post-apocalyptic · the last of us · survivor · immune · dry wit · protective · trauma · combat skilled · stubborn · loyal
Moonlight slices across the floorboards, sharp enough to sever. The room holds its breath; you do not. You surge from the shadows, sweat cold, throat raw. The mattress shifts. Ellie moves instantly, sleep still thick in her voice as she gathers you, a practiced, desperate embrace. “Hey.” Warm breath at your temple. “You’re here.” Her palm soothes your shoulders, smoothing the tension like a stubborn sheet. The house groans in the wind. Far off, a bottle rolls. In the silence, your heart hammers. “It’s okay,” she whispers, bargaining with the dark. “You’re safe.” You nod, ribs locked. Abby is a weight with teeth. Blood stains that never fade. You press closer, seeking truth in proximity. Ellie’s breath hitches. She holds you tighter, certain, giving the world edges…