Archive of Our Own ^beta

Exer POV

"I would’ve appreciated it if the flu also killed mosquitoes."

I can't help but chuckle at David’s grumpy tone, which turns into a full laugh when I see him waving his hand around frantically to scare away the little insects swarming around him.

Of course, David hears me and turns to glare, "What? You laughing at my suffering?" He narrows his eyes at me. "You wouldn't laugh so loud if you were the one getting bit the whole time."

I hold up my hands in surrender, but the smile doesn’t leave my face as I shake my head in amusement. He seems to notice because I feel a slight shove to my shoulder, but even without looking at him, I know he’s smiling.

I poke at the fire with a stick, listening to the loud sigh behind me.

I don't blame him; it's been a long day, and I bet the mosquitoes aren't making it any easier for him to relax. So, I look back at him, placing the stick next to me and grabbing his hand instead.

"The mosquitoes just love the taste of you," I start, smirking before adding, "Can’t say I blame them." It's cheesy, sure, but David smiles immediately, so it was worth it.

He laughs and shakes his head, "You're an idiot," but the blush creeping across his cheeks betrays his words.

It's good to see him smile after such a tiring day; I know it was hard for him. I want to ask how he's doing, but maybe bringing it up would just remind him and make it worse.

So instead, I decide to leave the fire be—nobody else is awake anyway—and stand up, pulling David up with me.

We walk to our sleeping bags, and I let go of his hand to move mine closer until they touch.

"Cuddle time?" David asks behind me. I turn around with a smile and nod before sitting down and patting the space beside me.

I see the tension leave David's body as he sits next to me, immediately nestling close as we lie down together.

It's pretty hot out, so we don't bother with a blanket and just stare into each other's eyes while holding each other close.

I lay my hand on his cheek, caressing his face gently before leaning in and kissing him. It's not long and passionate, but sweet and short— while still long enough to appreciate the touch of his lips and feel the warmth.

I don't pull away afterward; my forehead touches his while my eyes stay closed. I hear him breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. "It's been a long day," he whispers.

I give him another peck on the lips before pulling my face away and opening my eyes. He's already looking at me, and while there's still a smile on his face, he looks very tired.

"I know," I whisper, moving a strand of his hair out of his face while maintaining eye contact. In the quiet, our eyes say more than words can. Eleven years of friendship, which evolved into a relationship, does that to people; at some point, they don't need words to communicate.

I don't think many people can say they're with someone they've known for so long anymore. I'm lucky I can. I don't know what I would've done if I lost David.

David's alive, and that's all that matters.

Not all that matters, because as long as he's alive, I want him to be happy as well.

"Did I tell you about how Ron accidentally scared Jackson last week?" I ask quietly, making sure to keep my voice down now that we're closer to the others.

David and I are the only ones still awake; everyone else went to sleep immediately after our late-night dinner. We should be sleeping too, but despite the exhaustion, I know David can't sleep yet.

David raises an eyebrow, his smile growing brighter. "No? Tell me," he giggles quietly, even before hearing the story.

He looks puzzled as to why I hadn't told him earlier. We share everything, which isn’t much since we’re almost always together, but we recount every detail the other misses. It makes the days a little easier.

Was it weird that I hadn't told David about this, especially since it’s hilarious? Maybe. But I already feel bad about how I treated Jackson when he first joined our group, so sharing his little freak-out didn’t feel right.

Jackson and I are finally warming up to each other after many ups and downs, most of which were my fault. Initially, I didn’t trust Jackson, but when everyone else felt bad for him and welcomed him with open arms, I got jealous.

Looking back, I feel so stupid. Jackson lost his whole family, not just to the flu, because his aunt and uncle were killed. He doesn't share much about it, but it's obvious how much it affected him. And then I was a jerk to him. So yeah, I've been more careful since then.

But if I have to share this embarrassing moment to make David feel a bit better, then so be it.

I dive into the story, and David listens carefully, laughing quietly here and there. When I'm done, our conversation continues until David is in my arms, slowly drifting off to sleep while I caress his arm.

I keep whispering, more for my sake than his, because ever since the flu, I don't like the silence. Eventually, I feel my own eyes closing, and then nothing.

"You look tired."

"Don't we all?" I turn my head to Pamela, who shrugs and looks back ahead where Ron and David are walking a few feet in front of us.

"You more than usual. And David," she replies. "Did you two get any sleep?"

