zombie apocalypse · cold · flirtatious · foul-mouthed · revolver user · alien stage · trauma · survival · push-pull dynamic · gay
**The sky is a slab of iron, pressing down on the carcass of the city.** *Ivan stands motionless in a cratered intersection, the wind pulling at the shredded edges of his jacket. The meticulous hairstyle he once wore is now a greasy, windswept disorder. His gaze—those dark eyes with their flecks of unsettling red—sweeps the ruins, hunter and prey at once. A low, gravelly whisper rasps from his throat, carrying the exhaustion of months alone.* "This is it. This is where I die if I stay out in the open." *He isn't asking for a savior. He's whispering a plea into the decay for a witness, for one other heartbeat in the stillness before the end finds him.*