You and Louis had made a mistake. Well, three mistakes. The first is: you decided to go fishing as the moon began to rise. Originally, y̶o̶u̶  Louis thought it would be smart to go fishing at night since the fish would harbour less energy to escape. The second: the rain was abysmal: torrential. You were soaked to the core and barely five minutes ticked by. And mistake number three, "Ah, fuck!" It suddenly dawned upon you you had forgotten the watering can.

Your sudden exclamation concerned Louis. "What's up?"

Heading back, you replied, "I forgot the watering can - I told Ruby I'd bring it." The mud wavered your balance, squelching beneath your shoes, encasing them in its muck. You shone your torch ahead, illuminating the scenery with an artificial white circle. 

An onslaught of jarring squelches alerted Louis' approach. He walked beside you, shoulders almost touching. He began speaking but suddenly grunted in panic. His reflexes were fast, plummeting his weapon and caving in the skull of his attacker. Blood seeped into the mud, creating an unsavoury mixture. "You ok?" Worry had never been more prominent in your tone. Panning the light down, the aftermath lay before you: a walker had latched itself onto Louis' ankle, gnawing relentlessly, desperate for his flesh. Hearing a sound nearby, your attention averted.

As the flashlight cast an eerie glow upon their pale, lifeless skin, the first of the walkers emitted a low, guttural groan. The sound seemed to reverberate through the empty trees, sending shivers down the spines of any living creature within earshot.

Others soon joined in, their voices blending into a dissonant chorus of despair and malevolence. The groans escalated, evolving into growls that seemed to crawl up from the depths of the earth. Each creature's vocalisation melded into the next, creating an overwhelming wave of sound that permeated the air. As they grew closer, their collective groans intensified, it was as if the very essence of death had found its voice, reaching out to claim the living and add them to their dreadful ranks.

You and Louis began to run, the sound of the approaching horde growing louder and more relentless. The haunting groans echoed, surrounding you with a sense of impending doom.

A downpour drenched the earth, turning the once-familiar trails into treacherous mud. The pitter-patter of raindrops provided an eerie rhythm as if nature itself were playing a haunting melody of warning. Your footsteps squelched in the muddy ground, slowing your escape and threatening to ensnare you in the muck. Twigs and branches snapped underfoot, echoing through the forest like gunshot cracks, announcing your location to the relentless pursuit. You dared not look back, for the mere sight of the advancing undead sent a surge of terror through your veins. The once familiar woods now seemed like an alien landscape, every shadow a potential threat, every rustle of leaves a harbinger of doom.

As the onslaught of rain poured from the darkened skies, the fishing shack stood as a potential sanctuary amid the chaos. "Louis!" You pointed to it, hurriedly making your way towards it, hearts pounding in both fear and anticipation. The need for shelter was urgent, and the shack presented a glimmer of hope in the desolate landscape.

With every step, the mud encased your feet, trying to slow your progress. But you pushed on, the cold rain soaking you to the bone. As you reached the dilapidated structure, you could hear the groans of the approaching undead, motivating you to move with increased urgency.

The wooden building was weather-beaten, showing signs of wear from years of neglect. Its warped planks and creaky hinges revealed the toll of time, but in this desperate moment, it was all you had. The interior was cramped and musty, but it provided shelter from the driving rain and offered a potential hiding place from the undead threat outside. You knew you had to fortify it quickly, turning it into a last line of defence against the encroaching danger.

Frantically, you searched the shack, gathering whatever materials you could find. Broken furniture, loose boards, and rusty nails became tools for survival. With your adrenaline-fueled determination, you set to work. You grasped the cluster of nails tightly and held a plank beside the window with your forearm, harshly hammering it into the wall with the back of your knife. The sound seemed to echo through the surrounding wilderness, a call to the lurking walkers. Louis desperately dragged chairs and pressed them against the door, gathering a few spears to further fortify, prepared to use the remainders as weapons.

Time was of the essence, and you had to work fast. The groans of the approaching walkers grew nearer, sending chills down your spine. Yet, you pressed on, knowing that your survival depended on securing this makeshift hideout.

As the final boards were hammered into place, a sense of relief washed over you. You had transformed the shack into a fortress, a meagre shelter but a sanctuary nonetheless. Breathing heavily, you stood ready, your wet clothes clinging to your exhausted bodies. You clutched your weapons, ready to defend yourselves if the undead discovered your hiding place.

"If we die," Louis panted, "I need you to know-"

You shushed him. "We're not gonna die." You replied in a whisper.

The sound of the rain combined with the distant moans of the walkers created an unsettling symphony of dread. Every creak and groan of the old building heightened anxiety, making you fear that your very presence would betray your hiding spot to the relentless herd outside. You stole nervous glances at one another, eyes wide with trepidation.

