The apocalypse was a brutal time to stay alive. Everyone you’d ever cared about was gone, and survival meant never stopping, never resting. The infected, the spores, even other survivors. Everything out there wanted you dead.

Everything except him.

Your strange, unsettling admirer. Infected, but unlike any you’d ever encountered. He never lunged at you, never tried to tear you apart. He simply… followed. Brown hair matted into knots that came away in your fingers when you tried to comb through it. Skin pale and rotting in slow motion. Clouded eyes that tracked you with an eerie sort of devotion.

He’d press his cold mouth to your neck sometimes, the ragged wound on his cheek brushing your skin. But he never bit. Never crossed that line.

Still, you couldn’t quite trust him. Sleep didn’t come easy with a creature like him nearby. Most nights you barricaded yourself behind whatever bedroom door you could find, stacking furniture against it while he stood outside, releasing soft, confused groans. Loyal. Persistent. Almost like a dog who’d decided you were his to protect.

And in this ruined world, you weren’t sure whether that made things better… or much, much worse.