The night stretched wide over the wasteland, a black canvas pricked with distant, uncaring stars. The wind cut sharp through the ruins, rustling loose sheets of metal, making old signs creak like whispers from the dead.
Grizzley sat alone on the roof of a half-collapsed building, a crumbling relic of some old-world diner. Below him, the shattered neon sign still clung to faded letters—Valentine’s Diner—though the glow had long since died.
Fitting.
He struck a match, the flame flickering against the wind, and cupped it close to the cigarette between his lips. The first drag burned warm in his chest, settling into the silence like a familiar companion.
It was February 14th.
Once upon a time, that had meant something.
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Grizzley exhaled a slow plume of smoke, watching it curl into the night.
He wasn’t the sentimental type. Never had been. But still, something about this day scratched at the back of his mind, stirring up ghosts better left buried.
He used to forget Valentine’s Day all the time—back when the world still made sense. He’d buy flowers last-minute, pick up some cheap chocolate, try to act like he’d planned ahead. It was a joke, really. His wife had always seen right through it.
But she never got mad. Never held it against him.
She just used to laugh, shake her head, and say, "You always remember when it counts."
That part stuck with him.
You always remember when it counts.
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Now, the world was different.
No more candy hearts or candlelit dinners. No more last-minute gas station roses. The only thing left of Valentine’s Day was the silence.
And maybe that was fair.
Love had always been a fragile thing. It never stood a chance against fire and ruin.
Grizzley took another drag, staring at the wreckage below. The old diner’s broken windows, the rusted-out cars in the parking lot, the faded sign promising Heart-Shaped Pancakes All Day!
Somewhere, a dog howled in the distance.
Romantic.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
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A voice called up from below.
“You talkin’ to the ghosts, or just yourself?”
Grizzley glanced down. Mara.
She stood near the edge of the diner, hands in her pockets, her breath fogging in the cold air.
He smirked around the cigarette. “Maybe both.”
Mara climbed up, settling on the ledge beside him. She pulled out a flask, took a swig, and offered it without a word.
Grizzley took it, the whiskey burning its way down his throat.
They sat in silence for a while, passing the flask back and forth, staring out at the endless stretch of wasteland.
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“You remember what day it is?” she asked eventually.
Grizzley huffed. “You think I keep track?”
Mara gave him a sideways look. “Bet you do.”
He didn’t answer. Just took another drag and let the smoke drift between them.
Mara smirked. “Bet you were a real pain in the ass on Valentine’s Day.”
Grizzley exhaled. “Oh, absolutely.”
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The night stretched on, the cold settling into their bones. Neither of them spoke for a long time. There wasn’t much to say.
Eventually, Mara nudged him. “Got another one of those?”
Grizzley pulled a cigarette from his coat and handed it over. Mara lit it with a match, inhaling deeply before exhaling with a sigh.
She stared at the cigarette between her fingers, turning it slightly like she was lost in thought. Then, without looking at him, she asked, “You ever been in love, Grizz?”
He blinked at her, caught off guard by the question.
“Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter than before. “Once.”
Mara nodded slowly. “Me too.”
Grizzley tilted his head. “Never heard you talk about it.”
Mara let out a dry chuckle. “Not much point. The past is just a weight to carry.”
He watched her carefully, waiting. She took another drag, then exhaled slowly, as if the words were being dragged out of her lungs with the smoke.
“His name was Callum,” she said finally. “Met him a few years before everything went to hell. He was… different from me. Softer. Smarter. Used to work in a library, if you can believe that.”
Grizzley raised an eyebrow. “A librarian?”
Mara smirked. “I know, right? Me, a girl who grew up breaking noses behind the school gym, falling for a guy who read books for a living.”
She shook her head, staring out at the horizon.
“We were gonna leave the city together. Find a place outside all the noise. Buy a shitty little house, maybe get a dog. That was the plan.”
Grizzley didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t have to.
Mara’s smirk faded.
“He got sick early on. Some infection, nothing major before the world ended. But back then? No hospitals, no meds… He didn’t make it.”
She flicked ash off the edge of the roof. “Guess I should be grateful. At least he didn’t get to see the worst of it.”
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Silence settled between them again.
The cigarette burned low between Mara’s fingers, its ember glowing in the darkness.
“Thing is,” she muttered, mostly to herself, “I still catch myself thinking about him. Stupid shit, too. Like how he used to hum when he was reading, or how he always smelled like coffee and old paper.”
She let out a breath. “You’d think, after all this time, the little things would be the first to go.”
Grizzley studied her for a moment before flicking his own cigarette into the darkness. “They’re the last.”
Mara looked at him.
He gave her a small, tired smile. “Little things are all we got left.”
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For a while, they just sat there, sharing the last of the whiskey, letting the night stretch on.
Eventually, Mara nudged him. “Got another one?”
Grizzley pulled out his last cigarette and handed it over. Mara lit it, taking a slow drag.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Grizz.”
He smirked.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “You too.”
And in the ruins of the old world, where love had long since died, two survivors shared a drink, a cigarette, and a silence that didn’t feel quite so lonely.