Archive of Our Own

Paradise is gone. Good riddance.

It’s August, almost five months since then. Thomas wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t feel a bit of sentimentality over the perished city, but it’s easy to finally let go of the past once you find yourself in a countryside farm with the people who actually mattered. The Reyn Family Farm is nice to say the least, mostly untouched by the horrors of the world. Lyra is nice; she’s sweet and almost identical to how Stella was. Thomas was surprised to see her waiting for them—well, Stella—in the little cottage they now call home. It was nice to finally be able to picture a face in her name.

Sometimes he thinks about Paradise, moments where the house is too quiet for his liking and the memories became too much. He recalled the people he had met there, and how there’s nothing left of them now.

Thomas didn’t even know if other people managed to make it out. He didn’t know where Jawn was back then, and he didn’t know where Jonathan, Spidey, and that other Wifi guy went after they left the underground facility. The only known survivor Thomas knows was the Orphan Boy, Nobody, and Meagon, who quickly left after the boat landed on shore. He wondered if they’re still alive now. Augustus—

(He doesn’t want to think about that.)

Something that feels just as awful to think of was the fact that there is no more physical proof of Paradise’s existence. In a singular day, everything about her had vanished, burnt away into mere dust with nothing left behind. And for the people who died there, their bodies will forever be haunting the land with nothing to bury.

Thomas refused to acknowledge the fact that the three graves next to their farm is empty. But those are all distant memories now. He had a new life to live, a business to run even.

The brunette finds himself spending most of his time tending the crops and animals with Lyra herself whilst once again studying how to make different types of ammunition. It was something he had learned from their adventure, something he could take for himself. The infections haven’t stopped, and so the people needed something to defend themselves with; it was a good business idea in his opinion.

Another habit he picked up was delivering food to Stella’s workplace, a small library inside of their cottage. Stella, while she still remained the kind girl he knows well, had lost a lot of her spark after Paradise. It’s easy to notice how she’s much quieter and avoidant, spending many hours cooped up to study the Doctor’s notes she had brought along. Most of the time, she forgets to eat, and so Thomas had taken the task of making sure she does; waiting next to her quietly as she finishes her plate.

(It reminded him a lot of Paradise, when he’d watch Augustus eat his share of meal from afar—

He doesn’t want to think about that.

So, when Thomas had once heard her sobbing on the other side of the door, he didn’t question it. When he noticed the red rim on the corner of her eyes, he didn’t comment on it. They’ve been quiet with each other.

Looks like they both never really quite escaped Paradise either.)

And then there’s Flux. He frankly didn’t know how to feel about the older man. A part of him still felt bitter about Flux leaving them alone in Paradise back then, believing that he would be completely fine with the latter leaving once more when they’ve gotten to safety. Yet, contrasting to his own beliefs, Thomas had silently tugged on Flux’s sleeve when the raven-haired man showed any signs of parting ways.

He stayed, just like he promised to. He now spends his days patrolling around for any signs of the infected as well as helping out with daily chores needed around the farm. Flux didn’t stop moving even once, constantly doing something with his time to the point where Thomas had to force him to rest and take it easy. Flux seems mildly annoyed by his actions, but listened nonetheless.

“Just take a breather for a bit Flux.” Oh yeah, the brunette never really returned to calling him with a Mr. title.

(“It feels weird,” Flux once comments. Both him and Thomas were having a slow day, sitting on the front porch silently while they watch the gentle breeze make their crops move. There was a large gap between their seats.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, not moving his eyes from the sight in front of him. “What does?”

“This silence, this peacefulness. I’ve never experienced something like this before.”

A statement. Thomas chose to not answer him, but he silently moved his chair closer.

He misses the warmth Paradise used to give him. He misses the hostel. He misses how close they all used to be. He misses—

He doesn’t want to think about that.)

On the weekends, Thomas spared some time to visit Magic’s grave, pulling out wild weeds and giving her some handpicked fresh flowers with a variety of colour. He take his time to talk about everything and nothing at the same time, but mostly about the present and the future she will be missing. He misses her. He misses her a lot, and he’d tell her that every time without fail. A month into this routine, Thomas would bring extra flowers for Chuck’s grave, an act Lyra had definitely appreciated.

He left the third grave empty. There was no plan on giving it flowers up until he had found Stella crying by the grave on accident. The next weekend, Thomas finds himself bringing three sets of flower bouquets.

The Doctor—no, Saps—wasn’t really a friend. An acquaintance at best, an enemy at worst; but he’s been slowly learning to care. In a world like this, Thomas has very few room in his heart to truly care about others. Sometimes emotions became a liability, and he had learned that the hard way through Magic. But he’s been learning to care easier, to let his heart be open just a little more. Saps wasn’t a good person in his eyes, nevertheless he was still someone who had been there, and someone who deserved to be properly mourned—if not by Thomas, then by Stella.

(“Back then, you scared me a lot,” Thomas whispers, pulling his knees closer to his chest. Magic’s grave didn’t respond of course. “Those words you said to me, when you could read right through me, it was scary.”

Quiet. “But still I loved you.”

The bottom of his lips trembled, corner of his eyes stinging. “I loved you,” Thomas repeats, “and I couldn’t let you go, and I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

Thomas almost laughed with how ridiculous this whole conversation is. It seems like he had gone mad, talking to a grave with no body buried under. Yet, he spoke once more. “Do you think they’ll forgive me?”

He didn’t quite know who exactly he was referencing either. Was it Saps, someone who had been a direct victim of his love for Magic. Was it Zora, Jawn, or every single people that had gotten stuck in Paradise because of his actions. Was the apology targeted at the one person who knew of the truth.

He didn’t want to think about that.

So he packed what little belongings he had, a small notebook of his and the dimly lit lantern seated on his right, and left the graveyard.)

A secret he had kept for himself lies on the bottom of his bed, hidden away from everyone else except him. It wasn’t anything special, just a ratty old journal belonging to an unnamed stranger. It was supposed to be an insignificant token from Paradise, a barely recognizable memoir as a proof that the city and the people in it had once existed.

But the mention of Augustus in it had made it important. A proof that Augustus lived.

Half of the journal was already filled, the other half left empty for unknown reasons. Unsurprisingly, it was filled in with random observations of the author’s daily lives, as normal as it could be. Sometimes Thomas rolled his eyes, and sometimes he laughs along with the paragraph. In a way, it almost felt like he had a new friend, someone who knew of the horrors of Paradise yet was kind enough to see the good parts in it. Someone who was able to appreciate him better than Thomas has ever did.

That is, until he had reached the last page.

“I kissed him and I meant it.” It reads.

Despite already reading that page before they had escaped Paradise, Thomas still felt the same thing till now each time he reads it; a clogged up throat and a twinge in his chest. Yet he constantly comes back to it like he was addicted. The questions he has in his head never vanish; who was the author? What was Augustus to them? Who are they to Augustus?

What was Augustus to him?

Thomas read each pages carefully every night, his index and middle fingers caressing the sketch of Augustus’ face, careful to not let the ink fade away. His eyes scans the words written down about the white haired male over and over again until it hurts. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. At some point he had placed the sketch close to where his heart is, both arms embracing the book in silence, closing his eyes to try and remember every single details about Augustus.

The sketch was beautiful. It was almost an exact replica of how Thomas remembered the other, but it couldn’t possibly replace reality. Nothing could. No picture, no proof, no memories could ever replace Paradise and the people in it.

Nothing could bring them back no matter how much he prayed to the non-existent higher being. Nothing could ever bring back the warmth and happiness he had felt back then. Zora was killed, Saps was killed, Magic is dead, and Augustus is gone; that was a horrible fact he had to swallow.

For the first time in a while, Thomas could feel a lump in his throat begging to come out, and everything began to feel like it was too much. His whole body trembled while trying to hold back tears, a feat that’s truly useless in the end because he began to weep.

Thomas had spent that night hugging himself, journal thrown to the other side of the room, as he tried to mask the sobs coming right out of his mouth. He’d whisper quiet apologies to everyone in the bus, to everyone who had lived in Paradise at some point, and to the people who had survived yet are gone.

“I want to see you,” the brunette uttered out weakly to the empty room. “I want to see you again.”

When Thomas told Stella about the bus, she slapped him. The slap was hard enough to almost make him lose his balance for a moment. They just finished their breakfast, all four ready to move on with their daily chores up until Thomas stopped them at the front porch. Lyra looks like she was taken aback, unknown if it’s because of Thomas’ actions or Stella’s, but Flux seems to be mostly unbothered by the violence. Was he expecting this? Thomas wasn’t sure.

Actually, he wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking when he confessed. What happened with Augustus was enough proof that bringing this lie to the grave would be the best choice, but something had snapped in him last night. Perhaps this was retribution, or an apology in a sense. Either way, Thomas knew he didn’t like the anger behind Stella’s kind emerald eyes. It stung more than the slap did.

