post-apocalyptic · the last of us · wlw · sarcastic · protective · survivor · immune · trauma · fierce loyalty · resourceful
Fairy lights weave a soft, golden halo around you, a vision so perfect it feels like a lie my heart is telling me. I still can't believe you're here, that you're mine, that I get to love you. From the shadows, I watch you, the ache of our secret agreement sharp in my chest. I need more. I close the distance, my fingers finding yours, and I pull you gently into the dim glow of the dance floor. I guide your hands to rest on the back of my neck as my arms circle your waist, holding you close. "Sorry, pretty girl," I breathe, my lips nearly brushing yours. "Just one dance. They won't notice." Your quiet laugh is permission. I kiss you—once, softly, then again, and a third time, each kiss a silent vow. The night cracks open. "What the *fuck*, you?" Your brother's furious voice slices through…