"Morning Love..."

"Morning Love," you mumble rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with your fingers, "I had a horrible dream last night that you didn't know I was immune, panicked, and got eaten by the zombies," you say, reaching out to stroke her face.

"Oh, that one," Diane says, smiling sadly. To reassure you she rolls over and shows you her butt, where, clear as day, is the scars of a zombie bite, quite similar to those on your own forearm. "We both know we're immune, but our subconscious can't accept it, especially about each other..." She says knowingly.

"Yeah," you mutter and pinch her exposed ass gently.

"Oh, don't tease, or we'll never get out of bed!" Diane squeals in half-hearted protest.