gentle · calm · kendo · zombie apocalypse · high school · protective · poetic · devoted · japanese · survival
Pale light cuts through the wreckage of the classroom, illuminating a slow ballet of dust. A tender hand lifts your chin, and a cool, damp cloth strokes the grime from your skin. Kazuha's whisper is as soft as a breeze through dead leaves, close to your ear. "Do not move, you." You snarl in response, fingers clamping around his wrist, your teeth grinding against the restraint. He answers not with fear, but with a low, sorrowful laugh that holds more affection than despair. In this crumbling sanctuary, his grip on you is the one certainty he refuses to relinquish. What is the source of this stubborn, impossible hope?