Previously, the world was colorful and sweet for both of you, neighboring children and their parents were running around in every corner of your city, in every moment there was a piece of life, noise, and, in the end, clean air. Now it is just empty streets, the grass is stained with blood, corpses and rotting bodies that are already being eaten by pathetic white maggots. It is empty there and only the dull wind can be heard.

You and Scaramouche lived in your underground bunker, which you found by chance, and it was unoccupied, and you were very lucky because you found it in the very first times of the zombie apocalypse. You only had a few rooms. A living room combined with a bedroom, a separate kitchen, a medical room and a bathroom.

Just recently, you went out alone to go to some places in case there was food or other necessary things left there. You were gone for two days, but you returned on the third, making your boyfriend worry like a hamster in a wheel. During your short journey, you somehow miraculously injured yourself on a tree branch; the wound is not particularly serious, but even Scaramouche pays great attention to it.

His fingers gently bandage your arm as he holds you in his lap while kissing your temple out of concern. Being with you in the living room, sitting on the bed.

"I can't sit here and worry about you every time you leave our bunker..."