“war and zombies and cool weapons n death and betrayal and yes”

[warning... this one will hurt]

 

Seyoung pursed his lips into a grim line and stared intently at the wall across from him. He could feel the wary looks, the glares.

--

Hey, guys! I got it! Open the door!

--

It was nothing personal. It really wasn’t. But right now, when the world had essentially gone to hell in a flaming handbasket made of barbed wire, it was survival of the fittest. If sacrifices had to be made for maximum benefit, then so be it.

--

Guys? Hey… guys come on. Don’t pull that joke again.

--

Never let it be said that he didn’t try to save everyone. He did. But when he’d realized that it wasn’t possible, he had to… Seyoung shook his head. He chose to.

--

Hey, guys. It’s not funny anymore. Guys, I can hear something on my side.

--

He had stayed behind, leaning against the barricaded door, eyes squeezed shut, burning the memory into his brain. He didn’t deserve to run away from this. He didn’t deserve to forget that he had done this. He stayed until the screaming stopped.

--

Casper looked around at the others. Red-rimmed eyes looked back, whether it was from the chemicals, or lack of sleep, or crying, he couldn’t tell. He was sure he looked the same too.

If he looked hard. Beyond the tears that threatened to blur his vision again (that was strange, he was sure he was all cried out by now). Beyond the stinging dryness that clawed at the inside of his eyelids. If Casper looked hard enough, he thought he could see the haunted, harrowed despair in Seyoung.

Beneath all the layers of self-discipline, the shields that had been put up to protect himself, the walls upon walls upon walls where “Seyoung” had retreated and left them with the stranger sitting watch in the doorway. Beneath all of that, “Seyoung” was still there.

It had been three years. Three years since “Seyoung” had shown up at their door in the dead of night in the refugee camp, freshly deserted from the marines, uniform in tatters, covered in soot and grime and god-knows-what-else, begging them to run away because they were coming. He had given them all a weapon of some sort and told them to go with him, to run with nothing but the clothes they had on and the most durable pair of shoes they had. It had been three years since Seyoung had gone M.I.A from the marines to come back and make sure he got his friends out in time before the virus that had been engineered to decimate their opponents in the war backfired.

Casper leaned back, sighed, rubbed at his swollen, burning eyes and decided that he couldn’t, he wouldn’t hate Seyoung. He wouldn’t hate the Seyoung that had warned them and brought them with him. He wouldn’t hate the Seyoung that had managed to keep most of them alive thus far. He wouldn’t.

--

A week later…

Seyoung the sniper rifle into Takuya’s arms, “Go!”

“But--”

He almost laughed, “Get out of here!”

“Seyoung--”

“You guys have watched me enough,” Seyoung ignored the clattering, shuffling, groaning, echoing behind him, “You know how to survive.” He clasped the keys into Casper’s hands, “These go to the black Hummer out back. Head north, there’s a safe area there, that’s where I was trying to take us,” he gave a rueful almost-smile before giving them all a shove, “Now go!”

They hesitated for a moment. Seyoung thought he could see the despair in their demeanor increase tenfold. But then they were gone. He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. He could hear the hoard approaching just as he heard the engine start up.

Seyoung turned the corner and began walking towards the hoard of zombies. His breath froze in his throat and he heard his own deafening heartbeat in his ears. Well, how fitting. He pulled the grenade out of his pocket. Those familiar, bloodshot, dilated, crazed eyes seemed to ask, “Do you remember me? Do you remember what you did to me?”

He smiled, “Yes.”

--

Casper refused to turn around and look. He refused to even glance in the rearview mirror to see the explosion that had rattled him to the bone. He kept his eyes steadfastly on the road ahead, foot pressed down on the accelerator in the hopes that the engine would drown out the choking sobs that were coming from… one of the others? Or himself?

The road in front of him blurred but he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He wouldn’t hate Seyoung. Ever. He wouldn’t.

 

((sorry T-T))