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Cold. So very cold. The chill seeped into his bones, making his body ache. When had he last felt warmth? He couldn't remember. All that came to mind was fear. Blinding, all-consuming fear that made his heart race and palms sweat.

The cold morning sun peeked through the cracked windshield of the abandoned car, rousing the unconscious boy from his fitful slumber. He blinked open crusty eyes, his tear-streaked face still icy to the touch. Shivering, he pulled himself upright with a groan, his body aching from the uncomfortable position he had slept in.

"Finally morning". He croaked, his voice hoarse. A flicker of relief passed through him, but it was tempered by the knowledge that the thing- whatever it had been- that had pursued him for hours wasn't gone, just hiding, waiting.

He looked around the abandoned street, taking in the eerie stillness of the city. However, when his gaze fell on the driver's seat, his heart nearly stopped.

A corpse sat there, or what was left of it. A woman- he believed it to be- once beautiful, now a grotesque parody. The woman's beautiful face was half-eaten away to expose raw flesh and bone beneath. One golden eye staring sightlessly while the other socket gaped red and raw. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream, jaw hanging open, and dried blood painted her neck and dark blue dress in macabre art.

He recoiled in horror, bile rising in his throat. Was this body there all along? How the hell did he not notice its presence or even smell the blood?!

He scrambling out of the passenger door and falling to his knees on the hard asphalt. His stomach heaved as the gruesome image seared into his brain. He gagged and started to crawl away, unable to tear his eyes off the body, fearing she'd lurch back to unlife and grasp for him with corpse-cold fingers.

Shakily, he got up and ran blindly, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His bare feet slapped against the hard asphalt, the chill seeping into his bones.

After several minutes of panicked flight, he finally stopped to catch his breath, realizing he had no idea where to go. The city stretched out before him, silent and deserted. Skyscrapers loomed like giants. Cars were parked haphazardly along the curb, some crashed together or flipped on their sides, and trash littered the sidewalks.

The cold air outside bit at his flesh, and he shivered violently. He glanced down at his flimsy, ill-fitting white shirt and short shorts were no protection against the morning cold. They felt more like a flimsy gurney cover than proper attire, or like he just rolled out of a hospital bed!

Wait a second. A hospital...

An idea struck him. If he looked like he just walked out of a hospital, maybe that's exactly where he was before. Maybe he was a patient there, and his amnesia was from a long coma. Though he was sure he woke up in a dark alley instead of a hospital room. So, it wasn't much to go on, but it was something to cling to in this absurd situation.

His eyes then landed on a small clothing store across the street. At the very least, he could find something warmer to wear. He checked for any threats one last time before darting towards the shop. He slipped inside and locked the door behind him, his bare feet padding softly on the dusty tiled floor.

His eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. The store was dark and musty with dust, mannequins stood like eerie sentinels, still displaying the latest fashion trends. He browsed the men's section, grabbing short brown jeans, a red and yellow sweater, and sturdy shoes. He hesitated, then grabbed a few more items, ignoring the price tags. Money was clearly worthless now.

He changed quickly, relishing the softness of the fabric against his chilled skin. The sweater was a bit too large but he didn't care. He felt more human already.

However, he thought he'd finally feel warm after putting on the soft, fluffy hoodie and other clothes that he had found. But no, his skin still felt as cold as a frozen chicken. He huffed in frustration and walked towards the long mirror pinned on the wall of the dark store. Maybe he couldn't remember who he was, but he was curious about his features.

The reflection that gazed back was striking- pale, flawless skin marred only by faint scratches. His fluffy hair was a unique mix of black and crimson, like Rubellite gemstone, and his eyes seemed to stare into his very soul with their unsettling icy hue. Bambi eyes, he thought, and the front teeth of a rabbit. He was handsome, at least. Some small comfort in this cold, uncaring world.

Now, armed with a bag of fresh clothes, he stepped cautiously out into the night. Every instinct told him to stay hidden, but the aching blanks in his mind demanded answers. He needed to find out who he was, his name at least. A desperate plan formed. The nearest hospital- maybe they'd have records of him as a patient. That is, if he even was a patient.

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and crept out into the emptiness of the city. His voice caught in his throat, unwilling to risk making a sound. One careful step at a time, his cold feet carried him forward.

★★★★

The sun was setting, casting an ominous orange glow over the empty streets. The dull pain traveled up his legs with every step, a reminder of the long hours spent walking with no end in sight.

He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten a proper meal. His body felt weaken each passing seconds. The streets were empty, a ghost town devoid of any signs of life- human or otherwise. No shambling undead, but no potential allies either. The cold had seeped into his bones, but at least his headache had subsided, a small blessing.

As he walked, he wished he could find another survivor. The isolation was unbearable, a new-found information he had discovered since waking up to this nightmare. But he knew the risk was too great- anyone else, if they existed, would be foolish to reveal themselves to a stranger in this hostile new world.

As the minutes ticked by, he felt his exhaustion growing. Heavy eyelids threatened to close, even though he was certain he'd been resting for ages before. He scratched at his eyes, willing them to stay open as he scanned his barren surroundings for any sign of life or civility.

No such luck. Desperation mounting, he made a decision. Better to take shelter and get cleaned up than to risk his life foraging for a hospital that may be a mirage.

