Chapter Text
“That’s so unfair!” came Juhoon’s voice, rather out of character with how high-pitched it was. “Those aren’t the rules to the game…”
”You can’t always get your way just because you’re cute, Ju,” James replied, a smile tugging at his lips. “If we let that happen, we’d never win a single game!”
Martin had always loved days like these.
Lazy afternoons spent after school, hanging outside of the building, playing whatever made-up game they could decide on—one that usually resulted in them running around after one another, breathless with laughter. It was simple, sure, but he’d always learnt to believe that the simple times were the ones most worth cherishing. The others called him sappy for it— he agreed.
“Mar? Hello?” James’ voice broke him from his trance, making him realise he’d just been there, beaming like an idiot. “Earth to Martin? Or should I say… Martian?”
”Ha, ha. Very funny. Not.”
”C’mon, it’s your turn anyway!”
The evening dragged on, with napalm shades taking over the sky—oranges, violets and pinks dipping beyond the horizon, settling around them like a safety blanket. It had been one of those overbearingly hot evenings, where the sun seemed to blaze on for hours. But that was, arguably, the least of their worries. A hot summer’s evening was the norm, especially around here—but what wasn’t normal was the eerie silence that seemed to have settled over the city.
Martin pretended not to notice it as he fished his backpack from the floor, rugged and worn from years of being tossed onto the asphalt below.
“Should we hit that acai place before we go home?” Seonghyeon asked, tufts of brown strands being swept astray by the wind.
“Acai? Again?” Keonho grinned, smile lines tugging at his cheeks. “We've already had it twice this week.”
“Yeah. I swear, if we die, it’ll be death by acai.” James chimed in, wiggling his brows.
“You guys are so—“
Martin’s words had been cut short by a distant, albeit loud scream. The kind that was ear-piercing in the way it shot through the senses, enough to have the group of boys looking up within an instant, eyes darting about as they tried frantically to locate the direction of the scream.
It didn’t take long for another one to shoot through the air—louder, this time, as if it were more than one voice.
“What… is that?” Juhoon was the first to question, his voice small.
His question didn’t remain unquestioned for very long—although with the sight that greeted them, Martin had wished deep down that it would’ve remained unanswered.
A few yards away seemed to be the cause of the commotion—Choi Yeonjun, one of their older peers, was wrangled against the wall by his friend, Choi Soobin. Upon first glance, it looked innocent—perhaps foul play between two boys gone slightly haywire, but as Martin teetered closer, he almost wished he hadn’t.
Whatever that was… it wasn’t Soobin.
Soobin’s skin was a sickly shade of verdant, with the veins that crawled beneath his skin spreading a shade of noir, pulsating beneath twinged flesh. He was bleeding from a mark on his neck, droplets of blood oozing out at a pace Martin was quite sure he’d never seen before. His hands were flailing wildly, clawing at his friend in a manner that was damn-near ravenous. Each claw mark leaked more blood than the last, and it was practically a miracle that Yeonjun was still standing.
Until he wasn’t.
Yeonjun staggered to the ground, his knees seemingly giving in. The noise that elicited as he hit the concrete was nearly unlistenable. The moment he hit the floor, Martin thought he was—
“Is he dead?” James beat him to it.
“I don’t… know—“ Keonho whispered, stumbling back a little.
A few seconds passed, seconds that felt more like hours with the way the moments dragged by.
Yeonjun was on the floor.
Until he wasn’t.
He staggered to his feet, but this wasn’t the same Yeonjun—his movements were lazy, lethargic, and his head was bowed—Martin couldn’t quite make out his face, or if he was even okay.
He looked up and met Martin’s eyes, and for a moment there, Martin wished that whatever deity lay above would open up a hole in the ground and swallow him up.
Those eyes.
They were white and glossy, with black and green veins circling beneath his lids. Every movement seemed strained, as if it took a great deal of effort. The look on his face was one Martin was sure he’d never forget.
Heavy, dull thuds sounded against the asphalt, drawing nearer with every passing second.
Crowds of students began sprinting—not running, but sprinting—away from the school, amid screams and cries of fear. Followed closely behind was a group of, again, students, but something wasn’t quite… right. Their movements were sluggish and strained; instead of sounding fearful, they sounded feral.
