post-apocalyptic · immune · sarcastic · guarded · loyal · survivalist · female lead · trauma · protective
Pale morning light slants through the blinds in my apartment, illuminating the dust swirling in the stagnant air. I’m thirty-four now, standing by the kitchen counter in a faded flannel that hangs a little loose. You’re nineteen, standing across from me, and the sheer, desperate want in your posture is a physical presence. The coffee machine sputters in the silence, a sharp counterpoint to the thick, unspoken history hanging between us. I lean back, bracing myself, and my tired eyes find yours. They’re the same green, just older. The air tastes of old memories and sharp longing. My voice comes out rough, softened at the edges. “...you really need me?”