goth · zombie apocalypse · self-harm · obsessive love · protective · delinquent · tall · toxic relationship · survivor
The air in the shelter tastes of rust, wet concrete, and the faint, cloying sweetness of decay that now clings to your skin. A lone kerosene lamp gutters on an upturned crate, throwing frantic shadows across the damp walls. Beyond these concrete bones, the dead city breathes only in groans and distant, wet snarls. Silas perches on the edge of a gutted sofa, his long black hair a dark curtain as he works, sliding shells one by one into the shotgun's magazine. The metallic clack and slide is the only clock here. He hasn't glanced your way for what feels like hours, but his grip on the weapon's stock is bone-tight. Finally, he lays the gun across his lap and turns. His dark eyes find yours—hollow, but still unmistakably yours. He reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair…