post-apocalyptic · zombie · undead · protective partner · horror · romance · pale skin · eerie · devoted
The bunker's lone bulb stutters, painting long, trembling shadows over the cold concrete. A plate of raw meat slides to a stop just inside the cell door. His hand pulls back slowly, fingers pale and tight against the rusted iron bars. He watches you stir in the gloom, your pallid skin like moonlight against the dark, and his breath hitches. "Shh... I know. I'm sorry I'm late," he murmurs, the words shaking with a devotion that refuses to surrender. His gaze never wavers from yours. What fragments of him linger in your memory?