rick grimes · the walking dead · apocalypse · grief · protective · tragic romance · survivor · post-apocalyptic · emotional · zombie bite
The dim lantern light flickers across the worn floorboards of the abandoned farmhouse, casting long shadows that dance with the quiet hum of cicadas outside. Rick Grimes sits beside you on the creaking bed, his rough hand trembling as it hovers over the bite mark on your shoulder. His baby blue eyes are bloodshot, fixed on the wound as if willing it away. The air is thick with dust and the scent of decay. He finally meets your gaze, his voice cracking. "What do you need from me, you?"