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They were looking for anything that could be useful in some way. Water, canned or dry food that didn’t expire five or more years ago, more resistant clothes. It didn’t matter if an usable jacket was stained with blood or if any of them disliked the flavor of beef jerky they found.
They didn’t have the luxury to be picky like that. Not anymore.
Not after the world ended and its wreck was the only thing left.
“Hey, Mary, check this out.”
They walked over to the other room, where the redhead was and what had once been a bedroom.
The walls had been scratched, ripped off and were beginning to grow mold on the corners, the bed mattress —big enough for two adults— had been opened up and its fillings were scattered on the floor alongside broken furniture, belongings from the owners of the house and overlays of dust.
Even the door had been shredded on the ends, left to feed termites.
The room definitely had seen better days.
They focused on Seven, the only idiot that would keep calling them that nickname even though everything else went to hell and rose back from it.
To affirm his idiocy, he was holding comic books between his hands while staring back at them with a grin on his face.
They just sighed, moving one of their hands up to their face and resting it on their forehead.
"Do I have to remind you what we are searching for?"
They had to worry about their survival — that much didn't change from their past.
"C'mon, don't be so boring. Plus, your face will get wrinkles if you keep frowning so much."
Wrinkles weren't something to worry about anymore. Everyone looks awful nowadays.
They stepped closer to Seven, looking over his shoulder towards what he was holding. By the looks of most of them, they were about a decade old.
Yet they didn't have any dirt or visible folds on them
“Found them inside the cardboard boxes over there. They were inside archival bags and all," he was going through the comics as he spoke, inspecting each cover for a few seconds before moving to the next one. "Quite the collection, it almost hurts that they don't have any value anymore.”
They guessed he had a point. Those books would have raised a good sum of money each.
Still, they didn't see how it was relevant.
"What do you want to do with those? Take them with you?" they wasted no time to add."Don't even think I will be carrying them."
"Nah, it would take space in our bags. Doesn't seem worth it," at least he had a bit of common sense remaining. "Hmm, what about we read them now? And we'll just let them here."
Vanderwood spoke too soon, never mind. It didn't come as a surprise considering who they were talking with, though.
They rolled their eyes and huffed, letting their body lean against the door frame as they crossed their arms.
They were alone in that house, it was the first thing the two of them made sure of. No other person or thing inside the property or near it.
"Weren't we in the middle of something?" They asked with a hint of sarcasm in their voice. "I don't know, I believe it was important."
"But Maryyy—"
"It was a long way to get here and we have to make it back to the bunker. You know that."
The redhead sighed, letting his shoulders drop.
Oh, no. He was doing that… that thing.
Seven frowned his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head a couple centimeters downward, his eyes looking towards the floor while slowly turning his back towards them—
"Yea, I know," Seven made his voice sound so defeated. "You don't have to nag about it."
Manipulation, that was the thing.
"...Do you want to stay here?"
And Vanderwood was too weak to not be his victim without an imminent threat over their heads.
The question caught the redhead's attention in an instant; it was obvious when Seven turned his head to look at them with his eyes wide open.
Sure, he did intend to make Vanderwood loosen up a bit, but he was still surprised it worked.
"What?"
"Yeah, like I said, it was a long way to get here. And we have around two hours before it starts to get dark."
Vanderwood almost couldn't believe themself. Delaying getting to a safer place just because Seven looked sad.
How could they have fallen so badly.
"We could secure the doors and windows leading outside, set up some stuff and settle down for tonight.
"We'll go through the rest of the houses down the street tomorrow morning and get back to the bunker before dusk."
The redhead kept staring at them, his expression being one of pure disbelief.
It went for so long, that they started wondering if they should just turn around and act like they didn't just actually suggest something so—
"Aww, it's okay, Mary, " the expression on Seven's face changed in a second, his frown disappearing and his lips forming a grin again. "You can admit you are tired."
"You—" that little shit.
"Shh, you don't have to be embarrassed, darling."
Vanderwood grimaced at the pet name immediately, which earned a laugh from Seven in return.
… That was better. By a lot.
"Just shut up and answer, will you."
"If my dearest partner is tired, how could I be so cruel to make them keep going?"
"Ugh. Stop that."
Before Seven could keep being a fool, Vanderwood turned around and headed back towards the entrance of the house. They were just going to start with the work; keep their hands busy.
"I'll take care of the front door. Make yourself useful or something."
"Roger that, madam! Love ya too~!"
What a clown. A very stupid clown.
And a clown that had them playing around his fingers without even doing much.
☆★☆
The sun started to set shortly after they finished barricading the house.
Every door and window had been blocked with wooden planks they ripped off the floor of rooms neither of them were going back to and they put curtains or sheets over any gaps they could be seen through from the outside.
