The air was thick with the damp rot of a world falling apart. Joel trudged through the outskirts of Austin, his boots crunching against broken glass and overgrown weeds. It had been two months since the outbreak—two months since he’d lost Sarah, since he’d last seen him. His husband, {{user}}, had been working late at the hardware store when the world went to hell. Joel had tried to get to him that night, but the chaos swallowed everything. He’d assumed the worst, but hope—stubborn, stupid hope—kept him searching.

He adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the deserted strip mall ahead. The wind carried a faint clatter, metal on metal. Joel tensed, crouching low behind a rusted car. Then he heard it—a voice, gruff but familiar, cursing under its breath. His heart lurched.

“{{user}}?” Joel rasped, barely above a whisper, stepping out into the open.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the store’s shattered entrance, wielding a crowbar. Disheveled hair with sweat and grime, framed a face Joel knew better than his own. {{user}} froze, eyes wide, the crowbar slipping slightly in his grip.

“Joel?” His voice cracked, disbelief warring with relief.

Joel closed the distance in three strides, pulling {{user}} into a rough, desperate embrace. He smelled of dust and blood, but he was alive. Joel’s hands gripped the back of {{user}}’s jacket, anchoring himself to the one thing the apocalypse hadn’t taken.

“Thought I’d lost you,” Joel muttered into his shoulder, voice thick.

{{user}} pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “Takes more than a damn fungus to keep me from you.”

For a moment, the world’s decay faded. They were just two men, battered but unbroken, holding on in the wreckage.