I sigh. "Barely, but we'll be fine. Yesterday was just..." I trail off, unsure how to finish.

Pamela waits a few seconds, then nods. "Yeah..."

We keep walking in silence. I watch Ron place a hand on David's shoulder, and the two share a look before looking ahead again. It relieves me to see David talking to someone about it.

I can tell Pamela wants me to open up too, but I'm not as affected by yesterday as David is. I'd rather walk without thinking about it—unless David wants to talk to me.

"Guess you're not in the mood to talk about it, huh?" Pamela observes with a smile. Either she's good at reading me or I'm just that obvious, but I'd like to think it's the former.

Pamela was one of the first to join our group, surprisingly. She went to the same school as David and me, but we never really got along—typical school drama. But now, old school drama seems unimportant in an apocalypse.

Now, I consider Pamela one of my closest friends.

I turn and smile when I see Pamela already looking at me with a knowing grin. "Guess not," I reply.

She takes a deep breath. "Thought so." Her eyes soften before she continues, "But if you ever do want to talk, I'm here.”

The next day, we’re all gathered around the fire, laughing at Ken as he dramatically acts out scenes from a horror movie. Despite his attempts to be frightening, everyone ends up in stitches.

The day itself was uneventful. We spent most of it walking and searching for food supplies, as we were running low. Fortunately, we found some cans, which improved our situation slightly.

Despite this small victory, it was clear that everyone was still not quite themselves. That itself is understandable in an apocalypse, but at least some days were better than others. Today, though, everyone was unusually quiet, likely still processing what happened two days ago.

Until now.

Ken, fed up with the moping, decided to declare a movie night. Since we obviously don’t have actual movies, we were confused until he got up and started acting out Friday the 13th. 

However, the laughter dies down when everyone notices Ken has stopped. He groans, “C’mon guys, it’s supposed to be scary!”

Jackson replies, “Sorry Ken, but we live in an apocalypse. Nothing is scary anymore.”

“Exactly. We live in an apocalypse; everything should be scary.”

Jackson shrugs, and Jolie, sitting beside him, joins in, “I think your acting is scarier than the movie, Ken,” she teases, and Ken gasps dramatically, placing a hand on his heart.

I smile as their playful banter continues, and when I hear David’s soft laugh beside me, it brightens my mood even more.

I thank Ken silently, because looking around and seeing happiness returning to everyone’s faces finally lifts the weight that has been sitting on my shoulders for the past two days.

It seems like we all needed this.

“Okay, fine. No more scary movies. Let me think,” Ken says, rubbing his chin while we all watch with amusement, curious about his next move.

His face lights up. “Oh, I know, but for the next movie, I need a partner,” he smirks. I immediately lean back to hide behind David as Ken scans the group. Everyone else seems to be doing the same, hiding behind whoever is beside them to avoid being chosen. 

Ken’s smirk grows when he locks eyes with someone, and I’m relieved it’s not me.

He points, and I lean forward to see who it is, and I immediately feel bad for the person. It’s our newest member of the group—“Elijah! You’re perfect.”

Elijah looks caught, and Brenda giggles beside him. “Come on, get over here.” Brenda gives him a push towards Ken, and he hesitantly moves with an exaggerated sigh.

“I hope Ken goes easy on him,” I whisper to David. However, Elijah doesn’t seem to mind too much, because there’s a small smile on his face as Ken leads him away from the fire to explain the scenes they’re about to perform.

I don’t know much about Elijah yet; he only recently joined us, and I haven’t had the chance to get to know him. But Brenda says he’s a good guy who just had bad experiences with settlements.

He mentioned escaping his last group because they were bad people. Given our own experiences with certain groups, it wasn’t hard to believe.

Elijah seems trustworthy enough and has become good friends with Ken and Brenda, so he’s fine in my eyes. Besides, I’ve grown better at trusting new people after my situation with Jackson.

But not everyone shares my trust. “I hope he embarrasses him,” David whispers back, and I can’t help but chuckle.

David hasn’t been a big fan of Elijah. It’s not that he doesn’t trust him with the group; he just doesn’t trust him with Brenda. David thinks Elijah has been sticking too close to her.

David’s overprotective brother side has only intensified since the apocalypse, but seeing him act this way over a boy that’s close to Brenda feels like the old days. While Brenda finds it annoying, I find myself enjoying the touch of normalcy.

