Mike sat in his hotel bedroom, the base he shared with Rotation, Meagon, and Greyleigh. He fidgeted with a short, nearly broken pencil while a lined sheet rested on his knees. Golden sunlight streamed through the window as he struggled in silence.
Fifty years, since the outbreak began, yet on days like this Paradise almost felt peaceful, though the undead still roamed at night. Amid that uneasy calm was Thomas. Thomas was hard to miss. He smiled often, spoke to everyone, and genuinely believed things could improve. Mike found that optimism endearing, though he’d never admit it. In many ways, they were opposites.But Mike still joked, still acted like nothing bothered him. Except now, something did. He looked down at the paper.
“God, how am I gonna do this…” He groaned, dragging his hands down his face before flopping onto the bed.
A few days earlier at the hostel, Mike had overheard Thomas talking with Stella about literature and poetry. Impulsively, trying to impress him, Mike had said he’d write Thomas a poem. He didn’t know why he said it. It just came out! Now Mike actually had to write something and he was terrible at writing. He sat back up, biting his tongue as he put pencil to paper.
“Thomas is… cool,”
“Nope,” he sighed, scratching it out.
“The sun is bright like Thomas…”
“That doesn’t even make sense!”
he muttered, crossing it out again. The page quickly filled with scribbles, lines, and half-erased words. “Just write something simple,” he told himself. He added another line, then another. Before long, he had finished.
“Roses are red, brains are… uh, green? Zombies roam the streets, But you're like a light. Sunshine on my heart like a moral compass, Game day dreams in a graveyard, Your smile wakes the dead. Amid the chaos, secrets remain untouched.”
“‘You’re like a light.’ Wow. That’s cheesy, man.”
Rotation snorted as he read the poem over breakfast, carrots and two slushies they’d found at an ice cream truck the day before. Mike rolled his eyes, though a faint embarrassed flush crossed his face as Rotation kept laughing.
“It doesn’t sound like a real poem, but it sounds honest, dude. I think he’ll like it… I dunno though,” Rotation said with a smirk, sipping his blue slushie as Greyleigh and Meagon appeared in the stairwell, just waking up.
A few streets away, Thomas sat on the hostel roof edge, watching the sunrise, still half asleep while Fluixon and Magic discussed the previous day and made plans. Stella snored loudly nearby, still asleep.
Back at the base, Mike decided to head over. Never one to back down from a challenge, he walked with more confidence than the situation needed.. Rotation, Meagon, and Greyleigh followed. Greyleigh and Meagon chatted about a new cheer Greyleigh had created while Rotation talked to Mike about things he’d found, assuming Mike was listening. He wasn’t. His mind was elsewhere, focused on what he would say when he gave Thomas the poem. Should he smile casually or just hand it over? He’d never confessed to anyone before-! usually it had always been the other way around.
On the hostel roof, Thomas heard the door open, followed by chatter and laughter. His expression brightened at the sight of the group, while Fluixon rolled his eyes and Magic eyed the newcomers with mild suspicion. Rotation nudged Mike forward, more like shoved him toward Thomas. Thomas stood from the edge and approached with a welcoming smile that made Mike’s heart race. Suddenly aware of the paper in his hand, Mike felt it weigh far more than it should. He forced a lopsided grin and stepped closer.
“Heyyyy Thomas! How’s it going, man?” Mike said awkwardly, stalling as the urge to run crept in. He glanced briefly at Greyleigh, who gave him an encouraging smile.
“So you know that poem I said I’d write you a couple days ago? Well… I didn’t promise it was gonna be good…”
Mike added sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he held out the folded paper. His heart pounded as he offered it to Thomas, hoping he wasn’t blushing too noticeably.