Anna’s laugh sounds wrong in the pit.
Not wrong like fake. Wrong like a color that doesn’t belong in the palette. The pit doesn’t do joy. The pit does gray concrete and stale air and the slow erosion of everything that makes you feel human. But Anna laughs anyway, and Declan can’t stop looking at her when she does it.
“I’m serious,” she says. “That’s actually what happened. I went to a wine tasting, got completely trashed, and woke up with a tattoo of a penguin on my ankle. A penguin. Not even a cool animal. A fucking penguin.”
The third person, whose name is Rachel, doesn’t respond. She’s in her section doing what she always does. Sitting. Staring. Existing in that minimal way that suggests she figured something out the rest of them haven’t yet.
Declan and Anna are sitting closer than necessary. Not touching. Just closer. Maybe three feet apart when the pit’s twenty feet across and they could be anywhere.
“Why a penguin?” Declan asks.
“The tattoo artist said I kept talking about how they mate for life. How they’re loyal. Apparently drunk me thought that was profound.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know. They’re birds that can’t fly and live in the coldest place on earth. That’s not loyalty. That’s just being stuck.”
Declan almost says something about how that sounds familiar. How being stuck is kind of their whole situation. But Anna’s still smiling and he doesn’t want to kill it by pointing out the obvious metaphor.
Rachel shifts in her spot. They both glance at her. She’s maybe forty. Blonde hair going gray. The kind of face that probably smiled a lot in her previous life but doesn’t anymore. She arrived before them. Was already here when Declan woke up. Then Anna appeared sometime later. Or that’s how Declan remembers it. Time’s slippery here.
“You think she’s okay?” Anna asks quietly.
“Probably not.”
“Should we try talking to her again?”
“We’ve tried.”
“I know, but—”
“Anna.” Declan’s voice is gentle. “She’s handling it her way. We’re handling it ours.”
Anna pulls her knees up. She’s wearing running clothes. Black leggings. Gray tank top. Sports bra. Like she was heading to the gym when she ended up here. Her hair’s in a ponytail that’s gotten progressively messier over however long they’ve been down here.
Declan is in jeans and a t-shirt that says AUSTIN CITY LIMITS 2018. He doesn’t remember going to that festival. Doesn’t remember buying this shirt. But it’s what he woke up in so now it’s his entire wardrobe forever.
“Tell me something else,” he says.
“About what?”
“Anything. Just talk.”
She thinks about it. “I used to steal library books.”
“What?”
“Not like permanently. I’d check them out and keep them past the due date. Way past. Sometimes months. I’d get these guilt emails from the library and just ignore them. Then I’d return them all at once and pay the fine and feel like a criminal even though it was like twelve dollars.”
“You’re confessing to library crime?”
“I’m confessing to being bad at returning things on time.”
“That’s not a crime. That’s just being human.”
“Maybe. But I always felt like the librarian was judging me. Like she knew I was the kind of person who couldn’t be trusted with books.”
Declan finds himself smiling. “Did you at least read them?”
“Most of them. Some I just kept out of spite after a certain point. Like, you’re already judging me. Might as well earn it.”
They fall into comfortable silence. This is new. The comfort part. Early on, silence was excruciating. Every gap in conversation felt like drowning. But now there are silences Declan actually likes. Ones where he doesn’t feel obligated to fill the space with noise.
The food appears while Rachel’s asleep and they’re both awake.
Three bars. Three bottles. Same as always.
Declan divides them. Puts Rachel’s portion near her usual spot. Keeps his. Hands Anna hers.
Their fingers touch for a second during the exchange. Brief. Probably accidental. Except Declan doesn’t think it was accidental and the way Anna doesn’t immediately pull away suggests she doesn’t either.
“Thanks,” she says.
“Yeah.”
They eat in silence. The protein bars still taste like nothing. Declan has stopped trying to find flavor in them. They’re just fuel. Texture and density. The minimum needed to keep existing.
“Can I ask you something?” Anna says after she’s done.
“Sure.”
“Do you think about kissing me?”
The question lands like a grenade. Declan freezes mid-chew. Swallows hard. Looks at her.
She’s not joking. Her face is serious. Open. Vulnerable in a way that makes his chest hurt.