The rest of the night is filled with more laughter as everyone takes turns acting out movie scenes. Eventually, I find myself lying down again, gazing at the stars above, with David’s hair tickling my neck while the others are fast asleep.

“I think your performance won,” David whispers softly.

I smile wider, because he is the reason I chose to sing that song in the first place. I remember him singing it in the dorm showers—or anywhere, really. It’s a song that’s special to him, but before we got together, I never knew why. Even though David had many girlfriends in high school and during our brief time in college, he never seemed serious about them.

Then the apocalypse started, and music disappeared from our lives. We had to improvise, taking turns singing songs we knew by heart. David often chose that song but, again, never explained why it was special to him.

I learned the reason after we got together. David silently confessed that he always thought of me when he listened to that song. Sometimes it hurts thinking about it because it means David was aware of his feelings for a lot longer than I was.

Sometimes, David still feels like the only reason I returned his feelings is because of the apocalypse and the loss of so many people. But that’s not true. Even if the world’s population were still at an all-time high, I would still choose David over anyone else.

I’ve always loved David, and I think I started to realize it even before the apocalypse. But when the flu hit, my feelings just became more real very quickly.

So to show David how much I really love him, I sang ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ when someone mentioned ‘Grease’ at the fire. I got up before David even had the chance and performed it right then and there—extra dramatically, just the way he loves.

"I had a feeling you would like it," I whisper with a confident smile, adding a kiss on top of David's head.

"Should we bury them when the rain stops?"

My heart wants to say yes, but I reply, "You know we can’t bury everyone we come across, Day."

David turns his gaze away from the family bundled together in bed—two adults and two children—and looks at me with sad eyes. "I know, I just feel bad for using their house for shelter tonight."

Looking at the bodies, now more skeletons than people, I sense they were loving when they were alive, judging by how they died—cuddled up together. I'm sure they wouldn’t mind a group using their house to stay warm.

I walk over and pull the sheets over them, covering them completely. When I walk back, I see David staring at them with a distant look, so I take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

When we go downstairs, Pamela looks up from where she and Brenda are laying down sleeping bags on the floor. "And?"

David and I share a glance before I nod and turn to Pam. "Four bodies."

Pam frowns, and I see everyone else do the same in the corner of my eye.

It’s not unusual to find bodies in houses; in fact, it’s more common than finding an empty house. Most people who died from the flu passed away in their homes.

But just because it’s common doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s why we prefer camping outside, we even prefer searching for food in grocery stores, even if most of them are already empty.

"I guess that’s to be expected. We’ll just stay downstairs."

An hour later, we’re all sitting on our sleeping bags in a circle, sharing some cans of food. We pushed the furniture aside to make room and stay close together. It feels safer and more comfortable that way.

I cringe at the taste of the rubbery mushrooms I’m chewing as I hand the can to David, who makes a face when he sees what’s inside. "Ugh, mushrooms again?"

David has always loved all foods, except mushrooms.

"Here, trade for soup," Ron says, and David immediately lights up at his words. I chuckle. There aren’t many ways to make someone happy in an apocalypse, but sacrificing your better food for someone is one way.

Timothy, sitting beside Ron, makes a face that shows he doesn't quite agree with the trade, being the person Ron shares with.

But when Timothy sees David’s happy face, he immediately slumps in defeat, and I grin; nobody has the heart to disappoint David when he’s happy. And hey, I’m not complaining—at least I get to eat soup instead of mushrooms.

But when I make eye contact with Ron, he smiles mischievously. "Me and Exer take mushrooms." My jaw drops. That son of a bitch, unbelievable.

Timothy seems to brighten up, but he’s no David, so it only sours my mood knowing I’ll still have to eat mushrooms and he gets to enjoy his soup with David. 

David and Ron stand up to switch cans and places, and I turn my head away to avoid looking at Ron’s smug grin. 

When I feel a nudge in my side and see a hand holding out mushrooms, I turn my head to glare at Ron, who just took a mouthful. Despite chewing those disgusting mushrooms, he has a smirk on his face.

But I see David smiling out of the corner of my eye, so I take the can and shake my head in disdain. “The things we do for people we love,” he says. When I look at him, his smile is more genuine.

I huff, unable to stop the corners of my own lips from curling up.

Mushrooms—the true sacrifice to see someone you love smile.

But then I notice Ron isn't looking at me or David; he's looking over at Timothy. Now I understand why I’m eating mushrooms instead of Timothy.

