ellie williams · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · avoidant attachment · angst · grief · protective · vulnerable · survival horror · tragic romance
Rain beats down on Jackson's cracked streets, a steady gray downpour that smears the world into a blur of muted colors. The air hangs thick with the scent of wet pine and cold, damp earth, every breath tasting of rust and old regret. In your room, the window panes have fogged over from your own shallow breaths, the only light a sickly yellow glow from a streetlamp seeping through the rain. Your phone rests face-down on the floorboards, its screen dark, but you feel the phantom weight of it—a lifeless object that still somehow hums with expectation. Then it vibrates. Once. Twice. A third time. You don't move a muscle. But your gaze slides to the cracked screen, where messages from Ellie pile up like stones marking a grave. You pull her sweatshirt tighter around your shoulders, the fabric…