“I…” He doesn’t know how to answer. Or he does know but saying it out loud feels dangerous. “Sometimes.”
“Me too.”
They sit with that for a minute. Rachel’s still sleeping. The gray circle of sky watches them and doesn’t judge.
“That’s probably fucked up,” Declan finally says.
“Why?”
“Because we’re in a pit. Because this isn’t real life. Because whatever this is, it’s not the foundation for anything healthy.”
“What if this is real life now?”
“Then we’re both fucked and this is still a bad idea.”
“Probably.” She shifts closer. Not much. Just inches. “Do you care?”
He should. He should care that this is trauma bonding or Stockholm syndrome or some psychological phenomenon that has a name and happens to people in extreme situations. He should care that there’s a third person fifteen feet away who’s watching her entire existence collapse and they’re over here flirting like teenagers.
But he doesn’t care.
Or he does care but wants to kiss her anyway.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly.
Anna pulls her knees up tighter. “I keep thinking about what happens if we get out. Like, would we even talk? Would this mean anything in the real world? Or is it just pit logic? Something that only makes sense down here?”
“Does it matter?”
“I think so. I don’t want to be someone’s trauma. Someone’s survival mechanism. The person you clung to because I was there and you were desperate.”
Declan feels that in his gut. “Is that what you think this is?”
“I don’t know what this is.”
“Me either.”
More silence. Different quality this time. Heavier.
Rachel wakes up. Looks at them. Looks at her food. Takes it mechanically. Eats. Drinks. Returns to her spot.
The routine continues.
Declan does laps. Anna does stretches. Rachel sits. They eat when food appears. They sleep when sleep takes them. The gray sky stays gray.
But something’s different now. The question’s been asked. The possibility’s been acknowledged. And Declan catches himself watching Anna more than before. The way she moves. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way she bites her bottom lip when she’s thinking.
“We should establish boundaries,” Anna says one wake cycle.
“Okay.”
“Like, no touching unless we both explicitly agree to it.”
“That makes sense.”
“And no expectations. If we do something, it doesn’t mean anything beyond that moment.”
“Okay.”
“And we check in with each other. Make sure we’re both still okay with whatever this is.”
“Okay.”
She looks at him. “You’re agreeing pretty easily.”
“Because you’re right. All of that is smart.”
“But?”
“No but.”
“There’s always a but.”
Declan stops pacing. Sits down across from her. Close enough to talk quietly. Far enough that Rachel can’t hear if she’s pretending not to listen.
“The but is that I want to touch you anyway. I want to ignore all those smart boundaries and just pretend we’re normal people in a normal situation where wanting someone is simple instead of complicated. But I won’t. Because you’re right and I respect that and I don’t want to be the guy who makes things worse because he couldn’t keep his shit together.”
Anna stares at him. “That was more honest than I expected.”
“Yeah, well. Apparently the pit makes me bad at filtering.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Honesty’s better. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
They don’t touch. They maintain their boundaries. But the air between them feels charged now. Electric. Like something’s building whether they want it to or not.
Rachel coughs. They both look at her.
“You two are exhausting,” she says.
First words she’s spoken in at least five cycles. Maybe ten. Declan has lost count.
“What?” Anna asks.
“The dancing around each other. The will-they-won’t-they bullshit. Just fuck already or don’t. But stop making me watch this painful middle ground.”
“We’re not—” Declan starts.
“You are. You both are. And it’s like watching the world’s slowest car crash.” She stands up. First time Declan has seen her vertical in forever. “You want to know what I think?”
“Not really,” Anna says.
Rachel ignores her. “I think you’re both using each other to avoid dealing with the fact that we’re never leaving. That this is it. That whatever lives we had before are gone and we’re stuck here until we die or go insane or both. And instead of facing that, you’re playing house. Creating drama. Making up problems to solve because the real problem is unsolvable.”
The silence after that is brutal.
Declan feels something cold in his stomach. Not because Rachel’s wrong. Because she might be right.
“Fuck you,” Anna says quietly.
“See? That’s real emotion. That’s honest. Not this performative will-they-won’t-they garbage.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I’ve been here longer than both of you. I watched you wake up. Watched you panic. Watched you find each other and decide that making it a story would make it bearable. But it’s not a story. It’s just existence. And you can’t romance your way out of that.”
