Suga wants to sleep. He wants to curl under his favorite blanket, preferably after a long, hot cup of tea, and sleep a solid eight hours. Except he can’t, because he is currently tucked against a shelf in an abandoned supermarket, trying to keep himself alive.
The worst has passed, thankfully, but now the adrenaline rush is gone. Suga wants to sleep. Except he also doesn’t want to, because there is an actual zombie sitting not five feet away from him, cocking his head at him like Suga’s the lost one here.
He had saved Suga from being mauled by other zombies a few hours ago, for which Suga is grateful. However, it is also for that exact reason, that deviation from what he guesses is “normal” zombie behavior, that Suga feels he can’t trust him yet. He keeps a wary eye on the zombie, who is now furrowing his brow, as if he were scrutinizing Suga.
“What’s it like being a zombie?” Suga asks, if only to keep himself awake. He folds his legs underneath him and slaps his face a few times, a bit appreciative of how this zombie has managed to keep all his limbs intact. His zombie companion looks like a life-sized Ken doll, but a little more terrifying, with his pasty skin, sunken cheeks, and weird, floppy brown hair.
The zombie blinks at Suga’s question and surprises him when he speaks in clear, even sentences.
“Not that much different. I was lucky that the virus didn’t spread too much. My blood just dried up and my heart stopped beating, which I guess is useful.”
“Yeah,” the zombie shrugs. The movement is stiff, almost robotic, and the zombie presses his mouth into a hard line. “Can’t fear death if you’re not alive.”
“What do you eat then?” Suga follows up, and if the zombie notices the slight hysteria in Suga’s voice, he is kind enough not to acknowledge it. If Suga thinks too hard about how he’s talking to the undead, he’s going to freak out. “How do I know you aren’t going to eat me?”
The zombie rolls his eyes. “I don’t believe in eating humans,” he declares, nose turned up in a bratty display of pride. “I refuse to eat what I once was.”
“It’s only been three days since the outbreak,” Suga deadpans. “You won’t be saying that when you eventually get hungry.”
“I’m hungry now!” Zombie whines, smacking his palms against the floor. Suga raises an eyebrow. “I miss bread! The humans took them all!”
Zombie crosses his arms and starts pouting. Pouting, of all things. Suga almost doesn’t believe that the zombie doesn’t eat human flesh, but this zombie has been very un-zombie-like from the beginning. Suga really shouldn’t be letting his guard down around a potential monster, but here he is.
And he really shouldn’t be depleting his resources. But here he is.
“Knock yourself out,” Suga says, tossing a small square slice wrapped in plastic. The zombie’s reaction time is slow, reaching up to catch the toss only after the bread has already hit him on the forehead. “You can take that literally, by the way,” Suga teases, stifling his laughter.
“Gosh, you’re so mean,” the zombie mumbles, but he nods his head in thanks, tucking the package behind his back for later.
Suga can feel the exhaustion settle further in his bones, the dull pressure behind his eyes intensifying.
“Just go to sleep, Zombie. I’m really tired,” Suga intones, leaning his head back on the empty shelf behind him. He watches Zombie from under lidded eyes, on the verge of passing out.
“I already told you that my name is Oikawa, human-chan,” Oikawa clucks, but he lies down on his side, obedient. “Maybe you’ll tell me your name in the future, too.”
“We’ll see,” Suga murmurs, humoring him. Because he’s feeling generous, he adds, “Good night, Oikawa.”
Suga doesn’t admit it straight away, but the small smile Oikawa beams at him allows him to sleep a little easier.