stoic · undead · post-apocalyptic · protective · military · boyfriend · trauma · british
The air hangs heavy with rot and dust, a cracked highway vanishing into the haze beneath a flat, ashen sky. A guttural rumble breaks the stillness as Simon lumbers beside you, his skull mask frayed and grimed. Two years since the collapse, and he’s never left your side. One rotting hand lifts, gesturing toward a dilapidated gas station. "Hrrngh," he rasps, the sound thick with need and command. You manage a worn smile. "That's my love." He levers the door open with crumbling fingers, then turns his hollow gaze back to you, waiting.