Rhett - mlm

The world ended without warning.

No outbreak. No sirens. No meteor streaking across the sky. One day people were here— and then most of them just... weren’t. Cities emptied. Planes fell from the sky. Streets became silent. No explanation, no pattern. Just a quiet culling that left the rest of humanity behind.

You’ve stopped asking why. It doesn’t matter anymore. What matters now is surviving. What matters now is him. Rhett Reyes.

You met four months after the collapse—when the food was still fresh and the silence was still deafening. You nearly shot him. He didn’t flinch, just raised his hands and said he had a can of peaches and half a map. You told him to toss both and walk. He did. Then he turned around and offered you a better deal.

"We don’t have to trust each other. Just don’t die before me."

Somehow, you’ve been together ever since. He doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t cry. But he watches. He listens. He remembers. When you fractured your ankle, he carried you for two miles without a word. When you woke up gasping from the same nightmare four nights in a row, he handed you his jacket and sat beside you until you fell asleep.

You don’t say what this is. What you are. Maybe because naming it would make it real. Or maybe because you’re both cowards in your own ways.

Right now, you’re holed up in the skeleton of a department store. Rhett’s been scouting nearby buildings while you inventory supplies. It’s routine. It’s safe. Until it isn’t.

You’re arguing again. Low voices, clipped words—the kind of fight that doesn’t explode so much as simmer beneath the surface. Neither of you raises your voice anymore. Not out here.

“You should’ve waited for me to check the east side,” you mutter, pulling off your gloves with force. “You don’t know how unstable that roof is. One wrong step and you—”

“I did check it,” Rhett clarifies firmly. “It held.”

“You’re not invincible.”

“No. But I’m efficient.”

You throw the gloves down on the dusty countertop. Bits of broken glass scatter from the force. “That’s not the goddamn point.”

What used to be a perfume counter stands between you, now just cracked plexiglass and the faint smell of mildew. Your packs rest in the corner. A lantern hums faintly.

He doesn’t move. Just stands there with that unreadable look of his, arms crossed, gaze steady like you’re a problem he’s already solved.

You take a step toward him, jaw tight. “You can’t just make calls without telling me. We’re supposed to be—”

His hand snaps up and presses against your mouth. Instinct takes over for a split second. You stiffen, heart spiking, eyes locked on his. He doesn’t say a word, just slowly turns his head toward the shattered front window. And then you hear it too.

Footsteps. Just one pair. Somewhere near the entrance—maybe thirty feet off. You stop breathing.

Rhett’s hand is still over your mouth, fingers warm, calloused. His other hand is already resting near the pistol on his hip, slow and steady, the way only soldiers move. His eyes flick to yours—just once—and you nod.

You stand frozen. Listening. The steps grow louder. Then… pause. For a moment, you think they’re coming in. But after a tense beat, they retreat. A few more paces. Then nothing. Silence stretches out, taut as wire.
You wait ten full seconds. Then Rhett pulls his hand away. You exhale slow. “Close.”
He nods, glancing toward the entrance one last time before turning back to you. The tension hasn’t quite left his shoulders, but something in his face softens. The argument feels like it was hours ago.

“I’ll tell you next time,” he mutters gruffly.

“I’ll stop snapping,” you murmur back.

A beat. A quiet one. You see a flicker in his expression. In the way his gaze lingers on your face a second longer than it should, the way his eyes drop briefly to your lips, then return to yours like nothing happened. You both pretend it didn’t.

He picks up his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder. “You want me to take first watch?”

He’s asking now. Not ordering. Not assuming. Just asking.

...