And they were heading straight for them.
“What the f—“ Juhoon cried.
“Go!”
Martin wasn’t quite sure how long they ran for. All he knew was that his legs ached, his shins burnt, and his ankles felt nearly moments from snapping. It didn’t matter. No matter how far they ran, it seemed like the group of deranged students was still following closely behind them, growling and foaming at the mouth.
One’s hands grasped Seonghyeon’s collar, jerking him back in one fluid motion.
“No!”
More crowds formed. So many bodies were pushing past them that it was hard to see what was happening.
Martin felt a hand grab his wrist—warm, real, familiar. It was James.
“Come on—“
They ran, and they ran, and they ran until they couldn’t anymore. By the time they stopped running, Martin felt sick. He couldn’t help but keel over, palms splayed across his knees, inhaling and exhaling deeply, his chest rising and falling with each erratic breath.
“Tell me this is some sort of prank,” Juhoon finally breathed, each inhale sounding like it took all of his energy to exert.
Seonghyeon was frantically scrolling through social media, his thumb sliding erratically across the screen. Videos flooded every platform—news highlighted in bold letters, live broadcasts being overrun by those… things. The same thing was happening everywhere—not just in their district, not just their city, but all over the world.
“It’s not a prank.” Seonghyeon swallowed. “This is real.”
Something darkened in Keonho’s face. “We’re screwed.”
Nobody argued; for the first time today, none of them had a joke ready at their dispense.
Distant screams grew louder, much more real. Seonghyeon’s phone slipped from between his fingers, hitting the ground with a less-than-forgiving thud. The screams only grew closer—the smell of iron was thick in the air, entangled with something Martin didn’t quite want to name.
Crowds began running toward them, all flailing arms and expressions that had Martin’s heart stopping for a moment.
Students fled. Office workers chucked their briefcases onto the asphalt in a hurry. Those creatures followed close behind; some were slow, predatory, whilst others were agile and ferocious.
They began running again, but it was impossible to discern who was where. Strands of hair all looked the same from here, and faces seemed to blur into one. Martin felt the anxiety settle in his chest, less like a threat, and more like a promise—it stretched over his insides like bubblegum, suffocating him from the inside out.
That was when he felt it—James’ hand finding his wrist once more.
The streets blurred together as they ran—it didn’t matter where they were, just that they were away.
Once they finally slid to a stop, he could hear James panicking beside him.
When he finally gathered the energy to look up, the expression on James’ face ripped all the wind from him.
“What?” Martin asked quietly.
“Seonghyeon…. Ju… Keonho…”
Martin’s head whipped around so quickly, he was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.
“They were right behind me… I had them in my hand…”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know, Martin!” James yelled, his voice hoarse with anxiety. “Fuck.”
“Shit.”
In the distance, just over the dip in the road, they could see groups of people—or what looked like people—chasing after each other. Distant screams rang out for what felt like miles. Those things were ripping people apart, chewing on flesh like it was nothing more than your average meal. Blood was being spilt across the asphalt.
James collapsed to the floor, heaving into his palms.
Martin followed suit, kneeling just beside him.
“Hey.”
James didn’t look up.
“It’s okay. We’ll find them, okay? We have to.”
James’ breathing eased slightly.
“Yeah. They probably just got lost. They’re probably just as scared as we are, right?”
“Right.”
And though Martin didn’t quite believe himself, he knew the last thing James needed was to hear anything but that—so he convinced himself they’d find Juhoon, Seonghyeon, Keonho, even if it meant being ripped apart in the process.
The sun seemed to be burning into their skin with the way it shone down on them, merciless and unforgiving with the way auburn stretched across the asphalt below, spreading amber beams across the road. Martin had always felt like he knew the city like the back of his hand, but now, with the way the roads seemed to stretch ahead of them, almost taunting him…
He was starting to think otherwise.
“What do you think that was?” Martin asked, ever incessant about needing to talk to fill the silence between them.
James always indulged him.
“Hmm,” he enthused, hands tucked into his pockets. “I don’t know… they looked like zombies, almost, but…”
Martin met James’ gaze, and he was sure he saw a flicker of something there. James always had a way of making a passing glance seem like an invitation.
“That can’t be real, right? I mean, zombies are just a thing in comics… movies… not real life.”