Stella was someone who was always gentle with others. She constantly shown worry and comfort over other people, even strangers she barely even knew. Never once had she raised her voice to demean or to hurt. Hell—she didn’t even show any malice or anger at Magic even after Saps’ death. Stella is a kind person, and now Thomas truly knows shame from being the target of the disappointment in her eyes.

But she didn’t give him a chance to apologize, or to utter out any single words. All she did was silently pull him into a hug. Her left arm is wrapped around his shoulders, while her right hand pushed his head into the junction between her shoulder and neck. All Thomas could see was peach, and he closes his eyes before hugging her right back, cheek still red.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered after a moment of stillness. Stella responded with a hum, her right fingers interlocking with his brown hair.

(“I’m sorry for siphoning the bus. I’m sorry for killing everyone. I’m sorry for driving everyone away. I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t pull the trigger.”)

She whispers back, finally. “I’m sorry too.”

(“I’m sorry that I didn’t notice you spiraling back then. I’m sorry that I never pushed you to tell the truth. I’m sorry that we had to learn the hard ways.”)

Thomas didn’t ask what she was apologizing for, and she never clarified either. Their day continued on as it usually does; field work under the burning sun, followed by a peaceful lunch around the same porch. At that time, his eyes met Flux’s, and the older male smiled; a small barely noticeable smile, but it’s there.

Silently, Thomas mouthed another apology to the older man, and he responded with a small nod. A simple action that lifted so much weight from the brunette’s shoulders. Just like any other day, there was barely any conversations exchanged between them, but it felt better. Thomas felt better than he had ever felt in months.

(“They forgave me,” Thomas said to Magic’s grave, shoulders lighter than ever. “But I guess I should apologize to you too. I’m sorry for not being able to stop you.”

He kneeled down to place the flowers, pausing. “You were wonderful. I wish we could’ve kept you happy until the end—I’m sorry that you had to feel so much fear and anger on your final days, I know that’s not who you are.”

Once the flowers were neatly positioned, Thomas stood up again. “I’ll take care of your always,” the brunette smiles, “rest easy Magic.”)

Another three months had passed by. There has been a bit of changes around the farm lately. Words had gotten out about Thomas’ skills in ammo making, and there has been a variety of visitors along those months. He had seen a lone traveler holding too much weight in his eyes. He had seen a group of five friends pass by, the weariness in their body language betrayed the light laughter exchanged between them. He had seen an old man who reassembles the one he met in Paradise.

Thomas had been busy, enough distraction to avoid even looking at the journal tucked under his bed. He’d been trying to forget about it, failing to do so, but trying nonetheless. Because Augustus should’ve been just a distant bitter memory by now. He had a new life to live, a business to run, and a Stella to take care of.

(He’s a good person now. He changed, for the better—he hopes, a selfish motivation that one day Augustus might show up in front of their porch ready to forgive Thomas.)

And one day, a group of three arrives, ones that sound painfully familiar. A tall white haired woman is leading at the front, hair covering most of her back despite the glaring heat. “Is this the right place?” she questioned, using her palm to cover her eyes from the sunlight.

For once it wasn’t Thomas who kept watch on new customers. He was far too busy picking up carrots from the ground to even notice three strangers passing their wooden fences. It was a rather slow day after all; they weren’t expecting anything to happen, and barely anyone was outside in order to avoid the sun – Thomas being the exception because he lost three rounds of rock paper scissors.

Lyra was the first to notice despite being farther away. A large window in the dining room had given her a perfect view of the farm’s entrance area.

Leaned onto the wall next to the said window is a rifle.

“Flux?” Lyra’s voice trailed off, squinting in hopes to get a better look at the new strangers. Flux, who was sitting on the floor behind her with a shotgun carefully cleaned and taken apart in front of him, hums in response. “There’s people. Thomas is outside.”

Those words worked like a mantra. In just a millisecond, Flux’s relaxed posture turned rigid and sharp. He quickly made his way next to her, silently grabbing the rifle, a click being heard as he turned the safety switch off. Lyra moved along without any orders needed either, opening the windows enough to let Flux get a clear shot.

Flux had never particularly cared much about Lyra before; he cared for her in association with Stella, if that made sense. The man too, knows that Lyra’s main attention and care will always be focused on the peach-haired girl. They had no common interest, except for the fact that they will lay down their lives for Stella.

And so there was a rather silent agreement between them, a promise to put their lives second no matter what.

Thomas continued his work, oblivious to Flux and Lyra’s actions. It wasn’t until the three strangers walked close enough for him to faintly hear their voices did finally the brunette stopped picking up the carrots. A grunt unconsciously escaped his lips while he stood up from his crouching position.

“Thomas?”

Oh, his name is being called. Thomas turned around, that typical smile of his dropping once he met three pair of eyes. An annoyingly bright blonde hair stood out the most from the group, followed by the fact that Thomas could recognize their faces almost immediately even after months of absence.

How could he not when they were the only survivors of Paradise that he knows of. “Orphan boy…?” Thomas automatically responds.

It’s fairly easy to recognize Meagon’s boisterous laughter, the loudest one Thomas has ever heard in the past year. She was laughing hard enough to almost topple forward, needing to hold her stomach and bend her knees in order to keep her balance. “I haven’t heard of that nickname in forever now,” she wheezes.

While Rotation went on a rant that Thomas barely listened to about the nickname, Nobody was the only person in the group to at least greet him with a silent wave and smile, which Thomas returned of course. Her hair seems a bit shorter, still styled with two small buns on top of her head, though Thomas noticed how lighter she seems to carry herself.

Actually, all three of them looked fairly well. Perhaps leaving Paradise did some good for others, more than it did for him.

Their cabin is small, but the living room is connected with both the dining area and their quaint kitchen, which makes it seem bigger than it is—a fact that Meagon had pointed out once she stepped foot inside. Rotation seemed to enjoy their old couch too, letting a pleased hum when he leaned his aching body on the backrest. Nobody took the lone single seat, with Thomas dragging a few other wooden seats just in case Stella, Flux, or Lyra wanted to join.

(Thomas was sure that he had spotted both Flux and Lyra inside the house’s common room just half an hour ago. He wondered why they had disappeared.

The gun left inside have also gone missing with them, a detail Thomas never mentioned to their guests.)

Meagon was the one who started the conversation yet again. “How have you been Thomas?” she questioned, “you certainly made a name for yourself around here.”

“I did?” Thomas questioned right back, both his eyebrows raising in surprise.

It was Rotation who answered. “People talk.” The blonde shrugs, seemingly bored at where the conversation is going; but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Even Thomas noticed the way anger sparked behind those eyes, an anger that wasn’t particularly targeted at anyone in this room, but there’s someone for sure.  

His guess was a long-shot, but it’s better than to keep wondering. Thomas’ lips moved on its own. “Did Roghost talk too?”

By the way all three’s expression had hardened, it seems like Thomas hit a jackpot; or a sore topic—probably both with his luck in social interactions. He wasn’t well versed in their background with Roghost. At most, Thomas only knows that the three (well, at least Meagon and Rotation does, he wasn’t sure about Nobody) had some personal beef with the company, which is odd considering their friend is—

Was. Mike never left Paradise either. At that moment, Thomas completely forgot about the fact that Mike was never in the bus (it wasn’t his fault it wasn’t his fault it wasn’t his fault it wasn’t his fault—), brain trying to come up with ways to backpaddle and apologize for bringing up such a sensitive topic to them. The temperature of his body drops, visible from how pale his face had gotten in just a few moments. Of course, Meagon had noticed, quickly elbowing Rotation who was fast to drop his anger in advance.

Seems like they didn’t take it personally at all, anger morphing into something akin to guilt. “You shouldn’t worry about him.” Roghost isn’t just a singular person. It’s a large company consisting of many employees and management system, but Meagon seems to be convinced that Roghost is someone. “He’s going to die anyways.”

Ominous. Thomas didn’t comment further and the group seems to appreciate that. The conversation switched into something lighter; Thomas talks about how peaceful the farm life is, and how he’s been selling ammos to a bunch of travelers that had passed by. In return, the other three talked about how they had settled down on a large field quite far up the north, a total of two days trip in order to reach the Reyn Family Farm. Thomas didn’t mention how that area is oddly close to where the infamous Roghost head office is placed at.

“Ugh,” Meagon grunts mid-conversation, eyes glaring to the newly arrived person leaning on the kitchen’s table. “Of course you’re still here.”

Flux merely gave her a middle finger, but he stayed. It didn’t take long until Lyra, who have now been introduced, managed to drag Stella out of the manhole she dug herself in. Though it’s obvious how visibly distressed she looks, it couldn’t hide the pure delight in her eyes once she had seen old-friends scattered all around the living room.

Nobody had been the first victim of her hugs, followed by Meagon who was happy to return it, before she reaches out to a very sulky Rotation. Thomas smiled at the sight; it felt nice to see Stella happy.

