Fragile Hearts [DANGEROUS FELLOWS]

⚠️SEVENTY: MONSTER LIKE HIM⚠️

"Everyone, inside!" Ethan ordered as the commotion rose, zombies now clamoring chaotically at the excruciating noise. Eugene was the first to run off, and you chased after, stopping by Hailey's lifeless body.

Before you could even think about it, you felt someone take your hand. Looking in surprise, you saw Ethan, giving you a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking we head.

You knew what he meant without him even saying it. We have to leave her. Without a word you nodded, feeling a lump in your throat, and the two of you dashed to the front door where Eugene was standing, waving you all in urgently.

"Hurry, hurry!" he hissed in an impatient whisper. You and Ethan entered first, then Zion, Harry, and lastly, Lawrence, who seemed unlike himself. As quietly as he could, Eugene shut the door, working all the latches and locks before sliding down the cold tile of the main entrance.

Ethan silently gestured for you all to do the same. You peeked out the window from your knees, watching as the zombies became beside themselves with hunger, throwing themselves off the cliff in hordes just to get to the bus, ignoring the gross, mottled remains of the two cult-members. You couldn't help but feel relieved.

The plan had actually worked.

Everyone was silent for longer than necessary. There was no analytical remark from Sue. No excited cheer from Judy. No sarcastic joke from Jay, and no stuttering whimper from Hailey.

It was completely, utterly silent.

As the noise from outside began to die down, the group wordlessly dwindled. Lawrence was the first to remove himself, disappearing down the hall, then a few minutes later, Zion did as well, kicking over his suitcase with a loud crash as he did. Eugene seemed eager to get away from the tense atmosphere, and Ethan, most likely to keep an eye on things, followed.

Only you and Harry remained in the entrance.

"Did you get hurt, Harry...?" you asked lightly, and Harry simply stared down at the floor. He was slumped against the wall, eyes covered in a dark shadow, and he acted as though he hadn't even heard you.

"Let me look at your hand," you offered, feeling like you were going to break down if everyone kept acting like this. Why couldn't everyone just get along, especially at a time like this? You grabbed the end of his sleeve, urging him to his feet, and he allowed you to take him to the bathroom without protest. You closed the door behind you two.

Knocking the toilet lid down, you pointed to it expectantly. "Sit," you told him, not leaving any room for argument, and he did as he was told. You began rummaging through the cabinets for medical supplies, just trying not to think.

"(Y/n)," Harry finally spoke, catching you off guard. You waited to hear what he wanted, but he didn't say anything else. Closing the cabinet door and turning to him, you were shocked to see him beginning to cry.

"Harry, what—" you began, coming over to him, and he cut you off, putting his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," he sobbed, sounding completely broken, and it made your own eyes prick with tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm a horrible person."

You shook your head at his sudden meltdown, putting a hand on his back. "Harry... don't say things like that," you told him comfortingly. "You're one of the best, kindest, most considerate people I've ever known."

He didn't seem like he was going to stop crying anytime soon, so you wrapped your arms around your friend, holding him tight as he did.

"I just couldn't take it," he sniffled, wiping at his face with his sleeves. "I'm
just sick of being people's punching bag. It makes me feel like I'm a kid all over again. And Lawrence, he's always treated me as if I'm just some dumb dog. A sad puppy."

You didn't know what to say to this. Now that you thought of it, Harry had always been treated differently by the group, especially Lawrence. Most people saw him as an emotional guy without much of a backbone, and it turned out that had bothered him this whole time.

"I just couldn't take it anymore," he repeated, choking out a sob as you put a hand on his head comfortingly, lacing your fingers through his hair. "But I shouldn't have lost it, not like that."

He returned your embrace, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.

"I never wanted to be a monster like him. Like my dad."

You pulled away to look at Harry, sadness taking over your features as you searched his tear-stained face. "Harry..." you sighed. "You're not a monster. Anybody would lose their cool after being treated poorly for so long."

Harry didn't seem entirely convinced, and you pulled your sleeve over your hand, using it to help him dry his tears.

"And besides," you added, gently wiping his cheeks. "Lawrence... was kind of asking for it. He was being a bit of a dick."

Harry stopped crying in his surprise, and you couldn't help but scoff a little, the corners of your mouth lifting just slightly. "Okay, who am I kidding. He was being a major dick," you corrected yourself, and Harry turned away from you.

You moved to see his face, chest swelling with concern, and was taken aback to see him holding in a giggle. At last he couldn't keep it in, letting out a friendly laugh, and you just smiled at him, glad to see the old Harry slowly coming back.

"He was, I won't lie," Harry agreed, finishing wiping his eyes. "But still, I feel unbelievably bad for what I did. I have to apologize to him for that."

You looked off at nothing in particular for a moment, lost in thought. Considering everyone's mood since coming back to the house, things weren't looking too good for having a chat.

"Maybe we should wait on that," you told him uneasily, thinking about Lawrence's propensity to fly off the handle when confronted. "For now, I'll wrap your hand up for you. Okay?"

"No complaints here," Harry laughed, seeming as bright as ever, and all your problems seemed to fade away.

The three-floor home was eerily abandoned. Your once lively group had been reduced to such a small number, and to make matters worse, it felt like no one wanted anything to do with one another. You stared silently at Zion's suitcase, still lying over from when he had kicked it, decided to place it back upright where it had been left for him by his parents.

"You doing okay?" a voice asked, and you looked toward the kitchen. Ethan was there, leaning with his elbows against the island, wearing his usual unbothered expression.

You shrugged, slowly approaching him, and discovering he was having a small snack of jerky. "I don't know, to be honest," you confessed, taking a piece. It was hard, dry, and tasted like a sweet clump of cardboard.

"Yeah. I get that," he said in understanding, and the room fell silent once more. You took another piece of beef, toying with it in your hands, but not feeling very hungry.

"How do you feel?" you asked curiously.

Ethan considered this for a while, chewing thoughtfully, before giving an almost indifferent look. "Could be worse," he told you, and you went quiet, looking down at your hands.

Ethan was strong, dependable, and fast, but he never really talked about his feelings. Between his friendship with the guys, and his loyalty to Lawrence, you knew he had to have felt conflicted in some way at the sudden hostility in the group.

"What do you think is gonna happen now?" you tried next, met with a nonchalant shrug.

"Not sure," he replied, emptying out the bag and retrieving his faithful baseball bat from where it had leaned against the island, giving it a practiced twirl. "Whatever it is, I'll be there to make sure you're safe. So don't worry about getting caught between the guys' fights."

With that he turned away, leaving you in the kitchen.

It was back to being quiet again.

You found a seat at the breakfast table, one in front of an open book, a murder mystery with a plot-twist killer. You stared at it for a moment, then through the peeks of the curtains, crossing your arms. Then, all alone, you began to cry, no one around to hear you weep.