"Minho, we're going to get in trouble," Taemin warned as he looked around at the surrounding houses. They'd all been abandoned and quite frankly, it was spooky to be breaking into an empty house. Bad things happened in empty houses. Taemin had watched those horror movies! He knew what went on in a house with 'only furniture.' Minho rolled his eyes and drew his beam back, smashing it into the door. The flimsy wooden board yielded under Minho's club.

"After you," Minho invited sarcastically, waving Taemin in. The boy bounced inside, checking the corners before sitting on a dusty couch. A cloud flew up into the air and Taemin's sneeze was so powerful that it actually lifted him off of his seat a little.

"It's dirty..." he mumbled, rubbing his nose. Minho was busy testing out the stove. He could smell the gas that came out when he started it up, but there were no matches.

"Taemin, can you make f—" Minho held off on asking Taemin anything when he saw the boy beating the cushions with a phone book, effectively creating a larger dust cloud. Right. Minho bowed his head and dug into the drawers, his hands only brushing on the smooth wood. The family that had lived here had cleaned everything out. He sigh.

"I'm hungry," Taemin chirped, bouncing to Minho's sighed and tapping him with the phone book and grinning. Minho rolled his eyes and tossed the tome to the side, turning Taemin to face the stairs.

"You can afford to miss dinner. Go upstairs and find a shirt, and then get to sleep," he ordered. Taemin was off as soon as Minho let him go, zooming upstairs as thought that were his original intention and flopping onto the bed. He rolled around on the fluffy sheets and dug his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his treasured sketch, unfolding it and staring at it.

Suddenly, he felt a cloud float over his happiness. This picture was a happy memory, no doubt, but it was also life before the zombies, the life of bloody fingers and every night in a strange room, smelling like sweat and fabric softener. The life of begging and scrapping and having to fight to even be on the street. No, those weren't happy memories. Just the picture. He sighed and folded the picture again, kissing the grainy paper and tucking it away again.

Now, he had to focus on being happy again, on blocking out all of the sadness, on just smiling and looking ahead, because that was all there was, right? Just keeping his chin up and pushing away the sad things. As long as hey didn't touch him, they couldn't hurt him.

Minho sighed as he looked around, trying to find anything he could use. The fridge was full of rotten milk and eggs, and the freezer was full of meat that he couldn't cook because there was no damn fire. He gave the kitchen a second look-around, searching drawers that he already knew were empty. It was hopeless, so he gave up and jogged upstairs.

"I'm cold," he heard Taemin murmur. He shook his head and sighed before stepping into the room and catching an eyeful of Taemin wrapped in a blanket, curled up on the bed and looking at his toes, which were sticking out from his quilted cocoon. Minho watched with interest as Taemin wiggled his toes and laughed at the movement, as if it was none of his doing.

"Come on, we should sleep so that we can get going before the zombies are awake," Minho said, trying to remain practical in the face of Taemin's antics, cute as they were. Taemin looked up and opened the side of the blanket like a wing, and Minho surrendered. He kicked off his shoes, crawled into bed and let Taemin share the blanket with him.

"Isn't this fun?" Taemin asked brightly, touching his icy foot to Minho's. The older boy recoiled a little with shock and sighed despite his smile. He let his foot cover Taemin's and wrapped his arm loosely around Taemin, rubbing the goosebumps on Taemin's arm and feeling the warmth return slightly to the slim body.

"Not particularly," he said, shrugging and noticing how Taemin's face didn't seem to react at all. He just kept the same smile, always that smile. To Taemin, that smile was the only thing between him and sadness. Minho felt the cold radiate from Taemin's body and frowned. "You're freezing... Why didn't you tell me that you were cold back at the gas station or something?" he asked softly, noticing how icy Taemin's hand felt against his knee.

"You couldn't have done anything about it," Taemin said with a bright grin before flopping back to sleep. "Okay, I'm tired now! No more talking! Time for sleep!" He waved at Minho, cutting off all conversation, and closed his eyes, covering his eyelids with his arm and breathing deeply.

Minho sighed as he looked down at Taemin. Logically speaking, Taemin was the worst companion he could have. The kid probably couldn't kill a zombie if his life depended on it, and he definitely wasn't the brightest lightbulb on the Christmas tree. He'd take half of Minho's rations, which were small to begin with, and he wasn't the most observant person Minho had ever meant. Dropping him would ensure survival.