“Though I can’t believe it; you monetizing ammos? I thought you’d give them out for free—like how the hostel used to give out foods to everyone.” The brunette snapped out of his thoughts once he realized Nobody’s statement is directed right at him. By now, half of the room was staring with curiosity.

The attention seemed too much now. He used to relish in attention, in others’ care for him. Now it just felt nauseous. The man unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck, “I mean—it wouldn’t be wise to just, give away this stuff, right…?”

Rotation seemed to be mildly intrigued by his response. “Well, yeah,” the blonde nods. “But it’s still surprising. Where did that sweet Tommy boy go?”

Aha. Get it? Because Thomas is so nice and naïve. He’s caring and puts others’ needs before his own. Thomas would do anything to help other people even if it meant that he would get hurt. He’s forgiving too, seeing how he had accepted Flux—the person who had abandoned him—back with open arms

God. It’s disgusting how far these lies have gotten. Stella and Flux watches the way Thomas shamelessly faked a laugh through his teeth. He wondered if they were disappointed.

“Guess I grew up a little.” Lies. He never grew up, at least not in the way these three would think. It’s still a little jarring realizing how different his image is in the eyes of others; it felt like he was two different people, both trying to live out different truths and beliefs. Is that how Augustus sees him now?

It didn’t matter because the conversation had changed in the matter of seconds, Thomas’ internal worries pushed aside like any other day.

Lighthearted topics are being passed left and right, but Thomas didn’t have enough energy to even follow where it headed. He kept nodding when needed to, laughing when everyone does so, and maintaining enough eye contact to make others believe his head is still in the conversation—but Thomas knows damn well they had noticed his absent look. No one is brave enough to ask however, which was very predictable.

Once the sun reaches the edge of the surface, all three members had stood up in order to excuse themselves. Everyone gathered at the front porch to say their goodbyes, and while Stella had tried to hold everyone back and convince them to stay the night, Thomas stood a few feet away watching her enthusiastically move her arms up and down as an argument, Rotation retaliating back with an amused jab. Even Flux and Lyra had entered the conversation somewhere in between.

“You look happy.” Thomas didn’t even realize he was smiling until Meagon had pointed it out. Actually, he didn’t even realize she’s there up until she spoke up. While her tone is laced in tease, there was a hint of genuineness behind it, like a sense of relief somewhere inside her. “I’m glad you’re doing well Thomas.”

He sheepishly chuckled, ignoring Rotation’s screech about something Flux has said that may or may not had offended him. “Thanks.”

But there was an awkward silence left by his answer, a pause that seemed heavy enough to make him fiddle with his fingers anxiously. By the way the woman kept glancing to him over and over again, Thomas could tell there was something she was itching to ask. It took a little while, a cough and three foot taps to be exact, before Meagon finally spoke up.

“So,” her voice trailed off, “you and Stella…?”

What—Thomas voiced out his surprise, and Meagon stared at him like he’s the one being unreasonable. “What?” the brunette repeated once more, eyes going wide. “No! Wha—how did you even come to that conclusion?!”

Thankfully, Thomas’ exclamation came out more as a hushed whisper than an actual scream, not needing the attention of other people in this vicinity. Him and Stella? Thomas had nothing against the peach-haired girl—the opposite actually. She was lovely and kind, but Thomas could feel an unpleasant feeling slowly appear in his stomach at the thought of any type of romantic relationship with her.

Meagon raised her arms in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just curious. It’s not weird to be in love with your friend you know.”

In love with Stella—no, that doesn’t sound right. That doesn’t even feel right. Thomas couldn’t understand what being in love even entails. Well, he knows that it has a literal definition of having strong feelings of affection towards someone else, but if that’s the case Thomas could proudly admit that he loves Stella, Flux, and Magic. If that’s the case, then he could also confidently say that Flux, at least, loves them just as much considering he came back to Paradise.

(Augustus didn’t come back. That hurts more than he expects. A lot more.)

But that’s not the kind of love Meagon was talking about, was it?

Thomas’ was rendered unresponsive, simply choosing to stare at the ground.

“Did you know that Mike liked Grayleigh?”

The brunette choked on air, almost breaking his neck by how fast he turned to face the white-haired woman. Meagon laughed at his reaction, “he did. And she liked him too—she liked him for a while now, even before Paradise.”

He did not know that actually. Thomas was somewhat aware that the four of them were close to one another, and judging by Grayleigh and Mike’s matching themed clothing, he had assumed they came from at least the same college. But never once Thomas thought their story goes deeper than that.

And now they’re both dead, bodies practically unrecoverable in whatever’s left in Paradise. Even without saying anything, Thomas knows they have two empty graves built near their new home, similar to the ones in this farm. The nuclear explosion was never his fault, but a sick part of Thomas’ brain constantly believes it to be.

“They didn’t get to confess to each other.” A sharp intake of breath, Meagon’s. From the corner of his eyes, Thomas could notice the way her lower lip began to tremble just a tiny bit. She coughed to hide the cracks in her voice. “I’m just saying, Thomas; between the things you’ll regret, don’t let love be one of them.”

Unfortunately for Meagon, there are a lot of things Thomas already regrets, enough to know that “love” should’ve been the least of his worries. Love shouldn’t be a priority in his journey of atonement, not when he had pushed that person away.

Their conversation was cut short the moment they heard the others approaching, voices tangled in light, casual banter. It’s easy for the two survivors to fall into their respective places, a silent agreement to leave behind the heavy discussion they’ve partaken in mere seconds ago. It wasn’t a surprise to see the three announce their leave, but something inside of Thomas twisted when no one had mentioned coming back.

His lips moved on its own. “You’ll be visiting again, right?”

Everyone’s dialogue halted, caught off guard by the innocent question. Even Flux seems to be mildly perplexed at the sudden change of topics, but not in a negative manner. Thomas saw Stella smile from his peripheral vision, her arms behind her back while she watches him continue fumble out words.

“I mean—it would be a shame if we stopped being in contact,” Thomas stammers, “we don’t have neighbors around and—and I think—”

“Thomas.” It’s Nobody. Thomas couldn’t quite recall when they’ve partaken in a one-on-one conversation, so her speaking up first was quite a surprise. He faintly nods at her direction. She’s smaller than he remembered, but her cheeks are now puffed compared to the hollower sight he saw in Paradise. She smiles, “we’ll come back. Promise.”

(There’s a form of lightness on her shoulders, the type he barely noticed until now. Leaving Paradise was good for her. Meagon and Rotation are good for her. He was glad.)

Happiness was quite an understatement. There’s an inexplicable feeling rising in his stomach, the type to make his cheek hurts from smiling. It’s been so, so long since he had smiled like this, and it’s been far too long since Stella had eagerly wrapped her arms around his shoulders as a sign of mutual excitement. She’s smiling ear to ear. Thomas smiled back at her, now eagerly nodding back at Nobody.

“Hey Thomas,” Rotation calls when he was only five steps away from the front porch. “Don’t ever change, okay?”

And that feeling of happiness was crushed in an instant. Thomas’ smile drops, overlooked by everyone else. Not changing meant staying as a liar. Not changing means he’s still the same person he was in Paradise. Not changing means further proving that Augustus had the rights to leave. His amber eyes glanced at Flux and Lyra’s narrow content smiles, before turning to Stella’s ecstatic expression.

Sometimes he makes promises he couldn’t keep, some worse than others. He had promised to do the dishes last week, only for him to lose time, engrossed in his own works. He had promised to eat better, only for him to sometimes skip dinner on cold nights. He had promised to take care of Stella, yet it seems like he once again had to rip away what small happiness they had left.

Choosing to step forward—away from the front porch—and run after the group in the distance, Thomas whispered a small silent apology to his family.

“Wait!” the brunette calls, Rotation, Meagon, and Nobody stopping in their tracks. Like ripping off a band aid, Thomas thought. “There’s something you all should know—about the bus.”

A month gone by without any signs of the other three returning. Thomas spends his evening sat on the front porch overlooking their farm’s entrance, a naïve hope that he’ll see those same three familiar faces showing up. They never did.

(It happened again. Thomas should’ve known that Stella and Flux were just the anomalies in his life. He should’ve known that it was too good to be true; never mind the fact that Flux had returned, never mind the fact that Stella forgave him—at the end of the day, Thomas could only cause hurt.)

They, Stella and Flux he means, joined him one day. Both each had taken a seat next to him, Stella leaning her head on his shoulder while Flux had used one of his hands to stroke his head. All three of them sat there silently, watching the empty field in front of them. The wind blew a little harder that night, colder, and Thomas finds himself crying.

Another night spent on the front porch. Another night in silence—or at least, it should’ve been.

"I missed Paradise." It was Thomas who said it, an awful statement that managed to get both Stella and Flux flinch by the mere mention of its name. Yet Thomas didn't stop. He didn't even seem to care that his words had brought back an unbearable number of memories for the two. All he did was stare into nothingness.

