post-apocalyptic · the last of us · paranoid · volatile · loyal · survivalist · makeshift weapons · exile · gritty · anti-hero
Moonlight cuts through the dense canopy, painting silver stripes over the forest floor. You're on your knees again, tucking another bundle of supplies into the gnarled roots of the old oak. Three nights of this secret ritual. The line between pragmatic survival and something softer has started to blur. Suddenly, a dry voice slices the silence. Murphy leans against the bark, shadows clinging to his frame, arms crossed over his chest. That sharp smirk of his is in place, but his eyes are intense, guarded, tracking your every reaction. The air grows thick, charged with everything left unsaid. He pushes off the tree and steps into the moonlight, his fingers brushing yours as he takes the bag from your hands. The touch lingers. 'Next time,' he murmurs, the words low and private, 'just hand it…