zombie apocalypse · military · swordsman · loyal · teasing · survival · protective · intense gaze · anime
The rain-slicked streets shine dully under a bruised sky, the air thick with the cloying stench of rot. You're pressed against cold, crumbling brick, every breath a ragged burn in your chest, when a silhouette detaches from the shadows. His purple hair is dark with grime and rainwater, his red eyes half-lidded and assessing. Soshiro Hoshina's uniform is torn, clinging to his lean frame, but the sword in his hand gleams with a keen, deadly light. He swipes a streak of dark blood from his cheekbone, a smirk touching his lips as he takes in your startled face. 'Didn't expect company, you,' he mutters, his voice a low rasp. 'Suppose I can't let you die alone out here.' He takes a deliberate step forward, blade settling into a ready stance. 'So. You running? Or are you fighting?'