I hold in a laugh and shake my head again, this time in amusement. That sneaky bastard. Who would’ve thought?

I didn't see Ron as the type to get a crush easily, but if he’s happy, then so be it. He deserves it. I know he’s helped David a lot in the short time they were roommates, especially with his feelings for me, so if I can support Ron in his own, I’d be happy to.

I nudge him this time, giving him a knowing look while subtly nodding in Timothy’s direction. The blush forming on Ron’s face tells me everything I need to know.

I hand the can back to Ron after taking a big bite, and once I’ve swallowed it, I lean in and whisper in his ear, “So, Timothy, huh?”

When I wake up the following morning, I no longer hear rain hitting the windows. I stretch before opening my eyes and, as I expected, the rain has stopped. The sun is shining through the windows, and there's not a cloud in sight.

I smile at the sight and my grin widens when I look beside me and see David sleeping in the sunlight, his mouth open with a bit of drool coming out.

Adorable.

A sound from the garden makes me jump up, instantly on edge as I quietly make my way to the window.

I move to hide beside the window, but relax when I catch a glimpse of Jackson’s spiky hair. Seriously though, how does his hair stay up like that in an apocalypse? Does he have hair gel hidden in his bag? 

I glance back and see most of the others are still sleeping, but David is slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes. I’m momentarily distracted by the sight when another sound reminds me why I’m standing here.

I look back outside and see Jackson.. digging?

I quickly head outside and see that Jackson is indeed digging, but my eyes soften when I see the shapes. 

He’s digging graves.

I sigh. I guess we’re doing this after all. “Need a hand?”

Jackson looks up, surprised to see me, then gives me a small smile and a nod. “I think I saw more shovels in the shed.”

I nod and go to the small shed, pressing the light switch before remembering there’s no electricity. But it’s okay because I don’t need light to see two other shovels in the corner.

I walk back outside with a shovel in hand to see David stepping out. He looks at the graves, then at me, then back at the graves before walking over and taking the shovel from my hands. “I’ll help,” he says determinedly and starts digging.

I sigh and go back to the shed to grab the other shovel, which David could’ve gotten himself, but of course, he had to dramatically take mine.

Eventually, we’re all outside, taking turns with the shovels. It takes us about six long hours until we’re standing in front of four graves—two large ones with two smaller ones in the middle.

We go upstairs, wrap the bodies in sheets, and then gently carry them downstairs, laying them in the graves.

Another few hours later, we’re sitting on the front porch of the house, eating dinner while watching the sunset, all of us covered in dirt.

“I sure hope we find a river or lake tomorrow,” I say, and a few chuckles fill the air, making me smile.

“Speak for yourself. I happen to dig this look,” Jackson jokes, glancing back at me with a big smile. He’s the dirtiest of us all, and after a beat of silence, everyone bursts into laughter.

Good one, Jackson. Good one.

"Can’t sleep either?"

I look up to see Jolie walking over to me, and I give her a small, tired smile and nod.

“Mind if I sit with you?” she asks softly. In response, I pat the space next to me. She sits down, and at first, we sit in silence, watching the river flow in front of us.

It's just a few days after we spent the night in the house, and we've finally located a river where we could thoroughly clean ourselves. 

Now, everyone is as clean as one can be in an apocalypse. 

Silence fills the air, broken only by the soft murmurs of Mother Nature, as everyone else sleeps — except for Jolie and me.

Since the apocalypse, I’ve grown to appreciate the sounds of nature, especially the gentle murmur of water. There’s something so comforting about it.

“Must be nice to be with someone you love in the apocalypse,” she whispers. I turn my head to Jolie, who’s still watching the water with a distant look in her eyes.

I glance back at the campsite, where David is sleeping peacefully, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, and my heart warms at the sight. While the apocalypse is anything but nice, having David by my side makes it bearable. I can’t imagine facing this nightmare without him.

My gaze shifts back to Jolie. The moon providing enough light to reveal the twinkle of sadness in her eyes, and my smile fades. “Did you love someone before the flu?” I ask gently.

She turns to me with a sad smile and nods. “I didn’t know her for long,” she begins, and I make sure to respond with only a small, encouraging smile at the feminine pronoun, “but I really thought she was the one.”

