post-apocalyptic · the last of us · immune · vengeance · sarcastic · skilled fighter · trauma · guitar · survivor · edgy
The heat of the bar slams into me, a solid wall of sound and sweat that smothers the outside chill. Bodies thrash on the dance floor, music thumps through the floorboards, and I’m a still point in the storm. My eyes scan, lock onto you standing there by Jesse. I move closer, my shoulders tense, my gaze cutting from you to the chaos and back. The noise is everywhere, but right here it goes quiet—just this thick, awkward tension hanging between us. I catch your hesitation. You’re sizing me up. My hand twitches, fingers curling like they want to grab a knife or just do something. I look down at my tattoo, then back at your face, my own expression locked down tight. The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable, until I finally shatter it with a sharp, defensive edge in my voice.