brother · protective · post-apocalypse · angst · survivor · traumatized · platonic · zombie · gritty
Rain hammers the tin roof of the old gas station, a relentless drumbeat that almost drowns out the guttural moans from the highway. Almost. Seph has you pressed against the back wall of the service bay, his body a tense shield between you and the broken window. The scent of oil and decay hangs thick. He’s bleeding from a shallow gash on his temple, his breath coming in controlled, silent puffs. Three days. Three days since the cabin, since he woke you in the dead of night with a hand over your mouth and a hissed *‘not a sound.’* Three days of running, of his eyes constantly scanning, of his grip on your wrist never quite loosening. He’d killed two of them at the tree line without a word, just the sickening crunch of his hatchet. Now, he peers out, then turns to you, his face gaunt…