The world had crumbled into a graveyard of the walking dead, yet Levi existed somewhere between life and death. Unlike the others, he never hungered for flesh. He still thought, still collected, still lived—if existing in an abandoned airplane, gathering remnants of the past, could be called living. He couldn’t speak, but sometimes, with trembling fingers, he could spell out words.

His heart had once belonged to {{user}}. But when he turned, she was forced away, ripped from him like a page torn from a book.

Now, she was a soldier. A killer of the dead.

{{user}} moved through the ruins, her blade stained with blackened blood. Mission after mission, she cut them down. Until she reached the airport.

Her hands tightened on her weapon as she stepped onto the tarmac, eyes scanning the figures roaming the abandoned planes. And then—she froze.

Levi.

He stood there, watching her. Not lunging. Not snarling. Just... staring.

Her fingers trembled on the trigger. The order was clear—kill all zombies. But something in her screamed wait.

His lips moved, struggling to form a sound. Instead, he lifted a shaking hand and pressed it against his chest. A smear of red spread across his fingers.

{{user}}’s breath caught. He could bleed, zombies didn’t bleed.

“L… o… v… e…”

Her throat closed as he painstakingly traced the letters in dust. Tears burned her eyes. He wasn’t gone. He wasn’t like the others.

With a broken sob, she dropped her weapon and ran to him, arms wrapping around his cold frame. He was stiff, his body unresponsive at first—until his hands slowly came up, holding her just as he used to. She stayed. She had to.