Archive of Our Own ^beta

Waking up in the woods with no memory of self, with undead beings attacking you has to be on nobody’s vacation bingo. Running through the woods with a leg that hurt like it probably was sprained, still can be put on the things you would do on a human instinct of wanting to stay alive. 

There were pieces of wooden splinters from the log in his mouth. He woke up to bleeding tongue and gums with a thin log the size of his mouth shoved in and the rest of him equally covered in blood. He had been running for a while when it finally felt like it was far enough and he could spot a road, he stopped to breathe, leaning on the nearest tree for support. A road meant civilization and humans.

There were a few abandoned cars that seemed like they had run into a tree or each other. He could hear noises coming from behind it. Was it an undead being eating leftovers of a body? He peeked again, trying to make out the figure. It was a man! Very much alive and dressed in clothes that looked combat! It was ‘help’! 

He tried to walk towards the man hoping that he’d save him but what he did not take into consideration was his own attire. His clothes were falling apart, shirt soaked into blood. He stank like rotten flesh and the bleeding mouth made it seem like he just ate the flesh of a man. 

For Arthur Rimbaud, Class A hunter, it was a ‘scrap collection day’ where he came across two abandoned cars, one that ran into a tree and another halted just a metre behind it. They seemed unchecked so there were chances of him finding something useful. A good piece of coat, some cigarettes, chewing gum and a CD inside the cover that said "The Cranberry- No Need To Argue, Complete session". He wouldn’t call it a bad haul but cannot have CDs for breakfast. He still gave the list of songs at the back of the cover a read, ready to take it home to listen to it sometime. He probably would have moved to explore the rest of the abandoned city since he had spotted no undead being yet but there were chances that he might run into them as the cars had no bodies. Meaning they might have morphed and wandered off or were dragged and eaten by other zombies around.

Spot on! The moment he was done checking the trunk, he could hear heavy footsteps of someone dragging their feet. A zombie in the daylight, just one, was an easy take for him. It was too near for him to get a gun so he readied his dagger first. 

Positioning himself to attack, dagger ready, he swung it the moment the person reached for him. His mouth was bloodied like the rest of him but his body didn't feel heavy and limbs felt very much attached. His actions weren’t violent either except no words came out of him. Rimbaud did not have time to hesitate. He struck his leg next as the other being sloppily dodged his dagger. 

The lean man dressed in clean, nice clothes on and his hair collected in a tight pony, had confused him for the undead. He cannot say that the the man was in the wrong entirely. His lack of speech wasn't helping at all. He hadn’t expected him to attack and now he had no choice but to attack him back as defence. His body fell towards the other man after his strike hit his ankles square. Rimbaud held his wrist in his hold to try and change their positions. He was ready to attack but the man took a step back after flipping them. He didn’t want to hurt him but the infantry personnel was way stronger for him. He would be dead except as they got entangled, they could hear roars. 

It was the undead and this time a dead- actual one. For a moment they did not move. Arthur felt something within the hold he had on the other man's hand. The zombie returned full speed to the car they were fighting near. One followed the other as they moved towards them like someone practising walking for the first time. Their limbs bending in different directions but they were headed straight ahead.

Arthur immediately separated from the man and sprinted behind the car. One of the zombies came after him while the other went to fight the other man who fell to the ground. Zombies sometimes attack each other but it was futile and they would eventually either get distracted and separate or pull each other's leftover limbs out till they rot and die a second time, unable to walk or move anymore.

Arthur reached for his gun from his waist before the undead could plunge towards him, shot him straight in the head, quietening his growls. The other one by now, had climbed the man he had met earlier and was about to bite in. They were too close for Arthur to shoot directly down. The undead or the Zombies have bodies that's mostly rotting with mushy parts. The weapons he use can take two of them at once if they are near, passing from one body to another and then explode in the end if it gets stuck in the body.

He bent down to aim at head diagonally so the bullet missed the other person and bam. The bullet passed through the zombie blowing his head to the ground nearby, missing the person below who was shocked by the whole ordeal. He threw the rest of the zombie away from himself to get up. Arthur still had his gun in his hand as he looked around checking if they had more undead around. The other man on ground held his breath, preparing himself but instead of another bullet came an extended hand. 

"I felt your pulse." He looked at him baffled so Arthur explained again.

"I hit you thinking you're a zombie but when I held your wrist, I realised you're alive. It is okay. No need to worry anymore. I'm sorry, I attacked you." Arthur said soothingly as he pulled the other man up. 

"But can you blame me? You look like you've been dragged through the woods. Should we directly go to the doctor?" He did not blame Arthur at all. He liked his soothing voice and the way he smiled at him as he talked even though he probably looked dirty. He wanted to apologise instead but his mouth was damaged and all the words he spoke sounded like gargles.

"Here, you can have this coat for the time being." The man looked so thankful when Arthur put the coat on him that he omitted telling him how he had just stolen, more like collected it from scrape some time ago and the actual owner was probably dead.

He took the man and walked further down the road to his own car as he checked his phone for network. Somewhere down the road he finally connected the phone to the network and dialled a number.

"Mori san~ Yes I'm okay but you'll have to arrange an appointment ... .No no, not for me…... Ah, I found a man….. I'm not sure….. No it doesn't look like… well….. yeah… When can I come by?.….. Oh! That's good to know…. I hope it goes well…. Yes, don't worry about things here. I'll be careful. Yeah I'm going back now, I'll update you….see you." 

The man played with his coat sleeves as he heard the one sided conversation. The coat had a card which said 'ID' and below it said "Name: Paul Verlaine". 

"Ah, I did not ask! What is your name? I am Arthur Rimbaud." The man said, keeping the phone back. 

