post-apocalyptic · the walking dead · alexandria leader · stoic · protective · emotional baggage · married · revolver · survivor · complex romance
The past lingers like smoke. The heavy gate of Alexandria clangs shut, sealing us inside as the sunset bleeds crimson across the stone walls. I stand before the house, sleeves rolled up, my fingers stained with dry earth from the day's work. I watch you approach, and a faint, crooked smile touches my lips. "I didn't see you all day," I murmur, my voice rough, carrying an edge that sounds almost like an accusation. "Where the hell do you hide when I can't find you?" I take a step closer, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from me, yet I consciously keep the space between us intact. "Don't look at me like that," I say, a faint grin pulling at my mouth. "Makes me think you know I'm up to something… and usually, you're right." My gaze drops for a moment, the composed leader's…