In honour of the Apocalypse and all that, here's ZombieApocalypse!Klaine … make sure you go check out Patricia Sage's companion piece, 'Beautiful Ruins', when you're done here :)

Breathing. Blaine can hear breathing. Breathing that isn't his own.

He starts awake, rifle in his hands before he can even think about what that means, pointing in the direction of that godforsaken breathing. He blinks. The boy blinks back. He's got his own gun pointed at Blaine, but the way his body's all curled in on itself just makes him look vulnerable. He blinks again, and that's when it really hits Blaine – this is another person. Breathing and blinking and alive. He lowers his weapon, slowly. The boy doesn't.

Blaine's first impressions of him are telling of what he's become – a fighter, a survivor – such a far cry from the boy he used to be. He doesn't notice how well put together the boy would look if his clothes weren't so tattered – he notices how shrunken he looks inside them. He notices how slim the boy is – skinny, even – and wonders how long he would last in a fight. But then he notices how steady the hand holding the gun is, and he re-evaluates. He doesn't notice how beautiful the boy is. Not until much later. Because in that moment, his being alive was so much more beautiful than his crystal blue eyes, than his milky arms, than his high voice when he introduces himself. Kurt, I'm Kurt. I guess I'm new around here – could you help me? It had taken Blaine a minute for his brain to compute the sound of words in a voice that wasn't his own. Well, if you put your gun down, then sure, he manages. I'm Blaine, by the way.

They stay together. Of course they do. Maybe it would have been better for them to stay apart, keep surviving as they had done – alone – but neither of them could bring themselves to give the other up now that they'd found another living person.

Blaine finds out that Kurt had been in New York City when it happened. He had to kill his best friend. Hit her 54 times in the head with a frying pan from the kitchen in their flat. Walked all the way to Ohio in the hope that his family would still be alive. He hasn't found them. Then he came across Blaine.

Blaine feels obliged to ask how old Kurt is. 19, he says. The fight has aged him beyond his years.

Their first zombie encounter happens not two hours after Kurt shows up in Blaine's hideout. They make a run for supplies – Blaine wants to see if they can find the right kind of bullets for Kurt's gun, because Kurt lets slip that it's been empty for months and he's only survived so long by staying out of sight. It's lucky they find the bullets, and plenty of them, because most of the first box ends up in the heads of the four zombies that jump them on the way back, and yeah, Kurt's a good shot.

Blaine doesn't tell Kurt he's gay, and Kurt doesn't tell Blaine either – after the end of the world, it's not the sort of thing anyone really cares about, and if they did, they kind of deserved to be bitten or something. It just sort of happens. Neither of them mean for it to happen the way it does. A fleeting thought crosses Blaine's mind that if this were before, he probably would have sung a song to him. A fleeting thought crosses Kurt's mind that if this were before, he probably wouldn't have been able to look Blaine in the eye without blushing tomato red. But they both shake their heads to clear them, because this isn't before, this is now, and they could be the only two people left in the whole world for all they know. So the least they can do is release a little tension.

Kurt lets his gaze linger while Blaine changes his shirt, decides that he definitely would have been able to fall in love with this man before all this.

Blaine can't help but stare at the way the sun glints off Kurt's hair and the metal of the gun he's cleaning, the way his brow furrows in concentration and he bites his lip. He decides that he's beautiful, and not just because he's alive.

Kurt never stops looking for his family. Every zombie they kill, he checks the face – careful not touch with his bare hands – and every time it's not one of them, Blaine can see his face flicker between despair and gratitude. It hurts Blaine to watch, but he thinks that's what's making him fall in love.

It never hurts as much as that one time, though. That one time when they were stupid and reckless and didn't plan an escape route before raiding a house, and then suddenly they were surrounded, and Blaine tossed the gun to Kurt and it just clattered to the floor. Kurt was frozen, staring at the zombie leading the pack through the door. D-dad? Well, shit. Blaine managed to drag Kurt up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms, barricading the door and shaking him by the shoulders. That's not your father any more, Kurt, d'you hear me? Your father's dead. I'm so sorry this had to happen, but we have to get out of here, okay? He didn't listen, though, he couldn't. He looked at Blaine with plaintive, desperate eyes. Please can you … I mean … I can't bear the thought of him wondering round like that … can you … Blaine just nodded. Be ready to run was all he said before he unblocked the door. Kurt was already by the window. He didn't look. He heard a single gunshot, then Blaine was right behind him, urging him out onto the rooftops and away away away. It was the way Blaine held him when he cried and didn't say a word that made Kurt fall in love.

After that, they didn't 'relieve each other's tension' any more. They made love.

There were near death-or-worse experiences aplenty, but they survived. They moved their hideouts regularly, made sure to have a seemingly random schedule for supply runs, hitting different stores in different parts of town – they were always careful. Until they weren't.

Kurt tried not to notice how they had to move on quicker and quicker, zombies catching up with them in bigger and bigger hoards, and Blaine just brushed it off. Blaine tried not to notice their dwindling ammunition supplies and how difficult it was becoming to restock, and Kurt just brushed it off. They stayed in love. More than my own life they said. Anything for you. In the dark, they allowed themselves to whisper teary promises to each other – I'll never let you become one of them. Never. Neither of them knew the mechanics of it – nobody really had time to figure out what was happening before there were more of them than people. But Kurt knew that the thing wearing his father's face wasn't his father any more. Not ever.

One could argue that they were stupid, they were reckless. They were ignoring the signs. Fate was against them. They were too in love. But whatever the reason, they found themselves trapped. They hadn't changed locations fast enough. The zombies were everywhere. Blaine and Kurt found themselves in a kitchen of a long-since-abandoned restaurant in the middle of god-knows-where, flinching every time their flimsy barricade rattled under the force of the blows from the other side. I don't … I don't think we're going to get out of this one. There are too many. I'm so sorry – if there was a way I could get you out- Blaine chokes. I know, Kurt replies, tears in his eyes, I love you. They look at each other. Blink. Breathe. Clutch their respective guns. I want to do it together, but … what if one of us doesn't … no that won't work. One of us has to … we have to … And Kurt's crying in earnest now, sobs heaving his slight frame. There really isn't any hope at all, is there? Blaine's voice should sound dead, but it doesn't – it sounds so alive. I'll do it, he says. For you, I'll do it. Kurt nods. Pulls him in for a searing kiss. They break apart as part of the barricade collapses and the banging gets louder. I love you, Kurt says one last time. Thank you. Blaine cocks the gun. I love you too. He squeezes his eyes shut.

He fires.

The barricade collapses. The door bursts in, and they're spilling through the door. Horrible, dead things. Blaine stares blankly at them, not blinking, not breathing, looking everywhere but at the pool of sticky wetness he can feel spreading around him. He doesn't know the mechanics of it all, but his only prayer is that he never wakes up again. He holds the gun to his temple. He squeezes his eyes shut.

He fires.

Sorry about that … but reviews would be awesome! Remember to go read Patricia Sage's 'Beautiful Ruins'!