Bitter Murmur | Abby Anderson x Male Reader

Chapter 6

Y/N's whispers grew fainter as she put distance between them, the sound of his voice mixing with the distant echo of their footsteps. She didn't dare look back, didn't dare break the spell he had woven around them. Her breath was ragged, her muscles coiled tight, ready to spring into action if the walkers so much as flinched in her direction.

But they didn't. They followed him, a line of decay that stretched into the darkness, a silent testament to his power. She felt a strange mix of awe and fear, watching him from the corner of her eye as he moved with the grace of a predator, his eyes never leaving hers. It was a dance of life and death, a ballet performed in the bowels of a dying world.

Finally, the last of the walkers passed them, and the sound of their shuffling steps grew distant. Y/N's whispers faded, and the tension in the air dissipated. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

"Let's go," he said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the sewer.

Abby didn't need a second invitation. They slipped through the shadows, their boots barely making a splash in the murky water. Her eyes were glued to the back of his head, the way the dim light played with the strands of hair that had escaped his beanie. She couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, despite the danger that surrounded them.

They found a ladder, rungs slick with mold, and climbed upward, the air growing less oppressive with each step. When they emerged into the night, the cool breeze was a welcome relief against their sweat-soaked skin. The moon was a silver sliver in the sky, casting a ghostly light over the abandoned street.

Abby took a deep breath, the smell of rain and decay washed away by the freshness above ground. "The theater is this way," Y/N said, pointing down a narrow alley. They moved quickly but cautiously, their eyes and ears peeled for any signs of danger. The buildings around them were hollowed-out skeletons, their windows gaping like eye sockets in skulls.

As they approached the theater, its grandeur was a stark contrast to the surrounding decay. The marquee was broken, but the structure still stood, a silent sentinel of a bygone era. Y/N led her through a side door, the wood splintering under their weight. Inside, the musty scent of old fabric and dust filled the air.

The lobby was cluttered with debris and forgotten concession stands. The velvet curtains that once shielded the audience from the outside world now lay in tatters, exposing the stage beyond. Y/N moved with a grace that belied his size, his eyes constantly scanning the shadows for threats. Abby followed, her steps echoing in the emptiness.

The theater was a maze of memories, each step bringing them closer to the heart of this sanctuary. The air grew colder as they approached the main stage, the grandeur of the velvet seats and gilded balconies a stark contrast to the desolate streets outside. Y/N paused, his hand on a rope that had once controlled the curtains.

"We should rest here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The dressing rooms are upstairs, they're usually clear."

Abby nodded, the exhaustion of their escape weighing heavily on her shoulders. She followed him up a narrow staircase, the wood creaking under their weight. The walls were plastered with peeling posters, the names of long-forgotten plays and actors fading into the shadows.

The dressing room was a small, cluttered space, the mirrors cracked and the costumes hanging lifelessly on the walls. A single candle flickered in the corner, casting eerie shadows across the floor. Y/N moved to the far side of the room, checking the corners before nodding in approval. "It's safe," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Abby let out a sigh of relief, her eyes scanning the area. "What now?" she whispered, her voice echoing in the empty room.

Y/N placed his rifle against the wall, his eyes never leaving hers. "We rest," he said, his voice firm. "We're safe here."

Abby nodded, her muscles finally relaxing. They cleared a space on the dusty floor, Abby laid out her bedroll with a sense of urgency. The adrenaline of their escape had worn off, leaving behind an overwhelming fatigue.

Y/N sat down, his back against the cool wall, his eyes never leaving the door. "I'll keep watch," he said, his voice low. "But you need some rest."

Abby nodded, her eyes already drooping. "Thank you," she murmured, the words thick with emotion. She didn't know why she felt so drawn to this man, but she did. Maybe it was his strength, his quiet confidence in a world that had stolen so much from them. Or maybe it was his gentle touch, his ability to find beauty in the most unexpected places.

Y/N watched her settle in, his gaze lingering on the soft curve of her cheek. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. There was something about her that called to him, something that made him want to protect her, to share his world with her. But he pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.

He leaned back against the wall, his eyes half-closed but still alert. The candle's flame danced in the mirror, casting grotesque shadows across the room. It was a strange place to find peace, but he had learned to appreciate the quiet moments when they came. The whispers of the dead outside had always been a comfort to him, a reminder that he wasn't entirely alone.

Abby watched him for a few moments, his strong profile outlined by the flickering light. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp even in the low light. She felt a sudden urge to reach out, to brush the hair from his forehead and tell him to rest. But she knew better than to interrupt his vigil.

With a sigh, she laid down, the fabric of her bedroll crunching under her weight. The floor was cold and hard, but she was too tired to care. The candle cast a warm glow over the room, its light playing across Y/N's face, highlighting the lines of concentration etched there. She rolled over, her back to him, and closed her eyes, letting the sound of his steady breathing lull her into a fitful sleep.

The night was filled with strange dreams, a jumble of whispers and shadows. She woke to the sound of a door creaking open, her hand instinctively reaching for her bow. But it was just Y/N, checking the perimeter. She watched his silhouette in the doorway, the moonlight painting him in shades of grey.

"You're still up," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Y/N glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers in the darkness. "Couldn't rest," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Too much on my mind."