It's your typical zombie apocalypse.

Not that you ever thought that it would happen…you were just abnormally prepared…that's all.

Eight months on, and more than half of humanity has been zombified. Thing is, the progression of time kills them y'see. Years from now, the world would be simply filled with rotting corpses and the remaining bits of humanity would regroup and start over, like a cleansing process. However, due to the very aggression of the zombies, humans are dying out much too fast. You've been traveling for miles ever since the city of Sina, and you haven't seen many other souls – well at least one that was still alive anyway. You haven't been taking note of the landmarks and the cities you've passed since then. It gets lonely, driving in your SUV with the windows down, with nothing but the purring of the engine and the wind whipping through your hair to keep you company. Your hair's grown unruly, but for some reason, you have a tendency to spend five minutes each night working the knots out with your only comb in front of the campfire.

You've gotten complacent, even you admit that, but it's easy to forget that there are flesh eating monsters who look like humans out there, ready to crack open your skull just to get to your brains right outside your car door. It started small-scale, like most other plagues. The government captured the first humans to be affected for testing. It proved as fantastic fodder for the human rights activists. It was contained, for a little while. It's difficult to trace the roots back, but apparently it was transferred from a new species of rodent that had been discovered in the Congo. It all started with the guy who discovered it. After that, everything went haywire.

Somebody leaked documents about the human testing and the way human beings were being kept in cages in the CDC. Back then everyone was bickering about how inhumane it was, talking about how it was wrong. If only they could see how it is now…those guys were dead anyways. The virus still spread to one of the scientists who hid a bite, and went home, not knowing that was how it was spread. The news said he passed it to his daughter…you wince. That was a bad month. People started getting scared, but the government said not to worry, they had it all under control. Perhaps that was the moment where they could've called it out for what it was and placed the state under emergency, but that's not what they did.

Not what they did at all.

The rest is in a blur for you. The government shutdown, rebellion, ransacking of every grocery store, stealing, arson, riots, the whole palooza. All of it, and for what? People died in a matter of weeks. They were stupid, trusting and took the wrong options. You? You got on the road as fast as you could, and left everything behind as soon as the shit hit the fan. You got out of the city of Trost and headed for the Great Plains. It was mostly farming territory, and not many could live out in those conditions. There were miles of deserted, empty highway for you to cruise along, and crops growing haphazardly for no one to harvest. Life is good for you right now. You've got canned goods in your bag, corn, tomatoes and carrots in your trunk and a stack of paper in your backseat. It was a rare find this morning, when you reached a town.

It was devoid of life, that nameless town you passed through. The thing was with these fuckers, they moved in herds. The way the virus worked as far as you could see was they attacked any human in sight and for some reason they had this extremely slow metabolism, so they could last for days without food. They didn't feel pain either. A lot of people died within the first week because when they fought back they didn't go for a kill hit. Trying to incapacitate them didn't work because they didn't feel pain and didn't stop attacking until they were dead. You, as far as possible, didn't confront them or go to areas where you knew a herd would be likely lurking. You know there are humans out there but you haven't seen one in close to three weeks. Or at least you think it's three weeks. You're normally careful about noting the passage of days, but sometimes you run out of paper and lose track.

You turned onto one of those side roads, hoping you'd find some kind of farm establishment at the end of these rows of corn, where you could ransack the cupboards and maybe even find running water. Might as well use it while water was still being supplied. Sooner or later it would run out. The last time you saw humans was in a town miles back. You'd been rooting through the town and turned around to find a shotgun in your face. They weren't very nice, so you handed them the stuff you'd looted and got the hell out of dodge. You really did try to make nice and tell them they should keep moving, but they refused to listen. You felt guilt as you drove away, remembering the little girl that hid behind her father's knee but you weren't about to stay. It's not like they wanted you around anyway. That's how folk out here treat city-kids, even now.

You glance at the fuel gauge. It was almost empty, and you would have to refill within the hour or you'd be stuck out here without any gas. Thankfully, in the distance you can see a hulking farmhouse, with its whitewashed fence and a homely structure, complete with a porch upon which sits a rocking chair. You smile to yourself. How quaint. Pulling up in front of the house, you cautiously wait a moment before opening the door. Leaving it ajar and moving around to the back, you pull out a pistol and a tire iron, jamming the tire iron in the back of your jeans and cocking the pistol, keeping the barrel pointed upwards, to be safe.

You advance, and try the handle of the door with your free hand but find it's locked. You wonder if it's barricaded on the inside, and experimentally plant your foot heavily on the door, willing the hinges to give. However you can feel the resistance behind the door. Sighing you rub at your face and switch the safety on the pistol back on. You still need to find some source of fuel for your car. It's nowhere near a petrol guzzler but you can't afford to get stranded in the middle of nowhere, especially not at night when the visibility is down. You've seen people die because of silly mistakes. In a world like this, there is absolutely zero room for error.

