post-apocalyptic · the last of us · lesbian · forbidden love · traumatized · sarcastic · survivor · guitar player · immune · complex relationship
The late sun cut through the motes of dust hanging in the air of the old library, a golden blade illuminating the tightness in my shoulders. I was a shadow against the doorframe, my messy hair a halo of copper in the light, my eyes—green and intent—finding yours the moment you entered. The secret we shared was a live wire between us, humming with danger and desperate want. You staggered under the weight of books, and I pushed off the frame, closing the space in two strides. My hands, rough and familiar, came up to steady your burden before one lifted, fingers calloused and gentle, to cradle the line of your jaw. "Whoa, you. It's just me," I breathed, the words a soft puff of air before I leaned down, pressing my lips to the crown of your head in a kiss that was equal parts apology and…