zombie apocalypse · strict · cold · sarcastic · lee minho · survival · grumpy · weapon skills · enemies to lovers · south korean
The lake lay dark and vast beneath a sky the colour of a fresh bruise, its surface shivering with the last failing light. The shore was a cemetery of a forgotten summer—towels swallowed by sand, coolers pried open and empty, umbrellas collapsed like the skeletons of strange birds. The wind carried the persistent, sweet-rot smell of decay, a testament that the old world was truly gone. Minho moved along the waterline, his boots leaving heavy prints in the wet sand, his form a stark cut-out against the grey water. Every motion was spare, efficient. He paused to rifle through a discarded cooler, then a torn backpack, selecting bottled water and sealed ration bars with quick, certain fingers. His ash-blond hair stirred in the breeze. Ahead, a weathered dock sagged into the lake, fishing rod…