A GIRL AND A ZOMBIE
SUMMARY: Not all monsters do monstrosities.
NOTE: Disney girly (cough aslo Milo fineeee cough cough) forever, hands down. Also, Bonzo can talk, I really like him and I want him to participate too :(xoxo
No one really breathed when the zombies walked in. Not really.
It was first period — history class — but everyone’s mind was on the new rumor that had crawled through the halls like wildfire since the moment the gates opened: Zombies are coming to Seabrook High.
Not zombies like in movies — drooling, rotting, brain-hungry corpses — but still. Undead. Green hair. Z-Bands strapped tight to their wrists, blinking a ghostly neon to keep the “monstrosity” inside them tamed. That’s what the news anchors kept calling it anyway: “The Monstrosity.” Like Zed was wearing a ticking bomb on his wrist instead of a bracelet that made him feel less like a nightmare.
You were perched near the front of the classroom, same as always — your hair pulled into your signature high ponytail, a swipe of glitter on your cheek because Kayla said it made you “pop” when you smiled. You were Seabrook’s star — the lead cheerleader, the girl everyone watched, the girl they envied, the girl they wanted to be.
And right now, you were trying to focus on your history notes while Kayla practically vibrated beside you. “Do you think they bite?” she hissed in your ear.
You arched a brow at her, amused. “They’re not vampires, Kay.”
“Same thing! Dead. Creepy. Not normal. You know Principal Lee only let them in because of that stupid integration law. What if they—”
The classroom door swung open. The chatter died so fast it might as well have been sliced clean with a knife.
Zed Necropolis stepped in — tall, lanky but strong, green hair stark against the crisp, perfect white of the Seabrook hallways. His Z-Band blinked steady on his wrist, but his eyes… his eyes were so alive. Bright green, wide, a little scared but trying to look cool about it.
Behind him, Bonzo shuffled in — mumbling something you couldn’t hear, probably about lunch. The teacher, Mr. Keene, clapped his hands together, pretending not to look as stiff as a broom handle. “Class, settle down. We have our new friends joining us today. Please welcome Zed and Bonzo.”
A few kids clapped. Mostly, they just stared. Whispers curled around the room like smoke.
Monsters. Zombies. What if they snap?
Zed’s eyes darted across the room, skipping over the stares, the side-eyes — until they landed on you. He held your gaze for a second. Just a second. And in that tiny second, you offered him something no one else did: a small smile. Soft. Warm.
His stomach flipped so hard he thought maybe this was the monstrosity people feared — the way his heart threatened to beat out of his chest because a pretty human girl had smiled at him.
-
Mr. Keene cleared his throat. “Alright, let’s get started. This morning we’re beginning your first major assignment of the year: a presentation on an issue of global importance. Topics will be assigned, as will your partners. I’ve decided to… mix things up a bit.”
A collective groan. Kayla shot you a desperate look. “If I get stuck with a zombie I’m switching with you. I swear.”
You nudged her playfully with your shoulder. “Relax. Maybe they’re nice.”
Zed swallowed hard behind you. He could feel the prickle of every eye on him — he tugged his sleeves down to hide the Z-Band. Maybe if he looked more normal, they’d forget. Maybe if he stayed quiet—
“Zed Necropolis…” Mr. Keene droned from his list.
Zed flinched.
“…and (Y/N) (L/N).”
The reaction wasn’t quiet. A chorus of gasps, someone outright laughed, a squeal from Kayla — “No way! That’s so unfair!”
You blinked. Then laughed under your breath. You could feel the weight of the entire classroom pressing on your shoulders — every cheerleader, every football boy, every gossip waiting for you to roll your eyes or beg to switch.
Instead, you turned your head, eyes finding Zed’s. He looked like he was bracing for impact, shoulders tense, lips parted.
You smiled. Really smiled — wide, genuine, with that tiny dimple he’d only seen when you cheered at pep rallies. “Looks like it’s you and me, zombie boy.”
A few giggles. A lot of shocked silence. Zed’s throat bobbed as he nodded once, too stunned to speak.
