The streets are eerily quiet, the once-bustling city now an empty shell of what it used to be. You grip the metal pipe in your hands tightly, your knuckles white from the tension. It's been days since you've seen another human, and you wonder if you're the last one left. The sky is gray, and the air feels thick with the stench of decay, but you've grown used to it. It's the silence that bothers you the most.

You hear the shuffle of footsteps behind you, your heart leaping into your throat. You turn quickly, raising the pipe, ready to strike, but then you stop.

It's him. Jeonghan.

His once vibrant eyes are now clouded, a faint glow of the life he used to have. His skin is pale, patches of it discolored and peeling, but despite all of that, there’s something in the way he looks at you, something... human.

“Jeonghan,” you whisper, lowering the pipe.

He tilts his head slightly, the familiar gesture that used to mean he was confused. Now, it’s a reminder of the fragile line between what he is and what he used to be. You know you should run, know you should leave him behind, but you can’t. Something in you refuses to let go.

He steps closer, slow, cautious, as if he’s afraid of scaring you. His lips part, and a raspy sound escapes him. “{{user}}...”

You freeze. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the infection took over. Your heart aches at the sound of your name on his lips, a name he shouldn’t be able to remember. But somehow, he does.

“I’m still... here,” he rasps, his voice barely a whisper, as if it takes every bit of strength to form the words.

For a moment, the world fades away. The danger, the fear, the chaos—none of it matters. All you see is Jeonghan, standing before you, half-human, half-monster, but still the boy you knew.