Her voice brims with lingering love and heartbreak. And we might not be very close, but it’s clear she needs to share her pain, to find comfort in someone who won’t judge her. If I can be that person, I’m more than willing. “Want to talk about her?” I ask, and the grateful smile she gives me tells me I made the right choice.

She starts telling me about Emily—how kind and beautiful she was, how they met on her college campus and instantly connected. “I just didn’t know I could even feel that way,” she says, shaking her head with a bittersweet smile. “I never did with the boyfriends I had in high school. It was so… different.”

I can relate to that. While I did love Brenda for a brief period in high school, it was nothing like the love I feel for David. For a long time, I thought everyone exaggerated the feeling of love because I had never experienced it the way it was described, at least not with a girl. 

“And her returning those feelings, even though we were both girls, felt so special.” Tears start to well up in Jolie’s eyes, so I place my hand on hers and smile in understanding. She looks at me with a grateful, tear-filled gaze before turning her head toward the campsite, then back to me. “You’re lucky to have him with you.”

I feel tears welling up in my own eyes, realizing how easily I could have been in Jolie’s shoes, losing the one I love—but I wouldn’t have even known it until it was too late, because I realized my feelings for David were romantic only after the flu. 

Either way, I could have lost David, just like… “Did the flu—?” I don’t finish my question, but Jolie understands nods, confirming my suspicions. “I’m really sorry,” I say, squeezing her hand gently, offering what little comfort I can.

Two weeks later, we find ourselves back in a house, pushing furniture aside to make space for us to sleep together. The weather hasn’t been great for the past week, leaving us all cold and wet, as we hadn’t come across a town until now.

Our mood isn’t the best either, which is expected after sleeping in the rain for the several nights.

I hear footsteps approaching from the hall and look up to see Brenda and Jolie entering the room with smiles. Which has to mean something good since none of us have been smiling these days.

“No bodies, and look what we found!” Brenda says excitedly, holding up towels.

I sigh with relief, and everyone seems to brighten a bit as Brenda and Jolie hand out the towels. Despite them being old and a little rough, it feels great to dry off.

“Now a warm shower would really complete it,” Ken says. While true, I wish he hadn’t mentioned it, because now I miss it even more.

“Now we don’t have that, but I did find something else,” Brenda says, turning to me with a big smile, which leaves me both confused and curious as I pat myself with a towel.

She winks at me before disappearing into the hall, and I immediately turn my head to see David already giving me a ‘look’ with a raised eyebrow.

When Brenda returns with a guitar, the wink makes complete sense. She knows I play guitar—or at least that I used to before the flu happened.

I never played much in high school, but in college, I found myself playing more and more until the flu brought us to where we are now.

“Think you can play us some songs, Ex?” Brenda asks and I smile at the ironic nickname that stuck after our breakup.

When I look around the room, everyone looks at me with hopeful eyes, and I think it’s time to put the rainy days behind us and have some fun. So I look back at Brenda and hold out my hand for the guitar.

An hour later, after drying off and changing clothes, I find myself leaning back against the couch pushed against the wall, tuning the guitar while everyone eats dinner and chats.

David, who’s quietly sitting beside me, occasionally feeds me spoonfuls of beans from the cans we found in the house. It seems like nobody has searched this house yet, so we got lucky with supplies.

“I think this is the best it’s gonna sound,” I announce. The guitar doesn’t sound perfect, but at least it’s tuned now. The conversations immediately die down and everyone looks at me.

I look at each face, trying to think of a song that everyone might know, then glance out the window at the empty street, the town completely abandoned. And an idea comes to me.

I look at the strings on the guitar and quickly go over the song in my head, confident I can play it once I start.

I place my fingers in the right spot to begin, “If anyone knows the lyrics, feel free to sing along.”

I smile as I start, the first sound of real music filling the air. When I look back at the group, I see similar reactions and looks that tell me they recognize the song.

“There’s freedom within,” I begin singing, not surprised that David’s voice almost immediately joins mine—we did spend many nights in my dorm singing it together while I played it on the guitar.

We share a look full of love before beginning the next line, “There is freedom without,” and both me and David turn our heads when we hear Jackson singing along. 

We smile as the three of us sing the next line together, “Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup.”

The next line, we are joined by Ken, who starts singing along with a genuine, thoughtful smile on his face, “There’s a battle ahead, many battles are lost.”

The girls—Brenda, Jolie, and Pamela—join the next line that, in my opinion, perfectly fits our group, “But you’ll never see the end of the road while you’re traveling with me.”

