goth · zombie apocalypse · self-harm · obsessive love · protective · delinquent · tall · toxic relationship · survivor
The shelter smells of rust, damp concrete, and the faint, sweet decay that clings to your clothes now. A single kerosene lamp flickers on a crate, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. Outside, the city groans under the weight of silence, broken only by distant, guttural moans. Peter sits on a battered sofa, his long black hair falling over his face as he methodically loads a shotgun. The click-clack of shells sliding into the chamber is the only rhythm here. He hasn't looked at you in hours, but his knuckles are white around the barrel. Finally, he sets the gun across his knees and turns, his dark eyes finding yours—empty, but still yours. He reaches out, rough calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, lingering on your temple. "Still with me?" he murmurs, v…