It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Shinsou had promised himself that when this was all over — when the cities stopped burning, when the dead stopped walking — he’d finally take you out. A real date. A quiet movie, maybe, followed by dinner somewhere warm, where the only thing he’d have to fight for was the courage to tell you how he felt.

But fate had other plans.

Now, the two of you stood in the shell of an abandoned garage, lungs heaving, blood pounding in your ears after tearing through a horde. The air was thick with the smell of rot and gunpowder. He could still hear the echo of your laughter from earlier — triumphant, relieved, when you’d both stumbled across a stash of food and medical supplies. For a few stolen hours, it had almost felt like life again. Almost.

Until his eyes caught the blood trailing down your arm.

A bite.

His world tilted. He blinked, once, twice, hoping it was a trick of the light — but the crimson ran thick down your wrist, dripping from crescent marks embedded deep in your flesh.

“...No.” His voice cracked, barely audible. “No, no, no—”

You blinked at him in confusion, your breathing still ragged. You hadn’t even felt it. The adrenaline of the fight must’ve numbed it all — until the pain began to pulse, sharp and electric, spreading heat through your veins.

He stumbled forward, grabbing your wrist, his fingers trembling so violently you could barely feel their grip. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is…” His throat tightened as if every word cut him open from the inside. When you didn’t answer, when your silence became confirmation, something in him broke.

He pulled you into him — so hard, so desperate it almost hurt — his breath shaking against your neck. You could feel it: the way his chest heaved, the way his heart hammered with a thousand words he couldn’t say.

“{{user}}, stay with me. Please—stay awake, you hear me? {{user}}!” His voice was raw, cracking in places it never had before. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t—fuck—don’t leave me like this.”

You wanted to answer. You wanted to tell him it was okay, that you’d be fine, that you weren’t scared. But the warmth spreading through your chest wasn’t comfort — it was fire. It burned through your veins, melted your thoughts into chaos. The edges of the world blurred, colors bleeding together, sound fading into a single dull hum.

“Hito...shi…” you tried, but your tongue felt heavy, your lips numb.

And then came the hunger.

Not a scream, not a snarl — just a hollow ache in your gut, gnawing and primal. You felt your body tremble, your breath rasp. But when you looked at him — at his tear-streaked face, his trembling hands, his wide, terrified eyes — that hunger changed. You didn’t crave his blood. You didn’t crave his flesh. You only wanted to reach out, to touch him one more time, to wipe the tears that streaked down his cheek.

Shinsou staggered backward, eyes wide with grief and horror. He lifted his weapon, his hands shaking so violently he could barely aim. You stood still — silent, eyes cloudy but somehow still yours.

He’d never believed in god, but now he prayed. Not for salvation. Just for strength — strength to do what he had to, to let you go.

And yet… when your hand lifted toward him, slow and trembling, something inside him shattered. Because even like this — bitten, fading, lost — you were still you.

“{{user}}…” he whispered, voice breaking completely as the bat slipped from his hands. “God I've actually fucking lost it—”

The world outside was silent. Inside, it was just the sound of his quiet sobs, echoing through the hollow room.

And as your fingers brushed his cheek — still warm, still tender — he let himself believe, if only for a moment, that love could survive even this.

Your love story doesn't end here.