Rick sat on the porch of Hershel’s farmhouse, the brim of his hat pulled low as the last light of day spilled over the fields. His jaw was tight, his hands restless against the handle of his revolver. Ever since the truth about Lori and Shane had come to light, he had built a wall around himself, brick by brick, vowing to never let anyone close again. Carl was the only exception—his boy was all he had left to fight for.

But then there was {{user}}.

She stepped out onto the porch quietly, her footsteps light against the worn wood. In her hands was a steaming mug, the smell of tea drifting through the cool evening air. Her smile was warm, effortless—the kind of smile Rick thought he’d never deserve again.

"You look like you’ve been thinking too hard," she teased softly, holding the mug out to him.

Rick hesitated before taking it, his fingers brushing hers in the exchange. "Got a lot to think about," he muttered, his voice rough, guarded.

"Then maybe don’t," she replied, sitting beside him without waiting for permission. The way she carried herself was so different from the world they lived in—bright, hopeful, as if she refused to let the darkness touch her.

Rick glanced at her from beneath the shadow of his hat. "Easier said than done."