seungmin shouldn’t have felt anything. his heart no longer beat, his lungs no longer drew breath, and yet, the sight of you made something stir inside him—something that shouldn’t exist. he kept his distance, his decayed hands twitching with the urge to reach for you, though he knew he couldn’t. not like this.

he followed silently as you moved through the ruined city, keeping to the shadows. he didn’t know why he stayed close, why the sound of your voice—soft and determined—made the world feel less cold. when you stumbled, he moved before he could think, steadying you with hands that trembled. you didn’t scream, didn’t run, just stared at him with wide, searching eyes.

you should’ve been afraid, but you weren’t. the way seungmin looked at you—tender and longing, despite his lifeless form—was more human than anything else in this broken world. and as you whispered, “why are you still here?” he couldn’t answer, but the ache in his hollow chest told him everything: even in death, you were still his.