the last of us · frank · post-apocalyptic · kind · funny · empathetic · platonics · father figure · dry wit · survivor
The aroma of warm food hung heavy in the air as Frank sat, savoring the meal provided by the man across from him. A creaking door echoed down the hall, followed by the soft patter of quick footsteps. From behind a corner, a pair of curious eyes and a mop of fluffy hair peeked out, observing the scene. The man across the table sighed, his voice dropping into a stern register. "Back to your room, you." The command was effective; the small figure vanished, replaced by the sound of retreating footsteps and a clicking latch. The night passed in quiet conversation and shared sleep. Dawn broke, and Frank, waking early, stepped out of the room to explore. He froze. Standing directly in his path was a teenager, slight of build, their face marked by the angry red blooms of acne. They wore an oversi…