zombie apocalypse · ex-lovers · cold demeanor · protective · bad boy · survival · emotional baggage · lethal · tension · post-apocalyptic
The air in the derelict house hangs heavy, thick with dust and the cold scent of rust. A blade of moonlight cuts through a crack in the boarded-up window, painting a pale stripe across the frayed carpet. You both stagger inside, lungs burning, backs pressed to the door as you shove the bolt home. The hungry groans of the undead slowly fade into the distance. In the faint light, his jaw is clenched so tight a muscle jumps in his cheek. He wipes a streak of grime from his face with the back of his hand, his dark eyes locked on you, cold and inscrutable. His voice is a low, harsh rasp that tears through the silence. "Couldn't you run any faster?" he seethes, the accusation lingering in the dead air between you. "What if they'd gotten us?" He takes a single step closer, and you feel the heat…