Page 72 of Sick(ness)

She smiled faintly, remembering those awkward glances across the apartment complex, him with his quiet, deliberate way of moving, her with her forced small talk that he’d always seemed to want to escape from. If someone had told her then that she’d end up here, wrapped in his arms in the middle of an apocalypse, she’d have laughed them off.

But now, his arms were solid around her. His warmth was real.

She could sense the steady beat of his heart against her back, a simple, grounding sound that somehow meant more than words ever could.

Addy shifted slightly, turning her head enough to look at him. His face was relaxed in sleep, the sharp lines softened by the morning light. He looked younger like this, peaceful even, the soldier stripped away, leaving only the man underneath.

Her fingers brushed lightly over his forearm, tracing the faint scar that ran along it. He stirred a little but didn’t wake, his grip tightening around her for a heartbeat before settling again.

Addy emitted a little sigh, the sort that escapes when the world appears temporarily settled, even with the awareness of its fleeting presence.

She didn’t think about what waited outside — not the sickness, not the static on the radio, not the uncertain roads ahead. But at this moment.

Him.

And though she didn’t say it aloud, she thought it, the quiet truth that had been growing in her chest since the cabin, since the first time he’d said, “I love you.”

She loved him too.

And that terrified her.

She turned slowly in the shelter of the covers, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that lingered in the space between waking and the world. Her movement was gentle, a subtle rotation that let her study Sawyer’s face in the hush of morning.

She reached up and let her fingers hover above his cheek, reluctant to break the spell, but compelled by the need to touch something real. Her hand finally made contact, fingertips grazing the stubble along his jaw, trailing to the faint nick in the skin beneath his cheekbone. It was a slow, curious exploration, as if she were learning a language she’d never be able to speak out loud. She traced the path down to his throat, the steady thrum of his pulse, the warmth of the blood beneath his skin.

Sawyer’s eyelids fluttered. He blinked awake, bleary at first, then focused on her with a clarity that startled her, as if he’d known she was there the whole time, but had been waiting for her to look closely enough to see him. He smiled, a crooked, lazy expression that belonged to no one else, and in that moment he looked both impossibly young and anciently tired.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep but softened at the edges. Her breath caught at the intimacy of it, at the way he let down his guard. Without hesitation, he leaned in, closing the small distance, and pressed his lips to hers.

It wasn’t a cautious kiss, or a hesitant one; it was hungry and warm and honest, his mouth moving slowly but insistently against hers. She tasted the traces of the night before: the salt of sweat and the faint sweetness of the whiskey they’d shared in the dark. His tongue slipped past her lips, testing the warmth and yielding on the other side, and she let herself be drawn in, responding with a heat that surprised her.

They settled into the kiss as if it were a secret only they could share. Her hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His arm, heavy and sure, wrapped around her back and gathered her in, pressing her body flush against his. He made a small, contented sound at the contact, not quite a laugh, but something like gratitude, and deepened the kiss, the way a drowning man might cling to a raft.

Time stretched, suspended. The world narrowed to this point of contact, this small haven in a landscape of ruin and fear. For a few bright minutes, there was no hunger, no cold, no threat lurking outside the door. There were only their bodies, and the shared breath between them, the knowledge that they had survived one more night.

When they finally broke apart, it was with reluctance and a lingering smile. Sawyer tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, deliberate and awkward, as if he’d only recently remembered how to be gentle with another person. She rested her forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed, letting herself be still in the moment.

“You’re not getting up yet, are you?” she whispered, half a plea, half a joke.

“Not a chance,” he whispered back, pulling her closer until the world outside faded to nothing.

* * *

The rich aroma of coffee mingled with the sizzle of frying eggs, filling every corner of the small cabin with a deceptive sense of normalcy. Jay stood at the ancient cast-iron stove, his weathered hands moving with practiced efficiency, the spatula scraping rhythmically against the blackened pan. Across the room, Addy sliced through stale bread, the knife catching on the hardened crust with each downward stroke, before arranging the pieces on a flat stone near the crackling fire to toast. Sawyer sat rigid at the rough-hewn table, silent and watchful, a deep crease carved between his brows as he tracked the pale winter light strengthening through the frost-laced windows.

“Those eggs smell like heaven,” Addy joked, her voice cutting through the heavy morning quiet.

Jay gestured toward the eggs on their plates. “Preserved them myself,” he said with a hint of pride. “Old method my grandmother taught me: lime water solution in mason jars. Got about three dozen more stored down in the root cellar.”

They ate in near silence at first: the scrape of forks, the low hum of the generator, and the occasional crackle from the fire. Addy tried to enjoy it, tried to pretend it was simply breakfast, not survival. But Sawyer’s quiet had weight to it, and Jay picked up on it before long.

“You’ve got that look again,” Jay said, setting his mug down. “The one that says something’s gnawing at you.”

Sawyer hesitated and sighed. “There’s something you should be aware of.”

Jay leaned back, arms crossed. “Go on.”

“When Addy and I left our last cabin before the storm hit,” Sawyer began, “we realized we weren’t alone. Two men showed up, armed. They’d been following us for a while, maybe longer. It ended in a firefight.”