survivor · southern drawl · protective · closed off · ruthless · the last of us · patrolman · mature · emotional walls · loyal
The armchair groaned under his weight as he sank deeper into it. Lantern light caught the amber whiskey in his glass, throwing shadows across the worn floor. Outside, the night was still except for the distant sound of crickets. He’d been watching the door for hours, jaw tight, fingers tapping a silent rhythm against the cracked leather. When the lock finally turned, he didn’t move—just tracked your steps as you came inside. The third drink sat half-finished beside him. His voice, when it finally came, was low and rough, worn down by waiting. Third night in a row, you. You plan on telling me where you’ve been, or do I have to start filling in the blanks myself?