- You're not a machine though. You're human. So you need more cooldown time than anything else.

  - You are not a shonen protagonist either. You will collapse if you keep going nonstop.

  - That “never give up” attitude is admirable... until your spleen does a backflip from exhaustion.

  - So yeah—rest, recharge, and let your internal fan stop screaming.

  - Also, your teammates are not medics. Don’t die just to be dramatic.

  ---

  Being cleared for scavenging again was like getting out of prison.

  If prison had a mop named Moprah and smelled like old blood and peanut butter.

  Of course, there was a catch. There's always a catch.

  “No direct engagement,” Gail had said, giving me a look like I was about to wrestle a zombie out of pure spite.

  “You follow, you observe, and if anything gets close—run.”

  And then, because fate has a sense of humor, he added, “Jules will be your handler.”

  So now I was back out in the field, wrapped in three layers of gauze, padded like a discount NFL player, and being baby-sat by my ex-girlfriend who once betrayed me for a group of armed criminals.

  Y’know. Just normal Tuesday stuff.

  ---

  The mall ruins today were quiet—eerily quiet. Even the wind seemed like it was tiptoeing.

  Alex and Gail had gone ahead into a sporting goods store, doing their usual Good Cop & Silent Tank With a Crowbar routine.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Jules and I stayed behind near the loading dock, crouched beside some overturned mannequins.

  I watched Gail hold a cracked baseball bat while Alex pointed out items with more enthusiasm than a kid at an all-you-can-loot buffet.

  It was like watching a buddy cop show in real-time.

  “Well, look at that,” I muttered. “Power Outlet and The Wall. Coming to a network near you.”

  Jules snorted. “Power Outlet?”

  “C’mon. She sparks, he broods. It’s basic electricity.”

  She paused. Smiled. “Then wouldn’t they short-circuit each other?”

  I blinked. “...Jules?”

  “What?”

  “Did you just make a joke?”

  “I might’ve.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with the woman who stabbed me in the back metaphorically and patched me up literally?”

  She gave me a side glance. “I’m multitasking.”

  I let out a quiet laugh. It felt strange. Not forced. Not bitter.

  Just... normal.

  We both watched Alex smack Gail’s arm and point at a grappling hook set.

  He didn’t react much. Just nodded and tucked it under his arm like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “They’re weirdly functional,” I said.

  Jules nodded. “A military tactician and a goblin with a taser. Kinda works.”

  “Think they hold hands in code? Like, one squeeze for ‘I love you,’ two squeezes for ‘behind you,’ three for ‘dropkick now.’”

  She stifled a laugh behind her hand.

  We sat like that for a while, tossing harmless jabs, watching the apocalypse’s oddest couple.

  "I guess the break up reason "I don't feel the spark between us" won't work with Alex." I say. "She'd pull out a tazer."

  "And for Gail, the "I don't see us working out." won't work for him." Jules adds. "He'd pull a home gym out of nowhere."

  We shared laughs.

  Then the banter drifted.

  From them... to us.

  “Remember when we looted that gas station near Ridgetown?” Jules said, eyes distant.

  “Oh god, the one with the animatronic bear?”

  “You screamed.”

  “I strategically shouted to alert you of danger. I said 'look out!'"

  “You screamed "Aeugh!", fell backward, and knocked over three shelves.”

  “And yet somehow still walked away with four packs of instant noodles.” I said.

  She glanced down. “Yeah... You did.”

  The air went soft.

  Not heavy. Just... familiar.

  We used to joke like this. Before trust became a thing we had to rebuild. Before I had to second-guess every word she said.

  Now, here we were again.

  Making dumb jokes. Laughing too quietly. Leaning a little closer without meaning to.

  The Bonnie and Clyde of the apocalypse—minus the romanticized bank robberies. Plus trauma.

  I fiddled with the grip of my makeshift staff. “It’s weird.”

  “What is?”

  “How easy this feels again.”

  Jules looked over. “That’s not bad, right?”

  “No. Just... weird.”

  “Good weird or bad weird?”

  I paused. Then smiled. “Let’s go with ‘pending.’”

  ---

  A crash snapped our heads around.

  Alex emerged from the store holding what looked like a fishing pole and a crossbow, grinning like she’d just looted heaven.

  Gail followed, expression unreadable, but... softer somehow. Like someone had taught a cinderblock how to care.

  They approached, Alex clearly mid-rant about how crossbows are cooler than guns and Gail nodding like she hadn’t just watched her duct-tape a machete to a boogie board for “scientific reasons.”

  Jules stood first. I followed, slower. Still sore, still aching. But lighter than I’d felt in days.

  Gail handed me a protein bar. “No fights?”

  “Nope. Just judging your romantic chemistry from afar. Very PG.”

  Alex squinted. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing, Power Outlet.”

  “Say that again and I’ll turn your painkillers into glitter pills.”

  “Tempting,” I said. “Maybe then I’ll finally sparkle.”

  Jules laughed.

  And maybe, just maybe, I let myself think...

  This wasn’t so bad.

  Resting. Recharging. Reconnecting.

  Even if I still wasn’t 100%. Even if things were messy. Even if trust had scars.

  We were still moving forward.

  Together.