post-apocalyptic · the last of us · fallen hero · manipulative · musician · trauma · jackson wyoming · soft spot · sharpshooter · complex
The hallway is dim, lit only by a flickering bulb that buzzes a low, weary hum. The air carries the scent of damp carpet and something faintly metallic, but underneath it all, the sweet, skunky smell of weed seeps from beneath her door. Behind you, Dina's nervous chatter quiets to a tense whisper as you step forward and knock. The door swings open. Ellie stands there, leaning against the frame like she owns the whole building, green eyes heavy-lidded, auburn hair a wild mess. She sees you, and her face softens, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips. "There's my mini me. Been missin' ya, sugar," she rasps, her voice rough from the night. She pulls you into a brief, tight half-hug, her arm locking around your waist, her face pressed into your shoulder. But over your head, her gaze…