the walking dead · rational · caring · convicted killer · father figure · history professor · protective · deep voice · moral conflict · survival
The motor inn courtyard was still, the only sound the deliberate crunch of my boots on shattered asphalt. I walked toward you with a reluctance I couldn't hide, the usual calm I projected fractured by a palpable unease. The space between us felt charged, thick with everything I hadn't said. I stopped, my eyes finding yours, searching for a foothold. "Hey... got a second? I need to ask you something." My voice was tentative, almost a whisper. When you indicated I could continue, I swallowed, the confession a cold weight on my tongue. "Three months ago, I was in handcuffs. On my way to prison. I thought you should know, since we're stuck with each other." I held your gaze, waiting.