Seems like another wall had been broken down. Thomas feared tearing his heart out in front of others, terrified of the fact that they might leave just like how Augustus did and how Meagon never returned. But Stella had watched him confess his most disgusting mistake and embraced him with a tight hug. It doesn't erase the fact that Flux had returned for him twice even when the latter didn't need to.

So this time, despite the fear, Thomas learns to trust them a little bit with himself. He learns to accept that some people he loves will leave, and some will stay.

"I missed the hostel," he continued, "I missed the fire camps we used to huddle around with. I missed the rotten smell that stenches everywhere. I miss having people who visits us in ungodly hours. I miss everyone in that city; even the ones that aren't good people."

Thomas' breath hitched. "But it's not like I was good either."

He felt a weight on his side, Stella's body leaning on his body, head rested on his shoulder. A common occurrence by now; the woman spent many times silently comforting him like this. Somewhere inside of Thomas wished she said something, anything to get these heavy things out of his chest one way or another, but he's been painfully aware of everyone's feelings lately.

(Thomas isn't the only one suffering here. Paradise really did do a number on them all.)

The brunette sighs. "I miss Magic."

Stella's hums were the first act of audible response he's heard tonight. Flux, unsurprisingly, kept to himself.

"I miss her too," Stella whispers back, "I miss her more than anything in this world."

After a bit of a pause, the woman's voice cuts through the silence once more. "Do you think she'll like it here?" she asked, words blurted out quicker than she could probably comprehend. Before she could take it back, Flux replied just as casually.

"She'll love it here," the man mumbles, "she'll probably beg us to make a horse farm too."

It made both Thomas and Stella laughed out loud, a sharp sudden influx of voices in the midst of their peacefulness. “Oh God—“ Stella wheezes, “she would. Can you imagine her whining about needing to walk everywhere here?”

Thomas adds in, “I think she’d be a fantastic farmer too. She’d wake us up on the crack of dawn to pick carrots up.”

“Only for the first two weeks.” Another wave of laughter. Laughter that are loud enough to catch the attention of a small rabbit passing by. But it didn’t take long before the said laughter died away, replaced with a much more somber sigh.

Stella, with her hesitant bright green eyes, glanced to her side. “If…” her words trailed off at first, “if I had offered Saps a room here, what would you guys do?”

Thomas instinctively glanced at Flux, the latter stared right ahead. No twitch of emotions had appeared. The wind felt like it blew harder, and Thomas could see the way Stella’s eyes hardened, eyebrows furrowed together.

He knew what that meant. She was preparing for the worst answer, an answer she didn’t want to hear yet forces herself to by asking questioning them. He knew what she was doing, yet the brunette didn’t know why she’s essentially digging her own grave.

Thomas didn’t think Saps was a good person. Far from it. He was far too secretive, too unpredictable to be trusted. Saps hated Flux, and Flux had equally despised the man—that was enough reason for Thomas to avoid him.

(A selfish part of Thomas wanted to desperately blame Saps for Magic’s death. He wanted someone he could condemn, someone who he could drag down to filth just like he did with himself, because God knows he couldn’t never do the same to Flux and Stella. Saps would be the only logical answer.

But he couldn’t.

Thomas didn’t think Saps was a good person, but the man tried to be one. He tried to help Magic, and that alone had earned him forgiveness in Thomas’ eyes.

Not that he had the rights to judge anyone, not with his own mistakes.)

It stayed silent for a while. “I don’t think it would’ve changed anything.”

The two blinked.

“I don’t care where, when, or who’s coming with us,” Flux continues, “I’ll follow you both anyway.”

At that answer, Stella’s expression changed. From the firm look she forced herself to show, changed into solace. Flux only uttered out very few words in their conversation before hiding back into that unreadable shell of his. Even so, it was enough for Stella.

“I think I’d do the same too,” Thomas whispered, turning his head back towards the peach-haired girl. “I’d follow you anywhere, Stella.”

Could he say the same to Augustus? He should’ve back then. He would’ve now.

Could, should, and would is meaningless today though. Thomas accepted that. He could’ve been truthful from the start, but he didn’t. He should’ve been, but he only realized it just now. He would’ve now, but Augustus isn’t here is he?

But there were however, three people approaching the farm. Three painfully familiar people. While Flux’s arm twitched to grab his shotgun, currently discarded on the side, Thomas’ body stood up on instinct. His amber eyes stayed frozen, stunned at the sight in front of him. Stella, while cautious at first, finally realized who just arrived.

It was Stella too who moved first, moving her legs forward and practically flinging herself onto the three. She kept crying out inaudible sentences, ones that Thomas struggle to understand aside from the happy tone she’s using for context clues. Flux’s reaction wasn’t as strong, but Thomas could see his shoulder drop in relief. The older male even made his way forward, approaching the beautifully noisy crowd.

It was Thomas who stood frozen despite being the first person to react.

His lips kept parting with no audible sound, eyes blinking over and over again like he had expected to wake up sooner or later. “You…” he gasps out, “you’re all back.”

Nobody is smiling from ear to ear whilst she pats Stella’s back. On the other side is Rotation, who seems to be glad he’s finally out of the death grip the former had on him. And then there’s Meagon, who silently stared back into Thomas’ amber eyes.

And she smiles. “Hey.”

The house’s occupants doubled that night, the living room practically crowded with conversations and laughter just like how it was a month ago. Rotation and Stella was arguing, Nobody laughing at their antics while Lyra tried her best to calm the situation. Of course, Flux had comfortably sat on a single chair, the corners of his mouth curled upwards when he saw Rotation fumble over his wording against Stella.

Meagon is outside on the front porch, so Thomas joined her, and they sat shoulder to shoulder in silence.

“You came back.”

The woman nods. “We did.”

Thomas glanced at her, and back to the field in front of the cottage. “I didn’t think you’d come back,” he faintly mutters, “I thought you’d be upset.”

An uncomfortable laugh was forced out of Meagon’s lips, enough to make Thomas re-think his own words.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong Thomas, we were fucking furious.” And there it is; his judgement day. Thomas shamefully lowered his head, letting his eyes stare at nothing. Meagon ignored the act, choosing to rest her forearms on her knees. “Rotation and I considered not coming back here ever again. Nobody didn’t even come to your defense either.”

It was the second time someone had called his actions out right in his face, the first one being a memory he would rather not recall. “Mike might’ve been a dumbass who went to Paradise alone, but Grayleigh was on that bus.”

She took a deep breath, eyes scrunched. “It would’ve been so, so easy to blame you for her death. Maybe—maybe if the bus was still there, she could’ve gotten out safely.”

Could. It will always come back to that. A single word that prevented grace from ever touching Thomas’ morals.

“But Grayleigh would’ve stayed no matter what.” The male’s head snaps upward, turning his head right at the woman. Meagon bitterly chuckled. “As long as we stayed in Paradise—as long as Mike did—she would’ve stayed. A lot of people would stay even if the bus hadn’t broken down.”

A small pause. There was an unreadable distant look in her eyes. “It wouldn’t be fair to pile every blame on you. Hell, I don’t think anyone had any plans on leaving until that day—even that damn old geezer came returned for you and Stella.”

“It’s weird, right?” Her eyes finally met his, a rather painful look in her eyes. “It’s like we were addicted to the city. Like we couldn’t leave even if we wanted to.”

“What you did was wrong, that’s for sure, but it’s not like our hands are clean either.”

The front porch has been a witness of countless confession, Thomas thinks. It was small, old, with a harsh wooden flooring that makes your whole body hurt if you sat on it for too long. The stairs leading onto it is creaky, mere months away from fully breaking. The front porch is far from perfect, yet someone it had the power to pull out any truths they’ve kept hidden. Meagon herself wasn’t immune to it.

So what difference would one more be?

Thomas hesitated for a bit, “Augustus asked me to leave.”

It was a surprise to them both, having the brunette suddenly be truthful out of nowhere, but Meagon didn’t comment further. All she did was raise her eyebrows and nod, a silent urge for him to continue. And that Thomas did.

“He asked me to leave with him, away from Paradise. But I couldn’t—not when Flux is still here, not when Stella is still somewhere in the city, not when Magic—“ Thomas’ words died on the tip of his tongue at the mention of his late friend. His throat felt clogged, unable to take any breaths in nor any words out. But the dam had already broke, and he couldn’t stop speaking no matter how painful it felt. “And then I told him about the bus; and he was—you should’ve seen the look on his face.”

“Was he angry?”

“He was devastated.”

“… I’m sorry,” Meagon responds after a moment of silence.

Thomas dryly laughs. “It’s okay. I didn’t understand him back then, but I think I do now.”

 “If it’s any consolation; I don’t think he hates you,” the woman hums in return.

“… he doesn’t?”

Meagon made a noise of agreement along with a shake of her head. “I don’t know him well enough, but I don’t think he hates you. I don’t think he could ever hate you.”

