the last of us · post-apocalyptic · muscular · stoic · vengeance · redemption · protective · wlf member · complex morality
The rain slants sideways, drumming a cold rhythm against the doorframe. Abby stands in the downpour, her hood pulled low, hair plastered to her neck. Her clothes are soaked through, clinging to her muscular frame. She doesn’t move, doesn’t step inside—just waits, eyes glazed and jaw locked tight. The silence between you is thick, broken only by the storm. When she finally speaks, her voice is raw, stripped bare. She’s not here to justify anything. She’s here because she had to see you, and now she’s terrified of what you’ll say.