"Pwah Vereh.." he supplied after thinking for a while. He tried but mostly the noises of his breath came out. His head felt heavy and most of his body hurt. He could not recall what a "name" was till some time ago and he didn’t know his own for sure.

"Oh sorry. It is okay. You can write it for me when we reach." Arthur remembered that the other man’s mouth was bleeding and if he has not morphed and eaten anyone then he probably had hurt his mouth.

He parked away in an open field. In some distance, Paul could see some houses at someone meters from each other. One in the far end was very big but looked half destroyed. The one in the right was towards the front, clearly a house built ages back in time. It looked like it could fall apart but looking at Paul’s face, Arthur assured him that it was sturdy with a little laugh.

“It is a little further inside, do you need help walking?” 

Paul shook his head. His legs trembled a little from the pain but he kept going slowly. He wasn’t paying much attention when he came face to face with a fence. A fence in the middle of the field not encircling anything or connected to anything. It wasn’t even a full circle. 

“Careful, are you okay?” Paul nodded.

“The undead sure love to eat brains and use none. These things are handy for getting away from zombies. But not very dependable, I mean eventually they will figure out a way to move around it but it slows them down significantly.” Arthur explained with a smile, occasionally turning around to look at him. 

He was probably making sure Paul does not run into another fence while walking, there were a lot of those things. After some more minutes of walking, they finally reached his place. Arthur, no doubt, seemed kind to Paul. But he was on his guard. Paul cannot complain. Regardless, he did bring a strange man into his home without questions.

Arthur Rimbaud was aware that it was stupid. The man might have been bitten, fed on or infected. He might be turning into a zombie as he welcomed him into his house. But he was alive. And if he was alive there were chances of survival. If not for the man then for the humanity. He could hand him over to the centre the moment he shows first signs of morphing.

He helped the man bathe, profusely apologising about his every wound as if he made them, kindly helping him undress, wash and then dress, like a baby. It wasn’t all that necessary to do so but he had to make sure if he was bitten or not. He was not. None of his wounds looked like a bite. That came as a relief and as an unexplainable enigma. With that he put himself into being hospitable. If you save a sick man, then you nurse him to health. 

The centre was busy with experiments and projects. The doctors were busy with all that they had previously. Mori had already lectured him against keeping the man until he updated that he was not bitten. He still got an appointment to take Verlaine to him soon. He also had to update the centre on his findings, which this time, was not much except there is no explanation for a violently injured man in the middle of forest with amnesia. 

Rimbaud had his friend call and check in on the condition of the stranger. He was told to maintain as much distance as possible. Sometimes the morphing takes much longer. There was a fear as he took care of the sick man that he might be turning into a zombie. Rimbaud wanted to hope that it was not the case. He mostly came across fully morphed beings with rotten skin so when he felt his pulse, he was excited, with a hope ignited within him even as he fought off two other undead beings. He nursed the man and looked after him but with the fear of him being infected always in the back of his head.

Paul Verlaine, that he is now, did not have much that he remembers. He actually remembers nothing but can understand, read and write. One day, he woke up in the middle of the forest with a hurt leg and a bleeding mouth and everything in his body screaming for him to run. He cannot recall anything but less in ‘a plain paper that has never been written on’ way, he felt like a blackboard used repeatedly and written on with chalk but aggressively wiped and erased with water. He can tell the dried marks of chalk and water, he can tell there’s something he should remember which was there but it was like a powerful lock on a box that might not even have the things he need. Arthur always says it was fine. He picked him and brought him here. He knew basic first aid with which he nursed his wounds. He even helped him bathe the first day. He says it is okay if he can’t remember anything immediately. He looked after him regardless of the fear of his fate, anxiety of his infectious wounds.

It all makes Verlaine feel like a burden. He cannot make sense of it and Arthur might tell him that it was fine but he won’t get it. He might care because he’s kind but he can’t feel what Verlaine does. It was quiet here from whatever he was running from, it scared him as it soothed him. He wanted to help around but his speech was not back yet. His leg had left him with a limp. Most of his wounds were healing but not fast enough for his satisfaction. Arthur gave him a cream to numb his mouth before he can eat. He couldn’t eat anything that had flavour for the first week.

They mostly do not go out. It is not only freezing most of the time but there’s a literal epidemic of a disease that is unexplained, efficiently wiping out most of humanity. Everything they needed to survive was mostly around. They are surrounded by trees and abandoned, empty societies on some distance but nearby they have a small farm, something smaller than a farm and bigger than a garden with different plants, berries, fruits and herbs. Big enough to feed two big families.

They walk around the farm during the day when it is warmer, picking berries and herbs. Arthur folded his pants to his knees to stand at the edge of the pond to use that water and wash the berries. He would pause every once a while to check on Paul who sat nearby with their goat that Arthur called Sheep. All the settlements in the area were made like these. Most of the living population habited at the centre. Trained personnels were stationed at smaller farms like these with few animals and people to take care of that particular place. They were grouped with trained people and assigned areas to look over and farm and soon enough they could build another centre or habitat around that place. Arthur also had a few people along with him who looked after the farm when he was away. It was safer for him to introduce Paul to them after all his injuries healed, to know that he had no infections and chances of turning into a zombie were zero.

When Verlaine finally recovered his mouth slowly, he was like a child that had just opened his curious eyes to look at the world. He wanted to know about everything: berries, every fruit, their goat called Sheep. Strings of “What’s” just won’t end from him. Rimbaud patiently answered all of those. He was perplexed at times how he, despite his amnesia, could remember well to read and write and other information about literature and science while not being able to identify fruits or remember their taste. He tried it all like it was his first.

Rimbaud had his fun playing with him like one plays with a child. Fooling him into trying something bitter, something sour, drinking in the joy on his face of a sweet berry. Arthur taught him to pick different berries and they tasted them together. He taught him to separate the good ones from the rotten ones, to wash them, store them etcetera.

