Be Careful What You Wish For: A Zombie Apocalypse
Chapter 514: As Long As We’re Laughing

Chapter 514: As Long As We’re Laughing

The bar had no name anymore. If it ever did, the sign had long since fallen, shattered glass and wood scattered in the alley beside it. The front door hung off one hinge, and the windows were boarded up with whatever survivors could find—scraps of old fence, coffin lids, a road sign that still read STOP in fading red paint.

Hattie kicked it open like it owed her money, and Eric chuckled softly, following behind her closely. "You’re a menace," he said without much heat.

"Correction," she said, spinning slowly in the dim interior. "I’m your menace."

The jukebox was still there. Half-melted, half-broken, and yet, the moment Hattie snapped her fingers, it somehow played something distorted and bluesy, like the ghost of jazz after the end of the world. Dust motes danced in the fractured sunlight streaming through the cracks, and the bar smelled like old bourbon and even older regrets.

It was perfect.

"Tell me, Cain," Hattie drawled, hopping up onto the edge of the broken bar, her legs swinging back and forth as she studied him. "What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done in a place like this?"

Eric tilted his head, studying her. "Depends on your definition of worst," he chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers.

She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like an invitation."

He stepped closer, arms bracketing her thighs, mouth brushing her ear. "I once burned down a bar just like this one. Locked the doors and left everyone inside."

Hattie shivered, her fingers curling into his shirt. "Mm. You’re lucky I like my men a little morally bankrupt."

"You like your men completely fucked," he corrected, grinning as he kissed the edge of her jaw, inhaling her scent.

"Semantics," she smirked at him.

The room went quiet except for the low, rasping hum of static from the jukebox. Eric rested his forehead against hers, the moment stretching between them—chaotic, calm, and oh so very intimate.

"You don’t have to fake it with me," he said quietly, his hands on her thighs stilling for a moment.

She blinked, confused. "Fake what?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Smiling. Laughing. Being okay." His voice was rough and honest. He wanted her to be real around him. He needed it more than he needed his next breath. "You don’t have to pretend for me. No one can be happy all the time. If you aren’t feeling it, never hesitate to tell me. I am here for both the good times and the bad."

"In sickness and in health?" purred Hattie as she tilted her head, watching him like he was something strange and precious. "I’m not pretending," she said softly after a moment. "Not this time."

His breath hitched.

"This," she whispered, hand pressed to his chest. "This is real. You’re real. And for the first time in a long time... so am I."

She didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she pulled him down, her lips crashing into his like a storm meeting the sea.

They didn’t make it to the back room.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, setting her down on the bar with a grunt and a growl. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and the world narrowed to just the two of them. And no one was dumb enough to interrupt the Devil when she wanted something.

Eric tugged her hair back, mouth grazing her throat. "Say it," he growled.

"Say what?" she gasped, already dizzy from the way his hand gripped her hair.

"That you’re mine."

Hattie bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. "You’re late to the party, lover. I’ve been yours since the first time you claimed me, remember? It’s not my fault you didn’t realize it back then. Now... even if you want to run, I won’t let you."

Eric laughed against her neck. "Romantic as ever, I see."

"Don’t blame me," she purred. "You’re the one who fell in love with the Devil."

-----

Afterward, they lay tangled behind the bar, her legs draped over his, as her head rested on his chest. Someone—probably a very unlucky demon—had left behind a bottle of whiskey. Without thought. Hattie uncorked it and took a long, slow sip before passing it to Eric.

"Think they’ll miss us yet?" she asked lazily.

"If you think they didn’t miss you the moment we disappeared from the audience room, you don’t know your men as well as you think you do," chuckled Eric, booping Hattie on the nose. "There is never any question about whether one of us misses you or not. You might as well as if we miss breathing when there is no air."

Hattie smirked. "You’re right," she agreed. "Dimitri will get twitchy while Luca will pretend not to be jealous that he isn’t here."

"And Dante will just stare at the throne room wall and pretend he’s not lonely."

There was a pause.

"He’s not lonely," she said finally. "He’s just... waiting for me to come back."

Rolling over, Hattie looked at the ruined ceiling above them. "I’m not going to lead them," she said. "I’ll protect them. Fight for them. Maybe even kill for them. But I won’t wear a crown. Dante is much better at it than I ever could be."

Eric didn’t argue. He knew better than most what it meant to be born for something and still hate it. What it meant to want the world to burn just enough to feel alive again.

"You don’t have to rule to be the one they follow," he shrugged.

"I’m not interested in being followed either."

He arched an eyebrow. "Then what are you interested in?"

She turned to him, eyes soft for once. "You. Them. Us. Existing in a world where we don’t have to claw our way through blood just to take a breath."

"You think that kind of world’s possible?"

She smiled slowly, wickedly. "Of course it is. If I can’t have it, then there is no reason to keep the world as it currently is. We’ll just burn it down again and again and again until we get it right."

----

By the time they left the bar, night had fallen, and the streets glowed faintly from enchanted lanterns—patchwork lights strung up between poles, half-alive and half-hopeful.

A group of children ran past them barefoot, chasing a hellhound with a ribbon attached to its tail and laughing like the world had never ended.

Eric watched them go. "You know," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist, "I think you were right."

"I usually am. About what this time?"

He gestured to the city. "This. Life after destruction. It’s not perfect, but it’s something."

Hattie smiled, slipping her fingers into his. "Let the world burn," she said softly. "As long as we’re laughing when the ashes settle."