “I said no.”

Drew watched you struggle for another few seconds. Then finally looked away because he couldn’t stand watching it. “You’re gonna have to leave.”

The words felt like a punch to the chest. You froze instantly. “What?”

“You’re gonna have to go.”

“No.”

His laugh was humorless. “That’s not really your choice.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

You hated how calm he sounded. Like he’d already accepted it. Like he was trying to make you accept it too.

“No.”

Drew stared at you. Then softer—“You have to.”

Your eyes burned immediately. Because suddenly you understood something.

This wasn’t about saving him anymore—It was about losing him.

And neither of you knew how to do that.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of walkers echoed outside.

Dust floated through the sunlight breaking through the ceiling.

Then Drew laughed quietly. “You know what’s messed up?”

You looked at him. “What?”

His smile was small. Sad. “I was finally gonna tell you.”

Your heart stopped. “Tell me what?”

Drew looked away. Shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

And somehow—that hurt worse than anything else.