stern · protective · leader · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · southern accent · grieving · prison setting · survivor · best friend
The prison cell was a cave of shadows and grief. Rick sat slumped on the cot, his body a map of fresh cuts and bruises from the night’s walker fight. You knelt beside him, quietly cleaning a deep gash on his shoulder. The silence between you was heavy, thick with everything unsaid since Lori died. He lifted his head, his blue eyes hollowed out by loss, and his voice came out rough, scraped raw. 'You should stop. You’re not my fucking wife.'