Dead EndChapter 12

There is a point when Jordan stops, ceasing all movements in front of the sink and mirror in the bathroom, and wonders what the hell he’s going to do now. He can’t go home, can’t return to his hometown either. Sebastian said that the city is under quarantine right now and Jordan is inclined to believe him (he hasn’t lied so far) but even if it wasn’t, Jordan isn’t a wilderness survival specialist or something equally useful. 

He can’t go on a six hour car trip on his own, and even if he found a car… would the gas stations work? Would the roads be clear, usable? Would the zombies chase after cars? How does these zombies work? Are they the same as the ones in the movies? Are they fast, slow, can they climb? czmafq

He knows nothing. He can’t go home like this, can’t make the journey on his own. And sure, he can ask Sebastian, but why would Sebastian agree to that? Sebastian, and Jordan too, is safe here. They have everything they need to survive for months, if not years. Why compromise their safety to go to a whole other part of the country, that might be completely overrun by zombies for all they know?

In the mirror, Jordan is pale, with dark rings around his eyes. He looks tired; exhausted, really. His shoulders sag, and his hair is limp. He needs a shower, and also possibly to spend three days straight sleeping. 

Chrysanthemum Garden.

We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.

He sighs at his reflection. Pushing back from the sink, he dries his hand on a towel and exits the bathroom, walking through the narrow hallway to where he left Sebastian.

It’s been two days straight of mind-numbing sitcoms and hot chocolate three times a day, and he’s finally starting to maybe feel like sort of a person again. The pressure in his chest is lighter, the hollow wound in his stomach easier to bear. The familiarity of the sitcoms has done far more for his peace of mind then he’d ever expected. And it helps… it helps that he’s not alone. sOClVh

Sebastian is right where he left him, still going through a box of non-perishables and counting cans. It seems like a lot of the stuff that’s here is stuff he’s ordered in bulk online, and he doesn’t actually know the exact amount of recourses that he’s collected. And so for the last few days, Jordan has been watching Sebastian steadily making long lists of inventories in a notebook. 

Clearing his throat, Jordan leans against the wall and asks, ”Going well?”

Sebastian doesn’t look up, merely nods as he notes something else down. Music is on in the background, though at a very low volume. Like this, Sebastian almost seems ethereal, his eyes focused and shadowed by his hair, his hands steady and fingers long. He’s been sitting in the same position for nearly three hours now, without any apparent issues at all. The seriousness that he treats his task with is something Jordan has never really seen before.

He doesn’t mind the lack of an answer. Inventorying is important, he knows. They need to know what resources they have in order to plan long-term. So instead of insisting on speaking with him, Jordan merely walks into the kitchen and sets about making a simple sandwich. He finds milk that hasn’t expired yet (though it will soon, it’s one of those products that are hard to stock up on) and pours it into a glass. Then he snags a napkin and is ready to go.

In the other room, Sebastian is just like Jordan left him. Still sitting still, still counting something. Jordan clears his throat, which doesn’t get a reaction, and says, ”I brought you food.”

Sebastian looks up at that. ”Oh,” his eyebrows furrow and his mouth opens a little—he looks surprised. Did he think that Jordan wouldn’t return the favor? That Jordan wouldn’t want to be kind to the person that had saved his life and brought him to a safe place during the actual zombie apocalypse?

”You didn’t have to do that,” Sebastian mutters, but he takes the dishes when Jordan holds them out.

Jordan hums. ”I wanted to,” he says. 8aIiOc

Sebastian continues, his voice hushed, ”You don’t have to do anything. I’m not going to throw you out. If you just lay in bed all day sleeping, I still would never throw you out. You don’t need to be useful, or contribute, or anything. You just need to be you.” He stops talking and rubs his hand over his eyes, sighing. ”I just want you to be safe.”

Jordan’s mouth hangs open. His face heats up. His heart thumps loudly in his chest. Finally, he looks to the wall and stares at the clock slowly ticking away. He licks his lips. He can’t think of anything to say.

”It was no trouble,” is what finally leaves him. He can’t tell if that was a bad or good response. Pressing his hand over his mouth, he bites down on the small smile that he can’t force down, unsure if it’s appropriate or not. His hands clammy as he says, ”I won’t take up any more of your time,” and beats a quick retreat into the hallway. 

There, he leans against the wall, his head almost banging against it. The burning in his stomach is easier to deal with out here, where he can’t see Sebastian. But he can hear him eat, first slowly and then increasingly picking up speed. Jordan stays where he is, his thoughts running in circles. Ayt15H

Why does Sebastian care about him so much? Why is he so kind to him, taking care of him, and just… being so good? He mentioned a dream about the future. Maybe Jordan should ask him more about that. But still—

”You’re so strange, Sebastian,” he mutters to himself, finally pushing off the wall and able to make himself leave. He returns to the kitchen to clear away the mess he made. Under his breath, he whispers, ”But it’s not a bad thing.”