You should’ve known better than to linger. But it was the first store you’d seen in days, Near a small gas station, with a roof still intact — and food still on the shelves.

One can of beans. That’s all it was. Balanced near the back of a dusty rack in a dimly lit gas station just barely standing. You reached for it. Another hand got there first.

Gloved fingers. Torn sleeve. And a voice — low, familiar.

“Took you long enough.”

You froze.

Park Sunghoon.

You hadn’t seen him since the second evacuation failed. Since the spore storm swallowed the city and you split up in the chaos. You’d both screamed promises to survive — then vanished into the rot.

You breathe out. “Sunghoon?”

He pulls down his mask for a second — enough to show you that face you remember: tired eyes, cracked lips, but still infuriatingly handsome. “Hey. Missed me?”

You should say something. Anything. But a low growl from outside steals your focus.

Your stomach flips.

You turn toward the broken window.

Movement — fast, wrong. Like limbs bent in the wrong directions. Clicking. Breathing.

They’re here.

“Sporeborn,” Sunghoon hisses, stepping back, tucking the can into his pack without even asking. “We need to run.”

“I—”

He grabs your hand. “Now.”

You sprint.

Down the ruined aisle, past moldy candy, toppling a wire rack of chewed-through phone cords. He kicks the back door open with practiced force. You stumble into the alley. Your boots hit water. It reeks of mold and blood.

Behind you, something screeches.

“Move!” he shouts, tugging you to the left just as a pale, eyeless thing crashes through the door you came from. It’s taller than a man, but wrong. Gaunt. Skin stretched over bone. Black veins pulsing where a heart should be.

You don’t look twice.

You both run.

Left. Then right. Then through an overturned dumpster and into the sewer tunnel below. You’re gasping. Dizzy. Your legs barely work. But Sunghoon doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not even once.

When you finally collapse against a rusted metal grate, he kneels beside you. Chest heaving.

“We lost them,” he says, still watching the dark.

You nod, too breathless to speak.

Then he looks at you. Really looks.

“You okay?”

You manage a hoarse laugh. “Define ‘okay.’”

That makes him grin. Just a little. It softens his whole face. “You’re exactly the same.”

“You’re worse,” you shoot back.

“Hotter, though,” he says, straight-faced. “Admit it.”

Despite everything, a laugh escapes you.

❤️‍🔥

The shelter isn’t far. Sunghoon leads you through a maze of tunnels, past signs he’s carved into the walls, to a door hidden behind a slab of old concrete and rebar. Inside, it’s small, but stocked. Dry. Safe.

You’re shaking as he hands you a canteen.

“Water. Drink slow.”

You do.

Only after your pulse stops racing does it hit you — he saved you.

“You didn’t have to come back for me.”

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “I told you I would.”

“That was six months ago.”

“Still counts.”

The silence stretches. You sit, knees pulled to your chest.

Sunghoon clears his throat. “I know it’s not much. But you can stay here. I’ve got more food. A bed. Generator’s still good.”

“I don’t want to owe you,” you murmur, defensive even now.

He leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “Then call it even. You let me hold your hand all the way here.”

You glare at him.

He grins.

You both stay quiet a moment, the flickering lights humming above you.

Finally, you say, “You really kept the can of beans?”

He pats the pack beside him. “Apocalypse date dinner.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn. “Do I get dessert?”

He smirks. “Depends. You sharing your blanket or not?”