It wasn't perfect or entirely safe as a long-term solution but it would do the job for that one night.
Instead of occupying the whole place, the two of them decided to stay in the living room. If something were to happen, they would react faster and more efficiently.
Even if none of them said it aloud, they knew it.
It felt better that way. Staying together.
Having each other's back was something they were used to and relied on.
Plus, Seven was entertained. He sat on one side of the couch with one of the comics on his hands and let them cut his hair with a pair of metal shears they found in the bathroom while rummaging through it.
They were still quite sharp. Sharp enough to trim the redhead's hair without much hustle.
With its length and the grip, Vanderwood imagined they could be used to pierce nicely through a skull with enough force and precision.
They were taking the shears with them.
Without thinking about it, Vanderwood moved their hand slightly away from the redhead's head and turned the shears around one of their fingers and closed their hand, forming a fist. It was a more secure grip, easier to swing and retract.
They would need to get pretty close, though.
Unless they threw them.
"Please don't stab me with those," Seven commented after noticing how the brunette held the shears, pulling them out of their thoughts. "I think I'd at least deserve a bullet."
Vanderwood instinctively huffed and let themself smile in response.
"You'd wish."
Even though his back was mostly turned to them, they could see how Seven's lips curved upward too.
It was a small gesture but it still kind of felt like the world.
Seeing him smile was something they… cherished.
It took them a long time (and an apocalypse) to let themselves think such things and just accept them. Nevertheless, it felt awkward coming from them.
"Whatcha thinking about?"
Seven moved his head once Vanderwood had put the shears away, giving himself permission to rest it on top of their lap while also staring at them.
Did his hair look like it was professionally cut? Absolutely not. But it had been simple enough they didn't fuck up that badly.
"You have that 'I'm thinking about you', namely me, face"
"I didn't realize you stared at me so much to categorize my expressions like that"
Seven quieted it down for a few seconds, taken aback that his own comment was turned against him. And soon started to blush.
They usually didn't bother saying such things, believing they were unnecessary or knowing that the redhead would just turn it back around to them; but it was nice to see him flustered once in a while.
So they mostly only retaliate when they were sure they would catch him off-guard.
"I—"
He was cute when left speechless.
"Answering your question," they decided to speak before Seven just tried to change the topic and move on. There was something that had been stuck inside their head. "Did you really want to stay the night here and read comics or were you just pretending to annoy me?"
Usually Vanderwood was able to tell when Seven was messing with someone or when he was being honest—in an exaggerated and dramatic way to make it seem like an act—but still honest.
This time however, they were not sure about it.
"... To tell you the truth, I don't know," Seven made a pause, keeping his mouth shut and his body completely still for half a minute before going on. "I just, I thought I was just acting to annoy you for a bit. I thought it wasn't that much of a deal but then I thought 'when was the last time I read a comic?'
"and that question led to 'when was the last time we were out and thought of another thing other than gathering supplies and making it back unscathed?'
"'When was the last time we could relax? Did something normal?' Even when we are inside the bunker, we just keep checking the security or counting our food or killing those—"
As Seven stopped talking, the room fell silent.
He didn't finish his sentence, but he didn't have to either.
The brunette had to think for a minute about an answer themself.
"...I would say that some things have been this way for us even before the apocalypse started."
"...Yea."
Honestly, there wasn't much more to it.
They had lived to survive long before this. It was what they were used to, what they knew.
It could be seen as an advantage now, sure, but if they weren't being in denial about it, it was depressing; how little they had lived freely, how every past sacrifice felt that it had been for nothing now.
"Sorry," the redhead mumbled, trying to laugh even as he averted his eyes from Vanderwood and looked so tired again. "Didn’t mean to be the party pooper this time."
"...It's okay, I get it."
Any sentimental or emotional stuff tended to be far from their range of expertise and difficult to deal with for them but they could understand everything he had said; the tiredness.
Their lives hadn't been "normal" even before the streets filled with decaying corpses, but they still could pretend it was from time to time. They could sometimes forget how fucked the world really was and pretend to be just like any another person, go buy groceries, order take-out and eat while watching cheap entertainment on the TV until they received a new assignment and the bubble burst.
Now, taking a break was literally impossible most of the time and they questioned themselves why did they even keep trying.
They were often afraid of the answer.
"Welp, we've made it this far, it wouldn't make sense to give up" Seven said, starting to shuffle his head against their stomach soon after. "Say, do you think someday I'll be able to go to a real hairdresser again?"
So he was just trying to get his hair all over them. Asshole.
Seven deserved to get his forehead flicked just as they did it; or so Vanderwood believed.
What remained of the world was almost total misery and none of them knew if there would be better days to come. But they were together. It had to count for something.
"You are a pest, you know that?"
"That sounds like a you-problem, Mary"
It was. And they… hopped it kept being for a little more time.