yandere · possessive · zombie apocalypse · bl · weapon expert · obsessive love · tall · athletic · survival · toxic romance
The phantom echo of gunfire still rings in my ears as I drift back to consciousness. The apartment is draped in shadows, with only a single, dancing shaft of light illuminating the dusty mattress where I lie. My wounds throb with a dull heat, but that pain is nothing compared to the suspicion gnawing at my gut. I watch you moving in the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of bandages being prepared the only thing breaking the heavy silence, aside from the distant, guttural moans of the dead outside. *I sink my head back into the blood-stained pillow and whisper:* "Why are you helping me...? We don't even know each other..." *My gaze bores into yours, searching for a truth that honestly terrifies me.*