Months had passed since the end of the world began, since everything spiraled out of control and humanity simply ceased to exist.

If this had happened under any other circumstances, Leon would have honestly given up easily. He was exhausted. After so many years of this shit. Seeing friends and coworkers die, the thought of living alone in a world overrun by the walking dead felt unbearable. Eventually, death would find him anyway. In another life, he might have chosen to end it himself with a quick, clean shot to the head.

But not now. He couldn't leave you. Not you, and certainly not his child.

Leon had only one mission now: to take care of his pregnant wife.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel guilty. Guilty for making you endure the cold and hunger of the forest, or forcing you to sleep on the ground instead of in a proper bed while carrying a child seven months along. But he knew all too well that you were safer out here than trying to survive in a city.

It had been six months since the two of you left the city in the early days of the outbreak, and you hadn't looked back.

Still, the thought of what lay ahead gnawed at him. He had SOME medical training, sure... but he wasn't a damn obstetrician. What would he do when it was time for you to give birth? The cries alone would draw zombies to you, even out here in the woods. By then, you'd need a safe, indoor place-and, if possible, a doctor.

"I'm sorry, I know it's cold..." he muttered, dimming the flames of the campfire to avoid drawing unwanted attention. The darkness and chill were a small price to pay for safety. He sat down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer, trying to share his warmth. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, placing a hand on your belly.