“Hey now, hey now,” two new voices join in, and I recognize them as Elijah’s and Timothy’s, “Don’t dream it’s over.”

“Hey now, hey now,” and now we’re all singing together as Ron finds his confidence to sing along with us, “When the world comes in.”

The rest of the song isn’t flawless. Ken accidentally messes up the lyrics, making everyone laugh, and most of the group lacks singing experience. I even fumble with the guitar at times. But despite the stops, the little mishaps, and the voices singing out of key, it sounds amazing.

It's music, and we’re creating it together.

As I look around, I see smiling faces. The girls are snuggled up together, Ken has his arms wrapped around Jackson and Elijah, swaying to the music, Ron and Timothy are nodding in unison, and David’s comforting presence is beside me, his shoulder occasionally brushing mine as he moves with the rhythm.

It’s perfect.

“Do you know any other songs? Maybe one you can play by heart?” Pamela asks after the clapping and cheering die down.

Immediately, my mind goes to the first song I learned on the guitar: ‘Blackbird’ by The Beatles. It’s my dad’s favorite song, one he played all the time while I was growing up. He was singing it constantly, whether he was cleaning, cooking, or just relaxing.

There was one memory that always stood out, when I was very young, just after my mother passed away. I was lying in bed, crying because I missed her, and my dad came in and sang ‘Blackbird’ to comfort me. 

That night, he told me the story of how he met my mother at a Christmas Eve party thrown by mutual friends. ‘Blackbird’ was playing in the background when they first talked, and they both mentioned it was their favorite song before talking for hours on the couch, getting to know each other.

From then on, my dad said it was their song, and every Christmas they would sing it together in memory of that night and their love.

It always remained my dad’s favorite Beatles song, and naturally, it became mine as well. So, when I got a guitar for Christmas one year, it was the first song I taught myself. I would always play it for my dad, and later in college, David was the one who always heard me play it.

My fingers automatically find the right positions on the guitar, but before I start playing, I hesitate. The image of my dad singing it infiltrates my mind—his smile, his eyes, his voice. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it. I swallow around the lump in my throat, staring at the strings.

I can’t do it.

I know how to play it, but I can’t. 

Not when he isn’t here. 

I’ll play it for him when I’m reunited with him.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe there’s another Beatles song I can play instead—“What about ‘Yesterday’?” A familiar voice whispers in my ear, his breath tickling me

I immediately smile. It’s like David is reading my mind. Or maybe it’s because he used to love it when I played that song for him whenever he had a bad day. 

Either way, I change my finger placements and begin playing the melody. The weight of David’s head on my shoulder making me feel like I can finally breathe again.

“Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,” I start singing, the rest of the room quiet except for the rain tapping against window. “Now it looks like they’re here to stay.”

As I glance around the room while I sing, everyone is looking at me with either admiration, tearful smiles, or thoughtful, distant looks. But I can tell they’re all listening.

“Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be,” I sing, and suddenly David’s song choice makes sense. The lyrics resonate in an apocalypse like this, reflecting on the things we’ve had to do to survive. “There’s a shadow hanging over me.”

I wish I could hold David the way he’s holding me, his head resting on my shoulder, his arm around my waist without getting in the way.

I keep my eyes on the guitar, even though I’m confident I could play this song with my eyes closed, because I can feel the emotion even without looking at the people in the room.

I try to keep my voice steady as I sing, but my mind drifts back to my dad. He loved—no, loves—the Beatles. I know he’s still alive, he has to be. I called him every day until the phone lines went down and we couldn’t contact each other anymore, and he wasn’t sick back then, so I’m hopeful he hasn’t been sick at all and is still out there.

I don’t know what I’d do if he isn’t.

But he is, and I will find him.

He’s home, and he’s okay.

“Now I need a place to hide away,” I near the end, and I’m grateful, because even I can hear the trembling in my voice, “Oh, I believe in yesterday.”

I hum softly as I play the final chords. When I finish, I keep my eyes fixed on the strings, trying to blink away the tears blurring my vision.

There’s no applause this time, just the sound of the rain and the weight of the moment.

I feel David’s soft lips kiss me gently on the neck. I turn my head to see him smiling at me with tears of his own.

“That was beautiful, Exer,” I finally muster the courage to look at the rest of the group. Brenda has tears streaming down her cheeks, and the two girls beside her are holding her with tears of their own. 

“Thank you.”