Foreign

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

What kind of question was that?

“Are you serious? During a time like this?!” I raised my voice ever so slightly, not wanting to catch their attention.

“Hey, it helps me de-stress,” The tall male said, taking the lighter up to the cig in his right hand, igniting the flame with a flick of his thumb.

I watched attentively as the dirty blonde lifted his occupied hand to his mouth, blowing out puffs of smoke. The flame burned brightly, drawing me closer to it. The light was small, but it filled my body with warmth. We have to make it out alive.

“You want?” He caught my staring, motioning his lighted cig towards me with a nudge on my shoulder.

“No thanks, Dean.”

I didn’t want to keep my guard down. We were already stuck in a vulnerable position, in a foreign place, in a foreign disaster, with a foreign person. We had found an abandoned building, rubble and debris coating the floor. I had grown accustomed to our living quarters: A broken mount of what used to be a store wall, as well as a faint barricade we had made up of dirtied clothes and stacked bricks, the leftover from the incomplete wall. It held up nicely, considering what we had to work with, for two males. Although one was quite big, the other, myself, was small in comparison. We had fought for space in the first month. Sharing rations had been difficult as, at the time, it was every man for themselves. However, as the days went by, we started eating together, sharing the warmth of a torn-up crocheted blanket. Dean found it when we first entered the building scrunched up in a garbage disposal. It was worn out, yes, but it did the job. It wasn’t easy keeping warm in the dead of winter, especially if the building had a wide opening at the front, the one we used to enter, which I assumed used to be doors. The cold, dry air kept the hairs on my arms on alert. The first couple of nights, I couldn’t even sleep because of the horrors that were creeping outside. Dean would notice my shudders. He would then wrap me in the crocheted blanket we shared, forming a caterpillar of two grown men.

He was warm. His scruffy, scarred hands wrapped around me, as he pushed my head under his chin. Just like his embrace, his personality was like the sun shining on the sparkling snow. It clears the sky and sets a path that is bright and steady. Sometimes, it was too overbearing and I often found myself stepping away from the beaming aura and finding space in my isolation. While Dean was vocal and obvious, I was sterner and, well, derisive. Dean commented on this. I don’t know why I am, but I’m always sarcastic. I just don’t understand how someone could be so oblivious to obvious things. The other night, Dean and I were following our usual night routine, snuggled up and keeping warm with the crafted fire we made with broken twigs and the lighter Dean always had with him. We were listening to a song from a radio we had stolen that was on display in one of the many abandoned stores.

“So she said, ″ What’s the problem, baby? `` What’s the problem? I don’t know, well maybe I’m in love.”

Dean was singing passionately along to the 2004 track from Shrek 2. We found some CDs in the same store as the stolen radio. We took a hefty box of entertainment and had fun. I was surprised that the collection contained older songs from eight years ago, including the one Dean was currently bouncing to. He loved 2000s love songs, it was his favourite thing in the whole world, aside from the sound of rain pattering rhythmically from outside.

“How much longer will it take to cure this? Just to cure it cuz’ I can’t ignore it if it’s love (Love)”

I watched him from the resting wall, through the small fire that separated us. I observed his tangled, unkempt hair, his defined jawline characterising his face that was covered with the stubble that had grown out since I first met him. Although I never said it, I did like his facial hair. It made his overall macho look more convincing. His shoulder-length, wavy hair complimented his strong features: dark bushy eyebrows, and sharp eyes that held a dark green hue, complimenting his dirty blonde locks, as well as his ivory skin. He looked like he came right out of GTA, except for his overall outgoing personality. I would’ve never guessed we would ever become a duo, if not for the corrupting apocalypse, I would’ve never even been his friend. We were opposites. Dean was all brute and always looked on the bright side. I, on the other hand, am frail and boring. From my appearance to my character, I am completely mediocre. My black, short hair reflects my straightforward and serious personality. He always felt the need to comment on this.

“Wow, your soul is just like your hair, black.”, but I’d never give in to his childish remarks.

Dean continued throughout the entire song, occasionally waving for me to join his performance (to which I declined) until we heard noises coming from outside, it sounded like some animal walking through grass, covered in a thin layer of snow. Dean heard this and got scared.

“Lulu, did you hear that?”

That was yet another trait of the unreserved male, he loved nicknames. The name “Lucifer” was too long for him, so he shortened it to “Lulu”.

“Yea, it must be your grandma poppin’ in to say hi,” I said with a straight face, although he couldn’t see it because he was too stunned by the mysterious noise coming from where the wide hole stood.

“No, that can’t be! Ma passed three years ago because she choked on broccoli!”

I’m not sure if he forgot that he had already told me the story about his grandma’s passing, but the look he gave me after my sarcastic remark still replays in my head.

“Yeah, no shit. It was probably just a deer.”

“You okay, Lulu?” I snapped back. Oh yeah. We’re still here.