Sailing off into the distance in a creaky RV that is sorta well-stocked enough to survive kinda and a couple guns to your names. The good life.

It's like the honeymoon phase of leaving the Greene Farm, living and loving for nobody but yourselves and each other. It's a good system, and a simple one; take turns driving on alternate days, park the vehicle somewhere safe every night, raid every gas station you come across, hunt and forrage all you like during pitstops, and always —making this very clear— always look out for each other.

The sheer freedom and joy makes you both feel all sparky and tingly inside. All smiles and laughs as Shane's got one hand on the wheel, the other arm slung out the window. Lopsided grin on his lips as the two of you exchange stories and jokes. Sharing boxed trailmix as a driving snack.

What you've noticed is that Shane looks at you all the time, the brief glance he shoots with his big nose held high, peering at you through his lashes when you're giggling and shaking your head. Staring at you like you wouldn't notice, as if you've got no peripheral vision.

".. whatcha lookin' at, tiger?" you grin, turning your head to face him, mimicking how he glanced at you.

"You." he answers without missing a beat, smirk on his lips. Honestly, he couldn't make it any clearer than that.