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Fall took his time tying up his hiking boots. Laces threaded from hole to hook, to hole, and back to hook, crisscrossing one another as they snaked their way up the boot's tongue to end in a tight and comfortable knot. They were brown and muddy, stained with months worth of near-daily use, but they were comfortable; a perfect fit, just like his pants, and the two layers of undershirt and overshirt he wore, and the dark coat with more pockets than he could count.

The man sighed, turning the whole of his body to the right so he could look out the balcony window of the apartment he'd found shelter in. Up here on the fourteenth floor, Fall had a near-perfect view of the Chicago skyline, all murky and grey as clouds threaded their way between the fingers that were the city's tallest buildings. He eyed Old St. Patrick's, a relict of a church from a time long gone, and then allowed his eyes to travel up the wet spine of Desplaines Street. A little further ahead there was an intersection that shifted his gaze left, to a highway that followed the length of a river just a few blocks west of it.

“Fall?" The voice called out to him from the apartment's single bedroom, small but comfortable enough for its occupant. It shook him out of his thoughts, and for a moment he grew stiff as he reflexively swallowed a ball of saliva that had suddenly formed to the back of his throat. “A-Are you still there? Have you gone?"

Fall knew that it -- he could still smell him in the apartment. They weren't so far away that he couldn't hear Fall getting ready to leave either. There was nobody else save for the two of them. Up here, he could be as loud as he wanted. Not that he would, with how considerate he tried to be of the other's hearing.

“Fall… I -- If you're still there-"

“I'm here, Summer," whispered Fall after collecting himself -- out of sight from the man, Summer heaved a sigh of relief. He'd just been surprised, that was all. Or so he told himself. Summer had fallen into so deep a sleep that… Fall hadn't considered that Summer would be awake by the time he left. The man stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark coat and asked somewhat softly, somewhat coldly, and somewhat carefully, “How do you feel?"

There was only a wall keeping the two of them apart, with the door to the bedroom held open so that they could easily talk to one another. Not that it was necessary; they could have heard one another even with the door closed tight. He could hear Summer's loud breathing even from this distance -- it was long and deep, then hitched, and caused a fit of phlegmy coughing.

He should have gotten up to check on Summer. At least stand and take a peek around the corner, but… he just slumped back on the sofa and threaded his fingers into one another while he listened for signs of life.

“Better," Summer said. Although it was nothing but the truth to Summer, Fall saw it for the obvious lie that it was. He found it easy now to discern the truth in Summer's words. Fall could feel a dull rumbling in his chest as the almost-distant voice continued, “I would say that I… I feel better than I have in months."

Fall sighed and with a slight roll of his eyes turned his head to the ceiling. Deep breath -- he could taste the other's musk heavy in the air. It overwhelmed everything else: his own sweaty smell, and the mold that'd started to set into the walls, and stench of rotten food they'd never quite managed to get rid of. The whole apartment just smelled like… wet dog. That hadn't always been the case. It could be worse…

“Fall? Are you there? Did you leave?" He hadn't left -- Summer knew this because he could still smell the man sitting in his little throne, scattered books and dirty blankets surrounding him. The truth was that he just wanted to hear his companion's voice. He wanted to will away that silence that had recently been settling over their heads far too uncomfortably.

“I'm here, Summer," he whispered.

“Oh… That - good. Yes… yes, that's good."

Fall stood, a heavy though empty backpack lazily dangling from one shoulder, and slowly circled around to the bedroom's door. He was careful with the things strewn about the apartment, unwilling to cause a sudden ruckus that would startle poor Summer.

So many stacks of books strewn about the floor, many yet unopened, and even more ruined beyond use. There was a bicycle against the wall which hardly got any use -- too loud -- and a small rubber ball he often liked to roll around in his hands. Lots of paper and pencils, large notebooks he'd gathered from a bookstore, a few torn apart and others spread open to reveal their mindless doodles and surprisingly competent sketches. Tins of empty canned food he'd yet to toss out. Coats, shirts, underwear. Blankets; so many blankets. Trinkets and baubles stuffed into every one of the apartment's open nooks and crannies; useless now, yet still they were collected.

One day, he thought to himself for the thousandth time, he'd clean up this mess. And yet he knew that the next time he went out he'd only come back with more.

What was it that Summer liked to say? It gave the apartment… personality.

He gave Summer the courtesy of a knock -- always did -- a mere tap of the tips of his fingers against the wood door, before having a peek inside. The blinds to a massive wall-encompassing window had been drawn down to keep the sunlight from streaming in, and for good measure he'd tied a few black blankets over one another as makeshift curtains. The darkness was a necessity, Fall understood this much, but he still wished that he could have done something to help lighten the bedroom's ambiance.

