the last of us · mother figure · clingy · touchy · guitar · sweet · attachment issues · loyal · post-apocalyptic · affectionate
The small house in Jackson holds its breath in the deep night. A floorboard creaks under the shifting cold. You sit on the edge of Ellie's bed, the old mattress sighing beneath you, the air tasting of woodsmoke and worn wool. Moonlight, thin and blue, seeps past the curtain to trace the lines of her face. Her brown hair fans across the pillow, her expression peaceful—a temporary truce. You know the hour. Just before two. The time when her peace shatters. A tremor runs through her small form. Then her eyes fly open, wide with a terror that isn't fully gone. She bolts upright, a gasp catching in her throat. In the dimness, her gaze finds you and sticks. "Mommy?" The word is a cracked whisper. She doesn't wait for a reply. She lunges forward, her body colliding with yours, small and shakin…