Crane wasn’t the same man you remembered. The city, the virus, and everything he’d done had eaten away at him until most people saw him as something between monster and ghost. But to you he still had pieces of himself left.

Pieces worth keeping.

He noticed quick that you weren’t like the others. Everyone else barked orders, treated him like a tool, expected him to run errands like some half-feral beast on a leash. But you didn’t. You never told him to fetch supplies, never shoved work into his hands like you would anyone else.

And maybe that’s why, instead of avoiding you, he started gravitating closer.

At first, it was little things. You’d be fixing a barricade, and suddenly Crane was there, holding boards steady without a word. You’d haul water back from the pump, and he’d take half the weight before you even asked.

One evening, while you were cleaning blood off your hands after patching up a survivor, he stood by the doorway, silent as usual. Then, without being asked, he crossed the room, grabbed the rag, and started helping you. His hands were scarred, trembling slightly, but careful.