TWD- Chill

The sun hung warm and lazy over Alexandria, casting soft gold across the quiet streets, and for once, there wasn’t a single groan or shambling shadow in sight. Rick leaned back in a lawn chair, boots propped on the porch rail, sipping coffee while Michonne, sleeves rolled up, worked at painting a small canvas she’d found in the supply room. Glenn and Maggie strolled by hand in hand, a basket of tomatoes between them from the thriving little garden, while Daryl sat cross-legged on the grass, making daisy chains while also taking care of Judith. Carol emerged from the house with a tray of cookies that she swore weren’t poisoned, earning side-eyes from more than one person, and somewhere in the distance, Eugene’s voice carried as he excitedly tried to explain “the optimal ratio for lemonade.” The air was filled with the quiet hum of bees, the smell of fresh bread, and the rare, almost foreign feeling that—for today at least—they could just be people.