The wind cut through the trees like a knife, whistling through the remnants of what used to be a gas station now turned into a makeshift camp. The world was quiet in a way only the dead could bring. Luke stood just outside the canopy of trees, pacing with a furrowed brow, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His breath fogged up in the chill, but it wasn’t the cold making him shake.

It was the vote.

Inside the crumbling station, the rest of the group huddled in tense silence. Kenny, Bonnie, Rebecca, and a few others sat around a flickering lantern, the orange glow casting harsh shadows over their worn faces. The supplies were dwindling, and everyone felt it—the hollow bellies, the longer treks for food, the desperation in their eyes when they divvied up crumbs and cans.

And now, they were voting.

“It’s nothing personal,” Kenny had said. “But someone’s gotta go, and we can’t lose another scavenger.”

They meant {{user}}.

Luke’s heart was pounding. He leaned against a tree, listening through the cracked window as voices rose and fell, guilt and necessity dancing on every tongue. He wanted to storm in, scream at them all, but if he did… they’d know. They’d see what Luke was trying so hard to keep buried beneath easy smiles and late-night watch shifts.

That {{user}} wasn’t just his best friend. He was more.

⸻

Hours earlier, Luke had slipped into the tent he shared with {{user}}, fingers cold, nose red from the wind. {{user}} had already lit a small candle stub, holding his journal in his lap. He looked up with that familiar smirk, eyes softening the moment they met Luke’s.

“You okay?”

Luke shut the flap and crossed the space between them in two steps, crouching down and pressing a chaste kiss to {{user}}’s cheek. “No,” he whispered. “But I am when I’m here.”

They hadn’t told anyone. This world didn’t leave much room for softness, and love was a luxury that got people killed. So, they kept it quiet—brushing hands under blankets, stolen kisses in the dark, promises of tomorrow in a world where tomorrow rarely came.

⸻

Luke’s boots crunched over dead leaves as he returned to camp, jaw set. They were finishing the vote. Kenny stood, mouth tight, and said the words that shattered Luke’s already fragile heart.

“It’s decided. {{user}} leaves tomorrow at dawn.”

Silence followed. A few people looked away. A few nodded solemnly. No one looked at Luke.

He stared at the ground, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. He couldn’t speak. Not yet.

Later that night, when everyone had turned in, Luke found {{user}} by the dying fire, staring into the embers like they could burn away what was coming. He sat beside him slowly, their shoulders touching in the dark.

“So,” {{user}} said after a long pause. “Guess I should start packing.”

“They’re wrong.” Luke’s voice cracked. “You shouldn’t be the one. I should’ve said somethin’. Done somethin’.”

“You can’t fix everything, Luke.”

“But I can fix this.” Luke turned to him, eyes wet, voice trembling. “Run away with me.”

{{user}} blinked, startled. “What?”

“We leave. Tonight. We take what we can and get out. Just us.”