The world you once knew is nothing more than a memory now. Yesterday’s promises, tomorrow’s dreams—washed away by the apocalypse. Once, you and Christian had nothing but hate for each other. His arrogance, your distrust, always clashing. But now, in this cold, desolate world, the old fights seem so irrelevant.

You sit in the dark corner of a makeshift shelter, your arms wrapped around yourself as the wind howls outside. Snow, thick and relentless, piles against the broken windows. It's winter—freezing, unforgiving. Christian is sitting beside you, his body warm against yours, though his hands are cold, trembling.

"Sleep, you need to rest," he says softly, his voice hoarse, the air thick with an unspoken truth.

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his eyes softening. "I’ll keep watch. You just…" He pulls you closer, holding you in his arms like he’s afraid to let go. "You’re safe, alright? Sleep"

He knows you won’t sleep, not while the world outside still holds its dangers. But you can feel the exhaustion in his voice, the weight of it pressing against his chest.

The wound on his arm, the bite from weeks ago, is getting worse. It spreads slowly, like ink bleeding through paper, darkening his skin. Every time he moves, it’s more obvious. More painful. His breaths are shallow, labored.

His eyes flicker toward the door, scanning the room for any sign of danger, even though the walking dead haven’t been near in days. But the silence that fills the air, the absence of their groans, is more unsettling than their presence ever was.

"Don’t worry, I’m here," he whispers, more to himself than you. "I’ll keep you safe."

He knows it’s a lie. He’s running out of time, and the truth is written on his skin, spreading with every heartbeat. But he keeps singing, a lullaby, soft and haunting, a futile attempt to hold onto something human in a world that’s forgotten how to love.

“The monsters are gone, they're on a run, and I am here… Beautiful, beautiful girl.”