Verlaine enjoyed each of those moments too, even at the expense of having Rimbaud laugh at him. But he hated the helplessness his lack of knowing brought him sometimes. He loved how warm Rimbaud’s presence was but with a realisation that it is his sympathy that he extends to him in the form of kindness, sheltering him, when he was barely a human with functioning memory. Whether he is an unimportant coincidence or a missing puzzle piece, he wanted to figure out for himself. He wanted to hurry up and remember everything that felt missing from his mind when Arthur came in with warm cups of milk tea.

“Hey!” 

“Hi” he can’t help but smile back. Arthur’s smile is probably more contagious than whatever they have outside. 

“Thinking again? Didn't I say, not to think so hard? Here! I got us tea.” He set the tea on the table, turning the handle towards Verlaine.

“What has to come will come eventually. We cannot worry about our lives away. Here, try it! Tell me if it is good. The milk I used is from Sheep. We can milk her for the next 8 weeks, after that I'll take her back to the centre.” That’s right, they have a goat… which Arthur named ‘Sheep’. He sheepishly told Verlaine how he didn’t know that a goat and a sheep were two different things as a child. He also reassured him that they wouldn't cook Sheep here or at the centre after he cracked a joke about eating him when it gets too cold for their farm and they run out of supplies. They also had a tiny pond behind their backyard. And behind that, lived Sheep, alone. He occasionally does make up stories to tell Paul who believes it all, only to have Arthur laugh at him at the end of it.

In the short period they spent together, Arthur had already forgotten how he lived before him. He wondered who he talked to before he found him. Paul, although, could imagine him talking to the plants in their backyard, to Sheep, to the pan as he cooks sometimes. He still does that, but mostly he talks to Verlaine.

Verlaine picked the cup ready to take it to his mouth. The Eager to try, without thinking he poured the steaming tea into his mouth, spitting it out next second, burning himself and scaring the man beside him who turned towards him immediately. His mouth had only just recovered.

“I’m so sorry, I should have warned you. Oh my god, are you okay?” he said, cupping his face in his hand, wiping away the tea, dipping from his mouth. He tilted his face up to blow air into his mouth as he continued to apologise.

“Oh— I’m so sorry,” he apologised again, realising he had half climbed his lap. Paul patted his arms that held his face to tell him that he was okay. Arthur pulled away embarrassed, swirling Paul’s cup around to make sure that the tea was cold enough to drink. As much as Paul wanted to know the secrets about his amnesia and the rest of him, it was moments like these that he felt it didn’t matter. As if it was just two of them in the world away in their little cottage with their little goat called Sheep, with their plants around their pond. It was just the two of them in this whole quiet world.

In the evening, most winter, the electricity was available only for limited hours. Rimbaud did not have enough blankets for two. With no heaters working, the only smart solution Rimbaud seemed to reach was huddling together with whatever blankets they had. He sat closer to Paul, sharing their body heat trying to make it through the night and hoping for the sun. He pulled Verlaine to cuddle with him for “warmth”. It is his new favourite thing to do.

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“Not really.”

“The opposite, right? It is warmer this way.” Rimbaud smiled talking to Verlaine who had quieted down after the critical hit to his mouth. It did warm him too. 

“When the sun comes out, we can go see our neighbours.'' It had been more than some three weeks since Paul started living with Arthur. He already had his speech back though the limp in his walk stayed. 

“We have neighbours?”

“Yes, the house that you saw when you came in!”

“I thought those were empty. Well they did look like they were falling apart.”

“Shush, I told you, it was okay. They have not fallen apart yet. I was also supposed to take you to my doctor but he was off duty for some days. He sure still finds the time to scream at me through calls though.” Arthur was supposed to take Paul to the centre but things had been busy and he was recommended to stay in for longer than he was supposed to. It was finally the time to take him to report. 

“I don’t think I need a doctor, you took care of the wounds.” 

“Yes, but I can’t help with the rest! Anyways, we can finally go see him since we have to report to the centre.” Arthur was not allowed to tell Verlaine much about the Centre or the organisation before they approved of him. He was mostly told to keep an eye on him since he cannot be traced into any official data. They talked about other random things until they drifted off to sleep resting their heads on each other's arms comfortably. 

Ogai Mori is one of the doctors that they have at the centre involved with the experimentation for finding the cause and medication of the infectious disease, but also one of Arthur’s friends. They were trained together for formal education. While Mori decided to pick medicine for further education, Arthur decided to join the combat team. Even though he was a little older, they were close enough to keep all updates of each other’s life. 

Arthur was the part of hunters, they were like the infantry and worked in things like moving or finding people and things, rescuing them and collecting resources, whereas Mori was involved in the medicinal line, studying and researching the virus or people affected, with the rest of the people at the centre. The centre worked like a loose government. It was more like an organisation that was formed in the last few decades after the abolition of most governments and rampant spread of the infection. On most days they did not have contact with the people outside. Occasionally, they would update the statistics to the main government that was formed again but wasn’t as effective. Things were still much more complex than that.

The government did not really provide for much nor did they care enough with their own lack of support and resources. Their resources were scattered, so were the people. Most factories and public spaces were shut. For basic needs, each was on their own. Most days, the infantry team of the hunter class of personnels would try to collect resources or find more hands if they could. No matter what the position was named, their priority was always the survival of more and more. 

Paul walked behind Arthur who looked familiar with the buildings. They were checked for their temperature, weapons e.t.c, and scanned at all checkpoints. The space looked well kept and modern, surrounded by big walls on all sides, compared to the rest of the decaying city. He realised that it was a Hospital, food store and housing for most people, like a full town but in one building. Their small cottage was one of the exceptions found around the city to guard some of the farms. They had a combat personal station at each of these cottages. 