Summer turned to look at him. Too tall for the bed, so Fall had set up a couple of chairs at the foot of the bed and padded them with pillows he'd found from a few of the neighbouring apartments. Enough for Summer to comfortably stretch out his full length. Even in the darkness Fall could make out Summer's wolfish features, most prominent of which were the huge pointed ears and a sharp snout that capped off with a large wet nose.

Here now, standing at the foot of the door, Fall could hear Summer's raspy breaths while he struggled to stammer out more of those genderless words -- note quite male, not quite female, close to his ear yet distant as well, speaking as if there were ten Summers all trying to talk over one another. Half-lidded golden eyes that glowed in the dark momentarily widened as they caught sight of Fall, and for a second, Summer tried his best to sit up on the bed.

It'd been a sad, pathetic, and futile effort. Fall couldn't help the pity he felt for the crea-

… for Summer.

“Why?" murmured Summer in between breaths as Fall moved into the room. “Why do you look at me so?" He tried to raise a clawed hand but found no strength to do so. “Don't look at me like that, Fall. Please."

“How am I looking at you?" Fall asked, to which Summer replied with a tremble to his bottom lip and a half-hearted snarl;

“Like a monster."

“Don't say that, Summer."

“You've always looked at me like that."

“That--That's not-"

“Yes it is!" screamed the wolf, gnashing canines, spitting thick strings of saliva that curled through the air to splatter on Fall's boots. There was anger in his eyes, and a fear for an known unknown that had been plaguing every waking moment of Summer's thoughts. There was that unmistakable glint that Fall had seen time and time again that gave him pause, caused his heart to momentarily stop, and forced his hand to come down to his hip.

It only lasted a single moment. No more than a fraction of a second in relation to the immortality of time. That was more than enough for the two of them. Where Fall took a calming breath and moved his hand away from his hip, Summer found himself at a loss of words as his eyes clouded over, then glinted, while tears formed at their corners.

Guilt. The first emotion Summer felt as his clouded mind cleared up, it was overwhelming guilt.

“I-I'm sorry, Fall. I didn't… I didn't mean to."

“No, no. No, Summer, don't apologize." He was by the wolf's side at a moment's notice, knowing that Summer had no strength to push him away even if he'd wanted to. Fall knelt beside the bed and gently touched Summer's arm, feeling the rough and dirty texture of brown and beige fur beneath his fingertips. Gentle, light touches. “Hey now," he whispered now that they were so close to one another; he could barely hear himself, “look at me."

“I'm sorry, Fall," said the wolf as he once again turned to look at Fall, finding himself at a loss of words as he tried to explain things he didn't quite understand for the… how many times had it been now? “I-I don't know what came over me. I don't… I don't know what…"

“Easy, now. Hush." Fall stroked the wolf's fur and threaded his fingers up and around his shoulder. His other hand came down on Summer' head. He was burning up worse than he'd been yesterday. “You meant no harm and did me none either. See? Come now, no more tears." The vastly larger wolf felt… small beneath those human hands. “I was just worried. That's all."

“Worried." Summer sounded unsure, or as close to unsure as he could get with the voice he carried. It's how Fall took it to be, at least. “About… about what, Fall?"

“You, Summer."

“Why worry about me?"

“Because you're-" Fall forced himself to stop. Those wide golden eyes watched, unblinking, waiting for him to continue. The man turned away a little and moved his hand from Summer's forehead so that he could settle it atop the blankets that had been fit so snugly over the wolf; “... because I worry, Summer."

Laughter. Fall got laughter out of the wolf. It made the corners of his full brown lips twitch in the slightest of smiles. “Always liked that about you, Fall. Always said it. You worry too much."

He always worried. He'd never stop worrying. Something in Summer's heart twitched, a feeling -- emotion that always flared up whenever he was close to Fall. Pity for the man, perhaps. It felt both wrong and right.

“I can always stop."

“No, no. Never. I…" Summer's gaze moved down. He really took the time to take in Fall, and how he was dressed, before asking, “You're going?"

“For only a moment," explained Fall.

“What… why? Where are you…"

“Food, Summer. And medicine. Water." He drew his hand away from the wolf and stood, his voice losing the warmth it had for a moment. “I'll be quick."

“Wait, wait. Fall -- I'll… I can…"

“You're not going anywhere, Summer," whispered Fall with a slow shake of his head as he fiddled with the backpack's strap. “Rest."

“I can help," argued the wolf as he shook himself free from the confines of his blanket. Instant regret; Summer shivered as a nauseating wave of cold spread across his skin. The fur of his body only seemed to trap it in, rather than his own heat."