“Maybe we can call them something else?” Martin suggested with a shrug, “So it’s not as real,”
“Mmmh,” James hummed, dragging out the syllables like he usually did when he was thinking hard. “The undead, maybe?”
Martin didn’t like that name. It sounded scarier than the word ‘zombies’ did.
James seemed to notice the slight scrunch to the blonde’s nose, and smiled.
“Okay, okay. Back to the drawing board.”
Martin still dreamed about them.
Sometimes he dreamt they were back at school, running around the parking lot, chasing each other until the sun went down. Other times, he thought about the countless evenings they spent at the cafe, indulging in hot chocolate and desserts that were far too sweet; Keonho laughing so hard, he could barely breathe, Juhoon complaining about being ignored, and Seonghyeon trying (and failing desperately) to keep the conversation on topic.
And James was beside him, just as he always was.
…But then Martin would wake up, and he’d remember—the city was dead, their friends were missing, and they had no way of locating them.
The first few days blurred together.
They learnt quickly, only because they had to.
The infected were far slower than Martin had anticipated, but there were far too many of them. Entire streets, once filled with bustling workers, teenagers, and excited children, now moved as one coagulated mass of rotten flesh, all clouded eyes and snapping teeth.
The first time James killed one of them, he threw up afterwards.
The second time, he only gagged.
By the third time, neither of them spoke about it.
And by the end of the week, they’d both stopped counting.
“You’re getting scarily good at that,” Martin said, glancing over his shoulder.
James stood a few feet away, a chipped baseball bat perched over his shoulder, crimson beads dripping from the end of it. Rotten flesh hung from the rounded base—a constant reminder.
James’ face scrunched up like it always did when he didn’t like what had been said.
“I don’t think that’s a compliment,” he laughed, albeit awkwardly.
Martin smiled. “It’s absolutely a compliment.”
“We’re talking about caveing in skulls.”
“Caving,” Martin interjected.
“What?” James blinked.
“It’s caving. Not caveing.”
James paused for a second, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Really?”
“Sorry, man. Apocalypse or not, I’m still judging your pronunciation.”
“You’re impossible,” James said, despite the laugh he let out.
The sound echoed through the abandoned convenience store—too loud, far too real, way too human. For a moment, they both froze—listening, waiting, biding their time.
Nothing came, and James visibly relaxed.
“You almost got us killed,” Martin breathed.
“But I didn’t,” James said, wearing that annoyingly smug grin he always bore when he’d gotten the upper hand on Martin.
Martin fought back the urge to roll his eyes. The fact that James was still so chipper was almost infuriating, just as much as it was comforting. If anything, it was exactly what they both needed.
They gathered what supplies remained untouched—bottled water, canned food, batteries for their flashlights. Tedious things that Martin had always taken for granted before, things that now toed the line between death and survival.
“Jackpot,” James said as he emerged from behind the shelves, holding a packet of ramen in his hands like a trophy.
Martin looked unimpressed. “That’s your jackpot?”
“We’ve been eating canned beans for three days.”
“Okay, fair.”
James grinned as he tossed the ramen into his backpack, the packet rustling against the culmination of cans already buried deep at the bottom of the bag. Martin continued to search the shelves—empty, empty, expired.
“Found anything?” James asked.
“A headache.”
“Useful.”
“More useful than ramen.”
James let out an emphasised gasp—he’d always had a flair for the dramatic. “I can’t believe you’d say that.”
Martin rolled his eyes. “You’re annoying.”
“Yet somehow, I’m still your favourite person.” The words slipped out casually, almost too casually. The silence buzzed around them briefly, making them all too aware of what James had just said. James busied himself with checking through shelves, whilst Martin pretended to focus on zipping his bag back up. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, just… different.
James cleared his throat. “Second favourite.”
Martin raised his brows. “What?”
“After Juhoon.”
Martin snorted. “Oh my god.” He breathed, unable to hold in his chuckles as James wiggled his brows.
By the time they finally stepped outside, the hot afternoon sun had soon distilled into soft, auburn beams, ones that stretched across the hot asphalt below, spilling across in napalm shades. If the circumstances had been any different, Martin might have called it beautiful—if he ignored the distant bodies, the cerise-stained pavement, and the stench of rotting flesh, that is.
