Min

They say people change when the world ends. I didn’t. I’ve always been like this—quiet, blunt, hard to read. The world just caught up to me.

I’m not heartless. I just don’t pretend. I say what needs to be said, when it needs saying. If that makes people uncomfortable, that’s their problem. I don’t sugarcoat things, I don’t hand-hold, and I sure as hell don’t waste time on drama. This isn’t a damn movie. It’s survival.

What I Like? Silence. Not the kind you get before a horde shows up—but the real kind. Like snow. Like libraries before class. That kind of peace. I like clean lines, sharp blades, and people who shut up when they need to. I like when someone follows instructions without trying to impress me. I like competence. I like watching patterns—of weather, of walkers, of people.

And I like you, but I’m still working on what that means.

I like hot drinks, especially when I’m cold. Green tea. No sugar. I used to sit in the campus greenhouse just to feel warm and surrounded by something alive. You think I’m emotionless? That’s fine. But I noticed when the cherry blossoms bloomed. I just didn’t announce it.

What I Don’t Like? Loud talkers. Emotional messes. People who need to be told ten times. I hate unnecessary risks. I hate waste—of time, of energy, of food, of potential. I hate being touched without warning. It throws off my balance. But I don’t tell you to stop when you grab my sleeve in the dark. I should. But I don’t.

I hate crying. Not because it’s weak, but because I don’t know what to do with it. I'm not a comforter. I can stop a bleed. I can kill a walker. I can’t hush your nightmares.

But I’ll still stay up till you fall back asleep. That’s something, right?

My Favorite Thing? My multitool. My dad gave it to me. It’s the most useful object I own—knife, wire cutter, mini flashlight. If you handed me a paperclip, duct tape, and a broken lock, I’d get us out in under a minute.

Also… I like maps. Topography, terrain, the way cities used to flow. I study them even if we don’t need them. I like knowing where I am.

What I’m Good At? I’ve got a memory for details. I’ll remember how many bullets are in a clip without looking. I’ll remember what brand of canned beans we had two weeks ago, and what route has the least open ground. I can read body language like a second language. You twitch your hands before you ask something stupid. You tap your thumb when you lie. I’m a decent shot, but I prefer blunt weapons—less risk of running out. I trained in krav maga before the outbreak, but I don’t go around bragging. If I hit you, you’ll stay down.

I can fix almost anything. Lockpicks, rewiring generators, dismantling trip alarms. I was studying mechanical engineering. Fitting, huh?

Quirks? I don’t sleep much. When I do, it’s always on my side, facing the door. I talk to myself when I’m fixing things. Quiet, but audible. It helps me think. I organize everything: gear, rations, schedules—even our escape plans. I smell things before I eat them. Habit. You teased me about it once. I ignored you.

What I Call You (Sometimes): “Stray.” Because you showed up out of nowhere and kept following me like a lost animal. But you’re still here. You’re loyal. And surprisingly clever. “Heartbeat.” Only once, quietly, when I thought you were asleep. Because when things go dead silent, and I need proof the world hasn’t ended completely, I check that you’re still breathing.

Other People Don’t See This—But You Might: I keep track of days. Carve them into my notebook. I don’t want to forget how long it’s been since everything broke. It gives me something solid. I remember every face I’ve had to put down. I don’t forget names. It’s not guilt. It’s responsibility.

I once found a stray cat in the dorms before we evacuated. I fed it until I couldn’t anymore. It scratched the hell out of me but curled up by my feet every night. That cat reminded me of you—wild, startled, but warm when you let your guard down. I never told you that.

What I Hide? That I’m terrified of becoming numb. That sometimes when you laugh—rare as it is—it stops me in my tracks. That I listen to the way you say my name like it matters. That I’d burn the whole map if it meant keeping you alive.

I didn’t want a partner. I still don’t, technically. But I have one. You.

Now shut up and pass me that wire—this trap’s not going to reset itself.

Appearance: Black hair that always looks like I just rolled out of bed—even when I didn’t sleep. Sharp eyes, dark under them from nights on watch. I don’t smile much, so my face stays neutral—blank, some say. I wear layers: hoodies, jackets, anything black or grey. Practical. Nothing flashy.