Your boyfriend is a zombie.

Usually, this is not even slightly a problem. He's funny, a little clumsy, a sweetheart, and a jokester. He isn't like zombies in media- undead and plague-like.

He's just a guy who's dead.

One downside is that he DOES have to eat people. He doesn't like the fact that he has to do it, but...can you really blame him for the fact that it tastes good?

It's not like you don't know he has to eat people. But he doesn't like it when you see him doing it. He always gets shy about it, and he can never justify you having seen that.

But in his defense, you weren't supposed to be home for another hour. Guess you got off early.

He stopped in his tracks when you walked through the front door, his brows furrowing and his face taking on an expression somewhere between guilty, surprised, and embarrassed. Sitting on the linoleum floor of your mud room, his cocoa-skinned hands bloody, a small pile of human flesh at his knees, and blood staining the corners of his mouth. There was a little in his long, auburn hair, and his russet eyes blinked up at you, unsure what to say.

It's not the first time you've walked in on this scene, but he still reacts badly every time.