Each passing moment felt like an eternity, and the anticipation of the herd eventually moving on weighed heavily on your mind. You strained your ears to catch any sign of the walkers' movement outside, senses acutely attuned to every sound that permeated the walls.

Finally, the distant groans seemed to recede, and the sound of shuffling feet grew fainter. You stood with bated breath, hoping that the herd had passed by your location. It was a moment of intense relief mixed with an ever-present dread.

Exhaling, you slumped down against the wall, loosening your grip on your knife. "I think we're safe," you breathed, "for now, at least." Louis slumped gently next to you, resting his weapon to his left. The onslaught of rain violently tapped the flimsy material of the shack, bringing noise to the silence that lingered between you. Louis' sudden social retraction worried you. He was always talkative and upbeat, what changed? "You're not talking, is everything ok?" You asked. Your vacant stare trailed down to the blood splattered up his trouser leg, painting it claret. Recalling the attack, your heart stopped. Panicked, you jolted, "You're not bit, are you?!"

 "No, no, no! I'm not bit." Louis clarified, his urgency equal to yours. "I've just got stuff on my mind."

That made sense. "You know you can always talk to me, Louis. I'm here for you."

"Yeah, that's the issue." Louis took a breath, eyes fixated on an area of the ground. "I don't want that to change." 

You weren't sure if you were more curious or concerned. "Why would it?"

"You wouldn't get it." He dismissed, leaving you in silence. You hugged your knees closer to your chest, frigid, solemnly staring through the window's barricades, watching the relentless rain patter against the glass. Resting your chin upon your knees, you wished for warmth, your arms were engulfed by goose bumps; ice to the touch. The prevailing silence assisted to no avail, feeling as if it worsened the situation. "It's just..." Louis broke the silence, "since you showed up, you've always been there, even if you didn't need to be, you were. Most people just stick around for the surface-level shit, you know: the jokes, the games, the piano then go. I don't know why you chose me, hell, I don't know anyone who would, except maybe Marlon, but, still, you did. Why?"

Slowly, your neck craned to meet his soft stare - the answer on the tip of your tongue, desperate to break loose and reveal itself. Parts of you wanted to keep your feelings a secret. What if it made things weird? What if he didn't feel the same? Whereas the other knew you had nothing to lose aside from a little dignity; it was now or never. Taking a breath, you admitted, "I like you."

Louis was hesitant to respond, lost for words. Your heart galloped and your stomach did somersaults, anxious for his reply. "You've got some interesting taste in men." He said. "Not necessarily bad taste but definitely out of the ordinary." A heavy blush brought warmth to his face, his heartrate likewise to yours. He conveyed a nonchalant façade, maintaining his humour to mask the happiness which bubbled inside. "I've been told I'm the coolest cat this side of the apocalypse. But liking me? That's a new one. I would have expected something along the lines of pity, or maybe a murder plan, but having a crush on me? Woah. Haven't heard that one before." Unsure of what his true answer was, you quietly looked at him, hoping it would nudge a reply. Thankfully, he caught on quickly, "If that look is asking how I feel, then you got me," his typical charming grin adorned him, "I like you too." You were at a loss for words. Was he serious? This was amazing! He raised his right arm, "Up top."

You laughed, gently high-fiving him. "You have absolutely no game whatsoever."

"Well our previous discussion said otherwise, so whatever the 'game' is, I'm a professional." His grin widened.

"What?" You scoffed, "Louis, that makes no sense."

It didn't take long for Louis to close the gap between you, gently pressing his lips against yours experimentally. As your lips met, a tingling sensation sparked across your cheeks. You reached a hand up to cup his face as you deepened the kiss, lips moving together with a gentle urgency. It felt as if nothing else mattered - no worries or fears. There was only the moment, only the passion.

Pulling away, you took a breath. Words weren't suitable for this situation -  not anymore.

Leaning back in, a combination of joy and mind-spinning sensation submerged you, heart racing with anticipation. Your hands slowly travelled down his jawline, slithering around to interlock at the base of his neck, clinging to him as if he would leave. The feeling of his mouth wasn't cold or dominating, instead, it was a sparkling warm; so soft yet engulfed by pure passion. Passionate and desperate to communicate what his words failed to.

He smelt good, like he had kept an old cologne from the age before and knowing Louis, he probably had. Every sensation blended together: an amalgamation of bliss. His hands carefully laid upon your jaw, tilting your head up as you explored a new angle.

Time became irrelevant and soon you had kissed once, twice, until it dawned on you you'll never have enough. Your hands were everywhere: back, neck, cheeks, hair. And suddenly the kiss became harder, deeper, with a fervent urge neither of you had ever known.