He felt James nudge his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“No.”
The answer slipped out before Martin could help it—far too raw, far too honest.
James didn’t laugh, didn’t make a joke. He just nodded, as if he understood completely.
“Yeah.” was all he said.
Finding somewhere secure to stay had become more tedious than finding food—most buildings had already been looted, with windows smashed in, doors kicked open, and the stench of impermanence clinging to the walls. Some buildings simply weren’t worth the risk.
Their conversations had dulled out as the sun passed them by, with the amber shades nestling themselves between the napalm colours in the horizon. Such colours darkened gradually until nighttime was upon them, a navy haze spreading across the horizon, making it difficult to discern where the sky ended, and where the ground began.
“We need to find somewhere to stay,” James suggested, far too enthralled with ripping a loose thread from his shirt.
“Our places are way back… Do you think they’re still safe?”
James’ face darkened, and that was all the answer Martin needed.
The further they walked through the city, the more dystopian things seemed, with shop windows caved in, broken glass spread across the gravel—pathways littered with discarded weapons or backpacks that seemed too heavy to travel with. Martin’s fingers tightened around the straps to his own bag.
“We could stay there,” James said, nodding forward—Martin followed his gaze, all the way to a distant, flickering sign, its neon hues spreading weakly across the ground below.
A motel. It was better than nothing.
The bell above the door jingled as they pushed through, breaking through the heavily established silence.
“Hello?” Martin called, but there was no use.
Nobody was behind the desk.
On the desk lay a crumpled note, with handwriting so erratic, it was clear it had been written in a rush.
‘The keys are in the drawer. If you need a room, please take it. I’m too scared. I need to be with my family before they get hurt, too.’
The note was covered in blood. Martin felt saliva build up in his throat.
“Here… room 201, second floor. We’ll get a good view of everything from there.” James said, already a step ahead of Martin, a key dangling from between his fingers.
Martin didn’t need to be told twice.
The room was nice, all things considered. As far as motels went, this was decent. There was a large double bed in the middle of the room, with a TV facing it. Martin had already made sure to draw the curtains, and somewhere deeper in the room, James was messing around with the faucet to the shower. He was always really specific about water temperature.
“Shower’s ready. Do you want to go first, or should I?”
“You go. I’ll keep watch.”
James swallowed thickly, but nodded. Martin watched the bathroom door click shut behind his figure before he turned away, sitting just beside the window. Peeling apart the curtains with his fingers, Martin glanced around, eyes darting erratically between the parking lot, to the flickering sign, to the reception where the door lay ajar. He couldn’t help but wonder if the owner was okay. Surely they had to be, if they’d left a note.
Things were quiet outside. Almost too quiet in the way the breeze seemed to still, in the way the trees seemed to be taking the shapes of shadows beneath them, all entangled between one another like some sort of cruel prank.
The only thing that broke the silence was the sound of the hot water running in the next room over.
James soon emerged from the bathroom, a trail of steam following him. He was wrapped in a towel, hands shaking as he clambered through his bag for a change of clothes.
“Shower’s free,” James whispered, and it was enough to shake Martin out of his trance. He spared another glance out of the window. “C’mon, don’t be paranoid. We’re okay.”
Martin chose to believe him, closing the bathroom door behind him.
Finally being alone for the first time since… everything was certainly a lot. Every little noise, every shift of the pipes or the wind outside had Martin tensing up. Even by the time he’d finally managed to undress and step under the warm, running water, the thoughts didn’t silence—if anything, they only got louder.
Where was Juhoon? Was he okay?
Was Seonghyeon alone? Was he scared?
What about Keonho? How was he holding up?
So many questions, so many fears; his head hurt, each thought pounding against the inside of his brain. Martin was sure that it’d hurt less if somebody simply took a hammer to his skull.
The water had begun to run cold by the time he actually put any effort into scrubbing his body. Each drag of the sponge felt like a reminder of the way those things had ripped flesh apart so easily. Each droplet of soap felt akin to the blood spilt across asphalt.
He couldn’t take the solitude anymore.
Martin got out of the shower and dried off so quickly, it was a miracle he didn’t slip by the time he finally emerged from the bathroom. The feeling of the carpet against his feet felt strangely domestic, given everything. With a glance to the bed, it seemed James had already taken the liberty of laying Martin’s clothes out for him.