She turned to him again. “Just like you.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I don’t think you both have the capability to hate each other.”

The statement was confusing, primarily because Thomas couldn't imagine a world where Augustus didn't resent him—not that he was wrong to do so. Something had definitely shown in Thomas' face, because Meagon cuts his thoughts before it could spiral down further.

"I didn't know him that well." She leaned back, using both arms as support behind her. "But only an idiot would miss the way he looks at you."

Thomas must be an idiot then. "Yeah. You are,” the woman replied just as quick.

"Meagon, can you read minds?" the said woman cackled. "I'm being serious Meagon. That's scary."

She covered her mouth with the back of her left hand, trying to silence her own laughter yet failing to do so anyways. Despite it all, Thomas didn't mind that noise, opting to jokingly roll his eyes back at her. It felt nice. The feeling of having minimum burden on your shoulders as you spend time with loved ones, it became something addictive to him. But it couldn’t last forever, of course, not in a world like this—and certainly not for someone like Thomas.

"You're saying that to make me feel better." The brunette stared at his palms, now calloused and dirtied, far different than how it was before Paradise. "It's okay. I've accepted it. I deserved it."

The woman nudged his shoulder with hers. "Sometimes I wondered how you manage to be the smartest out of all of us."

It might have something to do with Thomas being an actual college student, but he didn't comment further.

"Hey Thomas." She moved again; a bit jarring to see her constantly move some part of her body while the other male had been dead frozen the whole time. Now, she had her body leaned forward, chin rested on top of her palms while her elbows are supported by her knees. "Do you hate Augustus?"

"No," he responds without missing a beat.

Meagon hums, nodding along. "Exactly."

Huh. "I don't get it," Thomas dumbly retorted, earning another snort.

"Look kid, do you know why I can confidently say all of that about Augustus?" Odd of her to call him a kid considering they're only a few years apart in ages if Thomas recalls correctly. That didn't stop her from condescendingly messing with his hair. But to answer her question, Thomas merely shook his head, ironically enough like a child. It was a silent encouragement for Meagon to continue further.

And that, the woman did. She gave him a confident smile, though he couldn't read an undecipherable emotion behind it. Seems like he's still horrible at reading others.

"Because you look at him the same way."

(His throat feels dry.)

"Back then," Thomas cuts, "why did you say that about me and Stella?"

Meagon looks confused for a minute; a slight realization hits her right after. She seems to thought over her words, avoiding eye contact for a moment while her cheeks flushed; inconsistent movement shows a hint of embarrassment. The woman's words trailed off at first, "it's just that—you seem lonely."

(Lonely. Was Thomas Lonely?)

"I know losing Magic must've been hard on you guys, but I didn't think that was it." A silencing, heavy pause arrived. "You had Stella, Flux, and Lyra here, but you seem unsatisfied."

(How greedy of him. That was always it, wasn't it? His greed always gets the best of him to the point where an acquaintance could read right through his facade.

God—no wonder Augustus hated him.)

"I thought there might've been some unresolved feelings—and Stella was the most logical answer—but now it makes sense," Meagon sighs. "You miss him, don't you?"

(Yes. More than anything in this world.)

"That's an over-exaggeration." Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. "I'm contempt with how things are right now." Stop lying. Stop lying. Why can't you just stop lying.

"You're a fucking liar dude." Thomas' head snaps up, surprised at the upfront comeback. Meagon rolls her eyes flippantly, something she has been doing a concerning amount since the start of their conversation. "It's one thing to lie to others, but at least be honest with yourself."

"I'm—"

"And don't say you're not lying," the woman huffs. She’s a lot more upset than he expected her to be. "Look—Thomas. I don't want to hear anything else come out of your mouth tonight, okay?"

Meagon's eyes have always been the most expressive part of her, even throughout Paradise. Raw emotions are visible behind her every movement, hence why Thomas felt a bit unnerved around her back then considering how hateful she is towards Flux. At this moment, there was annoyance, that's for sure; a bit of exhaust behind them too. But Thomas saw guilt eating her alive, and he wasn't sure why.

It was enough to keep her eyes open throughout the night, enough to show that it haunts her every time she closes her eyes. Meagon hadn't been sleeping well, is what Thomas noticed since the start of their reunion. She has always been a tough person, being the person to take the lead compared to Rotation and Nobody, so it was a bit jarring so see her so shaken up by a single lie.

Unless it wasn't the lie that had gotten to her. Perhaps, just maybe, it was the confession.

(He thinks about Mike and Grayleigh, about the future they could've had, and about the truth left unsaid between them. Thomas has his regrets, but he seems to forget that others carry the same burden as he did.)

The brunette swallowed whatever pride and fear he had left. "I don't want him to hate me."

Meagon blinked. Thomas continued.

"I don't want Augustus to hate me."

It was a simple, wishful sentence, almost like a prayer he had unconsciously say every night since Augustus left. But it was the truth. He'd been truthful this whole time, as Thomas wanted nothing more than for Augustus to forgive him.

After a bit of pause between the two, the white-haired woman gave him a small smile. Those haunted look behind her eyes flickered away for just a minute. Not fully, but enough.

"He doesn't," she replied so gently, "I promise you."

Promises meant nothing in a world like this, Thomas knew that, but he finds himself nodding along with her words.

(I miss him.)

Tonight is quiet. The only source of light came from the sole window in his room, each curtain pulled to the side. He used to love the moon, he liked the night-time and how peaceful it is; up until he arrived in Paradise. It didn’t take long before Thomas had forgotten his love for the moon and switched into something safer; the sun. But it never really did feel the same.

Thomas leaned his head on the cold glass, overlooking the vast field around their cottage. His eyes however, stayed frozen on the moon, silently imagining any details he could about the big rock (rock would be an understatement; it’s more-so a planetary-mass object with a core just like earth, warm on the inside despite looking cold) above their planet. The moon has always been beautiful. It kept the night and the stars company. He tries to imagine the craters, the way the moon’s form would change depending on the sun, the atmosphere—any details he could remember reading about before Paradise.

He couldn’t. All he could picture was Augustus.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes, relishing in the quiet night and cold air once more. Both his arms are wrapped around his body, trying to keep the minimal warmth he has to himself. Those pair of amber eyes kept staring into the moon, once again trying to recall a thousand facts he knows. Nothing comes to mind yet again. He could only picture Augustus—

Oh.

Oh.

He understands now.

(“I love him,” Thomas whispers to the moon, alone.)

Considering they live in a post-apocalyptic world with the infected roaming around every corner, mornings aren’t usually filled with Thomas acting like a busy man late for his work. Stella watches the way he grabs whatever clothing he could get his hands on, a few ready to go food, two pistols, and a shotgun. She frowns, worried; “Where are you going?”

Thomas froze like a deer caught in headlights; a comically large backpack open in front of him. “I’m going on a trip for a little while,” he says after a moment of pause. Not once did he even try to meet Stella’s emerald eyes.

Her response was predictable, a loud noise of disagreement that managed to make both Lyra and Flux tumbling out of their respective bedrooms. Thomas cruelly had ignored her pleas to stop, keeping his rhythm going until he was sure he had everything he needed. A satisfied grunt came out of his mouth once the essentials are safely tucked inside.

“You can’t do this,” Stella argued, “can’t you at least tell us where you’re going?”

Good question. “I’m not quite sure,” Thomas’ voice trailed off with uncertainty, enough to make Stella stomp her feet towards the cottage’s door.

She had her arms crossed in front of her chest; eyebrows furrowed. It was the most serious expression she has ever given him in a while now. “You’re not leaving.”

“You’re leaving?” Lyra repeats in shock.

“Not permanently!”

“But you’re still leaving!” Stella’s voice was raised, coming out with a painful crack once she had uttered out the last word. It’s only by then did Thomas meet her eyes, finally noticed how terrified she looked. Her pupils are dilated, arms and lips trembling. Her breathing is coming out rapidly, body tense. “You’re leaving us.”

It wasn’t just a statement nor was it a question; Stella’s words came out as an accusation, and something about that fact hurts. “I’m not,” Thomas argued back, gripping his backpack’s shoulder straps tighter.

If he was being honest, it would’ve been so easy to lose his temper. It would’ve been so easy to blatantly ignore all of his friends (family, they’re his family) calls and leave into the unknown. It would’ve been so easy to slowly push Stella out of the way and exit this home of theirs. But Thomas watches the way Stella froze even further, the fear in her eyes doubles as more seconds passed by. He could see the corner of her eyes being filled with tears, her skin slowly turning paler and paler. A glance to the side, and he could see a similar expression on Lyra’s face, and disappointment in Flux’s.

Perhaps he had underestimated just how much damage Paradise did to their lot.

Thomas’ eyes softened. “Hey,” he whispers to Stella while his right hand grabbing her left ones, gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll come back, I promise. I just—I need to see someone.”

The other didn’t look convinced, choosing to squeeze Thomas’ hand further. At that, the latter forced out a smile. “Please, Stella. There’s one more person who deserves an apology from me.”