And yet, it felt right with Taemin. Minho squirmed as he repeated the statement in his head. Ugh, so cheesy, but it was true. He felt light-hearted with Taemin at all the right times, and he didn't have to doubt his own humanity when there was such a shining example of human happiness next to him. When was the last time anyone had made him laugh? Not since the panicking had started, that was for sure. He looked at Taemin, who was bathed with sunset glows and innocence and sleep.

"Goodnight, then," he mumbled to the sleeping figure, laying down and turning his back to Taemin. He got as much of the blanket as he could, and appreciated its thickness. It was nice and warm under here...

Yes, he could almost call it comfortable...

What was that? Minho's eyes snapped open. Suddenly, the world wasn't sunsets and red clouds anymore. It was dark. Very dark. To Minho, it had only been a blink, but several hours had passed, and now in this dark world, something was moving downstairs.

"Mm... Minho?" he heard a soft voice mumble. Immediately, the older boy clapped his hand over Taemin's mouth, watching the boy's eyes open in fear. Minho pressed a finger to his own lips, and his companion nodded slowly. Minho slipped out of bed, his bare feet sliding into his sneakers. He reached for his club, but remembered that he'd left it downstairs. .

"Taemin, hand me something," he said, holding out his arm. Taemin looked around and let his mind go cold as he pulled a drawer from its socket and handed it to Minho. The older boy took it, surprised that he hadn't gotten a shoe or something, and headed downstairs. At the base of the stairs, he could see someone's shadow as the mysterious intruder rifled through the food supply.

", where's the good stuff?" a rough voice snarled. Minho snuck up behind the would-be thief and nearly vomited from the man's stench. The intruder wasn't a zombie, but he certainly didn't smell any better. Minho tried not to gag as he hit the huge bulging hulk of a person with the drawer, watching his makeshift weapon shatter in the thief's back.

"Get the out of this house!" Minho roared, trying to stand up to an intruder who was at least six inches taller than him... And sixty pounds heavier. The thief turned around with his eyes full of fury, and Minho barely dodged the fist that was aimed for his skull. The boy ducked into a roll and grabbed his beam, grunting as he swung it into his opponent's face.

"My eyes!" he heard the huge man scream as he covered his eyes. Minho staggered back with the recoil and swung again, watching blood spurt from between the large, sausage-like fingers.

"Get the away!" Minho roared, smashing his club into the man's back and causing the intruder to run out the way he'd come. Panting, Minho leaned on the weapon and watched the thief's retreat. Exhausted, Minho thoroughly checked the bags of food. Nothing was missing, lucky for the man, because Minho was a pretty fast runner when he was angry.

"Was it a zombie?" Taemin asked nervously as he came down the stairs. Minho looked up and saw the boy, dressed in an oversized t-shirt now, shivering as he looked at the damage. Minho sighed and tied up his blanket again, hoisting it around his shoulder.

"No, just some weird guy, but I best him off. Come on, let's get moving," he muttered, jerking his head toward the door. Taemin bounced to his side and held the hand that wasn't grubbing the beam. Minho sighed as he let Taemin squeeze his fingers.

"Why would someone try to steal from us? I mean... They're human too, right? Thy should know... They should know how hard it is to survive," Taemin whispered, his hand tightening around Minho's. The older boy sighed and drew Taemin closer, feeling the shivers in Taemin's body as he dragged them onto the streets. The sun wasn't even up yet, but its entourage of light made it a little easier to see the road ahead. The pavement stretched on into the horizon, and Minho knew that he'd have to follow it. He didn't know why. He didn't know where it was going. He didn't know if he'd ever make it.

He just knew that there was a road he'd have to take. Even when the pavement ended, even when the world split in half and the fires of Hell blocked his way, he'd keep going.

"Taemin, how far will you follow me?" he asked the boy as they passed rows and rows of houses, all broken in some way. Broken doors, shattered windows, decimated roofs, punched in walls. He felt like he was looking into a mirror as he watch the houses slowly plod by. Broken, empty, fighting to stand, surrounded but alone.

"I don't know," Taemin mumbled, shrugging as he watched the same houses go by. In his mind, he was piecing them back together, paint and shutters and windows and doors. Families were back inside, laughing and smiling and making memories. Sighing, he looked at all of those broken, burnt, destroyed buildings.

Where were those memories now?

"I'm with you for as long as you want," Taemin said finally, looking up at Minho with an encouraging smile. He'd be a good memory for Minho, he decided. Even if his own memories were bad, were memories that he could delve into, maybe he could make new memories with Minho.

