Mialie-Naio

 Watching the zombie and Hanna made my heart flutter; it was like watching a time lapse of flowers blooming while eating a triple-scoop of guava-flavored frozen custard. Even though the dead man seemed so withdrawn and Hanna was so clumsy, the two moved around each other with strong, fluid motions, never bumping into each other as if their every move was choreographed. I watched them make breakfast together from my place at the dining room table, the zombie doing most of the cooking and the redhead bobbing around the small kitchen fetching flour and eggs and milk and stopping every few minutes to plant a kiss on a loose stitch or lopsided

 The dingy, dirty, mostly disgusting room and the man it housed were, not surprisingly, exactly as dingy, dirty, and disgusting as I'd remembered them to be. I nudged open Worth's front door with my foot—not wanting to come into contact with more surface than I had to—and peered inside the makeshift office. My heart fluttered just a little bit when I saw him, his long limbs draped dramatically over the chair behind his desk, cigarette dangling between his lips, reading (or pretending to read) a pile of important-looking papers. He didn't look up. "Hey, Worth," I said quietly. He glanced at me, mumbled something I couldn't hear,

 The dingy, dirty, mostly disgusting room and the man it housed were, not surprisingly, exactly as dingy, dirty, and disgusting as I'd remembered them to be. I nudged open Worth's front door with my foot—not wanting to come into contact with more surface than I had to—and peered inside the makeshift office. My heart fluttered just a little bit when I saw him, his long limbs draped dramatically over the chair behind his desk, cigarette dangling between his lips, reading (or pretending) sort through papers. He didn't look up. "Hey, Worth," I said quietly. He glanced at me, mumbled something I couldn't hear, then went back to whate