John had been with you, {{user}} only for a few days now. A pandemic had hit and it was bad. The end of the world. The dead were walking and all you had were each other.

John and you had set up camp in the woods tonight. It was a clear sky, the stars shining in the dark sky. John was laying on his bedroll, his grey eyes locked onto your figure.

“What’s your story, lil’ one? I’m sick of your silence,” he said lowly. His southern accent was prominent and he was staring right at you.