“Thanks,” the blonde uttered, fidgeting with the towel secured around his waist.
“Yeah,” James breathed, his gaze lingering on the broad slope of Martin’s shoulders for a moment too long before returning to peering out of the window. “It seems like we’re alone. For miles, I mean. I haven’t seen any movement except that tree there.”
“Mmm,” Martin hummed in response, too occupied with pulling his sweatpants on.
“Where do you think they’d go?” James asked, his voice small, but amongst the silence it felt almost too loud. Too real.
“Somewhere safe, I hope.”
James shot Martin a look—and he knew what it meant. Be specific.
“Well… they’d probably go to Juhoon’s place, first,” the blonde murmured, shrugging into his shirt. It smelt like late nights watching movies, lukewarm snacks and endless chatter. “Gather their things, make a plan, you know? Juhoon’s always been smart about things, and he’s the oldest of the three. He’ll keep them safe.”
The tension in James’ shoulders seemed to ease, just for a moment, at those words.
Martin sank into the seat beside James, prying the curtains closed.
“There’s no use overthinking about it all,” Martin said, feeling extremely hypocritical. “It won’t change what happens.”
“Still,” James sighed, his head falling back to rest against the wall. “I can’t help it, Mar,”
That nickname was always enough to have Martin’s heart feeling like it had been swallowed.
Martin felt his nose twitch.
“I’m so worried about them,” James whispered, his voice cracking midway through. “They’re still so young, they’re probably so scared right now,”
“We’re all scared,” Martin interjected.
“Yes, but we have each other!” James snapped, his brows knotted together, a soft crease forming between them. “What if they got separated from each other, too? What if they’re all alone, just thinking we’re—I don’t know—dead the whole time?”
Martin swallowed the lump in his throat as tears broke from James’ waterline, filtering down his cheeks, glistening almost enviously underneath the lamp. If the situation was any different, Martin would’ve called it beautiful. Mesmerising, even.
Martin’s hand found James’, and the warmth that met his palm was enough to have the blonde feeling okay about everything, even if only just for a moment. Long, slender fingers closed around James’ ones, interlinking them between one another.
James’ cries didn’t quieten. They got louder, more erratic, more unhinged with every hitched breath that forced its way from between his lips.
Martin’s thumb dragged across the other’s palm in soft, soothing motions. Whenever James cried—which was rare, now that he thought about it—nothing helped to soothe him. He just needed to let it out, and Martin would indulge every time.
He’d always hated seeing James cry; it made him think back to their earlier days, where James had disappeared completely one winter. Martin didn’t like thinking back to that time, and they definitely didn’t talk about it as much as they should’ve, but he’d always recall how each time James would cry, Martin was there to comfort him. He never complained—why would he? James was his best friend, and he’d do anything to make sure he was happy.
James’ cries soon turned to sniffles, and those soon quietened down, too, until the buzz of silence around them was louder than anything.
James didn’t say anything at first. Neither did Martin. They just sat there, James’ face buried into Martin’s collarbone, inhaling and exhaling with precision.
Martin was the first to break the silence, always terrible with moments of quiet.
“You should get some sleep.”
“Mmm,” was all James responded with.
“Do you want the light on, or off?” Martin asked, eyes clinging to James as he got up.
“On. Please.”
Martin nodded, hopping to his feet once James had. Doing one last check of the door, ensuring it was locked, he didn’t take long to clamber into the free space on the bed. They’d shared beds before, so it wasn’t weird by any means—even if something did feel different tonight. Whether it was the forced proximity, or the fact they literally only had each other right now, Martin wasn’t quite sure.
The blonde hadn’t even realised he’d been zoned out until he felt a weight against his chest. He spared a glance down, being met with soft, chestnut locks spilling across his shirt, with James’ nose buried into his collarbone. He looked so at ease, curled up against Martin’s frame, as if, oddly enough, he’d been crafted to lay there, just like that.
Martin didn’t dare disturb him. Instead, he looped a long arm around James’ waist, his palm splayed across the small of his back, pulling him in until there was no room left unaccounted for.
Like this, with the warmth of James’ breath fanning against his neck, and the way his body fit so perfectly beside him, it didn’t take very long for Martin to drift off.