CHAPTER 317: APOCALYPTIC ROMANCE 27

The days that followed fell into an unexpected rhythm.

Cloud was still thinking.

Sasha cooked.

Cloud thought harder.

Sasha got bored and played games on her portable console.

Cloud stared at walls like they might whisper the answer.

Sasha rolled her eyes, then brought him snacks.

And every time she handed him food or water without a word, Cloud’s shoulders loosened... just a little.

There was air conditioning — a silent electric fan powered by her batteries.

There were snacks — chips, chocolates, even ice from the magic ring.

There were extra clothes — neatly folded from who-knows-where.

Hell, Sasha even had shampoo, conditioner, and scalp hair spray and even some body wash.

Cloud had endured the apocalypse like a true soldier — always alert, always rationing, always sacrificing comfort for survival. Cleanliness was a luxury he no longer allowed himself.

Before Sasha, the closest thing he had to a shower was standing shirtless in the rain — which happened maybe once a month if the world felt generous.

His uniform had long dried sweat, grime, and smoke permanently sewn into the fabric. He smelled like the battlefield — and the battlefield smelled like death.

So when Sasha casually told him, "There’s plenty of water — thousands of full tanks stored away. We won’t run out even in ten lifetimes,"

Cloud honestly thought she was joking.

A trap.

A hallucination.

A sign that he’d finally snapped.

But then she showed him —

Sparkling bottled water in large containers.

Boxes upon boxes.

Stacked from floor to ceiling pulled from the magical void she called a "ring."

Cloud stood there, stunned silent.

"You’re serious," he finally breathed.

Sasha grinned. "Dead serious."

For the first time since the outbreak, Cloud stripped off his gear — hesitantly at first — glancing at Sasha like he expected her to suddenly yell Just kidding!

But she only held out a towel and pointed toward the bathroom with a little flick of her wrist.

"Go. If you sit here smelling like despair any longer, I’ll faint."

Cloud blinked.

...Was that a joke?

Direct insult?

A fact?

He genuinely couldn’t tell.

Inside the tiny bathroom, Cloud turned on the portable shower.

Clean water rushed from the faucet. Actual warm water.

It hit his skin and he nearly—moaned. Out loud.

Sasha pretended not to hear.

Cloud pressed a palm against the wall.

God, it felt like the dirt and exhaustion of months were melting off him.

He scrubbed.

And scrubbed. And kept scrubbing — until Sasha knocked lightly.

"Cloud? You’re not drowning in there, right?"

"I’m... fine," he called back, trying to sound stoic while shampoo foam slid down his face.

"There’s more soap here if you want to make more bubbles," Sasha teased.

He froze mid-scrub.

Was he making too many bubbles?

He looked down.

...Yes.

Yes, he was.

He washed faster — but then the warm water coaxed him into slowing again.

This is heaven, his traitorous mind whispered.

When he finally emerged, hair damp, skin actually clean — Sasha looked up from her portable console and... blinked.

She had never seen him without dried blood or dirt smudges. His features sharpened. Jawline cut like a blade. Shoulders broad and strong beneath a clean shirt she conjured from her ring. Amber eyes no longer dulled by exhaustion.

She stared.

Cloud stared back.

Silence stretched.

Then Sasha cleared her throat and casually looked away, acting like she definitely didn’t just take a mental screenshot.

"I–uh... put snacks on the counter. If you want."

Cloud nodded stiffly, pretending his ears weren’t turning red.

He sat down carefully — like he was afraid this comfort would slip away if he relaxed too quickly.

He murmured one word — barely audible but genuine:

"...Thank you."

Sasha smiled without looking up. "I like when you say that."

Cloud pretended not to hear.

But his lips turned up — just slightly — as if her voice rinsed the fog in his mind too.

After that, Cloud realized he hadn’t slept properly since the world fell apart. He slept through two entire nights without jerking awake even once.

Sasha watched over him — silent, respectful, occasionally brushing hair from his forehead when he frowned in his sleep.

On the third morning, Cloud finally noticed:

His body didn’t ache.

His mind wasn’t suffocating. He wasn’t constantly paranoid.

He was... comfortable.

Too comfortable, but his mind was sharper than before.

He glanced around the cozy hideout — food neatly stacked, guns loaded and within reach, Sasha humming while organizing supplies...

And for the first time since the outbreak —

Cloud felt safe.

Which terrified him.

He stared at her — at the way she moved confidently, warm and bright despite the apocalypse — and a strange thought crept into his mind:

If I stay with her... I don’t have to worry about anything but protect her and survive.

Sasha suddenly looked up and caught him staring.

She smiled — gentle, genuine — the kind of smile Cloud didn’t think existed anymore.

He immediately sat up straighter, face snapping into stoic mode.

Sasha snorted quietly and returned to her tasks.

Cloud rubbed his temple.

Three days... I lost three days just thinking?

And yet... His mind wasn’t any less conflicted.

But one thing was suddenly very, very clear:

He didn’t want to lose this.

====

While Cloud and Sasha were living in a strangely cozy apocalypse bubble, Alvaro was trapped inside what the Bastion had quickly become — a nightmare wearing the mask of a sanctuary.

Without Cloud’s strict and fair command, everything unraveled within just days.

Governor Gan hoarded resources in his fortified quarters, feasting while others starved. Under Fern’s leadership — if one could even call it leadership — the militia devolved into packs of wolves with guns.

Fights for scraps of food erupted every hour. A bottle of water could spark a bloodbath. A woman walking alone could start a massacre.

Mothers hid their daughters. Husbands hid their wives. No one hid their fear — it was everywhere.

Alvaro kept his head down and his knife hidden. His face wore a blank mask, but inside —

Rage simmered.

Without Sasha there to temper him, his temper became a blade waiting for an excuse to taste blood.

He watched soldiers beat a man unconscious over a stale piece of bread. He saw a young girl pulled into an alley while her mother begged on the ground.

Alvaro’s fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood.

Every scream tore at him — not because he was noble... but because now he understood exactly what Sasha meant by a "villain."

If the world wanted one,he was willing to apply for the job.

Night after night, he whispered into his radio:

"I’m coming, Sasha. I swear."

Those were the only words that kept him sane.

But each day it became clearer: If he didn’t escape soon, the Bastion would collapse — and everyone would drag him down with it.

He pressed his back to a dark corner of the barracks, listening to drunken men chant about "choosing wives" for the night. Disgust crawled under his skin.

Sasha would kill them all herself if she was here.

He sighed... then smiled.

A sharp, dangerous smile.

"Hmm... maybe I should speed things up a bit." His eyes gleamed with the spark of a plan.