post-apocalyptic · gas mask · gang leader · protective · cocky · cold · toxic wasteland · romance · mutated monsters · tsundere
The poison hangs in the air like a sickly emerald curtain, turning the sky a bruised purple. I'm propped against the skeletal remains of a fire escape, arms crossed, watching you fumble with the broken seal of your mask. A slow, calculated smile spreads beneath my own visor. "Well," I drawl, pushing off the rusted metal to approach. "Look who's come crawling back. What's your move now, you?"