They reached a door with a nameplate that said “Dr. Ogai Mori” Verlaine could not comprehend their excited greetings to each other, where they talked over each other with quick engulfing hugs.

“Congratulations!” “Thank you!” “Was it fun?” “You didn’t even call!” “I did! Later, I didn’t wanna disturb!” “Oh, shut up.”

“Wah! Are you not changing that name plate?” He talked with a teasing sigh. 

“I will jeez, how long has it even been!” The attention was finally on him as the doctor guided Arthur to a chair in his office and Verlaine sat next to him.

“Ah, you’re Paul Verlaine? From the woods?” The doctor said, over his dark coloured shirt, he wore a white lab coat with his hair collected in a pony shorter than Rimbaud’s, two free strands falling on both sides of his face. He was a little shorter than them both with a playful look on his face from greeting his friend. Verlaine nodded as a reply to his question.

“I’ll have to have you tested then.”

Paul showed Arthur around the institute as Mori waited for his results to come in. Hours after the whole thing, they were sitting in his office again as Mori looked over the files in his hand as Rimbaud waited anxiously. 

“What is your name again?” 

“Paul Verlaine.”

“Is it yours?” 

“No.” Verlaine replied, remembering the coat and the id. 

“What?” Rimbaud stood up from the checkup bed he was leaning on.

“Okay, so you just came up with it?” Mori continued with the conversation without taking his eyes off the reports as Verlaine replied without looking at Rimbaud. He thought of it as a test and wanted to do well.

“No, he gave it to me.” He pointed at Rimbaud who looked even more baffled since his last answer. 

“How many ‘Paul Verlaine’ do you know?” Mori directed at Rimbaud, dropping every inch of doctor in him that he was when he questioned Verlaine.

“None, apparently!” Rimbaud racked his brain for any moment he could have named him but nothing came up. Mori moved on and continued asking more questions.

“Well, It seems like Dissociation Amnesia caused by trauma or severe stress”.

“But then he can’t remember fruits and their tastes but he can name most theories, even literature books”.

“Well it could be because of never trying them than amnesia being its cause”.

“What do you mean?” Mori sighed, putting his reports back down, as Arthur braced himself for it. Verlaine listened to it all quietly. 

“Wait, should we have him here for this conversation?”

“You legally cannot listen to this without him. Since the information about his condition poses no medical harm to him, it is better to discuss it with him here. Understanding his own condition might even help him recover better.” Mori explained calmly even though legality mostly meant nothing in the era they lived in. Neither of them were talking to him, it made Verlaine uneasy but he did not interrupt, scared of what was coming. 

“There are chances that his amnesia is code induced.”

“You mean drug induced?”

“No, I mean machine- code induced. Computerised. There are traces of experimentation on him. There is also a chance that his memories and knowledge are not learned rather are computerised.” The room was quiet like the dead so Mori continued. 

“His brain and functioning can be traced to being controlled, resulting from human experimentation. But it has been abruptly cut off. Everything I say after this is mere speculation. There is no data about his existence in the government data, he appeared in the middle of the forest, left to be fed to the undead. It seems like a failed experiment or erasure of some sort of proof. People involved might just be way out of our reach.”

“These are your speculations?”

“No. The organisation seems to- ”

“You let them know before telling me.” He stated it as a fact but Mori could sense the accusation in his voice.

“I told you not to go off doing things on your own. Besides, even if I didn’t, the amount of questions about him won’t shut down. I just don’t want you getting into trouble with the organisation.” Rimbaud understands that Mori probably had his best in his heart but he couldn’t help feeling a sense of betrayal that he swallowed down with difficulty. 

“Do you find any trouble remembering any recent events?” Mori continued. Mori knows that Rimbaud cares but he can’t have his friend getting into trouble when things were so unclear.

“No. I remember everything, I think.” 

“Okay. Tell me the first thing you can think of.”

“The fever.”

“Oh? What about it?”

“Yes, I felt sick after he took me in and had a fever because my wounds were infected.”

"And you decided not to report that his wounds were infected?" He directed again at Arthur

"I could tell those were basic infections that I cleaned, alright? I took medicine with you!" Arthur replied. They've already had similar conversations over phone multiple times with Mori stressing on how dangerous it was to the point that he decided to omit some of his updates. The atmosphere was like a game of ping pong between them. They’d get serious or upset but not remain that for very long.

“Very well. Very alive human body reaction to have and the kind of infections that we can deal with. Well, something nice next.”

“Uh berries? But I don’t like the ones that are sick.”

“Berries don’t get sick.”

“They do. He told me.” He pointed towards Rimbaud.

“Are you sure he’s the only one I should check?”

“I did not say that!”

“He says you did! What do you keep telling the guy?”

“I said ‘like’! Like they were sick! He didn’t understand what rotten fruits are!” Mori was enjoying the occasional occurrence of seeing his friend that flustered in a while. 

“This really took my whole day.” Mori said, complaining. 

“Oh yes, I totally forgot! We shouldn’t hog off cuddling time from the newly wed.” Arthur said with a teasing tone. 

“What is a newly wed?” Verlaine chipped in. 

“It is doctor Mori and his husband. It is something people do.” Rimbaud tried.

“What do they do?” Verlaine asked intrigued. Rimbaud looked at Mori.

“Well, marriage. It is like when you commit to be together and to do things together.”

“What things?” “Yeah, tell us. What things?” Arthur added, snickering at Mori's blank expression providing nothing, leaving him to handle it for himself.

“Like he said. Cuddling together.” Mori tried to get through, giving a warning stare to Arthur. 

“We do that too.” Paul’s sudden declaration once again left Rimbaud flustered.

