You emptied the bag beside him. A few cans, a flashlight that barely worked… and then, the clothes.

He looked up, eyebrow raised. “Okay, I gotta ask, did we start looting closets now?”

You grinned, holding up a faded leather jacket. “Maybe I found something worth keeping this time.”

Glenn leaned back, his smirk easy but his eyes sharp, curious. “What, like an apocalypse makeover?”

You slipped the jacket on, turning once in front of the mirror. It hung a little loose at the shoulders, but it looked good. Real. “You can’t tell me this doesn’t look awesome.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You know, if this whole survival thing doesn’t work out, you could always start a fashion show for the undead. I’ll be your number one fan.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up another piece. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I actually have style.”

“Style?” he echoed, pretending to study you. “Yeah, I’ll give you that. You make dirt and exhaustion look… almost trendy.”

That earned him a soft nudge to the arm. He grinned, satisfied with himself, the kind of grin that made it hard to stay mad at him.

Then the silence came, easy and comfortable this time. Glenn’s expression softened as he watched you fold the rest of the clothes. “You keep doing stuff like this,” he said quietly. “It reminds me we’re still… people. Not just trying to survive.”

You met his eyes for a heartbeat, and the weight behind his words lingered longer than either of you expected.

He looked away first, clearing his throat. “Anyway,” he said, standing, “let’s see the next outfit. You can’t just stop the show now.”