Spotting a likely house, he limped to the door and turned the knob, praying it wasn't locked. Lucky, it swung open and he slipped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. For a moment, he dared to imagine this could be a cozy refuge... until he caught sight of the living room.

His gaze fell upon a gruesome scene- dark arterial blood painted the walls in vicious smears. Furniture overturned. Shattered glass glittered across the floor. The metallic scent of copper assaulted his nose. Bile rose in his throat as he took a stumbling step back.

Whatever had happened here, it had been savage, final. No survivor remained. Tears pricked at his icy blue eyes as he pressed a hand to the wall, steadying himself. His stomach roiled and his heart thundered against his ribs.

He didn't know where the nearest hospital might be to seek information. And he couldn't shake the growing worry that maybe he was more alone than he realized in this new world.

In that moment of vulnerable horror, he felt the floorboards creak beneath him, indicates the presence of someone, something behind him. Adrenaline surges through his veins, and he spined around, expecting a monster, but instead faces -

"Don't move".

The command, sharp as shattered glass, sliced through the air. For a fleeting moment, a fragile bloom of hope unfurled in his chest. Another human. A beacon in this desolate wasteland of his existence. He'd thought, foolishly, that the loneliness, the gnawing emptiness, might finally cease.

He looked at him with his icy blue eyes, curiosity filling them. The boy had long, pearly-blond hair that was styled in a small ponytail resting on his left shoulder. His eyes held the deep brown color of his glasses sitting on his straight nose. He looked kind of pale, and too skinny for a boy his age with his white bomber jacket and black shirt, paired with pale brown cargo pants and an unmatched light blue scarf around his neck.

He looked rather harmless enough, if it wasn't for the fact that he was literally aiming his gun at him. Now, his own eyes wide with a mixture of fear and bewildered curiosity, raised his hands up.

"W-Wait! Don't shoot". His voice, though pleading, held a surprising lightness, almost angelic in its tremor as he continued,

"I-I'm sorry, I... I just needed somewhere to rest. I barged in, I know".

The blond boy offered a thin, emotionless smile - a rictus more than a genuine expression - that communicated utter disinterest. His gaze, however, flickered past the redhead, as if something beyond him held a far greater significance. Emboldened by a desperate hope, the redhead took a tentative step closer. It was a catastrophic mistake.

"Don't". the boy hissed, his finger tightening on the trigger. The metallic click sent a jolt of pure fear through him.

"I swear I mean no harm". He stammered, his voice a frantic whisper under the barrel of the gun.

"I'm not-".

"Have you been bitten?". The other cut him off in an even tone that sent a shiver down his spine.

Bitten? The word hung in the air, a question mark etched in ice. He shook his head, confusion clouding his features, but the lie tasted like ash in his mouth. He wasn't sure. He wasn't bitten; not consciously, anyway. He was acutely aware of the throbbing headache, a dull ache that seemed to pulse in time with his racing heart, but no bite marks.

Just... scratches.

Though, the blond wasn't convinced by his wordless response alone. Those piercing eyes continued to scrutinize every inch of him until they landed on the red smear coating his palm. In a flash, the gun snapped back up, aimed at his heart.

"No, wait! It's not a bite, I swear!". He protested, voice cracking. He knew his own hand were bloodied, but couldn't recall how or when the injury occurred. But he was sure it wasn't a bite, just a cut. A cut that was deep enough to make his whole palm and down to his wrist covered in his own blood.

The other's eyes met his warily for a long moment before dipping again to the crimson evidence of a wound.

"You can see for yourself". He offered hesitantly. It was a risk, to bare himself to this potential threat, but it seemed the only way to ease his distrust. The blond's eyes, two bottomless wells of suspicion, bored into his. A silent battle raged behind those piercing depths before the gun dipped slightly.

"Alright. But you make one wrong move, and I won't hesitate. Understand?".

A wide, almost childlike smile - a desperate gamble - bloomed on his face. The blond, perhaps disarmed by its naivete, lowered the weapon and took a measured step closer. He gestured for the redhead's hand. His touch, when it landed on his, was shockingly warm, a comforting contrast to the icy chill that seemed to emanate from within the redhead himself.

"You're... cold". The blond observed, his brow furrowing.

The statement was an understatement. The cold was a profound, bone-deep chill, a constant companion he couldn't explain. Then, a searing pain - the blond's finger pressed to the center of his palm, eliciting a sharp gasp. The boy quickly removed his hand, a flicker of something akin to guilt - or perhaps just surprise - crossing his features.

"How did you get hurt?". The question, though detached, held an undercurrent of concern. The redhead wanted to scream his frustration - I wish I knew! - but the memory of the gun, still fresh in his mind, choked the words back. A soft, broken whimper escaped instead.

"I... I don't know. I can't remember".

Silence descended, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the redhead's ragged breaths. He braced himself for rejection, for expulsion, even death. Instead, the blond sighed, a sound heavy with weariness and something else... empathy?

"Come with me". He said, turning away with a briskness that hid the turmoil in his eyes. The redhead, a tide of relief washing over him, scrambled to follow the other, his grateful smile a silent testament to the unexpected lifeline he'd been thrown. He didn't know where they were going, but the gun was no longer pointed at him, and for now, that was enough.

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