Zombie Mode & Comfort Cats

Marcus stood in front of the mirror, his vintage dad hat pulled low over his eyes. It was his armor against the world. At sixteen, he still hadn't mastered the art of existing in social situations without feeling like he was faking it.

"You're not gonna back out, right?" his little sister called from the hallway. "Chloe's party is gonna be lit."

"I'm going," he lied, adjusting his hat again. "Just... gotta feed the cat first."

Boots, his emotionally supportive cat, wound around his legs like a furry anxiety snake. At least Boots didn't ask him why he was still single or whether he'd talked to Riley lately. Riley, who'd been his best friend since sixth grade, until everything got weird and complicated somewhere between homecoming and winter break.

The house party was exactly what Marcus expected: too loud, too crowded, too much everything. He moved through rooms like a zombie, grateful for the hat that hid his expression. People nodded at him—some he knew from classes, others who were just faces in the hallway. He returned their nods with practiced casualness.

Then he saw Riley.

She was near the speakers, laughing at something some guy from the football team said. Marcus felt that familiar pinch in his chest—not jealousy, exactly, but something close. Something that tasted like loss.

"Marcus!" She spotted him and waved, threading through the crowd. "You actually came. I thought you were gonna stay home and doomscroll your life away."

"Almost did," he admitted. "Boots needed quality time."

She rolled her eyes but smiled, and just like that, they fell back into their old rhythm. They talked about nothing and everything—zombie shows they'd both been bingeing, the weirdness of high school, how sometimes existing felt like the hardest thing in the world.

"You know what's messed up?" Riley said suddenly. "I miss hanging out with you. Like, actually hanging out. Not just at school or whatever."

Marcus's heart did that embarrassing flutter thing. "Yeah. Me too."

"So let's fix it," she said, like it was that simple. "Come over tomorrow. We can watch zombie movies and overanalyze our trauma like old times."

"Sounds perfect," he said, and meant it.

Later that night, Marcus lay on his bed with Boots purring on his chest, hat finally tossed aside. Maybe sixteen wasn't about figuring everything out. Maybe it was just about surviving the zombie apocalypse of growing up one day at a time, with good friends and comfort cats along for the ride.