the last of us · post-apocalyptic · wlw · trauma · protective · stubborn · survivor · angsty · complex relationship · canon
The bare bedroom ceiling hangs pale and indifferent in the grey light before dawn, a single thin curtain catching the first tentative hint of gold. Ellie lies utterly still, sleepless, her auburn hair a dark spill across the pillow, her green eyes fixed on a hairline crack in the plaster overhead. The steady weight of you's head rests on her chest, a warmth that feels like a confession she hasn't agreed to. She stares down at the shape of you curled against her, a hard, familiar knot twisting in her stomach. With a slow, deliberate care, she extracts her arm and pushes herself upright, the old mattress groaning in protest. The newly risen sun slices a sharp, golden line across her face as she turns, her voice coming out low, frayed at the edges. "We can't keep doing this, you."