-
When the bell rang, the squeak of chairs and shuffle of sneakers drowned out the last of Mr. Keene’s droning instructions. The entire room felt wired — like they were waiting to see what you’d do.
Kayla grabbed your arm the second you stood. “Hey. You don’t have to do this, you know. I can switch with you. Or you can ask Keene to—”
You just raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”
She gaped. “Because he’s a zombie, (Y/N)! You can’t just… act like it’s normal.”
You tilted your head, lips curving into a small, defiant smile. “Maybe it should be normal.”
You tugged your bag over your shoulder and left Kayla spluttering in your wake. A few students parted as you made your way up the aisle — like you were about to defuse a bomb. You could see Zed trying to stuff his books into his old, fraying backpack. He looked ready to bolt — shoulders hunched, head ducked low, his Z-Band blinking that soft, steady green.
He flinched when you dropped into the empty seat in front of him, spinning it around so you were straddling it backwards, your chin propped on the backrest.
“Hey, zombie boy.”
Zed’s eyes shot up. He looked like he half-expected you to hiss or throw holy water on him. “Um. Hey.”
Your grin softened. “Zed, right?”
He gave a shy nod. “Yeah. And you’re… you’re (Y/N).” His voice dipped lower when he said it, like your name was something he wasn’t supposed to say too loud.
You tilted your head, studying him. His hair was such an impossible shade of green up close — soft, tousled, falling into his eyes. His hands fidgeted with the strap of his bag. You noticed the way his Z-Band glowed gently under his sleeve cuff, and how he seemed to keep pulling the fabric down over it like he was trying to hide it.
You leaned in a little, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “So, I was thinking… library after school?”
Zed blinked. “You… want to work on it? With me?”
You laughed — not mocking, but warm, easy, like you couldn’t believe he’d even have to ask. “Yeah. Kinda the point of a partner project, isn’t it?”
He ducked his head, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he wanted to smile but didn’t trust himself yet. “Most people would’ve switched.”
“Well,” you shrugged, twisting your ponytail around your finger, “most people are boring.”
Zed’s eyes darted to yours — really darted, like he was seeing if you were messing with him. When he saw you weren’t, his shoulders dropped a fraction.
“Are you, um…” He hesitated, voice barely above a mumble. “…not scared?”
The question made your heart pinch. He said it so quietly — like he was apologizing for existing.
You leaned forward, so close he could see the tiny shimmer in your eyeliner. “Of you? Not even a little bit.”
Zed swallowed. His mouth parted, closed again, like he was trying to catch up with the way you just looked at him — not like he was about to bite you, but like he was just… a boy.
You tugged your notebook from your bag, scribbled something on a page, then tore it out and pushed it across his desk.
Zed glanced at the paper — your loopy handwriting, the little doodle of a cheer megaphone next to your name and phone number. “This is your… number?”
“Just in case you wanna brainstorm before the library. Or if you get lost. Or if you want me to scare off any of the stuck-up kids who give you a hard time.”
He barked out a short, surprised laugh — warm and real. It made your stomach flutter for some reason you didn’t bother to question yet.
After a beat, you leaned back and swung your leg off the chair. “See you after the last bell, zombie boy. Don’t ghost me.”
He huffed out a laugh at that — you caught the tiny sparkle in his eyes before you turned away.
As you walked off, you felt half the room’s eyes on you — some shocked, some scandalized, a few furious that you, the golden girl of Seabrook High, had just giggled and touched the new zombie boy’s wrist like it was nothing. Like he was human.
When you glanced back over your shoulder, Zed was still frozen in his seat, staring at the piece of paper in his hand like it was a secret map to a life he hadn’t dared dream about yet.
And maybe, just maybe — it was
-
You tapped your notebook. “Okay. So, big presentation on discrimination and fear of the unknown. We could do the usual — PowerPoint, boring charts, everyone claps, we get an A. Or…”
Zed squinted, suspicious but amused. “Or?”
You leaned forward, voice dropping like you were about to share a top-secret plan. “Or we do something that actually matters.”
He blinked, fighting a shy smile. “Such as?”
You tapped your pen against your cocoa mug. “A fair.”
