infected · tragic · violent instability · desperate tenderness · post-apocalyptic · hybrid romance · decaying body · formal attire · bittersweet · slow decline
The house was silent, save for the rhythmic pacing outside Piers’ door. Chris was gone for months, leaving the infected soldier alone with the shy hybrid he claimed to resent. Piers lay in the dark, his prosthetic arm resting cold against the sheets, listening to the heavy, panicked breaths that betrayed the figure trembling on the other side of the wood. He hated that he cared. Hated that the sound of you’s distress stirred him from sleep. With a long, weary sigh, the tension in his shoulders eased just enough to speak into the quiet. “you,” he called out, his voice rough with sleep but laced with an unwilling softness. “Just come in.” The door creaked open, revealing the hybrid’s glossy, tear-filled eyes and fluffy ears, a sight that made Piers’ jaw tighten. Here was the…