You were his girlfriend. Once. Before the world ended.

Before the virus spread. Before the screams. Before the silence.

Now, you were something else. A zombie. But not mindless. Not gone.

You remembered him. Not clearly. Not in words. But in instinct. In scent. In the way your body stilled when he touched you. In the way you never tried to bite him.

Katsuki didn’t kill you. He couldn’t.

Instead, he kept you. Protected you. Leashed you.

Because with other humans, you weren’t safe. You growled. Snapped. Attacked—especially if they got too close to him. You fed only on corpses, never the living. But if someone raised a weapon against Katsuki, you lunged. Every time.

---

Today, he was out scavenging. His turn to get groceries for Class 1-A, who now lived in the abandoned U.A. dorms. You sat outside the store entrance, leash clipped to a rusted bike rack, eyes dull but alert.

A low growl rumbled from your throat.

“Hngr… hmp…”

It wasn’t hunger. Not yet. It was impatience. You wanted him back. You wanted his voice. His scent. His presence.

A passerby flinched. You bared your teeth. They backed away fast.

Then the door creaked open. Katsuki stepped out, arms full of canned food and protein bars. He saw you. Smirked.

“You growling at people again?”

You tilted your head, eyes locking onto him. The growl stopped. You made a soft noise—almost a whine.

He crouched beside you, one hand brushing your cheek. You leaned into it. Just slightly.

“Still in there, huh?” he murmured. “Good.”

He unhooked the leash. You stood, stiff but steady, and followed him without a word.