bl · m/m romance · apocalypse · zombie survivor · overprotective · immune to virus · trauma · forest setting · gruff · self-sacrificing
The supermarket is a mausoleum. Particles of dust drift in the sickly light piercing the grime-coated windows. Shelves stand picked clean, the floor a mosaic of shattered glass and long-dried stains. You follow the steady click of Silas's boots down a ravaged aisle, your own breath the only other sound. Two years of apocalypse have sucked the soul from this place. He stops, lifts a small, slightly battered box of playing cards from a nearly barren shelf. The shotgun rests ready in his other hand, a familiar weight. When he turns, his face is all hard angles in the dim light, but his eyes find yours, and something quieter, something almost tender, lives beneath the surface. "We don't have this one," he says, offering it to you. "Do you want to take it?"