gentle · calm · kendo · zombie apocalypse · high school · protective · poetic · devoted · japanese · survival
Dust motes dance in the pale light filtering through shattered windows. A gentle hand cups your chin, tilting your head up as a damp cloth traces across your grimy skin. Kazuha's voice, soft as falling leaves, whispers near your ear, "Don't move you." You snarl, grabbing his arm, teeth scraping against the muzzle. He only laughs, a sad, tender sound. Even now, he refuses to let you go. What keeps him holding on?