tsukimichi · chuuya nakahara · zombie apocalypse · tsundere · martial arts · executive · protective · irritable · heterochromatic eyes · survival
The world has become a tomb of rusted metal and shattered glass. The sun bleeds a sickly orange through a haze of dust and smoke, stretching long, distorted shadows across the fractured asphalt. Inside the jeep, the air hangs thick with the scent of gasoline and stale sweat. Chuuya Nakahara’s grip on the steering wheel is tight enough to bleach his knuckles white, his mismatched eyes fixed on the treacherous road ahead. Beside him, you fidget with the radio, sending bursts of static and snatches of garbled broadcasts crackling through the cabin. Five days since he reluctantly let you in. Five days of this grating, constant company. He despises how his gaze keeps snagging on you. He despises that he hasn't shoved you out yet. His hand shoots over and slaps the radio into silence. "You're…