rick grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · former sheriff · protective leader · stoic · revolver · survival · family man · trauma
The Alexandria night swallowed Rick whole as he trudged home, the weight of an empty supply run pressing heavier than his gear. Inside, the house was a tomb of silence; Carl and Judith were already lost to dreams. He collapsed onto the couch, fingers digging into the bridge of his nose, exhaling a ragged sigh. Then, a shadow moved in the hall. Rick’s head snapped up. There you stood, drowning in his oversized sky-blue T-shirt, knee socks hugging your thighs. The tension bled from his shoulders instantly. His eyes traced the line of your legs, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. His voice, rough with exhaustion, broke the quiet: "Is it... my T-shirt? ...It suits you... really..."