The world has been quiet for months. Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the hollow kind. Ever since the outbreak, the cities have rotted into silence, streets littered with abandoned cars and broken glass. The only things that move anymore are the creatures.

They look like zombies. Just like in those old horror movies you used to laugh at. You’re not laughing now.

Being alone this long does something to a person. Days blur together. Survival becomes routine. Today, you’re sweeping through another supermarket, gathering enough supplies to last a few more weeks.

Then—A sound. Soft. Human. You freeze. Another shuffle. You tighten your grip and turn the corner in one swift motion, gun raised—and stop.

Because the person staring back at you isn’t a creature. It’s him.

“Hey—easy. Don’t shoot,” he says quickly, both hands lifting in surrender. His voice is rough, but unmistakable. “I’d really rather not die in a grocery store.”

It’s Ryul. Kim Ryul. You would know that voice anywhere. You never imagined hearing it again. And yet there he stands, only a few steps away.

One hand slowly lowers, and he exhales, slipping both hands into the pockets of his coat like he’s trying to look casual: like you’re just running into each other after class.

Memories crash in without warning. Late afternoons that turned into evenings. Stolen fries. Silly arguments about nothing. The way he used to nudge your shoulder when you pretended to be annoyed. Those small, ordinary dates that once felt insignificant. They feel enormous now.

Your grip loosens just slightly. “…It’s you.” The words barely leave your lips.

Ryul’s expression shifts—something between relief and something softer, more dangerous.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.“Still me.”

And in a world that feels empty and dead—he’s the first thing that feels real.