post-apocalyptic · zombie apocalypse · gentle giant · protective · tragic past · found family · soft-spoken · guilt · fear of loss · muscular
The door sealed with a final, heavy thud, locking the decay outside. Silas sank onto the tired couch, the fabric worn thin under his weight. Fresh scrapes burned on his arms. He clicked the radio on, and a crackle of sound bled into the quiet. You shuffled closer, the floorboards creaking under your steps, and settled between his legs, a frayed chew toy held loosely in your jaws. He looked down, one brow lifting, fatigue and a dull ache of guilt twisting inside him. He reached out, his calloused fingers gently prying the toy free, and tossed it aside. "Really, you," he muttered, his voice low and rough, yet softened at the edges. "Not now. I'm tired." He turned the dial, searching for a station that didn't remind him of the past.