“IT IS NOT THE SAME.” Mori raised an eyebrow at his friend who was red in the face like he had been caught red-handed doing something wrong.

“It is the lack of necessities. Blankets. We do it to keep the cold out. It is not the same. Married people do a lot of other things.” 

“Remember to collect the necessities from the department as you leave.” Mori said, patting him on his back. 

“You’ll have to report to the head office tomorrow. Your reports have already reached. You can even start training if there is no other physical discomfort. The limping might stay because of the impact of physical pressure on your bone. You’ll probably see my husband next time you come here.” Mori smiled at them, waving goodbye. 

Yukichi M. Fukuzawa is the trainer assigned to Paul Verlaine. He has been trying out all different weapons to pick what suits him even though Yukichi specialises in Katana. He is one of the top physical combat personnel in the organisation. Verlaine learns extremely quickly. Physically, he might even beat Arthur soon enough. Yukichi was also responsible for letting him in to all information they had on Zombies and the structure of the organisation.

Normally a person won’t live, as in be alive more than a few days with the consciousness of a human but the morphing can also start as quick as within an hour. Immediately after morphing, the undead can still retain some of their humane habits like wearing their shoes or looking for their car keys or even knocking but that rots away with their body in the next six to seven days. after being infected without external help. 

Not always did the bites turn into infection and there were only some guesses to what could definitely lead to it. The deeper the wounds or closer it was to the vitals, higher the chances of morphing. The unclarity of these, more often than not, led to immediately killing off of the bitten or affected people to prevent them from morphing. Injured people mostly after being bitten were great subjects for the centre to experiment on. If the hunting team were able to find affected people before or at the price of morphing, their priority was to keep them alive on external medical equipment or drugs. These people were taken to the centre to experiment on. Contrary to their title, their expertise sure was rescuing. Other refugees were rescued and brought to the centre, given treatment if needed, observed for a while and then added to one of the positions they could fit.

Arthur knocks on the door where the nameplate says “Dr. Ogai M. Fukuzawa” this time. He smiles at the old friend as they talk about meaningless things to important statistical updates. 

“Can he be controlled again?” Mori sighed. He knew that the man had grown to be someone important to his friend.

“It can be blocked completely.” Mori offered.

“Can you do that?” 

“I can.. but you do understand he could be a part of something really big right. I’m not sure but we can try to trace it back to its source yet-?”

“So? Nothing would ever convince me to let them get to him again. You should have seen the condition in which I found him.”

“I can tell I’m not winning this one. I’ll see what I can do. I can tell Yuki already likes him.” They got up when it was time for the monthly report at the main office. 

After Mori confirmed Verlaine's amnesia and his health, it was pretty much a green sign for him to continue with the regular things at the training and outside. He was allowed to see his neighbours, allowed to go on missions and also to collect resources or “scraps” like Arthur calls it. He and Arthur were mostly assigned to work together. They understood each other beyond verbal communication. On missions, they were always in sync, having each other's back even when they came across plenty of Zombies. 

The Centre had a feeling if the zombies were controlled or something affected their infection. But there was much surrounding the disease that was in the dark. Their primary focus was survival.

“Take off your shoes, she doesn’t like people wearing shoes on her carpet. And do not mention that it looks old. Just compliment the house!” Arthur whispered instructions into his ears as they waited. Before they saw Kyoko, they heard the kittle and smelled the warm baked sweet with berries from their garden. Her back was crooked as she looked up at them. Arthur bent to her level to let her pat him and then held her hands as she welcomed them inside. 

It felt old. But while the “old” on the outside was haunting, the old on the inside was nostalgic, warm and bright. The carpet to curtains were old and fading but one could tell that those colours were once bright. Verlaine cannot imagine the biting cold ever finding its way into this little house.

“I’ve brought your supplies, Kyoko.” Arthur told her, placing the things he was holding on the table nearby. 

“Thank you, Darling boy.” She replied and looked at Verlaine as Verlaine looked back at her, face blank.

“Ah, this is my partner, Paul Verlaine. We couldn’t come sooner because of the cold so I finally brought him here to meet you.” Arthur interjected.

“But I saw him the day he came. You look different now.” Verlaine felt extremely awkward and out of place. He thought he should try copying Arthur but it might feel even more out of place so he said nothing.

“The biscuits you let me have last time were so good! I even shared some with Paul here. You liked them right, Paul?” Attempt two of breaking the ice, by Arthur 

“The biscuits? They were sweet.” There was a tiny sparkle in his eyes that matched the lady’s immediately.

“I made some more, I’ll let you try some.” She held his hand pulling him towards the interiors of the house, Arthur trailing behind. Mission accomplished, Point one: Arthur.

“You made them?”

“Who else?”

“I thought they were from the garden.”

“Biscuits don’t grow on trees, boy. Who raised you? Anyways here, have these ones!”

“These are savoury. I didn’t know there were savoury biscuits too.” Paul said, already throwing all his inhibitions on being given some biscuits. 

“These were my husband's favourite kind! I made it for him all the time when we were married.” She said, taking out more biscuits from the jar. Arthur could recite his word to word with how many times he has heard similar anecdotes about their youth.

“You were married?” Paul asked, stuffing another biscuit in his face.

“To an amazing man. He was my partner. He was brave and kind and oh, beautiful! We’ve seen the beginning of this epidemic. When no one wanted to take it seriously, four decades ago.” They had moved back to the living room and her warm sofa. Arthur sat beside her as he held her hand. Paul had diverted his attention from biscuits to things she had to tell.

We joined the organisation together, we’ve practically seen it being built. After the disease spread from nation to nation, we saw governments fall, countries shut down and close their gates to the world and isolated themselves. We also saw people come together, to help, to live, to die. Urgh, so many deaths that I have seen, the one I most vividly remember is my husband’s. Still less than what I remember of him from our days together.” She told them things fondly, recalling things from the past like treasures she had collected.

