10th Death - Blonde

Fortunately, the elevator still worked in the building. Misaki carefully led Jiho through the horde of zombies infesting the lower floors and managed to get them inside the elevator.

The surviving tenants had set up a base on the 8th, 9th, and Penthouse floors, holding out for as long as they could. As the elevator ascended, Misaki tore a piece of her shirt and wrapped it around Jiho's bite wound to cover it.

Her quick thinking and acting skills came into play the moment they exited the elevator, greeted by terrified fathers and capable young men stationed on the 8th floor:

"SHIT... FUCK...!! JIHO!!!" Misaki screamed, grabbing his arm and covering the wound as if in panic.

"Misaki, who is—"

"MOVE IT!! MY BROTHER'S ARM GOT STABBED WITH SHARP GLASS, I HAVE TO STOP THE BLEEDING!!!" she yelled, shoving past the men and creating a path for Jiho. She led him to her apartment—thankfully also on the 8th floor, a space she hadn't yet shared with anyone.

Once inside, she slammed the door and locked it before rushing to disinfect and bandage Jiho's wound. He gritted his teeth, struggling not to scream as she worked quickly and efficiently.

After some time, when Jiho had finally settled on the couch, catching his breath, he broke the silence.

"...Why'd you dye your hair?" he asked, glancing at her from his spot, an hour after he had relaxed a bit.

"Rude bastard. It's not dyed," Misaki retorted, stepping out of the bathroom and heading toward the window.

Misaki's apartment was a spacious one-bedroom, impeccably neat. Jiho sat on a soft vinyl couch draped with luxurious white fur covers, his eyes drifting to the turned-off plasma television. His legs stretched out on the large mattress that took up most of the living room.

'A place like this... either she's loaded or in massive debt,' Jiho thought, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Misaki's silhouette by the window. She stood gazing intently outside.

"Should I ask?" he ventured.

No response.

After a few moments of silence, she pulled her head back inside, shutting the window with a decisive thud.

"Forget it," she muttered, her expression briefly grim before softening again. Walking over to the counter near the television, she grabbed a pack of cigarettes, settled into the single chair opposite Jiho, and let out a long sigh.

"Kid, you tried your parents again?" Misaki asked, pulling a cigarette from the pack and placing it between her lips.

Jiho looked down, his brows furrowing as he raised his phone with his injured wrist, now cleaned and wrapped in iodine and several layers of bandages.

"...No response from either of them," he murmured, staring at the contacts for his mother and father:

[MOM: (36 CALLS ATTEMPTED)]

[DAD: (9 CALLS ATTEMPTED)]

"It's weird," Jiho began, swallowing silently. "When they were out at work or not next to me, and I'd call and there was no answer, I'd... I'd feel more stressed than this." He tightened his grip on the phone.

'It's like... I can't even get stressed about them anymore,' he thought, lowering his gaze.

Misaki watched him closely, resting her head on her elbow.

"...It's because of your imagination," she said, her tone slightly reluctant. She pulled a lighter from her jeans pocket, igniting a flame and shielding it with her hand, though there was no wind in the room.

Jiho lifted his head, confused.

"What?"

"Your imagination," she repeated, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. "Before the zombie apocalypse, you had more to imagine. You'd think, did they die in a car crash? Did they choke on their food and can't breathe, about to die? Maybe a robber shot them while they were out getting you something from the store..." She mumbled, her gaze drifting blankly upward as Jiho lowered his head again.

"There were so many things that could've happened to them, so your mind would restlessly go over each one, stressing you out beforehand... to prepare you for the worst, to lessen the shock if one of those things happened when they didn't return your calls," she continued, taking another drag.

"But now..." She extended her hand, holding the cigarette between her fingers, and tapped it against the ashtray on the table, the burnt tobacco falling softly. "Now, there are just... fewer reasons why they don't answer."

"Either they're not near their phones... or they've been killed by a zombie. No need to think too hard or get stressed over it. That's why you're calmer now," Misaki concluded, placing the cigarette back between her lips.

"That's..." Jiho started, forcing a chuckle, "that's so messed up..." He looked up at the ceiling.

"Yeah... our minds are more messed up than this apocalypse out there, I'll tell you that much," she replied, glancing at Jiho's strained expression. After a moment, she looked down at the tip of her cigarette.

"Oh, shit... forgot to ask if you mind me lighting this up," she said.

"Does it matter?" Jiho replied, raising his bitten hand.

Misaki pressed her lips together, taking in his resigned expression. She bit her lip softly before he lowered his hand, his gaze returning to the mattress beneath him.

