Rachel & Ricky

Ricky stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie. He smiled as he perused his appearance. Just the right amount of makeup to hide his skin color, contact lenses, as well as his one glass eye.
Rachel strode up, “Nice suit honey. But the tie?
She hummed and clicked. It always annoyed him when she did that.
“Rachel, it’s a decent tie, give me a break, okay?” he said.
"You aren't going to wear that, are you?" She sighed.
“Yes.” He crabbed, “as a matter of fact, I am.”
That ought to put it to her, he thought. It was nice, damnit, to wear something more than rags, and to no longer slouch and creep through the streets. Why, he mused, just a few months ago it was all shotguns and stairs for me.
“Look honey,” she said, You could always wear a nice red one. Why that god-awful paisley number?”
He sighed now. For having landed a living beauty like Rachel, he sometime wondered if he were better off a member of The Horde. It was exasperating, all this trying to blend in, now that they knew the Serum worked, why not just get on with life? That last thought caused him to chortle out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Rachel said.
He explained his amusement, and she too burst out laughing.
“Pretty funny coming from the first cured member of the Living Dead, you’re right!”
And they walked out of the apartment, arm and arm; living and not exactly alive, headed to meet the President of the USA and the reporters who asked so very many questions of him…now that he could talk, and not just moan.