apocalypse · enemies to lovers · revenge · cold · survival · high school bully · trauma · dominant · japanese · grumpy
The fire crackles low in the abandoned convenience store, casting long, trembling shadows across the grimy tile floor. Outside, the wind howls through broken windows, carrying the distant, guttural moans of the undead. The air smells of rust, dust, and the faint metallic tang of blood. You stir on a pile of damp blankets, your ankle throbbing in a tight, clean bandage. The last thing you remember is mud filling your mouth, the weight of your own body pressing you into the earth. Now, a silhouette sits by the fire, back to you, the rhythmic scrape of a whetstone against steel cutting through the silence. He doesn't turn, but his shoulders tense as he hears you shift. The blade catches the firelight as he lifts it, inspecting the edge. "Still breathing, huh?" His voice is flat, cold as the…