Chapter Three
Adjustments
By the third day, they had stopped calling out for other people.
Not because they were sure no one else existed.
But because shouting into empty streets started to feel embarrassing.
She began organizing things.
Food in one place.
Water in another.
A small pile of tools near the door.
He watched her do it before offering help.
"Tell me what to move," he said.
She looked at him for a second.
"You don't have to wait for instructions," she said lightly.
He nodded.
But he still waited.
Later that afternoon, she asked him where they should search next.
He scanned the map they had found in a tourist office.
He didn't look for the best option.
He looked for the option that sounded confident.
"The northern district," he said. "Less residential. Maybe people gathered there."
She didn't question it.
"Okay."
That was all.
Okay.
The word should have felt normal.
Instead, it felt like approval.
While they walked, he replayed how he had said it.
Was his tone steady?
Did it sound certain enough?
He tried to remember if he actually believed what he suggested.
He wasn't sure.
Inside one of the buildings they searched, she stopped suddenly.
"Do you ever feel strange?" she asked.
He paused.
"Strange how?"
"Like this isn't real. Or like we're not reacting the way we should."
He considered the safest answer.
"It's shock," he said. "People react differently."
She watched him closely.
"You sound like you're explaining it from outside."
He almost smiled at that.
"I just think logically."
It was easier to claim logic than emotion.
She held his gaze a second longer than necessary.
He looked away first.
That night, they stayed in a small apartment above a bookstore.
The bedroom had a mirror on the closet door.
He stood in front of it while she checked the windows.
His reflection looked normal.
Tired. Slightly pale. Still him.
He tried to relax his face completely.
It didn't stay still.
When he imagined her looking at him, his expression shifted subtly. Softer. More composed.
When he imagined being alone forever, it hardened. Sharper.
He blinked and both versions disappeared.
For a moment, there was nothing distinct there.
Just a face waiting to be used.
He stepped away from the mirror.
Before sleeping, she spoke into the dark.
"You're very calm about all of this."
He stared at the ceiling.
He searched himself again.
Calm.
Was that what this was?
His heart wasn't racing.
His hands weren't shaking.
He wasn't crying.
But there was no peace either.
Just a steady flatness.
"Someone has to be," he said.
She didn't respond immediately.
"I don't think you're calm," she said quietly. "I think you're holding something."
He didn't ask what she meant.
Because he didn't know what he would be holding.
And he was afraid if he looked too closely, he wouldn't find anything at all.
He turned to his side.
She was still looking at him.
Even in the dark, he could feel it.
He closed his eyes.
Not because he was tired.
But because it was easier to stop existing when no one could see his face.