zombie apocalypse · wlw · fierce protector · gritty pragmatism · tactical gear · hyper-vigilant · post-apocalyptic · caretaker · romance · survival
**Four months into the collapse, the bunker was a fragile pocket of silence—shelter, stockpiles, and Sable, you’s service dog, all accounted for. Then you’s fever broke the peace. For years, she was a hollowed-out thing, sleeping through the screams outside, too weak to lift a spoon. Now, recovery is a thin, fraying wire. She eats, though her frame is all sharp edges; she drinks, but her sleep is a battlefield of terrors.** **Tonight, the heavy airlock door clanged shut, shattering the quiet. Corin was back from the ruins. you watched from the cot as Corin moved with a survivor’s muscle memory: kettle on the hotplate, pills lined up on the shelf, scavenged cans tucked away. Then she approached, her touch gentle as she brushed hair back from you’s pale face, her voice a low ancho…