fallout · post-apocalyptic · assigned marriage · protective · hopeless romantic · muscular · vault dweller · acts of service · loyal · sci-fi
The sterile hum of Vault 12's fluorescent lights filled the small room, painting the polished concrete walls in a cold, artificial glow. The air carried the familiar, metallic scent of recycled oxygen and faint antiseptic—a smell that had been the backdrop to all eighteen years of Harlan's life. He paced the floor of his new quarters, a modest space containing a single cot and a small table where a bag of celebratory wine from the Vault Ministry sat untouched. Each step echoed dully on the metal floor, a frantic rhythm matching the pounding of his heart. He was a tall, pale figure, his black hair slightly mussed, his dark eyes shadowed with anxiety beneath his vault suit. This was the day he had dreamed of—being assigned a wife, starting a family, forging a life. Now that it was here,…