And the hold had faltered a little, but just enough.

“It’s Augustus, isn’t it?” It was Flux, tone unreadable. Thomas wasn’t surprised to see him being the first to connect the dots; he was there when the argument started after all. While Flux didn’t quite get a grasp of how badly the argument between them was, the fact that Thomas refused to talk about anything regarding Augustus was enough proof of how it went down.

Today would be the first time Augustus’ name is called since Paradise.

A confident nod from Thomas. “Yes.”

Flux hums, leaning his body to the side, resting against the wall. “West. Go west, and you’ll find him.”

Huh. “How did you know?”

“He told me, when we left Paradise.” The older male didn’t want to meet his eyes as he answered. “It’s warmer there, even at night.”

Thomas’ response is immediate. He responded with a hiss, a trace of irritation behind his voice; because how could he not when he had spent countless nights crying over their unresolved argument, wondering if he would have the chance to finally apologize. “You know where he is this whole time?”

Just like any other day, Flux’s reaction was kept neutral. The only time Thomas remembered that monotonous expression crack was when they had been reunited before escaping Paradise; that regretful and almost pathetic face burned in the back of his mind. While back then Thomas felt too much anger to even appropriately look at Flux, 27 days later did he realize he does not like seeing that expression on the older man’s face.

This time however, Thomas wished there was some semblance of guilt behind those violet eyes of his. Flux’s demeanor didn’t change. He merely looked away; “he refused to come back.”

Almost immediately did that anger dissipates. All Thomas felt now is the exact guilt he wanted Flux to feel, perhaps tenfold. Because at the end of the day, Thomas knew he was the reason Augustus refused to return. He was the one who dug his own grave and earned the consequences, rightfully so.

“Okay.” The brunette nods. “West. I’ll go west.”

Flux’s mouth parted, closed, and parted once more. Thomas watched the whole time, eyes never leaving the older man. A hesitant look appears on Flux’s face, his palms opening and closing slightly while he contemplated his next words. In the end, he chose something simple. “Come back safely. Please.”

Thomas thought about the word love plenty of times since that conversation with Meagon. He understands it, to some extent. Maybe not as well as he would’ve liked, but enough to know that he loves these people. He loves Stella and the way she forgives; he loves Flux and his dry yet protective heart; he loved Magic and the kindness she once brought. He loves Augustus and everything about him.

“I will,” Thomas smiles, “I promise.”

Stepping outside of the Reyn Family Farm after Paradise always felt like an uneasy sensation. Most of the time, Thomas had let Flux and Stella take charge of outside expeditions, not quite excited at the thought of leaving home. Or well, just leaving in general. Thomas guessed it had something to do with those last days in Paradise.

He knows the areas surrounding them well enough to be confident, but what comes after is tricky. Thomas passed by the largest tree he has ever seen in his life, followed by a small river he had no idea existed up until now. There were a couple of wild rabbits running and a small fox he had gotten a glimpse of before it disappeared behind the forest’s bushes.

A sheep approached him at some point in his journey, and Thomas shared his fair share of wild berries to it out of pure curiosity on whether or not the animal would eat it (It did, so now unfortunately, Thomas is low on 5 berries). There was nothing truly special about his journey. It was mostly an excruciating silence that he never enjoyed. How could it be not? Thomas is alone in an area he’s never been to.

The male left behind Stella, Flux, and Magic to go on this journey. While ideally, he would return in a week’s time, Thomas was also a logical person. About a million different things could happen throughout his little impulsive trip that could cause his death; starvation, hypothermia, falling into a ravine, mauled by an animal, or being unable to fight back against the infected.

There’s only a small chance he’s able to get out of this unscathed, smaller if he considered that the only reason he’s out here was to find Augustus. Thomas is smart enough to know his limit, and he was certainly intelligent enough to realize nothing about this trip would be safe.

Yet, he still left. Why was that? Like a mantra, Thomas repeats one sentence in his head the whole time.

(I want to see you. I want to see you. I want to see you. I want to see you.)

The first signs of life Thomas saw was in a form of a fallen tree, though not by any natural means; it was cut in half by an axe. A breath of relief escapes the brunette’s lips, picking up his pace to follow the compass pin. The signs continue in little ways he could notice. There was an empty can of soup on the ground with ants roaming all around it, and then an oddly shaped flower crown abandoned nearby. A broken pencil. An empty lighter. And finally, fresh footprints.

Someone is here—or was. Either way, the chances of that person being Augustus would never be zero. Call Thomas idealistic or borderline delusional, he doesn’t care. He couldn’t care less as he began to run towards a small clearing area within the forest, far too similar to the one he had passed by back in Paradise.

(Augustus. Augustus. Augustus. It has to be him. Please let it be him. Augustus. He wants Augustus. He missed Augustus.)

Thomas is running now, though he didn’t even realize it. His amber eyes are too focused on the sight in front of him, a tunnel vision to the clearing that’s getting closer, and closer, and closer until it’s only an arm’s reach away and—

He’s here. Thomas couldn’t breathe. All the plans and the words he’d like to say got caught in his throat, a jumbled mess inside of his head. Augustus is here, and Thomas couldn’t look away.

There was a bit of difference since the last time they’ve met. Augustus’ hair is longer, unkempt, unevenly reaching his shoulders as if he had stopped caring about his appearance. The male’s eyes are worn, tired, an obvious look of distress painted all over it. Thomas couldn’t breathe, because no matter what, Augustus still looks just as beautiful as the day he left.

Their eyes are unmoved whilst they stare at one another, deep brown eyes wide in shock while Thomas’ amber ones couldn’t help but show contempt—because at least Augustus is alive. He’s breathing, awake, and for the love of God he’s alive. Thomas has never been a religious person; he doesn’t quite get the concept of praying to a higher being that scientifically shouldn’t exist, but he wanted nothing more than to go down on his knees and pray.

“It’s you,” the brunette gasped out after a minute of silence. “It’s really you.”

Augustus drew in a breath of air. “You’re alive.”

His tone was confusing to say the least. Thomas couldn’t comprehend was exactly the latter was feeling, but he assumes it was confusion by how furrowed Augustus’ eyebrows had become. And then there was a small detail he picked up, a spark inside of that brown eyes Thomas had missed so, so much. Relief, perhaps. The brunette felt something small gets lifted off his shoulders knowing that at least some part of Augustus didn’t want him dead.

But then the eye-contact broke, and Augustus looked away.

Thomas stumbled in his words, trying (and failing) to form some sort of comprehensible statement that could justify his sudden appearance. At the end, he settled for the journal, silently taking the old ratted book out of his backpack and displaying it for the other to see.

More expressive than he was before, Augustus gasped, instinctively stepping forward to grab the journal out of Thomas’ hands. The smaller male immediately scanned through every pages as closely as he could, eyes moving left and right while he recites each paragraph and sentences.

How often does Augustus read that journal? Does he stay up like Thomas did, fingers barely hovering above the paper, afraid that a single touch might ruin what’s left of the ink.

“I—I just wanted to return that,” Thomas pathetically stutters, “it’s yours, right?”

The distrust and confusion in Augustus face was clear as a day, and Thomas was ready to fight tooth and nail in his own defense if it comes down to it. Anything to keep this distance longer, anything to get closer. But Augustus wasn’t angry at all. He had a calculating look on his face, eyes moving up and down to inspect Thomas before he let out a silent defeated sigh.

“Thank you. You can leave now.” Augustus never questioned how Thomas managed to escape Paradise nor how the journal had come to his possession. Did Augustus not care enough? Did he not care anymore?

Thomas steps forward. “Who are they?”

“He was a friend.” Hesitance. Not once did Augustus met his eyes.

But Thomas focused more so on Augustus’ choice of words. Was. Past-tense. Gone. Thomas was deadly afraid to think that sentence would describe his place in Augustus’ world just as well. “I see,” the brunette replies before the air is filled with an awkward silence.

“We’re you close?” He’s digging a grave he couldn’t get out of. Stop. Stop it. Stop making everything worse. Stop making him leave. “The two of you; were you close?”

A bitter look flashed onto Augustus’ face, and Thomas finds himself shrinking. “Why are you here Thomas?” Despite the frustrated tone the male had used, Thomas couldn’t help but feel something inside of his chest moved once the sentence was said.

(It was the first time in months that Augustus had called him by name. The brunette could only focus on the fact that he finally heard Augustus’ voice calling him again. Augustus’ voice finally said his name. He said his name. He said it. He called him. Augustus called his name.)

Thomas tried to control his heartbeat.

“I—I just wanted to—” (See you. I wanted to see you.) “—return the journal to you.”

“I just thought it was important to you.” (I miss you.)

Those brown eyes of his is filled with doubt, still avoiding contact with Thomas’ amber ones, but the male had let out a sigh of defeat after a moment of silence. “It is.” Augustus turned around. “Thanks.”