"Good," Minho said before he could stop himself. Okay, maybe this wasn't the best scenario he could be in. Taemin would no doubt make survival much harder, and the world much more dangerous, but he was willing to take that risk. He wasn't afraid of fighting zombies or thieves or looters.

He was only scared of fighting his own inhumanity, and Taemin made that fight much easier than before.

Finally, the suburban houses crumbled away into town squares and previously-owned businesses. Minho could still read the signs for the old ice cream shop and the local general store. The pharmacy's door swung with a slight creaking sound, and the tiny restaurants did their best to throw their weight around as they were overshadowed by larger, more flashy chain names. It was sad to see how little the name mattered now.

They all ended the same way anyway.

"It used to be so beautiful," Taemin murmured. He sighed as he looked around at the demolished area, standing in the middle of the street and scanning the wreckage. Minho sighed and put an arm around Taemin, rubbing the kid's shoulder.

"Well, it's dust and bricks now," he murmured. Taemin sighed and looked down at the huge cracks in the pavement and the scraps of dust tumbling in front of his feet.

"Yeah, but..." He trailed off with a sigh. Minho bit the inside of his cheek in confusion and sighed too, trying to change the topic to something that was bound to cheer Taemin up a little.

"I'm starving. Let's eat," he said, trying to be as bright as Taemin would be. Taemin sparked up with the timely distraction and nodded eagerly, willing himself not to be melancholy anymore. Happily, he bounced after Minho, who was just glad to have the hyper Taemin back. A sad Taemin was too distracting.

"I want that pasta stuff that you got yesterday!" Taemin demanded as he hopped around Minho. The older boy rolled his eyes and chuckled as he sat outside of one of those smaller restaurants. Taemin sat in the chair across from him and watched as Minho beat in the covers of two cans of Chef Boyardees. He watched Taemin scoop up the chunky pasta with his fingers and off the sauce.

"You're really hungry, huh?" Minho asked in amazement as he used the broken cover as a spoon. Taemin nodded as he ate without pausing, carefully cleaning out the insides of the can and finally taking in a deep, satisfied breath.

"I just haven't had anything with actual flavor in a while," Taemin said with a dreamy sigh. Minho chuckled and nodded in agreement. In comparison to the stale bread he was used to eating, the canned pasta was dazzling in flavor.

"It was pretty good," he admitted as he pushed his empty can off to the side. He looked up at the sky, noting the blazing orb that was slowly ascending to the sky. . "We'd netter get moving. It's almost daytime."

"Wait," Taemin whined softly, grabbing Minho's hand. "Let's watch the sun rise. I'm sure it'll be beautiful," he said with one of those bright smiles that Minho wasn't too great at resisting. With a groan, Minho plopped down and watched the ing sun rise. Taemin sighed and leaned forward, chin in his hands as he watched the sky blanket itself in red.

Minho knew what that sun meant. Soon, it'd be too hot to move, even with the cooling weather. He and Taemin had to get moving quickly, or else they'd never find shade in time. As soon as the sun was over the horizon, he grabbed Taemin and hurried away from the open ground. Of course, the whole time, Taemin babble about the stupid sunrise.

"Wasn't it so cool? Wow, it was so pretty! I wonder if every sunrise is different, like snowballs! Or snowflakes? Are snowflakes the unique ones? Hey, Minho, do you think it'll snow?" Taemin asked, his eyes bright. He loved the snow. It made everything look like gingerbread houses! Maybe he and Minho could be gingerbread men for Christmas!

"Yeah, maybe," Minho mumbled quickly as he kept his senses open for zombies. The last thin he wanted was to be caught with his guard down. Taemin busied himself with poking Minho's blanket-bundle, playing a game with himself where he guessed what he was feeling. Was it a can or a bottle? He giggled happily as he guessed can.

"Minho, where are we going?" he asked happily as he noticed a large bridge up ahead. It used to be a place for cars to pass over and more cars to pass under, but now it was just... Dark.

"We're getting away from this town. The more isolated we are, the better. No chance of thieves or anything, and less chances of zombies," Minho growled softly as he approached the mini tunnel. Taemin nodded, understanding that this was serious business and that giggling was a big no-no. But he could still smile, right?

"Hey!" a voice shouted before a small bottle landed at Minho's feet and exploded into flames. Minho snarled and jumped back, shaking Taemin off and raising his weapon. He put himself between the boy and the direction of the little bomb, eyes scanning the length of the bridge. He saw their mystery attacker, well-hidden among the shrubbery that nearly consumed the area surrounding the tunnel. "What the to you want?"

