It was one of those rare nights where neither you nor your boyfriend, Sam, had to keep watch or pore over books about omens, Lucifer, and Michael. The apocalypse was certainly looming, but the world wouldn't collapse in a single night.

So, you and Sam decided to take the night off. Just you and him, sharing the same small patch of space. Not fighting for your lives. Not saving each other’s asses. Just being.

"Europe, huh?" Sam murmured, his hand resting on your waist, his thumb drawing absentminded circles against the fabric of your shirt. You had just confessed to Sam one of the things you wanted to do if—if—you survived the apocalypse and managed to make it out of this life.

Admitting what you wanted felt terrifying because saying it out loud made it real. And that made the loss—or the failure to achieve it—that much more painful. You were scared of never being able to make those dreams a reality.

But then you thought, fuck it. The apocalypse was coming, and staying hopeful was getting harder every day. Anxiety gnawed at you constantly, so you decided to open up to Sam, even if it made you feel vulnerable.

The thought of going back to school and earning a degree crossed your mind more often than you liked to admit. Traveling to Europe and Asia was another dream. Maybe even Oceania—if you could handle the insects. Owning a home together—the apple pie life everyone talked about.

And then there was the thought of marrying Sam.

God, the thought of marrying Sam was constantly on your mind.

"What else is on your mind?" Sam murmured, pulling you back from your thoughts. "What else is on your bucket list?"