Aaron
Aaron didn't go far. Just enough to disappear.
He slipped through the rusted door near the back of the base, where the old storage wing had collapsed in on itself years ago. No one came here anymore. It was quiet—except for the sound of dripping water and the occasional groan of twisted metal under the weight of time.
He needed quiet.
His hand closed around the flask he kept hidden in his jacket. He didn't drink often—not really—but today... he needed the burn. He tipped it back, let the fire slide down his throat. It didn't help.
Nothing helped.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the concrete wall behind him. The cool surface grounded him, but his thoughts remained a storm.
He had known. Deep down, he'd known. The way Egwene looked at Theron had changed weeks ago. She smiled less when Aaron was around. She laughed more when Theron was. She used to come to him with everything—every doubt, every plan, every ache. And now?
She went to him.
He hated that he hadn't stopped it. Hated that he'd let his feelings fester in silence, too proud to speak them out loud.
But what would it have changed?
Theron was everything Aaron wasn't. Brooding. Fearless. The guy who jumped headfirst into danger like he had nothing to lose. People followed him, even if they didn't trust him. Women looked at him like he was the last cigarette on a dying world.
And Egwene... she'd chosen him.
The thought cut deeper than any knife.
Aaron kicked a broken crate, the wood shattering with a dry snap. Dust clouded the air, and he coughed into his sleeve. He knew it was stupid. Petty. This wasn't high school drama—this was the apocalypse. People didn't have the luxury of love stories anymore.
And yet... here they were.
He sank onto a pile of old blankets in the corner, dropping his head into his hands. His mind replayed the look on Egwene's face this morning—guilt, but not regret. That's what stung the most.
She didn't regret it.
He couldn't hate her for it. He didn't. But that didn't mean it didn't break something in him.
They'd had something once. Before the base. Before the monsters. She was the first person he'd saved—really saved. And for a long time, he thought that meant something.
But now? He wasn't sure if he'd been a chapter in her story, or just a footnote.
A distant thud echoed in the hall outside. Aaron didn't move. Let them look for him. Let them wonder where he was.
He needed to mourn the version of Egwene he'd loved—the version that had needed him. Because that girl didn't exist anymore.
And maybe... maybe he didn't either.
---
Egwene
By midday, the weight of everything had settled in her chest like dust that refused to be shaken off.
Egwene sat at the edge of the base's rooftop, legs dangling over the crumbling ledge, her eyes tracing the curve of the sea beyond the treeline. From this high up, it almost looked beautiful—like the world hadn't been torn apart at the seams. Like the ground beneath her feet wasn't a graveyard of what once was.
The wind tousled her hair as she clutched her arms around her knees. She hadn't seen Aaron since he handed her that cup. Since he looked at her like she'd broken something fragile and irreplaceable.
She hated the ache that brought. Hated the guilt.
Because she had loved him. Maybe not in the way he wanted, or as deeply as he deserved—but there had been something real between them, once. He'd been safety. Warmth. A reminder of who she was before the world went dark.
But Theron…
He was different. Raw. Wild. He didn't remind her of who she was—he made her forget who she had to be. Around him, she didn't have to be strong or brave or calculated. She could just exist.
But existing came with consequences.
Her stomach twisted as she remembered the way Aaron looked at her—trying to be kind, trying to hold back the pain. That small, cracked smile. It haunted her.
She didn't know how to make this right. Or if she even could.
The rooftop door creaked open behind her. She didn't turn. She knew who it was before he said a word.
"Didn't think I'd find you up here," Theron said, his voice quiet.
"I needed air."
He walked closer, sitting beside her without asking. He didn't touch her, but the space between them was charged. She could feel his presence like heat on her skin.
"You okay?"
She shrugged. "Define 'okay'."
He let out a small breath, the ghost of a laugh. "Fair enough."
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the wind.
"I hurt him," she said suddenly.
Theron didn't reply right away.
"I know."
Egwene turned to him, her eyes searching his. "Does that make me a bad person?"
"No," he said simply. "It makes you human."
She looked away again. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
"I didn't either."
Another silence stretched between them, heavier this time.
"I think he thought I was his reason to keep going," she whispered. "And now I don't know if I took that from him."
Theron finally looked at her then, his jaw tight. "You don't owe anyone your love just because they need it. That's not how love works."
"But I do care about him."
"I know you do."
"I still dream about the night we all escaped the city," she admitted, blinking quickly. "He carried me through the fire. I think that's when everything changed for him. For me."
Theron's voice was soft. "What changed for you last night?"
She turned back toward him. "I let go. Of everything. And for a few hours, I wasn't afraid."
He reached over, finally placing a hand gently over hers. His fingers were calloused, warm, grounding.
"You don't have to apologize for that," he said. "You've carried enough."
Egwene leaned her head against his shoulder. The warmth of him, the smell of leather and salt and smoke—it all wrapped around her like a safety net.
But even as she sat there, feeling his breath against her hair, her thoughts drifted.
To Aaron. Alone somewhere in this broken base. Hurting. Grieving.
And she realized with a dull ache that no matter who she chose, someone would always bleed.
Because in the end, love had become just another casualty of the apocalypse.
---