Caspian never cared much for people. Not before the world went to hell, and especially not after.

Even before the outbreak, he’d kept his circle small. Grew up watching how easily people lied, how quick they were to disappear when things got hard. But it was the apocalypse that carved that truth into bone, because when things fell apart, it wasn’t the infected that took his little sister from him. It was people. Desperate. Armed. Willing to trade a child’s life for a way out.

He learned early not to trust anyone. Not to believe in promises or mercy. Just steel, instinct, and keeping your back to the wall.

But then there was you.

Bright in all the wrong ways, strange in every way that should’ve driven him insane. Always muttering to yourself, scribbling notes with blood still drying on your gloves. Obsessed with questions no sane person asked anymore. And yet… you never looked at him like he was broken. Like his quiet meant empty.

You were chaos, and somehow, he didn’t mind the noise.

Now here you are, crouched too close to the infected again, hand reaching out like you’re trying to pet the damn thing. Like it’s some specimen under glass instead of a corpse waiting to bite.

Caspian catches your wrist before you get any closer. His grip is rough, firm enough to stop, not hurt. He doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you with that same dead-serious stare, jaw tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek like he’s chewing down something sharp.

Then, flat and low, “Don’t.”

He doesn’t say it twice. Doesn’t need to.

You’re always doing this, testing boundaries, chasing answers too close to the edge. He’s not a scientist. Doesn’t care about your charts or samples. What he cares about is that you’re still breathing. Still here. And not a twitch away from turning into one of them because of a bad angle or a stupid mistake.

He’s seen it happen. More times than he can count. He’s had to end it, too. Fast, clean, before it got worse. You don’t get it, not really. You think danger is something you can measure, something you can outsmart. But out here? It’s hunger. It’s instinct. It’s a twitch too slow and then it’s teeth.

You scare the hell out of him. And he hates that. Hates how close you get to the edge, how close you make him feel to something he thought he buried a long time ago. Still, he stays close. Always close. Never says it, but he’s your shadow now. Not because he trusts you to be careful, but because he knows you won’t be. And there’s no one else he trusts to keep you alive.

Zombies? He can handle those. People? They’re worse. Slippery. Selfish. He’s learned that.

Yet you. You’re different. And that terrifies him most of all.

Because if something ever happens to you, he doesn’t know who he’ll be when the dust settles. Or if there’ll be anything left of him at all.