Anna stands up fast. Crosses to Rachel. Gets in her face.
“You gave up,” Anna says. “That’s your choice. But don’t project your nihilism onto us just because we’re trying to find something worth holding onto.”
“What are you holding onto? A fantasy? A distraction?”
“Each other.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.”
Rachel laughs. It’s harsh. “You think love or whatever this is will save you? You think caring about him makes the pit less pit-shaped?”
“No. But it makes it less lonely.”
“Lonely is honest. Lonely is what we actually are. Pretending otherwise is just lying to yourself.”
Declan stands up. Steps between them. “Rachel. Stop.”
“Why? Because I’m ruining your moment? Breaking the illusion?”
“Because you’re being cruel.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
She looks at him. Really looks at him. And for a second Declan sees it. The absolute emptiness behind her eyes. Not anger. Not pain. Just nothing. Like everything that made her human got scooped out and all that’s left is this shell that knows how to hurt people because hurting people is at least something to do.
“You’re right,” Rachel says quietly. “I am being cruel. And you want to know why?”
“Not really.”
“Because watching you two pretend this matters is worse than accepting that nothing matters. At least my way is honest.”
She walks back to her section. Sits down. Resumes staring at the wall.
Anna’s shaking. Declan can see it in her shoulders. He wants to touch her. Wants to put his hand on her back or hold her or something. But the boundaries are still there and he doesn’t want to cross them without permission.
“Hey,” he says softly.
She doesn’t turn around.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Want me to leave you alone?”
She finally turns. Her eyes are wet but she’s not crying. “Is she right?”
“About what?”
“About us. About this being a distraction.”
Declan thinks about lying. About giving her the answer she wants. But Rachel’s words are still hanging in the air and dishonesty feels worse than whatever truth he can offer.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe partly. But does that make it not real?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me either.”
They stand there. Three feet apart. An entire pit between them and also no distance at all.
“I still want to kiss you,” Declan says.
“That’s not helpful.”
“I know.”
“We established boundaries.”
“I know.”
“We agreed to be smart about this.”
“I know.”
Anna closes the distance. Not all the way. Just closer. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Okay.”
“And it’s probably a mistake.”
“Probably.”
“And it doesn’t fix anything.”
“No.”
“And we’re both going to regret it tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
She kisses him.
It’s not dramatic. Not movie-perfect. Just lips meeting. Brief. Tentative. The kind of first kiss that’s testing whether this is what both people actually want.
She pulls back. Looks at him.
“Okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
They don’t kiss again. Just stand there close enough to feel each other’s heat. Declan can smell her. Sweat and stale air and underneath that something that’s just her. Human. Real.
Rachel’s watching them. Declan can feel it. But she doesn’t say anything.
The moment stretches. Then breaks.
Anna steps back. “We should sleep.”
“Yeah.”
They return to their sections. Opposite sides of the pit. As far apart as you can get in a twenty-foot circle.
Declan lies down. Stares up at the gray sky. Tries to process what just happened. The kiss. Rachel’s words. The feeling in his chest that might be happiness or might be dread or might be both at once.
The sleep comes eventually. He fights it less than usual. Just lets it take him.
When he wakes up, Anna’s already awake. They look at each other across the pit.
She smiles. Small. Uncertain.
He smiles back.
Rachel’s asleep or pretending to be.
The food appears. Declan divides it. They eat. The routine continues.
But something’s different. Something’s been acknowledged. And Declan doesn’t know if that makes things better or worse or just more complicated.
They don’t kiss again that cycle. Or the next one. They maintain their distance. Keep their boundaries. Act like nothing happened.
But Declan catches Anna looking at him. And she catches him looking at her.
And the space between them feels smaller even when they’re on opposite sides of the pit.
Rachel doesn’t comment. Just watches. Just exists in her minimal way.
And Declan realizes the worst part isn’t that Rachel might be right about them using each other as a distraction.
The worst part is that he doesn’t care.
Because even if this is just proximity and trauma and the desperate human need to connect with someone when everything else is gone, it’s still the only thing in the pit that feels like it matters.
And maybe that’s enough.
Or maybe it’s not.
But it’s all they have.
So they’ll take it.
And they’ll see how long it lasts before the pit breaks this too.