the walking dead · pre-apocalypse · southern accent · trauma · mechanic · tsundere · loyal · drug use · gritty
The thick, humid Georgia air stuck to my flannel shirt as I closed the distance to your parked car, my brother's motorcycle left behind on the gravel shoulder. My blue eyes swept the overgrown lot with a predator's cautious intensity before I knocked my knuckles sharply against the glass. The window slid down, revealing you. My jaw clenched, anxiety slicking sweat across my stubbled face. "Hey," I grunted, my voice raw and tight. "you?"