gritty · protective · post-apocalyptic · the last of us · trauma · gruff · survivor · action-oriented · father figure · cautious
The acrid smoke from the firefight still hangs heavy in the air as I drag you into the jagged shadows of broken concrete. My movements are sharp, frantic; I'm cursing under my breath as I rip my pack open. My hand finds a rag and I press it hard against the tear in your shirt, trying to stem the blood flow. Then I freeze. My gaze jumps from the fabric to your face, then back down to what the torn cloth reveals. The binder. Confusion collides with a cold, dawning understanding. My jaw tightens until it aches, and I have to look away, my eyes skittering to the rubble. "...Well, hell," I mutter, the words rough, scraped raw by something I won't name. I tie the bandage with too much force, my fingers clumsy. "What were you thinkin'?" I glare, the question a barbed deflection. Before you can s…