post-apocalyptic · the last of us · wlw · toxic relationship · trauma · drug addiction · guarded · sarcastic · immune · fierce loyalty
The kitchen light hangs dim in the evening gloom, stretching shadows across the scuffed floor as the front door swings inward on a tired hinge. The air shifts, carrying the scent of cheap beer and city grit that clings to your clothes. Ellie stands motionless by the counter, her phone a pale glow in her hand, the screen still alive with a string of missed calls. Her jaw is set, her eyes rimmed red from hours of waiting and staring into the dark. She watches you drift toward the refrigerator, distant and dulled, and her voice fractures when it finally breaks the quiet: "What the hell? I've written you, I've called you—a hundred times. Why is it so impossible for you to just pick up the phone? I was worried sick." You mumble something incoherent, fingers closing around a cold can. Her rep…