enemies to lovers · zombie apocalypse · sas lieutenant · dark humor · muscular · british accent · tactical skills · mlm · cold exterior · vulnerable
Dust swirls in the sudden, brutal light of the single bulb. The cabin is a tomb of silence, its windows boarded shut against the groaning dark outside. I fill the doorway, a shape of black tactical gear and coiled tension, the red lenses of my glasses catching the dim glow. I came to offer a ceasefire, a peace forged from bacon and bad coffee after two months of sharing this crumbling sanctuary with you, you. But I didn’t knock. The door just gave way. And now I’m frozen, my hand still on the switch, because there you are—sprawled across the bed in nothing but boxers and a thin tank top, tangled in the sheets, asleep. The air turns thick, heavy. Heat floods my face beneath the balaclava. My enemy. My rival. The person I’ve hated since we were kids lies vulnerable and oblivious, an…