“Most institutions fell, like everything else. Nobody cares to get married anymore. It is enough to be committed, right? Surviving is the priority after all. But these things were such a popular custom when we were growing up.” They chatted for a while. She told them stories about the world before the pandemic, of things you don’t find in those books that survived. She told stories from their days in the squad together with her husband, working for the organisation. 

“When you leave, take these cookies for my darling girl there. She hardly comes around to play anymore. See if she’s eating well. Here, have some for you too.” Arthur had mentioned they”ll meet Gin after this.

“We‘ve been trying to get her to the centre where it is much safer but she refuses to stay. She likes taking care of the garden here.” Arthur told Paul as they waved goodbye to Kyoko.

“How come this is your squad?”

“I don’t exactly have one. Usually it is a team of three combat and two regulars. I was really young when Natsume sensei took me into the organisation. He was actually one of the most influential figures there, with his wife Kyoko Natsume. We just met her. She sent me cookies back then too but I’ve seen her fold undead into two too. When I was assigned this field, Sōseki Natsume was already dead for a while and Kyoko could no longer continue to work. I shifted here with a newbie. He was brilliant but his family died like many of the rests. He had put all his strength in saving his little sister and finding help.” He told him the nostalgic anecdote as he handed some of the extra supplies from the farm that he would drop at centre and the cookies and biscuits to take back home and for Gin.

“Akutagawa was really skilled and brutal too. Gin was so young and he wanted to raise her well. She was his only living family member. So he joined the organisation really young after hiding and running from zombies for days. Some of them, his own family. These lands were there. When we cleared all the undead from this area, he was assigned to this place with me. But he got hurt in one of the missions and was bitten. Probably on an instinct he came back home too but then before he could reach Gin, he shot himself dead after he was sure he was morphing. Gin probably saw it. They weren’t the liveliest siblings but Gin got worse later. We’re trying to go easy on her but soon she’ll have to start her training at the centre. She’s already past her age.”

Paul met her at the doorsteps where she probably saw her brother die, in the house that had seen much more horrors. She looked like a shy little girl, wearing black coat bigger than herself and hair longer than Arthur’s. She didn’t talk much but Paul made friends with her over biscuits. They talked about Kyoko and her biscuits and Sheep. 

When she finally joined the centre, Verlaine showed her around. It had been longer than a year that he had officially joined and he was already qualified enough for that. Paul also volunteered to be her guide so she wouldn’t have to move to the institute to train. They are here every once in a while but mostly Paul could train with her near their residence. Gin never spoke about her brother or her family. It was like an amnesia that she chose even when she prefers to live surrounded by those memories she never speaks of.

From training Gin and killing zombies occasionally, planting and farming herbs, he spent most of his time with Arthur. He thought it should feel a little too much but it felt like it was never enough. Him and Arthur were together on missions and would come home to wipe off any blood or dirt off each other to cuddle later. Arthur was always too near, too comfortable. And it left him feeling a hurricane of emotions where before he could understand one of these, he started to struggle with another. He wanted to hold Arthur, not in a way to fight the cold but in a crushing possession. In ways his computerised amnesia brain could not comprehend, feeling and emotions he does not understand completely . But he understood the need to reach and kiss Arthur's lips when they cuddle. He needed to smell his hair, hold his waist -

"Paul?" Rimbaud smiled leaning from the door frame. He had two steaming warm cups in his hands as he walked towards the sofa, towards Verlaine. 

"What were you thinking? You looked stupid concentrating." He placed the mugs on the table, flicking the frown from between Verlaine's forehead. Settling beside him, he got comfortable. Placing his legs across Verlaine's lap he took the cup back in his hand passing another one to Verlaine.

"About things." Verlaine said, not picking the cup, sceptical of burning himself.

"What things?" Rimbaud asked again, taking a sip, cuddling the warm cup. 

"About the thing, you know, humans, us- we do… uh when two people decide they want to be together forever?"

"What about it?"

"Can't we do that? 'Commitment'? We are partners, we trust each other. We live together. We do so many things together and share things. We can do…more too…if you..if-" Verlaine stopped, seeing how still Rimbaud was. Did he say something wrong? If it were silly, Arthur would laugh, instead his cheeks were red!!

"Your face is red, do you have a fever?”

"No, shut up about the fever." Rimbaud said, placing the cup back on the table, taking his legs off Verlaine, cupping his cheeks, trying to get rid of the colour. 

"Marriage, you mean?" Arthur said blankly. 

"Yes! Marriage!! That's the word! I want to do that. With you." Verlaine cheered at finally remembering the word, excitedly making the full declaration. 

"Shut up! You're too loud." The colour won't fade, his cheeks were heated again and his enthusiast partner was not helping. He still slid closer to Paul, tucking his hand under his arms placing his head on chest, curling up in his lap.

"..Are you cold?" Paul asked.

"No, you idiot." He laughed. He continued, softly this time, "No…. I'm not cold at all."

Arthur brought his face back up to look at the man who just proposed marriage to him. He wondered if he understood the intensity of the proposal. Regardless, it made him happy. Paul brought his palm to Arthur’s face like he has done to Paul in the past. He cupped his face softly as Arthur leaned into his touch, rubbing his cheeks on his hands, his eyes tattling on his affection. Arthur gathered his courage as he gathered the collar of the next man in his palms, pulling him closer to press his lips to the other man’s. He smiled at the contact. 

Paul slid his hands into his long hair that was untied in the comfort of their home, pushing off his earmuffs, holding his head in place as he leaned in further, trying to taste more of him, chasing after him. There was a rhythmic sound in his ears. He paused and only then realised he had closed his eyes.

