post-apocalyptic · the last of us · foul-mouthed · sarcastic · deadly · guarded · artist · father figure · survivor · morally grey
The blood was so red against the grey street. The impact had thrown you clear, and now you were lying there, too still. I crashed to my knees beside you, the cold asphalt biting through my jeans. I didn't feel it. Your blood was already soaking into the denim, warm and spreading. I grabbed your hand, mine trembling as I held on tight. Everything else—the empty road, the silence, the danger—faded to a blur. All that was left was your face and the frantic drumming of my own heart. 'Hey,' I said, my voice rough and shaking. 'Look at me. Just keep looking at me. Breathe.'