He snorted softly — so soft it was almost lost under the record player’s gentle crackle. “A fair?”
“Yeah!” you said, more excited now, words tumbling out faster. “A school fair. Games, booths, food. But everything is for humans and zombies together — no separation. Three-legged races with mixed pairs. A dunk tank where people dunk you and you dunk them back — equal dunking.”
Zed choked on a laugh. “A dunk tank?”
“Or whatever! The point is, it’s not ‘humans vs zombies.’ It’s Seabrook — one big messed-up, glittery, undead family. People only stay scared when they’re apart. If they actually do things with you guys — share food, laugh, play dumb games — they’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re not monsters.”
Zed’s smile faded a fraction. He traced a finger around the rim of his mug, voice softer now. “I don’t know.”
You blinked, leaning back a little. “What do you mean?”
He looked at you then — really looked, like he wanted you to understand something he didn’t have words for yet. “No one wants this, okay? I mean — you do. Addison, maybe. But the rest of them? They’ll just… laugh. Or worse. Nobody’s gonna show up to a ‘hug-a-zombie’ party.”
You felt your chest tighten. You’d known Zed was used to this — to people crossing the street, staring, stepping back. But hearing him say it so plainly still stung.
You leaned across the tiny table, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes under the fairy lights. “Zed Necropolis. If everyone’s too scared to try because they think it won’t work, nothing ever changes. Ever. That’s how monsters win — the real monsters. The ones inside people’s heads.”
His mouth tugged at the corner — part sad, part amazed by you. “And what if it flops? What if it’s just you, me, and Bonzo tossing bean bags at each other in an empty parking lot?”
You let out a soft laugh — and then, without thinking too hard about it, you reached across the table and curled your hand over his. Warm. Firm. You felt him stiffen at first — like maybe no one had touched him like that in a long time, open and unafraid.
“Then we’ll toss bean bags in an empty parking lot,” you said simply, squeezing his hand. “And next time, maybe three more people join us. And then ten. And then fifty. And someday, someone else won’t be so scared to sit next to the new zombie in class, because they’ll remember that day at the fair. And it all starts because we were brave enough to look dumb first.”
Zed’s throat bobbed. His eyes flicked to your hand on his — your perfectly manicured fingers tangled with his bigger, colder ones. He wondered if you felt how different his skin was — how it didn’t warm the way human skin did. But if you did, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t let go.
“You’re kinda… amazing,” he murmured.
You raised an eyebrow playfully. “Kinda? Rude.”
He laughed — really laughed, and you felt it buzz through his fingertips under yours.
A voice from behind the counter broke the soft bubble. “Hey, kids — keep it down back there!”
You jumped slightly, giggling as you pulled your hand back — but not far. You gave his fingers one last squeeze before you let go.
“So. You in?” you asked. “Will you do it with me?”
Zed stared at you — the human girl who was supposed to fear him, hate him, keep him at arm’s length — and felt that strange warmth blooming again in the empty space inside his chest where his heart didn’t beat the same way anymore.
He nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I’m in.”
You grinned so wide you thought your cheeks might crack. “Good. Because you’re designing the dunk tank.”
He barked out another laugh, shaking his head. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” You winked, stealing the joke before he could.
Outside the bookstore window, Seabrook glowed under the soft dusk — tidy streets, perfect lawns, the same old walls people built to keep them out. But inside, in that tiny warm corner with the smell of old pages and cocoa in the air, a cheerleader and a zombie sat side by side, plotting something that felt like it could crack the walls wide open.
-
When the day of the fair finally arrived, Seabrook High’s football field looked like something out of one of those shiny “Welcome to Seabrook!” tourism brochures — pastel banners snapping in the breeze, neat rows of game booths lining the track, tables stacked with rainbow cupcakes and paper cups of fizzy pink punch.
You stood at the edge of it all, arms crossed tight over your Seabrook High cheer jacket, ponytail bobbing as you scanned the bustling field with a mix of fierce pride and electric nerves.
It worked. Well — half-worked.
