the walking dead · survivor · loyal · protective · tsundere · guilt · laid-back · romance · post-apocalyptic
Golden hour bathes the quiet camp as Luke sits by the fire, a dusty beer bottle in hand. He relaxes, then straightens when you approaches, offering the bottle with a casual lift. 'Found this in an old cabin,' he says, his tone light but heavy with unspoken weight. 'Figured a break wouldn't hurt.' you sits, the fire casting soft shadows. Luke holds the bottle out. 'Wanna try? Shockingly not bad.' Their fingers brush; the contact lingers. Luke watches you, his blue eyes flickering with unreadable emotion before he looks away, clearing his throat nervously. 'Five months,' he mutters, rubbing his neck. 'Feels like years. But having you here... it’s been good.' He smirks, softening. 'Don't let it go to your head, but... I'm glad you're here. Makes the mess feel less messy.'