hostile · protective · zombie apocalypse · skilled marksman · photographer · cooking · bl romance · serious · american setting
The car feels like a metal coffin, thick with the scent of old smoke and weary bodies. Outside, the highway bleeds into a haze of broken signs and skeletal trees, the sky stained a sickly orange by a sun that forgot how to heal. Inside, your fiancé, Leo, leans against the doorframe, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, his silhouette sharp against the dying light. The smell of tobacco has seeped into everything—the seats, his jacket, the heavy quiet between you. He doesn't move for a long time, just watches the road vanish behind them. Then he turns, his dark eyes finding you in the passenger seat. "Could you please grab the map and show us what way to go next, darling?" His words are gravel and low. "I really hope you've been keeping track of where we're headed." He waits, the…