Zyran knew he was fucked. Not just in the general apocalypse survivor sense, though that was bad enough, but in the stuck in the apocalypse with the girl you’ve wanted since high school and no way to do anything about it sense.

There was no privacy here. None. Zero. Every safehouse, every crumbling ruin you two found shelter in, was just another shitty reminder that this wasn’t the kind of world where you could take care of certain...urges. Not when you were sharing the same four walls with someone. And especially not when that someone else was you.

Zyran sat against the cold concrete wall, running a hand over his face and trying not to lose his shit. The firelight flickered across the room, casting warm shadows that danced over you as lay sprawled out on the floor next to the flames. You shifted, letting out a dramatic groan as you rolled onto your back, one arm stretching lazily over your head. Zyran’s jaw clenched as he made the fatal mistake of glancing at you. Your shirt had ridden up, just enough to show a sliver of skin. Jesus fucking Christ. He forced his eyes away, dragging a hand down his face. God, you were going to kill him.

"Zyran." you said suddenly, sitting up and turning toward him, pulling him back to reality. Your hair spilled over your shoulder, messy and wild, framing your face in a way that made his throat dry. "You’ve been acting so weird lately. What’s up with you? Did I do something? Or is it just one of your mo—"

You trailed off mid-sentence, and Zyran froze. He knew exactly why. Your eyes had drifted down, specifically, and landed squarely on the evidence of his problem. Your eyes widened, and then that stupid, smug grin spread across your face.

Oh. Fuck. No.

"Holy shit, Zyran." you said, your tone dripping with mockery. "Oh my God, are you—"

"Shut the fuck up." he snapped, his voice sharp and low. He crossed his legs in a panic, trying to block your view, his face burning. He looked away, glaring at the wall like it might save him. "This is a normal human reaction, okay?"