“W...what happened?” Rimbaud asked, looking at his confused, scared face.

“What is that noise?”

“What noise?”

“Thump thump thump…” Rimbaud could only stare at him.

“Like….heartbeat. Is it.. your heartbeat?” Verlaine tried answering his own question.

“No.” Arthur replied, placing his head on his chest then looking back into his eyes. 

“It is yours.” 

“Huh?” Arthur tucked his face back into chest as his frame shook from the laughter he was trying to suppress.

Paul held him closer, encircling his arms around the other. This is something married people do. Hold each other without feeling cold. He held him in his arms till the sun came up and it was time to get ready to go out looking for resources.

The wind couldn’t have changed in one night but it seemed different to Arthur. After last night, he’s had a hundred scenarios of a marriage cross his mind. He could stop smiling by himself as he worked. Verlaine and him were already partners in survival. Verlaine was exceptionally good in field work even with a bad leg. Weekly, Rimbaud would compress his joint muscles for him. On bad days when they got stuck with some more than expected Undeads, he’d munch on painkillers. He still had no memory of his life before Rimbaud found him or his purpose but he did his best for the cause. He was one of the best in the hunting team that they had and he was already training newbies too. They had made themselves a name, together and separately. 

Other than those things with the institute, they still came back home and picked berries together, cuddled and had tea together. It was no longer to fight the cold. Arthur would still find new things for Paul to try and laugh at his expense. The world outside could be burning but they found a way to warm each other. It does not matter to Arthur whether they gave their relationship another name or not. Institutions like “marriage” were already outdated but Paul bringing it up filled him with a sense of glee.

He was distracted as he swung the supplies lightly that he was here to drop. He had not paid attention to one of the half fences outside that was torn to ground. Arthur heard the heavy footsteps, thinking it was the old lady, he knocked on the door.  It was then that he sensed something was off. No kettle sound, no smell of food. The door was not locked. All of it could have innocent reasons but Arthur had an intuition that said something was up. He walked in, carefully, dropping the supplies at the door.

The moment he entered the house there was blood splattered across the sitting area. The dining table had a leg missing. He heard his phone ring, he could imagine Mori on the other side. He ignored it as he tried to check whether he had his weapons on him. He never stepped out without them. He could hear a ringing in his head, thinking about the old lady and whether or not she was still alive. Things inside were very messy and he could guess that it was the zombies and not a few of them. The phone kept ringing in his pocket, he hoped it’ll quieten down in a bit.

He didn’t have to guess for long as the moment he stepped in, the undead being leaped on him from behind, he could neither reach for his dagger, nor his gun. The zombie smelled of rotten meat with muscles stiff like wood. He placed his foot behind himself, between the zombie’s, locking one of his legs between his own to trip him and make some distance between them. He reached for his gun, aiming it till the zombie found command on his legs again, standing up and walking towards him. Before it could reach him, he shot two consecutive shots and his stiff body fell out of the window, taking the glass pan with itself. 

Out of the window, he could see the old lady had a leg missing, almost crawling to words the other house where Gin lived by herself. In his life, Arthur had the chance to see a few movies. He could place this moment somewhere among those in his mind, the time slowed down for him. If the lady was bitten a few hours ago, her mind probably had lost its human conscience. If she was bitten just sometime ago, she probably could still think and was worried about Gin. Arthur loaded he’s gone again, setting his aim towards the old lady that had been feeding him all sorts of baked sweets. What if she only wants to check on Gin, what if she’s still worried about that child? Will she no longer tell stories of her dead husband? His hands tremble, the gun heavier than its weight. The lady kept moving and he braced himself. 

He walked outside again, aiming at her back. Two more gunshots. Her creeping head quiet down there was still blood in her body that coloured the ground to where she walked. Arthur’s body trembled, thinking that every zombie that he had killed was a person. There was no better option and it was not a crime. The unexplainable situation they were put in had no perfect solution. He thought he had seen enough deaths by now, except he never thought of them as ‘deaths’. 

The implication of each gunshot, drowning heavily on his senses. He wanted the ground to swallow him and rid him of his sins. Sins that he did not knowingly commit. Sins that were not crimes. Teardrops fell on his hands that he used to hold the gun and he realised he was crying. The lady was not related to him but the cookies that she baked were delicious. 

“Arthur!!!” he broke away from his trance, hearing the panic in Paul’s voice screaming for him. He could see Paul run to him but his own former agility had failed him. Another zombie from inside the house leaped onto his back once again, digging his teeth in his shoulder. He could feel it burn where he bit. He tried to get away, but he could tell it was already too late. He shook off the undead being from his back with a chuck off his shoulder, holding it at an arm's distance as he realised he had dropped his gun from the pain he felt. 

Paul probably heard the commotion made from the Gunshot when he came out, it was easy to spot from their front yard the old lady’s house. He could probably see the dead, decaying body a little distance away from the front yard, which the lady had to cross to reach Gin. No matter how fast he moved his legs he could not reach Rimbaud on time. He could see the zombie trying to dip his head in for another bite. It is okay , he told himself. Arthur will be fine, they will find a way, his head kept repeating.

Paul had loaded his own Gun, aiming at the zombie standing way too close to Arthur. His head hearing Arthur’s again. Arthur struggled holding the zombie that felt heavier and heavier each passing minute. His dead body was stiff, but what Paul could not tell from a distance was that a huge chunk of his abdomen was missing from the front. His shirt was shredded like torn from teeth. Arthur heard the gunshot but also felt it go through the zombie's body into his own. When Paul felt that the zombie head would not stop struggling, he shot another bullet that probably broke his bone, keeping the bullet inside for it to explode just like his first bullet did, but in Arthur’s abdomen. 