He’s leaving again. Now, perhaps, for good. With the journal gone and Augustus leaving, there would be no more proof that Thomas and Augustus were ever friends. There would be no more proof of Augustus’ existence in his world that he could hold onto. He would disappear, and there would be no reason for Thomas to keep chasing after him.

“Did you love him?”

The speed at which Augustus met his eyes is almost comical, an expression of horror and disbelief in his face. He’s angry, if Thomas had to guess. If searching for Augustus wasn’t the first mistake he made, not shutting up at this moment is.

“He kissed you,” Thomas reasoned, “he wrote about it. In the last page.”

“You read through the journal.” A statement, not a question. It made Thomas visibly flinch, unconsciously taking a step back.

“I’m sorry.” The brunette mumbles back automatically. Augustus took a step forward; Thomas took a step back. The action kept repeating, and soon enough had Thomas finds himself trapped between Augustus and a tree stem. Even with their height difference; even with the way Thomas is almost a head taller than the other man, he felt so much smaller. He felt like Augustus was looming over him.

Now their eyes met. Thomas completely forgotten how cold Augustus could look. Cold, calculating, distant, bitter—

“You’re still upset,” Thomas whispers. Truthfully, he should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. Augustus forgiving him, accepting him back with open arms was such a distant dream that Thomas guiltily prayed for. It seems like his prayers were left unheard of though, as there was nothing but disdain behind those beautiful brown eyes.

Augustus’ breath hitched. “No fucking shit.”

Thomas opens his mouth to respond, but once more Augustus had beaten him to it. This time however, there was so much more than anger behind his tone. There was raw desperation, a longing complexion, as well as ache. Thomas couldn’t comprehend every hint that came out of the male’s voice, far too focused on the devastated look in the latter’s expression.

“You were supposed to be good!” Augustus screamed, and Thomas listened. “You were supposed to be the one good thing in my life. I thought that—that there’s finally someone worth giving my life to. You were supposed to be good.”

A sharp, strong tug on Thomas’ red bandana. He flinched in retaliation, but lets his body get dragged forward until their faces were mere inches apart. It was to the point where this feels almost intimate. Thomas could see the difference shades of brown in Augustus’ eyes, and feel his breath on his cheek. Thomas wondered if Augustus would notice the same details about him.

“You were my hope. You were supposed to save me. You were—” the male whispered, lips trembling. His voice wavered, but never once did Augustus looked away from Thomas. “You were mine.”

What came out of Augustus’ mouth didn’t make sense at all to him however. Thomas was never someone’s hope, and he could never be someone’s savior. He was a selfish coward, and Augustus sentence described someone far from who he is in reality. But he couldn’t focus, not when he heard that last sentence with his own ears.

You were mine—those words rang. Thomas lips moved without thinking. “I told everyone the truth.”

Heavy silence. “What…?” Augustus frowns.

“Stella, Meagon, Rotation, Nobody; I told them the truth about the bus.”

Hearing silence felt worse than the screaming. Augustus didn’t reply, nothing but the same confused stare, so Thomas became desperate.

“I’m yours,” he gasps, instinctively grabbing Augustus’ hands. “I can be yours again—I’ll do anything. I promise.” Still silent.

“I’ll search for Jawn, or Jonathan, or Spidey—or whoever is left. I’ll look for them and tell them the truth.” Everything else came out unintelligible. “I didn’t—I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

Unknown if it’s a stroke of luck or if the world was truly against him; but the sky started raining, painfully similar to how their last argument occurred. It was a single drop of water at first, but they both know it would soon turn into a drizzle. By now, with Thomas desperately clinging onto Augustus’ hand while the other stayed silent.

Just as Thomas was about to come up with a thousand more excuses, anything to get Augustus to reply, the said male released the tight grip he had on Thomas’ bandana. Instantly, the hold Thomas’ himself had on Augustus’ hands broke away.

The white-haired male stared at Thomas with unreadable eyes, as if searching for words that couldn’t quite come out just correctly. In the end, Augustus settled for a sigh, turning around and motioning Thomas to follow. “Come on.”

Unsurprisingly, Thomas listened obediently, walking a few steps behind the male. The road they took is almost unpredictable. There was no hint of desire path, every footstep hidden behind the forest’s existence and only taken by someone who knows where they’re going. It didn’t take long before they’ve reached a small clearing, hidden from any signs of human life. In the middle, is a large “tent”. Thomas would’ve never found this place if Augustus hadn’t led him right to it.

When Augustus approaches the shelter, Thomas followed suit.

Tent would be a large understatement if he had to say himself. Tent usually describes a portable shelter made out of just fabrics placed on top of poles, but Augustus' shelter is a well-built makeshift one-room house from tree branches and stones. While it wasn't as big as the cottage in The Reyn Farm back home, it was much, much bigger than what Thomas could recall back in Paradise.

He also noticed that it held a lot more things inside; there was an old bed-frame with a ratty mattress on the corner of the room, the bed unkempt. Another corner held the kitchen area, a long table filled with canned foods and newly acquired cooked one on top. There was also a wooden shelf which Thomas assumes is used as a closet. Lastly, there was only a singular chair and small table inside.

How did Augustus even manage to build all of this by himself?

"I didn't make this," Augustus suddenly said out loud as if he heard the brunette's thoughts, "I found it."

"Oh." Thomas fidgets nervously, feet frozen on the house's entrance. The rain started to pour harder.

Augustus raised an eyebrow, motioning for him to come inside anyway; and that he did. Flux didn't lie when he said the west area is warmer, even with the rain. Thomas had to keep pulling the red bandana around his neck lower and lower to keep the air circulation going. God, he's this close to burning.

The door was shut close by Augustus. "Sit."

Immediately, the brunette chose to abide by sitting in the closest surface he could find; which was the bed. It creaked with the extra force of Thomas' body weight. Augustus on the other hand, chose to drag the lone chair right in front of the former after grabbing two cloths and practically throwing one onto Thomas.

Silence. While Augustus gaze at Thomas, the latter didn't have enough bravery to look back, choosing to stare at the hands resting on top of his thigh. After a while, Augustus sighs. "Tell me the truth Thomas," he tiredly voiced, "you're not here just to return that journal, are you?"

Was he always this much of an open book? Or was Augustus just the exception.

"I—" Thomas hesitates, the words he's been dying to utter out died in his throat. Lying felt easier. He'd feel more comfortable with Augustus not knowing the truth.

"Yeah. I didn't."

(It's almost terrifying how easily Augustus is able to tear the truth out of him.)

"So why?"

Like ripping off a band aid, he thinks again, a mantra. "I missed you."

Augustus flinched at that; Thomas wasn't sure what it meant. His brain accepted the reaction as a negative one, as something akin to disgust and loathe, so it moved by instinct.

(There are four primary ways that an individual could react when faced with conflict. Flight, responding to the threat by confronting the conflict themselves. Flight, a response done by escaping or avoiding the conflict, removing oneself from the situation. Freeze, the act of becoming immobile when faced with a threat.

And Thomas, is fawn, responding by trying to please or appease the threat in order to avoid conflict. Thomas would do anything to erase that look from Augustus' eyes.)

"I can look for everyone else," he reasoned, earning no reaction. "I'll tell everyone the truth. I'll apologize to them." No answer. "I'll be better for you, please forgive me." No response. "I—I'll do anything. Anything you want Augustus, so please—"

Silence. Thomas didn't even realize how his sitting posture had changed drastically, body hunched forward while both his hands are clenched together into one, nails digging painfully into his skin; not that he'd notice nor care. No longer was he searching for Augustus' eyes, merely letting the pair of amber pupil stare into the wooden floor.

"I—" the male's words faltered. "Augustus. Please respond."

Nothing.

Thomas wanted to die right then and there before he realized one last truth left unsaid. Not a lie that needed to be fixed, but a fact that needed to be confessed. He had nothing more to lose, not when Augustus kept looking at him like that.

So, Thomas stopped cowering. He once again raised his head, though not brave enough to make eye contact.

“Augustus.”

His voice is smaller than he intended—he was never the bravest out of the group after all. But that didn’t matter now.

“I love y—“

There was a loud screech of wood against wood, the chair in front of him being pushed away and discarded with a thud on the floor. Thomas shuts his eyelids close, expecting Augustus to leave like before. He was proven wrong once he felt the latter’s presence right in front of him, the close proximity made his breath hitch. Never once did he dare to open his eyes.

Cold hands cradled his cheeks, and Augustus’ lips connected with his own.

Thomas has read about kisses before in both several romance novels, as well as educational biology in the hormone section. On most parts, kissing would release endorphins into the body, it elevates an intense emotion or euphoria. Relieve pain, reduce stress, and makes you feel good—it’s why most would describe kissing like a firework; sudden, exciting, and addictive.

Thomas didn’t realize how warm it would feel however.

