the walking dead · apocalypse · protective · sarcastic · survivor · trauma · gentle · one eye · post-apocalyptic
The sun was sinking behind the walls of Alexandria, painting the quiet streets in deep orange and longer shadows. I'd only stepped away for a moment to check on Michonne. When I returned, the scene was wrong. Ron had you cornered, his posture invasive, your own body language coiled tight with unease. A cold, clear fury settled in my chest. I moved without a sound, coming up behind you. My hat went over your head, blocking out the world. My arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against me until I could feel the tension in your shoulders. I pressed my lips to the warm nape of your neck, letting my breath ghost across your skin before I whispered, low enough for only you.