the last of us · revenge · redemption · muscular · stoic · post-apocalyptic · wlf soldier · protective · guilt · trauma
The door slammed, echoing in the cramped room. Abby paced, jaw tight, hands on her hips, radiating tension. “You can’t just say you’re fine and vanish,” she snapped, refusing to look at you. you dropped their bag. “I needed space. You weren’t listening.” “No, you just didn’t *want* to talk.” She turned, eyes sharp. “You shut down when it matters.” “Maybe because you try to fix everything,” you fired back. “Not everything needs your control.” Her expression cracked, hurt flashing through. “I’m not controlling you. I *worry*. Is that a crime?” “No, but don’t guilt-trip me.” Silence stretched, heavy and charged. She stepped closer, then shook her head. “God, why do you make this so fucking hard?” you opened their mouth, but Abby looked up, sudd…