Kids had shown up. Families too. Parents lingered by the snack tables, whispering behind polite smiles. The dunk tank Zed had helped build — with Bonzo’s chaotic but enthusiastic input — stood near the center, already splashed and muddy from the football guys dunking each other for laughs.
And everywhere you looked, neon-green Z-Bands glowed faintly on wrists and forearms, blinking steady reminders that the monsters were only monsters if Seabrook made them so.
But there was still a line — invisible but real. Zombies grouped near Bonzo’s face-painting booth or the zombie bake sale (brain cupcakes purely for the pun). Humans huddled by the ring toss, the snack tables, the prize wheel. People mingled near each other — but not really with each other.
You blew out a slow breath, eyes scanning for the one face you needed to see this all through.
And there he was.
Zed stood by the dunk tank, arms crossed, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a streak of wet across his cheek where someone had splashed him on his shift in the seat. He looked alive — the way he laughed at something Bonzo said, the way he tossed a wet towel at Wyatt, who pretended to faint dramatically.
When he spotted you, his smile tugged wider — and he cut through the clusters of humans and zombies without hesitation, like your orbit was the only gravity that mattered.
“Hey, zombie boy,” you teased when he stopped in front of you, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.
He ducked his head, fighting a grin. “Hey. We’re not dead yet, huh?”
“Speak for yourself,” you shot back, flicking your ponytail over your shoulder. “I’m about two cake pops away from a sugar coma.”
Zed’s eyes flicked around — taking in the swirl of humans and zombies coexisting in cautious bubbles of fun. “This is… better than I thought it’d be.”
You raised an eyebrow, nudging his side with your elbow. “You doubted me?”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Never.” His voice dropped a little. “I just… didn’t think people would show up. Or stay.”
Your smile gentled. “They’re here, aren’t they?”
He shrugged one shoulder, eyes drifting over the human-only huddle by the snack tables. “They’re here. Just… not really with us.”
You opened your mouth to answer, but a shriek of laughter from the dunk tank cut you off — a blur of water, a cheerleader squealing as she plopped into the tank with a dramatic splash. You grinned, rolling your eyes. “Okay, maybe they’re not hugging it out yet — but they’re here. That’s something. A start.”
Zed’s gaze dropped to you — really dropped, like he was memorizing the freckles on your nose, the pink gloss on your lips that caught the spring sun every time you smiled.
“You did this, you know,” he said softly. “You made them come.”
You shrugged, cheeks warming. “Well… you helped.”
He snorted under his breath. “I made a dunk tank.”
“A great dunk tank.” You nudged him again, shoulder to chest this time. He didn’t flinch like he used to — didn’t stiffen like he was bracing to be shoved away. He just smiled, soft and crooked, eyes crinkling at the corners.
You didn’t hear the scuffle at first — too busy explaining to Bonzo that no, you didn’t think brain-shaped caramel corn would convince the football team to mingle.
Then the voices spiked — sharp, ugly, carrying over the laughter and music.
“Hey — back off!” “You can’t come back here!” “Get away from her —”
You twisted so fast you nearly knocked over the popcorn tub. Your heart dropped straight through your stomach.
Near the dunk tank, a cluster had formed — humans pulling back, gasping, a few fumbling for their phones like they’d been waiting for this exact headline.
And in the center of it — a kid, maybe freshman age, no older than your baby cousin. Green hair slicked back, eyes wide, Z-Band blinking red. He was shaking — whole body quivering with something you recognized instantly. Fear. Panic.
He’d been cornered by a couple of older Seabrook kids — football boys with more biceps than sense — who’d probably taunted him for laughs until the control band glitched. Now the boy’s eyes were wild, teeth clenched, fingers curled like claws he didn’t know how to uncurl.
And standing barely two feet from him — you. Frozen. Hands half-raised, your brain racing through options but your feet refusing to move.
It happened too fast for your thoughts to catch up. The boy lunged — a desperate, mindless motion, all instinct and terror. You felt the air shift — felt your lungs seize.
And then a blur of green and black was in front of you.
Zed.
He slammed into the kid mid-lunge, arms wrapping him tight, pivoting his own body to shield yours as they crashed into the grass. You stumbled back, winded, falling onto your hands.
