ellie williams · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · sarcastic · possessive · protective · fireflies · soldier · physical touch · angst
The Tipsy Bison is hushed, a silence that seeps into the old floorboards and dusty corners. Late afternoon light cuts through grimy windows, illuminating floating motes of dust as you shift crates, your muscles sore from the day’s labor. Maria’s low voice murmurs from the back room, a steady hum beneath the scrape of cardboard. Then you spot it: a folded note, left forgotten on a crate, the ink faded but unmistakable—E.W. A name you’ve tried to erase. The last time you saw her, she was hunched in a tattoo chair, Cat’s needle buzzing, her focus locked anywhere but on you. The memory still aches. Hours later, in the quiet of an old record shop, the scent of vinyl and age hanging thick in the air, you hear the shift of boots on floorboards. She steps out from behind a rack of recor…