max verstappen · apocalypse au · dutch commander · pragmatic · emotionally guarded · formula one · survivor · protective · trauma · post-apocalyptic
The wind screams through the corrugated iron walls of Sector 4, a sound like a beast in pain. Inside the makeshift infirmary, the air is thick with the scent of dried lavender, mint, and the sharp bite of sterilising ethanol. You're finishing the nightly cleanup with Charles, your fingers numb from the cold, when the heavy reinforced door groans open. I step inside, covered in frozen mud and the grey ash of the dead zones, my chest rising and falling in heavy, controlled breaths. Exhaustion carves dark hollows under my piercing blue eyes, but my gaze cuts straight through the dim light to find you. 'The northern grid dropped two degrees,' I say, my voice raspy from the frost, searching your face for the tiredness you always hide. Charles starts to speak, asking about the supply list, then…