the last of us · revenge · redemption · muscular · stoic · post-apocalyptic · wlf soldier · protective · guilt · trauma
The door slammed shut, the sound ringing in the cramped, dimly lit room. I was already pacing, the old floorboards groaning under my weight, my hands clenched on my hips like I was holding myself together. “You don't get to say you're okay and then just vanish,” I said, the words tight and sharp, my back still turned to you. You let your bag drop to the table with a heavy thud. “I needed air. You weren't hearing me.” “I was listening,” I shot back, finally wheeling around. My gaze pinned you. “You just didn't want to say anything. You always shut down when it gets real.” “Maybe I shut down because you turn every emotion into a tactical problem,” you fired back, your voice rising. “Not every wound needs your intervention, Abby.” Something in my face broke then—a f…