Rolen watched the water stream down the windshield while the wind howled in his ears from the broken window beside him. Small droplets of cold water tickled his face as another flash of lightning lit up the cracks between the window shards still stuck in the frame.

Thunder soon followed, the storm raging on.

The engineer’s hand rested on the place Nathan had grabbed him earlier, the adrenaline of the encounter slowly dissolving only for exhaustion to fill the void—yet the tension never ceased.

Nathan’s hands were still gripping the steering wheel—knuckles white, like he was trying to choke the life out of it. His breath came in shallow bursts, fogging the windshield with every exhale.

Eventually, the first building came into view on the side of the road. It was an old, decrepit manor, plants and vegetation already creeping up the sides. The place had long since been abandoned before the world went to hell.

Nathan jerked the steering wheel and hit the brakes, the car stopping with a screech. Rolen was pressed back into the passenger seat with a bewildered expression on his face. The engineer didn’t expect to stop here.

Rolen slowly glanced over at the combat medic. His behavior seemed far more impulsive, and with infected possibly anywhere, this kind of recklessness worried him.

A low groan came from somewhere outside the car, followed by the distant sound of something scraping across wet pavement. Probably another infected—or what was left of one.

Rolen could feel that… static again. A faint tingle somewhere behind his eyes—not painful, just present, like the hum of a powerline you only notice when everything else goes quiet.

He side-eyed Nathan.

His head hung slightly, a bead of sweat trailing down his jaw.
The buzz in Rolen’s skull got sharper.

“Nathan?”

Nothing.
Then suddenly—

Nathan inhaled, sharp and ragged—like someone coming up from underwater.

His eyes snapped toward Rolen. The young engineer felt his breath hitch, the adrenaline picking up once more. Nathan's eyes were no longer the deep hazelnut brown from before—they had turned a bright, piercing red.

“...Get inside,” Nathan rasped. “Now.”

Rolen didn’t argue. He swung the door open and left the car. The goth looked at the dark, empty street, the rain soaking him in a matter of seconds. At this point, he wasn't sure what was safer—the car or outside. Maybe he should make a run for it? It was obvious now that Nathan was infected, and he didn't want to see him end up like that blonde woman from the first day...

Before Rolen could actively do anything, another flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by the dreadful sound of thunder. The static-like feeling spiked again, nearly giving Rolen a headache—just before he felt Nathan's hot, ragged breathing on his neck, making his hairs stand up and goosebumps rise on his skin.

He felt the soldier’s hand on his lower back, gently guiding him towards the entrance of the building—and without his say-so, his feet started moving.

Sure enough, they both entered the old manor.

The room reeked of old rusty metal and sweat. The storm outside whistled through the broken windowpanes, hurling gusts of wind and rain through the slats. Somewhere in the building, the infected howled—but inside, it was worse.

The door groaned shut behind them, sealing out the storm—but not the tension.

Rolen crossed the threshold first, brushing damp strands of hair out of his eyes. “You could’ve warned me before going all maniac behind the wheel, y’know. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Nathan didn’t reply.

He glanced sideways at Nathan, whose jaw was clenched like it was wired shut. Still pacing, eyes scanning the shadows like a wolf in a trap.

Rolen sighed and leaned against the wall. “Look, maybe we should… split up for a while. You’re getting dangerous and—frankly? I’d rather not end up as a red smear on the floor."

With one twitchy but unexpected movement,
a brutal crack rang out in the hollow foyer as Rolen’s head snapped sideways from the impact.

Silence.

He stumbled, catching himself on the wall, fingers trembling as they rose to touch his lip. Blood. His lip was split.

Nathan stood hunched near the wall, shirt damp with fever and fists clenched at his sides. He was trembling. Not from fear. From restraint. His pupils had blown wide, and his chest heaved like a wolf trying not to tear into the carcass in front of him.

Rolen backed up until his back hit the wall, his hand still pressed against his busted lip. “Nathan…” His voice was hoarse, yet full of disbelief as he tasted the blood on his lips. “Y-You hit me.”

The combat medic ran one of his shaking hands through his hair. “I—I didn’t mean to. I just…”

“You actually hit me…”

Hearing the fear and panic in his voice, Nathan turned to face the other, his now bright red eyes looking down at Rolen for the first time since they entered the building.