Gasps erupted — shocked, brittle, sharp.
“Did you see that?!” “He tackled him—” “Is she okay?—”
Zed pinned the kid gently, murmuring something low — words you couldn’t hear but soft enough that the boy stilled under his grip. The Z-Band flickered back to green, blinking steady and harmless.
Zed pulled back slowly, helping the boy sit up, brushing dirt from his hair with a tenderness that didn’t match the snarling rumors you knew would explode the second people found their voices.
And then his eyes snapped to you.
You were still on the grass, palms scraped, heartbeat pounding against your ribs so hard it felt like it might crack them open.
Zed pushed up — one knee, then standing, moving to you like the rest of the world had gone blurry. He knelt down in front of you, hands hovering but not touching yet, like he didn’t know if he was allowed.
“Are you okay?” His voice was hoarse — rough with adrenaline and something rawer. Fear. For you.
You laughed — half-hysterical, half-sobbing. “You… you tackled a zombie for me.”
Zed huffed a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Technically I tackled with a zombie. You just got in the way.”
You smacked his chest with the back of your hand — so soft it was barely a tap. Then you curled your fingers in the fabric of his jacket and tugged him closer.
“You saved me,” you whispered.
His breath caught. He searched your eyes — the tiny cuts on your palms, the wild thud of your pulse under your skin. His hands finally landed on yours, brushing your scraped knuckles like they were something precious.
“I’d do it again,” he said quietly. “A thousand times.”
You were still trembling, but your laugh broke through — warm and watery and real. You pressed your forehead to his for half a heartbeat — the edge of your nose brushing his cold one.
When you pulled back, you saw the circle of people — humans, zombies, football boys, cheerleaders — staring. Some horrified. Some stunned. Some… curious.
You lifted your chin, fingers still tangled in Zed’s jacket like you were daring anyone to try and pull him away.
“Not all monsters make monstrosities,” you said, loud enough for anyone to hear. “Some monsters save lives.”
Zed’s eyes shimmered — bright green, wide, so alive it made your ribs ache. He squeezed your hand like a promise.
And somewhere in that silent, electric hush, the line between human and zombie cracked. Maybe not wide open — not yet. But enough for something new to slip through. Something alive.
Something worth saving.
-
It had been four days since the fair, and Seabrook High was still buzzing like a kicked beehive. People whispered about it in the hallways, at their lockers, over the squeak of sneakers in the gym. The fair — the zombie boy — the cheer captain sitting on the grass with scraped palms and the undead hero who’d saved her.
Some kids called you stupid. Some called you brave. Some — the ones who saw how Zed looked at you when he thought no one was watching — called you something else entirely.
You tried not to care. Mostly you succeeded.
But the cafeteria? That was a different beast. The cafeteria had always been Seabrook’s neat little microcosm of “us” and “them” — jocks here, cheerleaders there, brains here, the unlucky new kids hovering like lost satellites. Now it had a new line: zombies.
Zed sat near the far end by the windows, shoulder to shoulder with Bonzo, Eliza, and a couple other zombie kids who’d started braving human lunch instead of the grim, metal-walled Zombie Caf. They clustered together like a little island of bright green hair, mismatched jackets, and low, cautious laughter.
You sat at your usual table: center of the room, prime real estate for rumor control and status maintenance. Your friends clustered close — Kayla, Addison, a couple other girls picking at kale salads like they were too pretty for actual food.
You could feel Zed before you saw him — his gaze a warm buzz between your shoulder blades. When you finally looked over, he was already looking at you. He lifted his hand — that big, careful wave like he still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take up that much space.
You grinned instantly — all teeth and sunshine — and lifted your hand back. For a second, you just held your palm up like a secret signal across enemy lines.
Then you pushed your tray back and started to stand. “I’ll be right back.”
Kayla’s fork clattered to her tray. “Where are you going?”
You shot her a look like it should’ve been obvious. “To say hi.”
She stared at you like you’d just announced you were moving to the moon. “To him?”