You trek around the back of the house, to the back door, but it's the same story there. No open windows, nothing, no way of entry. You wonder idly if there might be someone in there, but the house shows no signs of life, so you give up on the idea. Moving back to your car, you hit a brainwave. Most farmers have tractors, or other diesel-powered machinery. You have an extra gas container in the SUV, and a clear plastic tube of about an inch in diameter. Grabbing the tubing and the gas can, you make your way over to the large barn, praying that it isn't padlocked. It isn't, the doors are completely open, like someone left in a hurry. There's an empty space beside the tractor and behind it is a rusting station wagon. You move to the station wagon first and begin the process, leaving your pistol and tire iron on the floor, removing the fuel tank cap, and inserting the tube into the tank. You blow into the tube and listen for the bubbling noise. Thank god! The fuel tank is full. You should be able to get a full tank into your car, and maybe there will be some leftover for a spare can full of gas, and you'll be good to go for quite a while.

You start pulling up gas and depositing it into your can, spitting a couple times as the acrid fuel accidentally reaches your lips. Finally, you have about half a can of gas, so humming, you decide to go fill up your car and try to gauge how much more you're going to need. You pick up the half full can and skip to your SUV, removing the cap and starting to pour into the tank. At this point, it seems to be about three quarters full and you stand back, stretching. If you had been paying more attention, perhaps you would not have been caught off guard.

The snarling noise alerts you and you duck out of the way out of sheer instinct. The zombie groans as it slams against you, and panicking, you shove it backwards, keeping its snapping jaws at bay while you desperately try to find a weapon. Suddenly it occurs to you that you left it in the barn. A sinking terror grips your stomach and you stare into the zombie's clouded soulless eyes, thoughts screaming through your brain. This thing used to be a person once. It's wearing a shirt and a tattered tie. It must have come from a city miles away. This is how you're going to die. After all that happened, after all the effort you put in, this is how you die. Even as you struggle, you begin to accept it and let your arms go slack and your eyes slide shut, waiting for death.

Suddenly the zombie is yanked backwards, and you open your eyes in shock, in time to see someone shoot the damn thing right in the head. Shaking, you raise wide eyes to the person in question. It's a boy…no no, he's just a somewhat short man. You see it in his eyes. He's expressionless, and fair, his raven hair a stark contrast to his pale skin. The effect is quite startling, and his grey eyes stare you down, daring you to say a word.

"Tch." Is the first thing you hear coming from his sculpted lips before you pass out.

Thing is, you're not a fighter, you're a survivor. There's a difference. You run before you fight. God knows how many people you've left behind because of it. There's just no chance of making it out alive with those things. You don't face these things head on, you swerve around them. That's just how you've managed to keep yourself together.

"I think I hit my head." You groan. The room is spinning and you're entirely sure there might just be ten people in the room with you.

"You did hit your head, idiot. How did you even survive this long?" A disapproving voice echoes in your fuzzy head.

You bolt upright, excited. "Hi!"

The stranger leans back and quirks an eyebrow. "Hello, brat."

"You're the first person I've seen in forever!" You squeal, only just beginning to take note of your surroundings. You're in some kind of living room, with a bunch of picture frames on the walls. You're lying on a couch, your head propped up on the armrest. It's pretty comfortable, and there's fire roaring in the hearth. Sitting up, your gingerly touch the bump at the back of your head and wince. "Where am I?"

"It doesn't matter where you are. When are you leaving?" He asked you with a raised eyebrow.

You frowned. Every zombie apocalypse movie or book you have ever watched or read talks about people meeting and finding solace together. That doesn't happen much in real life though. People tend to trust people they know already. You just can't trust people just like that. Nobody can be trusted – that is the nature of this new world. But come on, you're human. You haven't spoken to anyone in so long and it kind of sucks. You're a social person at heart. You ignore his question and try to change tack instead.

"So you barricaded yourself in this house?" You ask.

The man in front of you shrugs. "There is a supply of canned food in this house, running water and crops all around. I decided to stay here until it ran out."

"Where did you come from?" You ask.

"The city of Rose." He murmurs, grey eyes empty. You aren't put off through.

"How'd you get here? A car?"

"I walked."

You gape at him." All that way."

"I stopped in places of course." He clarifies.

"But still, you survived out on the road on foot, by yourself? That's pretty awesome!"

He clears his throat with a roll of his eyes. "I am not going to be able to get rid of you, am I?"

"Dude, it's perfect!" You protest. "We're both alone so it makes sense! Besides, you saved my ass so the least I owe you is a ride."

He narrows his eyes. "This is an apocalypse idiot. You can't trust everyone you meet."

You scoff. "I know that! But you could have left me to die out there and you didn't. If that's not a reason to trust someone I don't know what is."

The guy seems unconvinced. "You don't even know my name."

