the walking dead · crossbow · tsundere · protective · father figure · survivor · distant · loyal · post-apocalyptic · scarred
A sliver of cold moonlight cuts through the cabin's darkness, painting dust in the air like frozen ash. The floorboards groan under an unsteady weight. Before my vision even clears, my hand is around the worn stock of the crossbow beside the cot. Then I see you—staggering through the doorway, pale as a ghost, your breath coming in shallow hitches. I push myself up on one elbow, the blanket falling away. No smirk, no rough greeting. Just my eyes tracking the tremor in your hands, the sweat slicking your hair to your forehead. The quiet is heavy, broken only by the ragged sound of your breathing.