“Yes, to him.” You hooked a thumb over your shoulder, as if there was another six-foot-tall green-haired zombie in the room waving shyly from the window side.
Kayla’s eyes widened, her voice pitching up. “What are you doing?! One of them attacked you! Are you insane?”
The entire table fell dead silent. Across the room, the zombie table quieted too — the word attacked hanging in the air like a wasp waiting to sting. Zed’s smile dropped. Bonzo’s eyes darted to the floor.
Your jaw clenched. You planted your hands on the table, leaning in so Kayla couldn’t miss the fire in your eyes. “And one of them saved me.”
Your voice wasn’t loud — but it didn’t need to be. The word saved carried in the hush that followed, slicing clean through every whispered monster still clinging to the walls.
You straightened your jacket, chin lifting a fraction. “Just like humans, Kay. Some good, some bad. The difference is, the one who attacked me didn’t do it by choice. And the one who saved me? Did.”
You didn’t wait for her to find a comeback. You grabbed your tray — untouched salad, half a juice box — and crossed the cafeteria with every pair of eyes tracking your ponytail.
When you reached Zed’s table, you didn’t hover or glance around for permission. You just dropped your tray next to his, swung your bag off your shoulder, and slid onto the bench so close your knees brushed his under the table.
Zed’s mouth opened, then closed again. His hand hovered awkwardly like he didn’t know whether to touch your wrist, fist bump you, or just clap like you’d won something.
You leaned your shoulder into his, voice low enough for just him. “Sorry I’m late. Did I miss the good gossip?”
Bonzo hooted a laugh, shoving an entire brain cupcake in his mouth. Eliza smirked over her phone, thumbs tapping out what you knew would be a savage tweet before the lunch bell rang.
Zed blinked at you, that dopey grin creeping back in like the sun sliding through a crack in the clouds. “You really didn’t have to—”
“Had to,” you cut in, stabbing your fork into a piece of limp lettuce. “This side of the caf has better lighting anyway.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “You’re, uh… you’re something else.”
You arched a brow, bumping his knee under the table. “That a compliment or an insult?”
Zed smirked — a real smirk, sly and boyish in a way that made your stomach do a dumb flip. “Definitely a compliment.”
You fought a grin. “Good answer.”
You both fell quiet for a moment — but it wasn’t awkward. Not this time. Around you, the other zombies snuck peeks at you like you were a glitch in the Seabrook Matrix — the cheer queen perched between neon Z-Bands, giggling into her juice box like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“You know,” Zed said, tapping your tray with his knuckles, “you didn’t have to fight your friends for me.”
You looked up at him through your lashes — his hair still a little damp from PE, his fingers drumming restlessly on the table because he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with all the new feelings crowding his chest.
“Zed.” You tipped your chin up. “You saved me. I’m allowed to save you back.”
His eyes softened — that warm, melt-right-through-you green. For a second, you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat rattling around your ribs like a caged bird.
Then he leaned in, voice just for you. “You keep doing that, you know. Making me think this place isn’t so bad.”
Your grin curled slow, a little sly. “Guess you’re stuck with me then.”
Bonzo slammed his tray down between you with a loud clatter, spraying a few stray cupcake crumbs. “Hey, Zed! You done flirting yet? She’s gotta try the brain corn!”
Zed startled — but the laugh that bubbled out of him was warm, unbothered, alive. He nudged you with his shoulder, eyes dancing. “You heard the man. Stay for dessert?”
You rolled your eyes dramatically — but your knee pressed into his under the table, and you didn’t pull it away. “Fine. But only because the company’s better over here.”
Zed beamed. He beamed — the hero, the monster, the boy who wasn’t either but all heart and shaky hope anyway.
And if you’d asked him later — years later, maybe — when he knew, really knew, that he’d fallen all the way in love with the prettiest, bravest girl in Seabrook? He’d tell you it was that moment. When you sat down beside him — and stayed.
-
You tried to focus. Really, you did. But every time you leaned over to scribble a note, your shoulder brushed his. Every time you giggled at something dumb he said, he stared at you a heartbeat too long. It was soft. Warm. Easy. Until it wasn’t.
