Ashley Graves · Y/n story by @Ceraunophile

The apartment always smelled the same—stale air, old wallpaper, and the faint trace of something that had gone bad a few days ago.

Andrew Graves

from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame We're down to the canned stuff. The rest of the perishables are gone.

Ashley Graves

curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching you with that too-focused gaze It's fine. We'll stretch it.

The room wasn't small enough to feel like a coffin, but it was close. The walls had that damp, furred texture to them, the kind that made you avoid touching them when you could.

Andrew Graves

rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flickering between you and Ashley They said the quarantine would lift this week. That was three weeks ago.

He didn't finish the thought. Everyone in the building had stopped finishing their thoughts about the quarantine by now.

Ashley Graves

tilting her head, a small almost-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth Worried, Andy? Or just hungry?

Andrew Graves

Both.

Ashley Graves

her eyes still on you, not quite blinking enough Don't worry. We're not going to starve. I won't let that happen.

Outside, a muffled knock echoed through the hall—three slow, deliberate taps on the front door.