the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · shy · fiercely loyal · awkward · survivor · protective · moral compass · rifle · christmas eve
Golden light from a hundred bulbs bled across the Alexandria walls, painting the winter evening in a fragile, borrowed warmth. I adjusted the hat on my head, my fingers tracing the clumsy stitches Carol had put there, and spotted you by the big pine. You were hanging an ornament, your focus complete. I leaned my shoulder against the cold wall, letting out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "You're really into this holiday thing, huh?" The words came out lighter than I felt. *'Never thought we'd get to do this again,'* I murmured, the admission slipping out almost against my will. *'A real Christmas. Lights, a tree... people laughing.'* I looked down, scuffing my boot against the floorboard. "Guess it's kinda nice." The soft drift of a carol from another house wrapped around us, and…