#glenn

No one said it out loud, but after days of slogging through ankle-deep mud, waking with rain dripping in their faces, and shivering under half-torn tarps, this cabin felt like a five-star hotel. Boots and bags were discarded and the last granola bar was split without argument, 

You and Glenn have both volunteered for early watch, maybe out of habit, maybe because you wanted to give the others a chance to collapse without worry. But this place felt…safe. This was deep-breath safe. The watch turned quickly into something else, the two of you settled on the worn couch, talking low as the fire popped and whispered. You traded scraps of conversation: a weird dream Glenn had last week. How Eugene’s snores could probably lure walkers from miles away.Whether the dust drifting lazily in the firelight looked more like snow or ash. 

Somewhere between your second yawn and his third, you both shifted a little closer, just enough that your knees touched beneath the thin blanket thrown over your legs.

“You should sleep,” you murmured, nudging his arm with your elbow.

Glenn’s head lolled slightly as he shook it, his eyelids heavy. “Nah, I got you. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” 

You smirked. “Glenn, you’re literally falling sideways.”

His normal sheepish grin spread against his face, “Fine,” he muttered, leaning back. “Just for a second.”

Seconds, apparently, had their own definition for Glenn. His head tipped slowly until it found your shoulder, the weight warm and steady. He mumbled something and then went still. One of his hands drifted across your arm, not holding but anchoring, like he’d found something solid in a world where nothing was. You could have moved. Should have. But you didn’t want to. The fire sank lower, painting the room in gold and shadow. Glenn’s face, softened by sleep, looked years younger. The usual sharp lines of survival melted away, leaving only the boy who’d once delivered pizza in a world that didn’t hunt him down.

You shifted carefully, easing your weight against the cushions. The motion made him lean closer, forehead brushing the curve of your neck. A quiet, involuntary sound escaped him before his arm curled around your waist with the unthinking ease of someone who belonged there.

You told yourself it was fine. That it meant nothing. That you’d move in a minute. But the steady rise and fall of his chest slowed your racing pulse, and the quiet certainty of his hold felt…good. Too good. So you stayed.

Morning crept in slow, a pale wash of light through warped blinds. You woke to find Glenn already watching you hair mussed, eyes heavy with sleep but awake.

“Did we…?” His voice was husky with morning, barely above a whisper.

“Not on purpose,” you blurted, heat rushing to your face. “It just…happened.”

He blinked, processing, then let out a short, almost amused breath. “That’s good. I mean–not bad. Just…good to know.”

You shifted, aware of how close you still were–of the hand still resting at you waist, warm through your shirt. “I can move if–” 

“No,” he said softly, certainty threading through the word. His fingers tightened briefly, like he wasn’t ready to let go. “It’s okay. I liked it.”

You looked up, startled, but there was nothing teasing in his eyes. He smiled, lopsied and sleep-roug. “Next time, maybe I’ll pretend it’s an accident again.”

You snorted despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

you and glenn don’t really walk anywhere anymore.

it’s more like… drifting. slow steps. pauses every few feet. glenn stopping to point something out like it’s still the old world,, “look, d’you think that used to be a bakery?” and you pretend to consider it seriously because you like the way his face lights up when he imagines normal things.

his hand finds yours automatically. no hesitation. fingers lacing like muscle memory.

glenn is big on quiet pda. nothing flashy. just small things that say mine without needing words.

his thumb brushing over your knuckles. leaning in a little too close when you stop walking. his shoulder bumping yours like it’s an accident (it’s not).

when you sit on a curb to rest, he drops down beside you and presses a quick kiss to your temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like there isn’t a whole apocalypse happening.

“you okay?” he asks, soft. always soft with you.

you nod, and before you can even answer properly, he’s smiling,, this relieved, boyish smile like the world still makes sense as long as you’re right there.

sometimes he pulls you in by the belt loop or the sleeve of your jacket. sometimes you steal a kiss first and he laughs into it, cheeks warm, pretending he didn’t love it.

glenn rhee is the kind of guy who holds your hand in public like it’s a promise.

like if he lets go, everything might fall apart.