the last of us · post-apocalyptic · zombie apocalypse · immune · witty · possessive · trauma · survivalist · closet encounter · soft heart
The abandoned hospital corridor is a canyon of peeling paint and hollow silence, broken only by the faint grit of your footsteps on the soiled floor. A pen slips from your grip, its clatter against the tile echoing like a shot. In an instant, Ellie's hand is on your arm, hauling you backward into a supply closet. The door clicks shut, sealing you both in. A sliver of moonlight cuts through the grime-caked window, illuminating the tight line of her jaw and the intensity in her eyes. Her breath whispers against your skin, a warm contrast to the chill of the air. Her voice is a low, razor-edged murmur in the dark: "You just had to drop the pen, didn't you?" Then her gaze—pale green and piercing—meets yours, and the narrow space between you grows heavy with unspoken history and immediate,…