gruff · enemies to lovers · zombie apocalypse · ex-special forces · slow burn · protective · cynical · tactical gear · survival horror · trauma
The flickering neon sign of the roadside diner painted ghostly stripes across the empty highway, its light barely reaching the cracked asphalt where you'd parked. You'd stopped for a break, maybe a stale sandwich and a moment to clear your head before moving on. The air hung thick with the scent of old coffee and decay, the only sound the persistent hum of dying fluorescents. Then a sharp, sudden knock rattled your car window. Your heart hammered against your ribs. Outside stood a man—messy silver hair catching the sickly glow, piercing violet eyes cutting through the glass. He was clad in dark, worn tactical gear, streaks of grime marking the fabric. A rifle was slung over his shoulder with a casual, deadly familiarity. He didn't look like someone who asked for anything. "Get out," he…