Request// @adrenalizinq: Ben and Nugget DESPERATELY trying to come up with your code name. Then Ringer walks by and says something like “I gave her one yesterday?? Everyone’s been calling her Bolt” (or other cool nickname to indicate a skill)
“How about super cool girl?” Nugget said happily.
“No.” You and Zombie both said in unison, then burst out laughing.
“Fighter?” Zombie shrugged.
“Fighter, really, just fighter? That’s the best you can do?” You smirked at the two boys trying their best to come up with a code name for you. You’d been at this for what felt like forever, laughing as they pitched bad nickname after bad nickname.
“Will you guys please shut the hell up.” Ringer called exasperatedly from her bunk across the room. “Some of us are trying to get some rest here.”
“Not this time Ringer,” Zombie called back, “we have important matters to discuss.”
“Like what?” Ringer sat up on her elbows challenging Zombie.
“Like (Y/N)’s code name.” He shot back.
“Are you kidding me,” she groaned, flopping back onto her mattress.
“Well she needs one.”
“Well did she already tell you we came up with one?” Ringer sighed.
“What?” Ben and Nugget both faced you at the same time.
“We’re calling her Bolt,” Ringer explained in an annoyed tone, “because she’s fast as hell and it sounds good.” You smiled innocently at Zombie and Nugget who were eyeing you incredulously.
“So you just let us waste a hour of our time trying to pick a good nickname when you already had one?.” Zombie shook his head.
“What?” You smiled, “the names you came up with were hilarious,” you laughed. Zombie squinted at you for a moment before standing.
“I’m going to bed.” He declared, huffing as he made his way over to his bunk.
“I am a shark, Cassie,” he says slowly, drawing the words out, as if he might be speaking to me for the last time. Looking into my eyes with tears in his, as if he’s seeing me for the last time. “A shark who dreamed he was a man.”
“But if I’m it, the last of my kind, the last page of human history,
like hell I’m going to let the story end this way. I may be the last
one, but I am the one still standing. I am the one turning to face the
faceless hunter in the woods on an abandoned highway. I am the one not
running but facing. Because if I am the last one, then I am humanity.
And if this is humanity’s last war, then I am the battlefield.”
“You’re the mayfly,’ he murmurs. And then Evan Walker kisses me. Holding my hand across his chest, his other hand sliding across my neck, his touch feathery soft, sending a shiver that travels down my spine into my legs, which are having a hard time keeping me upright. I can feel his heart slamming against my palm and I can smell his breath and feel the stubble on his upper lip, a sandpapery contrast to the softness of his lips, and Evan is looking at me and I’m looking back at him.”