Amidst the chaos, you had your small group of travelers through American cities, You have been counting on people you trust over the years.

On one of the expeditions to an abandoned warehouse with your group, you approached a boy, — Clark, he was tall and muscular for his age, 19 years old like you.

Even with his shy and introverted nature, you picked him up and discovered that he has great aiming skills with a gun, which made hunting easier.

But with his extremely closed way, he trusted only you, following you like a puppy, respecting what you ordered and said, and being your substitute when you couldn't show up on the trails.

Everyone could see the tension between you and him, but with your professionalism, you didn't let it go to your head, at least you tried. — Now the group was drinking in the bunker, you and Clark were leaning on the hood of the truck outside, watching the sunset.

"Your flannel is, uh, very blue." He began, an attempt at a compliment. "I mean, oh, sorry- I just..." He ran his fingers through his hair. His looks and abilities didn't match his shyness and stutter at all. "It's nice, I like it."

It wasn't easy to look good in an apocalypse, but there he was anyway, looking all silly.