"What is your name? I'm f/n." You introduce yourself, leaning back in the sofa, a reassuring smile on your face.

"Levi." He says shortly. Levi. The name suits him. You notice for the first time that he's wearing a cravat.

"Is that a…cravat?" You ask incredulously, reaching out fingers towards him.

"It is." He stiffens and subtly moves away from your hand. Frowning, you give him a puzzled look and retract your digits.

"Who even wears those anymore?" You snicker, but immediately stop as he turns an icy stare on you. Looks good on him. You sigh and look around. "Did you say there was running water up here?"

Damn, you haven't had a shower in days and the hot water feels so good on your skin, washing away the sweat and grime that had caked up on your person over the week. It relaxes your muscles and takes away the tension. Your hair wet, and steam rising off you, you step out of the bathroom and into the simply decorated adjoining bedroom. On the bed lies a set of pants and a sweater, a little big for you, but it'll be comfortable for the night. Levi must've left them for you. You can get a new set of clothes out of your car in the morning.

Dressing in them, you go down to the living room which is blessedly empty. Poking at the fire you think about Levi, who he used to be and his past. You weren't entirely sure if you could trust him, but at the same time, you really couldn't bear to be on your own any longer. There was this thing that you learned about in psychology class back at the university, something known as contact comfort. Human beings needed contact with others in order to be happy. They needed touch, hugs and physical interaction to remain sane, and could in fact die without it. You don't think Levi likes to be touched, judging from the way he shrank from you when you tried to touch him. You need to maybe find a dog.

Yawning, you pull your legs up and rest your head on the arm rest, watching the flames flicker in the hearth. They were having a sort of hypnotic effect on you and your eyelids flickered shut. You're halfway to a deep sleep when you feel someone flick your head.

"Oi, brat." Levi glares down at you. "Move."

Grumbling, you move over and curl yourself up smaller on the other side of the couch, watching as he plops himself down, then close your eyes again. You sort of want to move towards him and curl up next to him just because it's been so long since you've been close to someone. You're not sure your feelings are romantic, you're just desperate for some kind of contact. You wonder how to broach the subject. You note you must be pretty deprived to even think of approaching this with someone you've just met.

"Hey Levi?"

"Hm." He doesn't look at you, just continues to gaze stonily into the fire, the flames being reflected in his dark eyes.

"Do you know what contact comfort is?" You ask, timidly.

"I believe I've heard of it." He states drily. "Are you suggesting something?"

Goddamn this guy was good.

You sit up, folding your legs and open your mouth, ready to make your case. "It's a good kind of therapy. It's not like there are any feelings attached to it, it's just a healthy option for us. I mean neither of us have seen anyone else for ages, and this could be good for you know, our sanity." You abruptly shut up when you realize you've been rambling.

Levi doesn't say anything, and you want to ask if he'd at least consider it. After a few more moments of awkward (at least to you) silence, you get up and stand there for a second. "Um, good night then." You turn to go, but stop when you hear his voice, soft but crystal clear, and maybe a little bit exasperated.

"Come here f/n."

You pause, unsure of what to do, then throw caution to the wind and walk over to stand in front of him. He's sitting on the sofa, one leg up, an arm resting on his knee, the other leg folded neatly under the other leg. His eyes are closed, his face set in contemplation. He pats the sofa beside him, eyes still closed, and you sit down, facing him. You're pretty confused at this point, but you're playing along. He holds out his arms towards you, cocking an eye open.

Safe to say you're pretty damn surprised at this. Scooting closer to him, you slide gentle arms around him and press his limp body to yours. He's warm and liquid in your arms and it's been so long since you've been with someone like this. With an ecstatic sigh, you press your face to his shoulder, completely at peace with the world - that is until Levi flicks you on the forehead.

"Get off brat."

You glare at him as you pull away, rubbing at your forehead. "That wasn't nearly long enough."

You notice he avoids your gaze, but instead looks steadily at the now dying fire. "Go sleep. We'll be fine here for another few days."

You sigh and give him a look before tripping up the stairs, taking them two at a time. You were very tired and while that hug had been painfully short, it did make you feel better, regardless, though you probably wouldn't say that to Levi's face. You slid beneath the covers of the narrow but wonderfully soft and cosy bed. You could admit to yourself at the very least that you found Levi incredibly attractive – the sort of man you'd find yourself drooling over in a café under normal circumstances. You would never dare to approach someone like him much less begin a romantic entanglement with him. For God's sakes the man wears a cravat. He's from a completely different world. You just knew that in his old life, he must have been some kind of hot-shot entrepreneur or CEO. Generally not the kind of person you would ordinarily see yourself with.

The barrage of thoughts upon your fatigued mind is taking its toll and you yawn. Might as well get some sleep. Looks like tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day. You turn over in your bed and rest your cheek on your hand. Within minutes you're fast asleep.