HOME | DD

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

     The question burns in your mind like a hot coal, keeping you awake in bed. Sam, the lucky bastard, is sound asleep on his front behind you, arms wrapped around his pillow, and he snores softly every so often. You must ask this question, simple must. It's a matter of great importance. It will eat you up if it goes unasked.

     “Sam,” you say quietly. “Sam.”

     Sam sleeps on, oblivious to your needs.

     “Sam!” you hiss, shoving his arm.

     He awakes with a snort, lifting his head to look at you, eyes wide and confused.

     “If I put dirt on a bar of soap, do I have dirty soap or clean dirt?”

     Groaning, Sam drops his head onto the pillow and shuts his eyes again.

     “Aren't you gonna answer my question?”

     “No,” he mumbles.

     “How about this one: why don't people realize that a zombie apocalypse would start out as a formal event? And you know, zombies would smell bad, too. Forget the machete, grab a noseplug.”

     “(y/n), go to sleep.”

     “Can't. How annoying would it be if gravity pulled on a slight angle instead of straight down? And why are power tools considered manly if their main purpose is to make jobs require less muscle?” You can's stop now. The floodgates have been opened. “Oh, and if you think about it, water is a portal to a world where you can fly but not breathe. By the way, don't get me started on books.”

     “Oh my God, (y/n).” Sam rolls onto his back, clearly awake now. “You have a problem.”

     “It's keeping me up.”

     “Why are you like this?” he sighs.

     “Why are you still dating me?”

     “I'm trying to figure that out. Are you done now?”

     “I think so.”

     “Then I'll talk to you in the morning.” Sam kisses you and rolls over.

     In fifteen seconds, you're still wide awake, and you realize that you are not, in fact, done for now. “If our perception of 'down' is determined by gravity's pull-”

     Sam groans.

     “-then when we look up at the sun, we're actually looking down at it.”

     “Alright.” Sam sits up and throws off the covers. “Come on.”

     He leads you to the bunker's kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge, yawning. Then he rests against the counter and opens his drink.

     “What're we doing?” you ask.

     “You're gonna talk until you fall asleep, and I'm gonna drink so I can handle it. Start talking.”

     Shrugging, you open your mouth to voice your thoughts, but nothing comes out. Every mind-boggling question and revelation has vanished. Sam raises an eyebrow expectantly, and you shake your head. He rolls his eyes and returns the beer to the fridge. Back to the bedroom you go, back under the blankets to sleep. Sam's arms find their way around you and pull you close, and he presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

     The moment you close your eyes, you lost control of your tongue. “When you were a kid, did you think acid rain would be a bigger problem than it is?”