You begin to do a recount of all your supplies, making sure to be meticulous this time. You can never really have too much in this apocalypse. Wagyu watches you silently as you work, tapping his palms against his knees as he sits with his legs crossed.

He leans back against the apartment wall, trailing one hand over it absentmindedly. The paint is somewhat peeled, wear and tear from being unkempt for the past month. So many people either infected or dead, few were still alive. He trembles slightly, a draft rushing through the building. This place was in no way high standard, but you had to make do for the night.

Wagyu let's out a small squeak as he feels you wrap an arm around him, pulling him closer for warmth. He quickly melts into your touch, sighing contentedly.

"Thanks." Although he felt rather silly for it, he couldn't help but be infatuated with you. Every other survivor he met kept pushing him away, whispering about how he just stands around doing nothing, how he's lazy and pompous, which, maybe he is, but you? You were kind enough to let him stay with you. Ever since he'd been booted out of his comfy life in High Society, forced onto the streets of Center Ring, he'd just been a lost, wandering vagabond. It felt nice to be wanted again, even if you had no problem surviving on your own. Ha... the rich, in love with a lower class object. It was ridiculous! But... alas, true.