It was late, nearing almost midnight and since you were a night owl you were still up. A soft tune played in the corner of yours and Rick’s shared bedroom, a cd he found on a run playing on the cd player.

The two men were still in the living room downstairs discussing what they should do about the hoard the group has been tracking for weeks now, deciding where they should lead the hoard so it was away from the community.

The bottle of pink nail polish in your hand as you walked down the stairs, your bare feet pattering on the floor as you made your way into the kitchen.

The topic they discussed seemed rather important so you didn’t feel the need to interrupt but you were in need of help, with one thing in particular.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Rick’s voice is soft, glancing at you as you exit the kitchen, staring at the sweater that was too big on you and the shorts that barely reached your mid thigh.

You debated, glancing from Rick to Daryl who sat on the chair across from the couch. “Can one of you help me paint my toes?” Your voice soft and almost hesitant, worried you interrupted an important topic.

“C’mhere.” Rick nodded his head, a smile on his face. You practically skipped over, plopping on the couch, butt on the cushion and feet in his lap, taking the nail polish and opening it.

His hands are cold on your bare feet as he paints your toes, not dropping the conversation—actually continues talking to Daryl about what he was previously talking about.

You were practically sleeping, eyes dazed and tired smile, head against the couch pillow as you struggled keeping your eyes open. Daryl didn’t bat an eye, like he was used to this, watching the domestic scene.

Rick’s hand massaged the arch of your foot then moved to the tense muscles of your calves after he finished painting your toes, calloused hand rubbing against the soft skin of your legs as he talked to Daryl.