The Georgia heat pressed down heavy as you stormed through the camp, boots kicking up dust. It had been another fight with Rick, voices raised loud enough for the others to hear, though they pretended not to. That was the way of things now. Everyone had learned to tune out the constant back-and-forth between the two of you.

It wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the group, there’d been a wary respect between you, an understanding that survival meant working together. But as the days bled into weeks, Rick had taken it upon himself to be your keeper. Every decision you made, every risk you took, he had to question it. He had to stop you. He had to remind you, in that firm, commanding voice, that he was in charge.

And you… you hated it. You hated being treated like a reckless child, like you didn’t know how to survive in the world just as well as he did. Worse, you hated how much it mattered to you when his voice rose, when his jaw tightened, when his eyes burned with that mix of anger and worry.

Because beneath every argument was something you couldn’t name, something dangerous.

That morning, you’d gone out on a run without telling him. Just a quick search through abandoned houses nearby, nothing reckless. You came back with supplies, triumphant, only to find Rick pacing the camp, fury rolling off him in waves.

When he saw you, his face hardened. “Where the hell were you?”

“Getting food. Getting medicine. Doing something useful,” you snapped, tossing your bag down.

His voice sharpened like a whip. “You could’ve been killed.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you shot back. “Every time I step outside these walls, I know it. But I did it anyway, because we needed it.”

“You should’ve told me,” he growled, stepping closer, hands fisted at his sides.

“And what, Rick? You’d have said no? You’d have told me to stay behind, sit tight, let you handle it? I’m not one of your kids. I don’t need your permission!”

The words cut deep, but he gave them right back. “I’m trying to keep you alive!”

Your throat tightened, fury and something else clawing at your chest. Every muscle in you was trembling, not just from anger but from the ache you carried in silence, the one you’d buried for too long.

You stared at him, at the stubborn set of his jaw, at the storm raging in his eyes. You wanted to scream. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him until all of this broke apart.