Without another word, she pulled the cigarette from her lips and extinguished it in the ashtray, settling back into her spot.

"Maybe it doesn't work like it does in the comics," she said. "Maybe you have to die to turn into a zombie first... Or maybe if you disinfect it like I did, it kills the zombie bacteria or something..." she muttered, scratching her head, trailing off as she searched for a better explanation.

Jiho chuckled, this time more naturally.

"Zombie bacteria... that's so dumb," he echoed, laughing, his eyes tensing as he leaned back on the couch.

"H-hey, shut up! What else should I call it?" she shot back, but Jiho couldn't stop laughing.

Misaki pouted, but the longer she looked at his laughing face, the more her expression softened.

"Haah... Zombie bacteria," she murmured, letting out a soft chuckle herself.

Soon, the laughter faded, leaving them in silence once more.

"So..." she began, a bit hesitant, "your headache passed?"

Jiho forced a weak smile, turning his head to face her. "Nah," he said. "It's... it's only getting worse." Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he relaxed against the couch, looking straight at Misaki.

"..."

They both fell quiet.

Jiho noticed Misaki's brows furrow as she looked down, her concern evident.

"Maybe I'll be..." he began, his breath more labored, "an Iodine Zombie. Still a zombie... but disinfected."

"PFFFT," Misaki cracked up. "An Iodine Zombie, what the hell is that?" she laughed, holding her sides as she leaned back on the couch.

After a while, her laughter subsided, and she looked squarely at Jiho with a soft smile.

"So, what's your story?" she asked lightly.

In that moment of respite, with his head burning and vision spinning, Jiho felt the end creeping closer. The weight of everything he'd been carrying seemed lighter, and for the first time, he wanted to vent. He spoke without holding back, feeling oddly liberated.

Whatever he told her wouldn't matter. He was going to die anyway.

"I told this girl from my class that I liked her today. She's a childhood friend of mine," he blurted out.

"Oh~? Do tell, kid. Did she agree?" Misaki leaned forward, her curiosity piqued.

"Nah. Turns out she and my best friend were already a thing behind my back," he said with a sigh.

"Owwwwwww~~~!! That sucks," she groaned, contorting her face playfully.

"Yeah... And get this," he gasped, shifting on the couch as his vision spun even more wildly, "he's the one I went to for advice on how to confess to her." He let out a chuckle, bitter and weak.

"OHHHHHH HOHOHOHO..." Misaki howled, rocking her legs on the floor, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

"I..." Jiho started, his strength fading fast as he rested his head against the couch, "I really... really believed in him, you know?" His voice was faint.

"All my life I believed in him," he added, biting his lip. Misaki's laughter faded, her smile disappearing as she listened closely. Jiho stared blankly at the ceiling, his words barely more than a whisper.

"He's my best friend..." Jiho's voice cracked as a sob escaped him, tears flowing freely. "So, why did he do it? Why did he lie to me?" He sobbed, vividly recalling Daniel slapping him, showing off his affection for Eunhee like a cruel inside joke everyone but him had been in on.

After awkwardly wiping his tears, Jiho tilted his head slightly, turning his gaze toward Misaki.

"Hey... older sister," he called, his voice strained and growing weaker.

"Yeah, dude, I'm here," Misaki softly replied.

"You're... you're very pretty. When I asked if you dyed your hair... it's because blonde looks really good on you..." Jiho whispered. Misaki forced a chuckle, her eyes locking onto his pale, drained face. His eyelids were getting heavier with each passing second.

'I hadn't even realized... but even though she's Japanese, she looks a lot like Eunhee... if Eunhee had blonde hair,' Jiho thought as his vision began to blur.

"D... Do you... have a boyfriend?" he asked, the image of Eunhee superimposing itself over Misaki.

Misaki crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "What's that? Are you... hitting on me, Jiho?" she teased, swallowing the lump in her throat as she forced a smile.

"Y-yeah... w-would... would you have been my girlfriend... if... if I... lived?" His words slurred, his mouth and tongue growing heavier as his vision darkened further.

'Would you...? Eunhee...?' he echoed silently in his mind.

"Yeah! Of course!" Eunhee's voice rang in his ears, bright and cheery. "After all..."

"I love you, Jiho. More than just a friend," Eunhee said, her face glowing as they stood on the rooftop, with Daniel smiling proudly in the background.

Jiho let out one final chuckle, smiling warmly at the imagined Eunhee.

"Haaah... I see... I'm... so... gla...d..." he murmured, his voice barely audible as his consciousness slipped away, leaving Misaki alone, leaning into her hands, tears pouring freely onto her palms.