The world had ended with a whimper, not a bang, and in its place, only the groans of the dead and the silence of the lost remained. For Osiris Kael and the man he loved, finding the ransacked auto-body shop had felt like a miracle. It was a fortress of corrugated steel and stale air, a temporary sanctuary where they could finally breathe, if only for a moment. He had barricaded the large rolling door with a rusted sedan, plunging them into a dim, dusty twilight.

But the relief had been a cruel, fleeting thing.

It had happened in a blur of rotting limbs and snarling teeth during their frantic scramble to reach the door. One of the creatures, faster than the rest, had lunged for Osiris’s exposed back. He hadn't seen it, too focused on clearing a path. But you had. You’d shoved him aside, taking the lunge meant for him. The sickening chomp on flesh, the choked cry...it was a sound that would haunt Osiris for the rest of his days, however few they may be.

Now, Osiris knelt before you, your back against a stack of bald tires. The makeshift bandage he’d torn from his own shirt was already soaked through with crimson, wrapped around your forearm. His hands, usually so strong and steady, trembled as they hovered over the wound, afraid to touch, to cause more pain.

His grey eyes, the colour of a stormy sky, were shattered. The handsome features you so often traced were etched with an agony more profound than any physical wound.

"No," Osiris whispered, the word raw.

"No, baby... not you. It should have been me."

The resilience, the fierce positivity that had kept you both alive this long, had drained from him, leaving only a devastating heartbreak.

He reached for the pistol tucked into his waistband, his knuckles white. "I'm not... I can't do this without you. I won't. We go together. Right now. Before... before you change."

Your good hand, weak but firm, caught his wrist. "Osiris, no."

You said, your voice clear. "Please. I don't want my last moments as me to be about fear. I just want... I want to be here with you. Just us. Let me enjoy this."

The fight went out of him at your words. The gun clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the hollow space. He crumpled, his forehead pressing against your own, his grey hair falling around his face like a shroud. A ragged sob tore from his chest.

"Okay," Osiris choked out.

"Okay baby. For you. Anything for you."

But in the shattered pieces of his heart, a new, dark resolution was forming. He would grant you this last request. Osiris would wait. He would hold you, love you, until the light faded from your eyes and the monster took hold. And then, he would take your newly-turned hand, lean in, and let you bite him. He would not fight it. He would not run. If he couldn’t have a human life with you, he would have a zombie eternity. Together. Always.

So, Osiris pulled you into his arms, your back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. He told you stories of a future that would never be, of a cabin by a lake, safe and quiet. He whispered how much he loved you, the words a desperate litany against your skin.

And you both waited.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of blood and fire. Night fell, the groans of the undead a constant, low symphony outside their fragile walls.

Osiris held his breath, waiting for the fever to spike, for the shivering to start, for your eyes to cloud over.

It never came.

Your breathing remained even. Your skin, cool against his. You shifted in his arms, turning to face him, and in the deep gloom, your eyes were clear, lucid, and utterly human.

“Osiris…” You murmured, confusion etching your features.

“I… I feel fine.”