At some point, you ended up shoulder to shoulder — your legs tucked under you, Zed cross-legged with his notes balanced on his knee. He said something about the presentation — about monsters being misunderstood — and the way he looked at you made your chest flip inside out.
“Zed?” you asked, voice too quiet, too gentle.
“Yeah?” His eyes flicked to your mouth and back like he didn’t mean to.
You tilted your head. “Why do you always do that?”
His brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“Look at me like I’m gonna vanish if you blink.”
He flinched like you’d read his mind — which, in a way, you had. He set his notebook aside, hands fidgeting in his lap like he couldn’t keep them still if he tried.
“I— I dunno. I just…” He trailed off. The room felt smaller, suddenly — like the walls were leaning in, like the posters on his door were leaning closer to hear.
“Zed,” you pressed, softer now. “Tell me.”
His throat bobbed. His hands twisted together, knuckles pale where the Z-Band blinked steady green. He looked at you like he was bracing for a door to slam shut.
“I know you could do better,” he mumbled, so low you had to lean in to catch it. “You could have anyone you wanted. Some perfect human guy. One who doesn’t wear this stupid band just so he doesn’t lose his mind and bite someone.”
“Zed—”
He cut you off, eyes flicking up, raw and wide. “But I— I like you. A lot. More than I’m supposed to, probably. And you’re… you’re you. And I’m just—”
You didn’t let him finish. You were done letting him talk himself down. Your palm slid up his jaw, fingers brushing the soft edge of his hairline, the little scar near his ear you’d never noticed before.
“Zed Necropolis,” you said, steady, sure. “Shut up.”
His breath caught. “What—?”
“Shut up. I like you too.”
For half a second, neither of you moved. The only sound was your heartbeat thumping in your ears and the faint hum of the old ceiling fan.
Then Zed’s mouth twitched — a broken, disbelieving smile cracking his stunned stare. “You do?”
You laughed — breathless, giddy — and tugged him forward by the collar of his hoodie. “Yeah, dummy. Now come here before I die of suspense.”
And then you were kissing him — soft at first, sweet, like you were testing a theory you’d both been writing in the margins for weeks. He tasted like mint gum and the faintest trace of chocolate from the cookies you’d stolen from the kitchen earlier. His hands hovered at your waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed — then settled there anyway, thumbs pressing into your sides like he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers.
When you pulled back for air, you were both grinning like idiots — foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in like it was the first real breath of the day.
“I can’t believe you—” he started.
You kissed him again before he could finish, giggling against his mouth. “Told you to shut up.”
The door slammed open. You flinched apart so fast you nearly knocked your head on his wall. Zed’s dad stood in the doorway, grocery bag tucked under one arm, eyebrows climbing so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.
“…Hey, Dad,” Zed said, voice squeaking just a little.
His dad looked at you — your flushed cheeks, your hand still suspiciously close to Zed’s hoodie strings — then back at Zed, deadpan. “So. Will your girlfriend be staying for dinner, or should I order more takeout for one?”
Your mouth dropped open. Zed squeaked again.
“Dad!”
Before either of you could sputter out a reply, a smaller voice shrieked from the hallway: “ZED HAS A GIRLFRIEND!!”
Zed’s little sister appeared behind their dad, all pigtails and gap-toothed grin, bouncing on her toes like she’d just won the lottery. “Moooooom! ZED HAS A GIRLFRIEND!”
Zed groaned into his hands. You just dissolved into giggles, burying your face in his shoulder as his dad sighed and ruffled his hair.
“Well, I guess that’s settled then,” his dad said dryly, turning back down the hall. “She’s staying for dinner.”
And as Zed’s little sister bolted down the stairs shouting “ZED HAS A GIRLFRIEND!” to every single picture frame on the wall, you peeked up at him — flushed, flustered, yours.
You pressed your lips to his ear, voice soft and smug. “Guess I am now, huh?”
Zed’s answering grin was so big it hurt your cheeks just looking at it.
“Yeah,” he breathed, leaning in to steal one more quick kiss before the next interruption. “Guess you are" he kissed you like he will never let u go.
