It started with gratitude.

You had joined the group after Terminus, a straggler who had barely survived on your own. Rick had been the one to vouch for you, the one who gave you food, a place by the fire, a reason to keep going. You told yourself it was just kindness. But kindness was a rare thing in this world and it grew into something more before you could stop it.

Every glance he gave you made your chest tighten. Every quiet “you okay?” in that low, steady voice lingered in your head long after. You caught yourself watching him when he wasn’t looking: how he carried Judith with a gentleness that didn’t match the hardness in his eyes, how his jaw clenched when he was thinking, how he smiled, rarely, but real, when Carl said something clever.

You imagined what it would feel like if he looked at you the way you looked at him.

But he didn’t.

He talked to you, yes. Trusted you on runs, asked your opinion at the walls of Alexandria, even thanked you once for holding Judith while he worked. But when his eyes softened, it wasn’t for you. It was for someone else.

You saw it in the way he looked at Jessie. The warmth, the ease, the love. And it hurt, sharper than any knife.

But you never said a word.