He could see both the frames falling to the ground as he reached. Arthur threw the other body away from himself.

“Oh no no no no no no no no no this can’t happen. This can’t be. This is not-” Paul tried to pick Arthur.

“Shh it is okay. I think there are more. Paul listen-” Arthur tried to grab his attention away from the wound he had made. His neck had bite marks that kept burning while one side of his abdomen was split open. 

“You have to get to Gin. Paul!!” 

“I c..can’t- I won’t go. I don’t want to leave you-” Arthur smiled at him. He did not want to tell him that it was not him who was leaving, that it was useless to stay here. He did not want him to look so guilty, that even without the bullet from his gun, he would be dead. He just smiled at him. Paul choked on a sob.

He could not risk leaving his body out for it to be found by any undead. So he picked his partner’s body and carried it back to their house. He placed Rimbaud's body that would soon start growing cold on the sofa as he refilled the same pistol he shot his love with. It was the longer route, but Arthur could not interrupt.

Arthur would have been quicker when it came to saving people, Verlaine thought as he had to muster all his strength to leave Rimbaud lying there on their sofa to get to Gin. Rimbaud lay there, thinking if Mori had called to warn them, thinking if he was too late. He thought of whether he was dying of the bullet or the bite or of the anxiety of not knowing if the old lady had crept towards Gin, whom she loved so much, because she was worried for her or she wanted to consume her. He did all sorts of calculations in his mind to figure out at what stage of her morphing could she have been at? He wanted to save his breath as much as he could if Paul could make it back before he runs out of them.

Gin had recently started training under Paul and no matter how much he tried, she could not hold her dagger right. She was never afraid to strike though. He could hear his own instructions to her as he walked towards the old house, which was already half destroyed. This was not her first experience with the undead. She had seen her family die among them. She had seen that house fall apart. Paul thinks how she is clearly stronger than himself as right now he couldn’t imagine a tomorrow for himself without Arthur. He tried not to think of Rimbaud, that’s lying on their sofa, he refused to think that he might find another dead body of the little girl or worse, he might find her morphing into something he would have to shoot dead. He never wants to touch his gun again.

The lock on the door was broken as he stepped inside. He could tell there was a zombie, and thus he held his gun again. It was difficult to tell anything about the lives they probably had lived before morphing into undead beings from their rotting bodies. Their clothes were mostly tattered with skin coming off. He saw the undead distracted by a table in its way, trying to push it away, scattering the things on it. He knew he had to shoot but he couldn’t aim. That was until he spotted the little girl behind it, climbing the kitchen stall with a knife in her hand, trying to make minimum noise possible. Before he could do anything about it, she had pranced on him, dragging the knife all across his vitals from the back. It fell to the ground and she moved out of the way for the table to fall on him. Her long black hair scattered in all directions, covering half of her face. She did not look scared.

Before Paul could collect himself, she turned towards him. “Was I holding the knife correct this time?” With her tiny frame, she managed to kill the zombie and stay alive. Paul grabbed her hand, dragging her out from the door towards where he had left Arthur.

“No, you did not. But I’ll teach you. Later.” He promised, more to himself than her.

Gin had stopped to look at the dead body of the lady, which was not rotten enough yet to be unrecognisable. Paul rushed back to Arthur, who clung onto his life waiting for him.

“Gin is okay, Arthur. She is so brave.” He said as he held his hands again. 

“W..we can do something about the bite. We can cut around it. There must be a way.” Arthur patted the hand holding his. He knew that Paul knew. They cannot do anything about it. He has to tell Paul to let go. To not blame himself ever. For this happened for the best.

"It is okay Paul. It will be over before I morph. Thank Goodness. It is better to die of your bullet Paul, you don’t get it. You saved me.”

“You wouldn’t necessarily morph. We have no way of knowing. I’m-”

“I didn’t wanna be sick. It is a rotten job looking after a sick man, Paul.”

"Was it Arthur, when you looked after me too?" There was a pang in his heart, tears made their way back into Verlaine's eyes as leaned in front of the man he had shot, the man he loved. 

"No, Paul, you…" Rimbaud reached his hand towards Verlaine who was almost in reach except his movements were slowed and hurtful. He continued, 

"You weren't.. a trouble. I'm so glad I saved you…The thought that you'll live well makes me really happy. Paul, You better live well-'' Verlaine caught his hand on his own, getting closer, trying to collect more of him in his hold. 

Rimbaud's words were scarce. If only he had some more time, he would tell his partner a lot more things, make up absurd stories and seek joy in how he foolishly believes him. But unlike his love, his time was running out.

"I wouldn't find it rotten…. I am s..sorry Arthur I-" Verlaine's hold was crushing and it brought Rimbaud comfort. He thought he had seen enough death for a lifetime, that it no longer scared him. But now that he will personally greet death, he couldn't help but be anxious. But with his life slipping through Verlaine's embrace, he regretted it less.

"Bury me in our backyard, okay?" He stroked his lover's face where tears streamed down generously. I want to linger for longer. Think of me when you pick berries, come say hi to me when you drink your tea. Save more people and think of me and miss me a little.

"No…no…i-, don't go.. you cannot - I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry i-" The hand has slipped from his face. The life from his body was gone. It grew stiff and cold in his hold.

Verlaine carried the body into their yard. He could see Gin standing at the door, at a distance from them, not because it frightened her but because she wanted to give them their time. After all she knew alot more about “goodbyes”.

Later he would bury him and their love in their backyard. Later, he would talk to the plants that bloom there. Sit down and tell them about his day, the people he saved, gossip he finds from Mori and updates about Gin's training. With a warm cup of tea, he would think about other mundane things like lemons, berries and their goats, he will think about Arthur Rimbaud. The man who saved him, named him and the man who loved him and left him.

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