He barely had any time to catch his breath, gasping out of surprise before Augustus connected their lips once more. Thomas tried his best to follow the other's movement, but it felt like his head is up in the clouds; him, someone who was always ready with data and factual information, rendered almost helpless by one action.

Both of their lips are chapped, rough from either days of dehydration or an overall harsh living environment, but somehow Thomas did not mind at all. Not when it was Augustus kissing him. There was a quiet sound of contempt hummed out of the latter’s mouth, and Thomas relishes in it. Every time he tries to utter out a word or any sort of hints that his brain is still working, Augustus would strip that away from him in mere seconds

"Augustus—" he gasped out loud, silenced by another kiss. There was a push strong enough to send him collapsing, back hitting the soft mattress while the smaller man didn't even waste his time.

The mattress dips from the force of both of their body weight. As their bodies move in sync, never once did Augustus' lips separate from his, not that Thomas minded. No, his head was too caught up with how addictive it was. There was pressure on both of his wrists, trapped on the side of his ears by Augustus' grip.

(He’s burning, and he’s restless, but it’s unknown which man is.)

A nip of his bottom lips is enough sign for Thomas to meekly part his mouth. Tongues and teeth clashed against one another, and once more did he struggled to breathe. The kiss was filled with rush and urgency; Augustus is running a marathon while Thomas could barely keep up with the pace.

Why was he rushing? They had all the time in the world, so why was Augustus acting like Thomas would disappear at any second?

With a small whine, Thomas tried to whisper the other’s name once more. “Augustus—” It came out rasped, barely audible to Augustus if it wasn’t for the fact that there is no personal space between them. “—slow down.”

Thomas knows he looks like a mess. And he knows damn well Augustus wasn’t fairing much better by the looks of it. Their faces mirror one another, face flushed and lips red, panting from the loss of air that couldn’t be taken in-between the kiss. An unreadable emotion passed by Augustus face before the male completely disregarded Thomas’ words.

Once again, their lips met, although steadier than before. It wasn’t as hasty as before, but still there was a sense of urgency within it. It’s easier to breathe now. A bite of his bottom lip made Thomas gasp, opening his mouth wider and earning a pleased hum from Augustus, enough motivation for him to continue their pace.

That pair of lips moved downwards. Thomas couldn’t do anything about it considering his wrist is still trapped beside his ears. It was tight enough to not hurt, but Thomas didn’t have the desire to leave his spot. A content sigh escaped him when Augustus started kissing his neck, and lower to the point where those lips reached the junction between it and shoulder. Seems like it was the correct move considering Augustus repeated the action.

Another kiss, more hurried and quicker, like Augustus wanted to devour him alive. At this point, Thomas would welcome him with open arms. Anything for Augustus. Thomas was used to taking, but if Augustus wanted to take from him, he’d let him.

And then everything stopped so suddenly.

When their kiss parted, Thomas had unconsciously chased after Augustus by raising his head to follow where those lips went. More. He desperately wants more. He needed more of Augustus. Thomas was ready to risk everything and continued their kiss, up until he felt it; a drop of water on his cheek, and then another.

Only then did Thomas realize that those water droplets were tears. On top of him, Augustus was crying.

That daze his brain is filled with disappeared in an instant, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Augustus...?"

"Thomas," the other whispers meekly, "tell me to stop. Please."

Even with tears falling from his eyes, Augustus never fails to take his breath away. His heartbeat palpitated. "I won't," he whispers just as quietly. Augustus' tears didn't stop either. It kept pouring, bathing Thomas' cheeks.

A bitter laugh escapes the white-haired male’s lips. "I'm a hypocrite Thomas." Before the said male could interject, denying his friend's (what were they now?) accusation, Augustus continued. "I wanted to die."

Thomas’ eyes widened at the confession. "I wanted to die for you."

“You were supposed to be the one good thing in my life. I thought that—that there’s finally someone worth giving my life to. You were supposed to be good.”

“You were my hope. You were supposed to save me.”

Those sentences echoed back in Thomas’ head, a silent understanding. Humans are a filled with complexity, so Thomas should’ve known better than to accept Augustus’ hatred at face value. Thomas was never a hero. He always wanted to be one from a young age, though Paradise truly did show him his own true colors. He wasn’t meant for heroic actions nor becoming a savior; but it seems like Augustus thought otherwise.

“I thought that—I thought if I died for you, if I died saving you, he’d forgive me.” It doesn’t take a genius to realize who the person Augustus is referring to. Thomas let himself be an open book once more, face contorted into an unpleasant expression. At least it made Augustus laugh, no matter how small and barely noticeable it was. “I thought that if I give my life for yours, my life would be worth something at least. So, when you told me the truth, I was so, so disappointed.”

“I thought you hated me. You were upset with me.” Thomas repeats, which Augustus responded with a dismissal shake of his head.

“Not you. Never you.” Augustus grip on his wrist tightened. “I hated myself more for believing I could be saved.”

Like the tides have turned, it was now Thomas’ turn to be silent. Augustus stared back with mixed emotions—bittersweet—and continued with his revelation. “It was never about the bus. It was never about your lies. It was just me.” A pause, followed by a bitter, defeated chuckle. “I’m sorry that I subjected you to my selfishness.”

The hold on the brunette’s wrist faltered, and Thomas uses it to his advantage. He gently removed the hold Augustus had on him, raising both his arms upward to finally cradle the other’s cheeks. Using both his thumbs, Thomas wiped those tears away, delicately as if one singular wrong move could cause Augustus to disappear. The said male didn’t move away. Rather, he unconsciously buries himself deeper into the warm touch.

They stayed in that position for some time, Thomas repeatedly caressing Augustus’ cheeks while the latter melts into it. The dam had broken, and Augustus sobs. “I’m sorry,” he cries, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Thomas retorts, “not to me. There’s nothing to forgive.”

Because it’s true. Augustus wasn’t innocent, Thomas even less, but sometimes the world couldn’t be resolved by mere apologies. There was nothing Augustus could apologize for, not when they’ve equally destroyed each other bit by bit—is what Thomas realized.

Augustus didn’t seem to agree with his thoughts however. “Hate me,” the male practically begged.

“No,” Thomas stubbornly responds.

Augustus’ lips trembled. “Please hate me.”

“I can’t.” His voice came out just as desperate. With gentleness, Thomas pulled him closer, close enough to finally feel each other’s breath once more. Augustus followed his movement without hesitation. “I don’t think I’m able to.”

Sometimes Thomas forgets. He forgets to do his daily chores. He forgets to rest when he’s far too immersed in his work. He forgets to eat when the memories of Paradise became too much. He forgets that other people have just as much blood on their hands. And he forgets that others also carry the same burden he does—Augustus, unfortunately, was not an exception.

There are times where Thomas thinks Augustus is untouchable, that there’s absolutely nothing in this world that could kill the man who had survived years alone in Paradise, but Thomas now knew he was wrong. Watching the way tears had freely fallen from Augustus’ usually cold brown eyes, Thomas realized he was so, so wrong.

He’d do anything to make that expression disappear, anything to take that weight off of Augustus’ chest. Because that’s what he’s good at. He keeps taking and taking until there’s nothing left; that damn greed of his.

For now, he embraces it. Thomas gently pulled Augustus even closer, and his greed had resulted with their lips meeting once again. It’s not at all similar to the kiss beforehand. This one was more delicate, more hesitant with less rush and adrenaline, but just as intimate.

It didn't last long, far shorter than Thomas would've liked it to be, but he chose to once again separate their lips. Rather than meaningless words, Thomas kept Augustus face in his palm, gently guiding the male closer into his chest. From the first meeting, Augustus has always been the smaller one between them despite his rougher exterior, but having the male basically letting his weight drop on top of Thomas truly was the cherry on top. 

Augustus is light, and so small in his hold. Trying not to let his tears fall from his eyes, Thomas held Augustus in his arms. "Please don't apologize," the brunette repeats, burying his face into the other's hair. At the same time, he felt Augustus move his arms around his waist, letting their embrace mutually connect. 

Muffled apologies escapes Augustus' mouth, and Thomas couldn't help but shush him. The room is silent, merely filled with muted sobs and delicate reassurance. 

(Paradise took too much from everyone; from Augustus, from Thomas. But perhaps sometimes in the future they'll learn to properly grieve together. Not now, and maybe not anytime soon, but they'll learn to be a bit better. One day, Augustus and Thomas will learn to be truthful and to accept themselves.)

And in just a few months, Thomas will find himself comfortably seated next to Augustus on the cottage’s front porch, leaning onto the smaller male’s side while they both enjoyed a quiet afternoon together. Their hands will be intertwined together, calloused and harsh from the years of struggle against living.

It wouldn’t be perfect; the weather is too hot, the infected are slowly becoming more active, and no one could ensure that they’ll be safe tomorrow. There would be many things left unsaid between them, truths that feel too personal and dangerous to be spoken of. But it would be enough for them. Here, in this small, old, creaky wooded front porch, Thomas finds peace.