OCTOBER AND ANDY

The world has been loud all day.

Not just noise—pressure. The kind that builds behind your eyes, in your chest, in your bones. Every fight, every close call, every second spent bracing for something to go wrong—it all stacks, layer by layer, until your body starts to lag behind your will.

You feel it now.

Your steps are uneven, your limbs heavy, your thoughts just a fraction too slow to keep up with what’s happening around you. The adrenaline that carried you through the day is draining fast, leaving behind something hollow and brittle. You’re still moving, still upright, still following—but barely.

It’s just you and Andy for now.

The others are somewhere nearby—close enough that you’re not alone, but far enough that their voices blur into the background. Sam and Rachel had stayed behind to get a fire going, to sort through what little food you’d managed to gather. October… October had disappeared not long ago, slipping off without much explanation, probably chasing something impulsive, something unnecessary but important to him anyway.

So it’s just you and Andy.

And Andy, as always, fills the silence with something sharp.

“You’re dragging,” Andy mutters, not even looking at you at first. His tone is clipped, impatient, like your exhaustion is an inconvenience rather than a warning sign. “If you slow down any more, you’re going to start making noise. And if you make noise—”

“I know,” you cut in, your voice quieter than you intended.

He glances at you then, amber eyes narrowing slightly, assessing. There’s always something calculating in the way he looks at people, like he’s trying to figure out exactly how much they can handle before they break.

“You don’t look like you know,” he says flatly.

You don’t respond.

Because he’s not entirely wrong.

Your vision flickers slightly at the edges, dark spots creeping in and out like shadows you can’t quite catch. Your legs feel like they don’t belong to you anymore, like they’re moving out of habit rather than intention. Every breath feels heavier than the last.

Still, you keep going.

Because stopping isn’t an option.

Andy exhales sharply, clearly annoyed, and runs a hand through his already messy hair. “You should’ve said something earlier,” he adds, though there’s a faint shift in his tone—something less biting, more… restrained.

You manage a weak shrug. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he snaps immediately.

There’s a pause.

You stop walking.

Not because you decide to—but because your body does.

The world tilts slightly, the ground feeling uneven beneath your feet. You blink, trying to steady yourself, trying to push through it like you always do. Your ears ring faintly, drowning out whatever Andy says next.

“—seriously, if you’re going to—”

You look at him.

Really look at him.

And for a split second, something in your expression must give you away.

Because his words stop.

Your knees buckle.

You don’t even feel the moment you start falling—just the sudden absence of balance, the way gravity takes over before you can react. The world lurches sideways, your vision blurring completely—

—and then something solid catches you.

Andy.

His arms come up instinctively, faster than thought, grabbing onto you before you hit the ground. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him, more surprise than anything else, as your full weight collapses against him.

“—hey—!”

Your head falls against his shoulder.

Everything goes quiet.

Not peaceful—just… gone.

—

Andy freezes.

For a second, he doesn’t move at all.

Your weight is pressed against him, heavier than he expected, your body completely slack in his arms. There’s no resistance, no tension—just the unmistakable stillness of someone who has hit their limit.

“...You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters under his breath, but there’s no real bite to it this time.

It’s different now.

Because you’re not arguing back.

You’re not even conscious.

His grip tightens slightly, adjusting awkwardly to keep you from slipping. He’s not used to this—not like this. Fighting, planning, surviving—those are things he understands. But this?

This is… inconvenient.

Complicated.

Unfamiliar.

“Hey,” he says, sharper this time, like raising his voice might somehow pull you back. “This isn’t funny. You don’t just—”

No response.

He exhales, frustrated, his jaw tightening. His eyes flick around briefly, like he’s expecting someone else to step in and deal with this for him.

No one does.

Because it’s just him.

And you.

Still unconscious.

“Great,” he mutters. “Just—great.”

He shifts his stance, trying to balance your weight more securely. One arm braces around your back while the other hooks under your knees, lifting you slightly—not gracefully, not comfortably, but enough to keep you from collapsing completely.

You’re lighter than he expected.

That thought unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

“...You couldn’t have done this five minutes later?” he adds under his breath, though his tone lacks its usual sharpness.

For a moment, he just stands there.

Then—

“October!”

His voice cuts through the quiet, louder than necessary, edged with something unfamiliar.

Uncertainty.

There’s no immediate response.

Andy’s expression tightens.

“October!” he calls again, more forcefully this time, his grip on you adjusting instinctively when your head shifts slightly against his shoulder.

Still nothing.

“Where the hell did you go—” he mutters, frustration creeping back in, though it’s thinner now, stretched over something else.

He looks down at you.

Really looks this time.

Your face is pale, your breathing shallow but steady, your entire body limp in a way that makes it obvious this isn’t just a momentary lapse. This is exhaustion. Complete and total.

He exhales slowly through his nose.

“…Idiot,” he murmurs, though the word lands softer than anything he’s said all day.

Another pause.

Then, louder—

“October!”

Footsteps, distant at first, then closer.

“What?” October’s voice calls back, slightly out of breath, like he’s been moving fast. “What happened—”

He rounds the corner, and the moment his eyes land on the scene—Andy standing there, holding you, your body completely slack—his expression shifts instantly.

“Whoa—hey—what happened?” he asks, stepping closer without hesitation.

Andy huffs out a breath, somewhere between irritation and relief. “They just—collapsed. Out of nowhere.”

October’s gaze flicks over you quickly, assessing, his movements calm but urgent. “How long?”

“Like, two seconds ago,” Andy snaps. “I didn’t exactly have time to—”

“Okay, okay,” October cuts in gently, already stepping closer. “Just—hold on.”

Andy doesn’t move.

Doesn’t let go.

For a second, there’s this strange hesitation, like he’s not entirely sure what to do next—even with help standing right in front of him.

October notices.

“…Andy,” he says, softer this time.

Andy exhales sharply, then finally shifts, carefully transferring your weight as October steps in to help support you properly.

“There,” October murmurs, steadying you between them. “We’ve got them.”

Andy steps back slightly, but not far.

Not entirely.

His gaze lingers on you, sharper than before, something unreadable flickering in his amber eyes.

“…They should’ve said something,” he mutters.

October glances at him briefly. “Yeah. They should’ve.”

But there’s no judgment in his tone.

Just understanding.

In the distance, faint but growing clearer, you can hear Sam’s voice calling out, Rachel’s softer one following close behind.

They’re coming.

Andy runs a hand through his hair again, exhaling slowly as he watches you, still unmoving, still unconscious.

“…Next time,” he says quietly, almost to himself, “don’t wait until you drop.”

There’s no bite to it.

No edge.

Just something quieter.

Something that lingers.

And for the first time all day, Andy doesn’t look annoyed.

He looks… unsettled.