“You can help me by staying put."

“Please, Fall, I can… I can help you carry things. I can-" Fall said nothing. He merely watched as the wolf closed his eyes, fell back on the bed, and mumbled, “keep you safe."

A dull shiver ran through his skin at those words. They shouldn't have affected him the way they did, but… He'd be damned if he didn't still feel something. The best Fall could do now was reassure the wolf, who was quickly slipping into another one of his coma-like bouts of sleep, while drawing the blankets back up to just under Summer's chin.

“Nothing I haven't done before, Summer," he whispered to the wolf; his voice quivered, but it was better than causing Summer any discomfort, “and you… sleep, okay? I'll be back with food and medicine. It'll help with the fever."

“The fever… I'm better, Fall. Right?" The wolf leaned into Fall's touch as the man reached to stroke just under his snout. “I don't… it doesn't hurt anymore, Fall."

“Yes," lied Fall with a sad and bitter smile, “you're better, Summer."

“Good. Good. Yes, I told you so, didn't I? I was better. Didn't believe me, but now you know. So… maybe I can go back out with you again." He wasn't so sure about it himself, yet Summer still reassured himself with the simple question he wanted Fall to answer. “Soon?"

“Maybe." Fall breathed out and left Summer with a parting scratch under the wolf's snout. It earned the man a content chuckle -- exactly what he'd been looking for. “Soon."

In the blink of an eye, Summer had somehow shook himself from the siren's call that was his sleep, and with renewed energy he turned his eyes to Fall and said, “I'm sorry that I can't go."

“Nothing I haven't done before, Summer," he replied, realized he'd already said this, and quickly corrected himself, “It will be easy. It's the usual route, hm?"

“The…" Summer audibly smacked his lips, massive wolf tongue slipping from his maw to instinctively lick at a spot on his cheek. Fall thought to himself, Summer must have tasted him a little, since that's where he'd touched the wolf in his vain attempts at comfort. A thought that, once upon a time, would have been cause for concern; “... usual route?"

“You know it, hm?" Again he knelt, put his hand to Summer's strong bicep, and the other to the wolf's exposed hand. Fall was careful about those long, sharp claws. Didn't try threading their fingers together, just gently gave the wolf's hand a gentle and constant pat. “Come now. Say it to me. We leave the building, head north on Desplaines until we get to…?"

Summer was visibly struggling, grasping at memories, trying to draw out… “M-Monroe. Left at Monroe. And then you'll cross the bridge, right? It's the only bridge that gets you to… ah… I-Fall I…"

“Easy, now. You got it." Fall forced himself to smile. “Cross the bridge and you get to Halsted Street, hm? That's where you have all the-"

“Stores," gasped Summer, as if in a sudden flash of brilliance and realization, “the grocers. A pharmacy. That's… that's where you're going?"

“The usual route," hummed Fall.

“The usual route. Right… right… safe. You'll be safe. Right?"

“When am I not?"

“Always." Summer chuckled at his own statement -- it was weak. “And… are you -- did you think about-" he closed his mouth and wet his lips, then swallowed twice after taking a sharp and painful looking breath of air, “blind wolves. Did you think about them?"

“Of course I did," Fall said as he gave Summer a disarming smile and a comforting stroke of his fur, “looked out the living room window. Looks like the roads are clear. And, I'll not be gone for more than an hour. Besides," he held in a laugh, but to Summer it must have sounded like he'd actually let it out, “they've never caught me before."

Summer shut his eyes, turned his head away, and gloomly remarked, “They have… once… I wasn't there."

Silence. Fall didn't know what to say any longer, nothing except, “I'll be back before you know it."

As he reached the bedroom's door, Fall heard Summer talk, and felt his heart sink at those mournful words.

“Come back, Fall. Please."

He looked back to the wolf, whose eyes were half-open once again, and who stared out to the closed blinds of the window.

“Please don't leave me."

He left the door open because he knew that Summer hated feeling trapped. He would have said goodbye, but by the time the thought had left his lips, Fall found that the wolf had finally slipped into another long and deep bout of sleep.

This gave him time, thankfully. Time to do things his way, at his pace, without feeling like the clock was ticking down on him. It was, Fall couldn't lie to himself about that, but some days he liked to pretend as if he were back in those few months when he had all the time in the world to do as he pleased.

Time to really map out his routes on the maps he kept splayed out on the countertops by the kitchen. Time to look out the window and physically picture himself sulking down those desolate roads. Time to make sure that everything was secured tight to his body, so that he'd make as little noise as possible while out and about. Time… to think, even if it did him no good, and wonder just how much longer the two of them had together. How much longer until--

Fall did what he'd always done whenever he was ready to set out for the day: he had a long look in the mirror.

