Chapter 37: The Night Before
The third-floor common room had never felt so small. The wood stove crackled and popped, casting a restless orange glow across the walls, where the shadows of seven people swayed and stretched like the Walkers they all tried not to think about. Roy lay in the cradle of Rosa's palms, her body heat seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, her thumb moving in slow, absent circles against his spine. He could feel her heartbeat through her fingers. It was steady. He took a strange comfort in that.
Across the hearth, Jason sat with his back against the wall, a whetstone in one hand and a hunting knife in the other. The scrape of steel against stone was the only sound that punctuated the hiss and sputter of burning wood. He moved in long, deliberate strokes, his hazel eyes fixed on the blade, but Roy caught the way his gaze flicked up every few seconds, landing on Rosa, then on him, before dropping back down. The freckles on his nose were barely visible in the dim lantern light, but Roy knew them by heart.
Sandy had claimed the old armchair nearest the stove, her knitting needles clicking softly in a rhythm that might have been lullaby-like if not for the tension in her shoulders. A half-finished scarf of grey wool pooled in her lap, and every few minutes she would pause to glance at the map pinned to the corkboard, her eyes tracing the route they'd drawn in red marker. Jayden crouched by the window, peering through the slats of the boarded shutters at the snow falling beyond the glass. She hadn't said a word in nearly an hour.
Amie sat cross-legged on the floor beside Ally, their shoulders touching. He was turning a small gear over and over in his fingers, the movement mechanical, almost unconscious. Ally had a book open on her knee, but Roy noticed the page hadn't turned in twenty minutes. Joan leaned against the doorframe, her glasses catching the firelight as she nursed a tin cup of something steaming, her gaze distant, thoughtful. Only Lee was missing, and Rosa had insisted he stay in bed. His concussion was still healing, and the draft in the common room wouldn't do him any favors.
The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came before a storm, before a breath held too long. Tomorrow they would walk into the Mill Street supermarket, a place that had claimed a corner of Roy's dreams ever since he'd mapped it twice over. He knew every aisle, every shelf, every potential blind spot. But knowing the layout and walking into the dark were two different things entirely.
Rosa's thumb pressed a little harder against his back, a quiet question. Roy tilted his head up to look at her. Her green eyes were fixed on the fire, the sharp lines of her face softened by the glow. She seemed far away, but her hands were grounded, present. Those hands had carried him through storm drains and across rooftops, had washed him and warmed him and held him together when the world had made him three inches tall.
"You keep staring, she's going to think you're sweet on her," Jason murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly. The knife in his hand caught the light, gleaming.
Rosa snorted, but her thumb never stopped its slow, steady circles. "He's already sweet on me. Aren't you, little brother?"
Roy huffed, a puff of warm air against her palm. "I'm reconsidering my loyalties."
Jason's quiet laugh broke the tension like a stone through thin ice, and for a moment, the room felt a few degrees warmer.
The laugh lingered in the air like smoke, and Roy felt something in his chest loosen, just a little. Rosa shifted him higher in her palms, bringing him closer to her face, and when she spoke her voice was a low murmur meant only for him.
"You warm enough?"
He was, and he said so. Her eyes searched his for a moment, then she nodded, settling back into her chair. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, and the room settled back into its vigil.
Time moved strangely in the quiet. Roy lost track of how long they sat there, the scrape of Jason's whetstone and the click of Sandy's needles marking the hours like a slow, ticking clock. At some point, Ally closed her book and set it aside, her hand finding Amie's and squeezing gently. He stopped turning the gear over and let his fingers curl around hers. Jayden finally pulled away from the window, her expression unreadable, and crossed to stir the embers in the stove.
"We should sleep," Rosa said, her voice gentle but firm. It wasn't a question. She pushed herself up from the chair, cradling Roy against her chest, and the others began to stir in slow, reluctant motion. Jason set his knife aside and rose, stretching the kinks from his shoulders. His eyes found Rosa across the room, and something passed between them, a wordless agreement.
Neither of them spoke as they made their way down the hall. The dormitory was dark, the lanterns banked for the night, and Rosa's footsteps were sure and quiet in the shadows. Roy felt her hand press once against him, a reassurance, a promise. He tucked himself closer to her warmth.
When they reached her door, Jason was behind them, a silent shadow. He paused at the threshold, his hand resting against the frame, and Roy caught the hesitation in his posture, the question he didn't know how to ask. Rosa looked at him for a long moment, then stepped aside, gesturing with a tilt of her head.
"Come on."
Jason's exhale was soft, almost relieved. He slipped past her into the room and began pulling off his boots while Rosa crossed to the bed, shifting the pillows and blankets to make room. The double bed was meant for two, but she moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who had long since learned to make space stretch further than it should.
Roy watched from her palm as she arranged the bedding, fluffing a pillow and smoothing a wrinkle in the quilt. Then she set him down gently on the fabric, his tiny body sinking into the folds, and began to shed her outer layers. Jason finished with his boots and stood by the bed, his hands hanging loose at his sides, watching her with a tenderness that made Roy's chest ache.
"You don't have to," Rosa said, not looking at him. "If it's too much."
Jason crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "It's not too much," he said quietly. "It's exactly right."
She looked at him then, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then Rosa climbed into bed, settling on her side, and held her hand out flat for Roy to step onto. He walked into her palm, feeling the familiar warmth of her skin, and she lifted him to the hollow of her collarbone, where he had slept so many nights now. The fabric of her shirt was soft and worn against his cheek.
Jason lay down on the other side of the bed, keeping a careful distance for a moment before Rosa reached over and tugged his arm, pulling him close. He went willingly, his body curving around hers, his hand coming to rest on her hip. The bed was crowded, but not uncomfortably so. It was warm, and it was safe, and tomorrow could wait.
The last thing Roy felt before sleep pulled him under was Rosa's thumb tracing a gentle circle against his back, and Jason's breathing slowing in time with hers.