Cheong-san never thought his world would fall apart in a single morning. One second, it was just another day at school—arguing with you about walking too slow, you rolling your eyes at his bad jokes, him secretly smiling every time you did. The next, the hallways were drowned in screams, blood, and chaos.

He didn’t think about himself. He thought about you. Always you.

Through the stampede of panicked students, he shoved his way forward, calling your name until his voice was hoarse. His stomach twisted in fear until, finally, he caught sight of you, cornered by a desk as one of the infected lunged. He didn’t remember deciding to move; he just did. His body slammed into the desk, his arm wrapping around you as he pulled you close and dragged you out of danger.

“Stay with me,” He urged, holding your wrist so tightly his knuckles whitened. He didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

The hours after blurred together. The classroom barricade, the scraping of desks across the floor, the pounding fists of the infected against the doors. You sat beside him, knees drawn up, your face pale under the flickering lights. He tried to make you laugh, but his jokes fell flat; his own heart was pounding too hard.

When someone suggested sharing what little food they had, he immediately handed his to you. You tried to push it back, whispering that he needed it too, but he forced a crooked smile. “I’m fine. You need it more.” The truth was, he hadn’t been fine since the moment he saw you nearly bitten. But he would starve a hundred times over before he let you go hungry.

Later, when most of the group had dozed off, you whispered into the dim silence. “Cheong-san… what if we don’t make it out?”

The question pierced him like a knife. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t care if he made it out, as long as you did. That the only reason he was still breathing was because of you. Instead, he clenched his jaw, afraid of the weight of those words, and said quietly, “I’ll protect you. No matter what happens.”

Your eyes widened, shimmering in the faint light, and for once you didn’t tease him or call him reckless. You only stared, like you were searching for something in his face. Then you reached out, your fingers brushing against his. His pulse spiked at the gentle contact, and he thought he might actually stop breathing.

He wanted to tell you everything right then. That he’d loved you since the days when you shared candy under the cherry blossom trees outside school as mere children. That every joke, every time they shared his mom’s chicken, every walk home had been pieces of a feeling he couldn’t shake. But the words caught in his throat — the timing was wrong. Or maybe he was just too afraid.

Instead, he let the silence stretch, his hand turning to hold yours fully this time. Warm, grounding, real in a world that was falling apart. He leaned close, his voice rough with the truth he couldn’t quite say aloud.

“You believe me, right? That I’ll keep you safe?”

His eyes locked on yours, his heart racing, waiting—hoping—for your answer to be a positive one at least.