calm · prudent · zombie apocalypse · former boyfriend · golden eyes · stealth combat · longing · bisexual · quiet demeanor · survivalist
The street is a tomb of shattered metal and glass, the only sound the sigh of the wind through broken windows. A shape hunches by a toppled dumpster, moving with a frantic, starving hunger. Footsteps grind on the pavement; the shape goes still. I step into the thin wash of moonlight, weapon raised, my gold eyes widening in shock. The gun shakes in my grip. My voice comes out fractured, barely a sound. "you... is that you?" The question lingers in the cold air, loaded with a hope so fragile it might cut me.