"Just to get through. We're not after anything, I promise," Minho said calmly and slowly, trying to take a step forward. The voice let out a suspicious growl, and Minho dropped his club just as reassurance. Behind him, Taemin was covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all.

"Get the out of here," the voice snarled finally, and Minho grabbed his weapon and Taemin's arms. He dragged the boy with him and looked straight ahead, ready to attack anything that jumped into his peripherals. Taemin whimpered softly, fists clenched tightly and his entire body drained of color.

"Hurry up," Minho hissed as he felt Taemin's pace slow. The boy was looking around the walls of the tunnels, each second he wasted making Minho's heart pound harder. He growled as Taemin took in the graffiti on the bricks, screaming out messages for death and pain and destruction.

off.

Die, mutha fukkas!

Taemin shivered as he caught a few of the words. There was nothing warm and human about this place. It hurt, like a punch in the gut. He hated these words, so painfully familiar. He didn't want to think about these painful things. He wished that he could just cover his mind.

"I don't like this tunnel," he whimpered, speeding up and trying to get away. As soon as they were back in the sunlight, Minho could see clearly how terrified Taemin was. The boy's face was grave and his eyes were glossed over as he tried to get away from the tunnel. Taemin could feel the coldness and pain from that place wrap around him like suffocating tendrils.

"Why'd that guy get so aggressive? That place was ed up. There was nothing to protect, for 's sake," Minho muttered, in case that bomb guy was still listening. "He didn't even have food, the crazy bastard. What was he—"

"Maybe the painful memories were all that he had," Taemin whispered. Minho looked down at Taemin in shock, watching how stony the boy's face was. The sun was hitting Taemin's body at an strange angle, and the boy's frightened paleness made him look gray and even ghostly.

"Taemin... What are you talking about?" Minho muttered, trying to rouse back the old Taemin that wouldn't say something so creepy. The boy shook his head a few times and put on a shaky smile.

"Nothing!" he said, feeling himself get hyper again as he force-fed himself happy, sickly sweet thoughts. He looked ahead and grinned at the road that led to a highway, an empty river of mightiness that now held nothing. Taemin pulled his hand from Minho's walking ahead eagerly and leaving Minho in the dusty aftermath of confusion.

What had just happened?

"Taemin, are you feeling okay?" Minho asked, catching up to the boy and putting a hand on his shoulder. Taemin nodded happily and raced out onto the highway, looking at the streets and imagining all of those cars, impatient to reach pointless goals, racing to a never-ending conclusion.

"I'm fine. Just thinking," he assured, smiling sweetly up at Minho. He bounced forward, climbing over the little ridge that separated the two directions. Minho followed slowly, tossing his blanket bundle over first before climbing over himself. He sighed as he paused in the middle, sitting on the cold concrete and looking both ways at the emptiness.

"I doubt there are still cars out there... At least, operational ones. They've probably been scrapped down for metal or weapons," Minho sighed. Taemin leaned on Minho's thighs, resting his cheek on his cross arms. Minho absentmindedly Taemin's hair as he tried to figure out their next move.

"Do you think we'll die here?" Taemin asked, breaking into Minho's chain of thought. "I mean, I'd rather die here than in a junkyard, but I think I'd like to die in a field more, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Minho lied. In all honesty, he didn't see the big whoop of dying in some place that was just going to forget you after you died. Death was death. What was the big deal? Maybe if you wanted a nice view of death, but what would be the point?

"Where do you want to die?" Taemin asked. Minho sighed and looked at Taemin to fire back some stinging retort at the boy's stupid grin. Instead, he was met with wide, earnest eyes, looking for an honest answer. Minho's retort sputtered and died.

"Um... I guess... Somewhere warm," he said on the spot. Taemin nodded and smiled pensively before hopping up to his feet and looking ahead at the highway's trail. He grinned and pointed ahead.

"ONWARD, HO!"

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Maybe."

A/N - I feel like Taemin and Minho are the most complex characters I've written so far.

Minho is pretty much the embodiment of the "fight" instinct of survival. He likes facing things head on. However, he's incredibly practical and looks at things at face value, not symbolically or imaginatively. Anything that won't help him survive is lost, Taemin being the only exception.

On the other hand, Taemin is the "flight" instinct. He has locked himself in a world of imagination and speculation. He also focusses his attention on the past. In a paradox, he's locked away his own past, another example of his "flight" trait. He's more sensitive than Minho, and his hyperness comes from his sensitivity to his own mind. He forces the production of endorphins to avoid the bad memories that he's running from.

More to come, comments are love.