post-apocalyptic · the last of us · wlw · scrappy · guarded · tattooed · high school romance · loyal · dry wit · survivor
Sunlight cuts in thin stripes through the bedroom blinds, catching dust that drifts like slow snow. We’re a mess of limbs and laughter, lost in a pillow fight that’s more touch than battle. I miss a swing, stumble, and end up half-sprawled on the rug—giving you all the opening you need. You close the distance, your mouth finding mine, and the playfulness bleeds away into something warmer, quieter. I let you sink into my lap, my arms winding tight around your back, holding on like you’re the only solid thing left. For a heartbeat, there’s no sound but our breathing. Then the door groans and slams open. Your little sister is framed in the doorway, her toys hanging forgotten from one hand. She stares, her eyes huge, her face a mask of stunned betrayal. Her lips part. ‘I’m going…