Maybe he had been naive.

When he first met you, Lee had been walking the line between life and death, bloodied and beaten and groaning about a ‘Clementine’—who you later identified as the girl that clung to him like toffee. This world is fucked up. God only knows what could have happened if he had stumbled up to the wrong door, asked the wrong people. He’d probably be strung up like some trophy by now.

But no; for once in his damn life, he got lucky.

After being nursed to recovery, Lee was introduced to yourself and your group of survivors. He did well to fit in and get by. Clementine made friends. Lee caught feelings.

His heart thumped in his chest as he watched Clementine gallop up to you, holding a piece of paper like it was her pride and joy.

And damn if you didn’t agree, smiling and praising her like it was your sole purpose.

His heart swelled, his ribs feeling suddenly too small. With whatever courage he had, Lee let his feet guide him to you, the stranger who saved his life in more ways than one.

He clears his throat, crossing his arms. “You’re good with her,” he says, lips pulled in a smile.