In two strides, he crossed the room and grabbed Rolen by the shoulders, causing the goth to flinch. The grip wasn’t violent, but it wasn’t soft either. Rolen tried to pull back, but Nathan’s hands were burning with fever and his grip was unrelenting. Yet despite feeling the soldier's sweaty hands on his shoulders, the engineer’s gaze never left the floor, watching his own feet like they were the most interesting thing in the world right now.

Well… that was until he felt one of Nathan's hands cupping his face, forcing the goth’s eyes to meet the infected red ones that held Nathan's fragmented sense of self. The action caused Rolen to freeze on the spot, yet the fever heat was somehow soothing the pain in his cheek, despite the danger he was in.

The combat medic’s eyes flicked down to where he had hit him, a deep sense of guilt forming in his gut, his thumb rubbing soft circles on the bruise that was already forming beneath the skin. The soldier’s gaze slowly scanned Rolen’s pale skin until they eventually landed on his lips.

Despite the goth’s pale skin, his lips were a light pink color, like he’d dipped them in a strawberry-flavored milkshake.

Nathan wondered how soft those lips would feel on his own. He gently brushed his thumb over the engineer’s bleeding lower lip, making him wince as the sharp pain shot throughout his face.

Rolen’s eyes never left Nathan. With his heart beating in his ears like a drum, he felt that odd but now familiar sensation again. The white noise in the back of his mind. The places where Nathan's hot hands rested upon him—he felt like something was tingling or buzzing under his skin. Like static.

It was like his eyes couldn’t focus for a moment. Yet once he managed to shake the sensation off and could focus on the situation once more, he actually noticed Nathan's piercing red gaze locked upon his lips. The confusion lasted only a few seconds until he managed to piece together Nathan’s body language.

“No, don’t—!”

The infected soldier’s mouth crashed against his, cutting him off without as much as a second thought. It was sloppy, desperate, wrong. Nathan kissed him with such feral dominance that the goth’s blood could be tasted on both their tongues, and his eyes went wide. He struggled—pushing at his chest—but Nathan didn’t let go. A low noise rumbled in his throat, like a wild animal who had just caught his first prey.

Pain bloomed across Rolen’s bottom lip as the soldier’s teeth dug into the wound, eagerly awaiting more of that thick metallic substance. Like a newfound addiction.

Just as more blood seeped onto their palates, Rolen managed to free himself from the other’s grip, finally breaking the kiss with a gasp. “What the fuck was that!?” His lip was split. He could taste his own blood—and looking up at Nathan, he saw something else in his eyes. Something the young engineer couldn't place…

Nathan stared at him, stunned. His jaw trembled. Blood shimmered on his lips. And then he whispered, hoarse and broken:

“...You taste like fire.”

Rolen’s heartbeat thudded in his ears. “First you hit me, and now this?!” That buzzing was back again—that damned static buzzing in the back of his mind like a plague. It didn’t help ease the rising anger the engineer felt bubbling to the surface.

“For the love of fuck, Nathan! This isn't a fucked-up romance movie! The world has gone to hell in a matter of two days! I don't even know if my partner is still alive or if he's making out with the damn furniture, and all you can think of doing is force yourself on me?!” The words spat off his tongue like venom, his once pale face turning red as the anger only grew within him.

“I didn’t mean—” Nathan backed away, stumbling, gripping his head. “Something’s wrong—I—I can’t—think—”

His knees buckled. He hit the floor hard, convulsing once, then lay still, breathing shallow, skin slick with sweat.

Rolen’s anger immediately dissolved, and his eyes widened as he watched Nathan collapse. Blood dripped from his chin, yet he didn’t bother wiping it away as he rushed over toward the combat medic.

“Nathan?!”

Rolen’s knees buckled and hit the dirty floor, one hand hovering over Nathan’s chest like it might stop rising any second—like maybe he’d stop breathing altogether. The other rested on Nathan’s forehead, feeling his fever.

His pulse was erratic. Skin on fire. Muscles twitching like wires short-circuiting beneath the surface.

Rolen’s chest ached. His head rang.
That buzz behind his eyes had grown sharper now. Focused. No longer just noise.

The young engineer looked down at Nathan's trembling form with worry, not wanting to end up alone here despite what had happened before.

But then, the combat medic’s temperature started to go down, the fever leaving at an almost impossible rate. His twitching seemed to lessen as well.

Rolen slowly got up from the floor, his eyes never leaving Nathan's body as he backed away.

Somehow, Nathan was stabilizing...