Human eyes, richly brown, sunken, with dark bags under them. Human nose, pointed tip, narrow nostrils. Human ears, inferior to the wolves, but they served him well. Human lips, with yellowed human teeth and a pink human tongue. Human hair -- not fur -- a midnight black with faint streaks of grey.

Human. He looked human. He felt human. His mind was still intact. He was still himself.

Somehow.

Fall forced himself to smile, but the best he could do was make the corners of his lips twitch upward. Summer could notice the difference. Trying further felt like someone had hooked fingers into his mouth to pry his lips apart. They quivered under a sudden and uncomfortable strain. It was his body screaming at him to stop. He looked ridiculous.

But Summer loved it when Fall smiled for him. Always said that he had the world's brightest smile. Considering the state of things, Summer wasn't so far from the truth.

Morbid thinking, but it kept Fall afloat. Kept him focused on the one important thing in his life. Not himself -- not now. Just Summer. It's why he had to go out now, brave the bitter mid-October cold, to get Summer what he needed: food and medicine, while hoping that he didn't come across any of them.

All set and ready. Fall looked into the bedroom one last time, noted that Summer hadn't so much as stirred since he'd fallen asleep, and with a heavy sigh and a silent prayer to whomever may be listening, he set off for the outside world.

Out there? The world was cold, and still, and empty. It was the reality check that Fall had needed to confront every few days for the last… how long had it been? A year, perhaps, or maybe even a little longer than that. But he didn't complain. He couldn't complain. This kept him grounded. It kept him alert and focused. Most importantly, it kept Fall from growing careless.

That was the killer out here. Not the savage wolves that hid out in dark buildings, who ventured at night, that'd want to tear into his flesh; not the cold that burned at his skin; not the growing pains of hunger, nor the sharp pangs of thirst, or the awful stabs of loneliness; not even sicknesses that one could contract from spoiled food or pure bad luck.

The true killer, in Fall's mind, was carelessness.

If he grew careless, then he'd still be out by the time night fell. If he was careless, then he would enter into a building without first having scoped it out for a few days. If he was careless, then he would take the same roads twice in consecutive outings. If he was careless, he'd forget to collect food and water and medicine for himself. If he was careless, he'd fail Summer.

He couldn't fail Summer, even if the wolf wasn't expecting much out of him.

A harsh wind blew in from the north, funneled through between the buildings of Desplaines Street to create a bitter gust that forced Fall to huddle into himself as he let off a shaky breath of air. He first had a look around himself before even taking a single step in any direction. Not at his surroundings -- he'd grown used to the sight of abandoned cars and overgrown vegetation -- but rather at what could be inside these surroundings. There were no strange out-of-place smells. Upon closing his eyes, Fall heard nothing that might tip him off to an immediate danger.

Just the loneliness, the isolation, and the overwhelming sense that he was the last intelligent creature left on this earth.

He moved north, crossing Adam's Street before turning his eyes up to Old St. Patrick's. He always paused to look up at this church, oddly enough finding it to be the one building that fit with this empty world. However, he never allowed himself to linger, and with his back to the wall he slowly crept along Desplaines until he made it to the Monroe intersection to turn west, and over the bridge.

That highway below him -- he could see the cracks on its surface from up here, in between the mess of cars that lay entirely undisturbed. All of them, every single one of them, empty. A few had turned over onto the highways' shoulder, others had crashed into one another, and the rest just sat in perfect stillness, as if their owners had calmly parked them, gotten out, and vanished without a trace. When he turned around, Fall could see the highway stretching out to a winding horizon, with a mess of bridges above it like stitches over an open wound. More cars. More emptiness. More questions, and so few answers.

He busied himself throughout the waning daylight hours. Always on alert, head on a swivel, eyes on the back of his head. One hand he always kept on his hip, where he carried with him a small yet sharp kitchen knife that had gotten him out of one-too-many situations. It wouldn't kill -- gods knew if there was any way of actually killing those things when they were on to him -- but it would give him enough of an opening to escape back to daylight. It's a tactic that had worked before, but Fall knew that he'd only been lucky.

Those wolves had been surprisingly well-fed. Starvation hadn't made them cannibalize their own kin. Starvation hadn't forced them out into the daylight in a desperate search for their next meal. They hadn't been the yowling monstrosities that -

If Summer had listened in on his thoughts, Fall would've gotten the scolding of a lifetime. He could already hear the wolf's words. It brought another one of those awkward smiles to his face as whispered that mantra:

“Remember the good times."