She needed a break. Wiping her hand across her damp forehead—and unknowingly leaving a streak of dirt behind—she stood and headed over to a nearby crate sitting in the grass, beneath the lone apple tree that had luckily been part of the town for generations. Since she’d arrived there, it provided her with nearly every breakfast she’d eaten.

Even if she knew about the dirt on her face, it probably wouldn’t have mattered to her—she already felt like a mess, with scraped and dirt-covered knees, sweat-shiny skin, and soil under her fingernails.

Her canteen had been empty for the past hour, the tiny ration of sunscreen she’d put on this morning would no doubt leave her shoulders red by the end of her shift, and if one more gnat flew in her face while she was plucking dead leaves off of the tomato plants, she was sure she was going to lose it.

With a sigh she closed her eyes and leaned back against the bark of the tree, wondering if she should spare the energy to go get some more water, and hoping that the heat wave would end tomorrow. She hadn’t realized how much she’d taken the weather app on her phone for granted. Without it, it was hard to imagine the oppressive dry spell would ever end.

She was beginning to doze off, until the sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. When she opened her eyes, her heart did that little fluttery thing it did whenever Milton was nearby—he was walking up the garden path to her, his notebook in one hand, a canteen in the other.

Even in this boiling weather, he managed to look neat. He was dressed down compared to usual: a short sleeved button down instead of a long-sleeved one, his usual boat shoes, and a pair of khaki shorts that looked maybe a size too big—probably acquired from a run.

He looked so nerdy she just wanted to… well, actually, it was far too hot to think about any of the usual things she wanted to do to Milton.

As he neared and returned her smile, though her face was already flushed from heat, she felt herself blush. This wasn’t exactly how she wanted him to see her: bangs sticking to her forehead, smelling like mulch and sweat.

“The plants don’t look so happy,” he observed, coming to stand beside her, beneath the tree.

“Neither do most of us,” she laughed. His cheeks were flushed too, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose much like hers had been all morning. It wasn’t unusual for him to leave the lab and go for a walk midday (usually stopping by to chat for a moment), but she hadn’t expected it in this weather. And yet, since the heatwave had started last week, he’d still come for a visit every day. “I saw Martinez this morning coming back from checking the perimeter, and it looked like he’d gone swimming.”

He held out his canteen to her. “You really should rehydrate.”

She blinked once, raising her eyebrows before reaching out to accept it. “You don’t mind?”

“No, I…” He shook his head. “It’s important. Unless you think it’s… hygienically dubious, or—”

Her laugh interrupted him, full of genuine amusement. “Maybe from Merle, yes. Extremely dubious. From you, I wouldn’t worry. Thank you,” she said before tilting the canteen back and taking a long sip. The water was warm, but it helped.

Milton tried—and failed—not to watch as she drank. The way her eyes shut in relief, lips pressed to the rim, a few rogue drops rolling slowly down her neck. She sighed when she finished, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she reached out to hand the canteen back to him.

Their fingers brushed as he accepted it, a warmth flooding his body that was completely unrelated to the heatwave. She never seemed to mind when these things happened—a brush of their shoulders, hands meeting accidentally, the time he’d nearly rolled his ankle in the garden and had grabbed onto her for support without thinking.

He brought the canteen to his own lips with a trembling hand, less because he was thirsty, more because he wanted his lips to rest right where hers had been.

As he screwed the lid back on, he couldn’t help glancing at her again. Her shoulders bare, collarbones shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the leaves. Her pale skin seemed to glow, covered in flecks of dirt and patches of freckles that had emerged once she’d started spending every day in the sun. Parts of her had tanned a little, others had hints of red, as though her skin couldn't make up its mind on if it felt kissed or annoyed by the sun.

He’d never seen anything more alive, more unfairly beautiful, in his life.

He cleared his throat as he moved to sit with her on the crate, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket. Holding the canteen between his legs, he unscrewed the lid again, pressing the fabric to the opening and turning it over to get it damp.

“You’ve got, um…” He gestured to his own face. “A little dirt.”

Her eyes widened in embarrassment for a second before she just smiled and laughed. “I have dirt on my face?”

“Just a little.” He offered the square piece of fabric to her, then pulled it back a little, hesitating. “Would you like me to…?”

She nodded, taking off her glasses and scooting a little closer. “Please.”

He cleared his throat again, moving close in turn. His free hand trembled as he reached out to place it on her shoulder, skin to skin. It was meant to steady him. Instead it made him feel like he might collapse.

He started with her forehead, gently wiping the cloth over her skin. She sighed into the motion, and he fought not to let the sound that wanted to escape him do so. She was so close that he could smell the sun-warmed green on her skin—tomato leaves, basil, earth, and the faintly sweet smell of her.

She’d left a little more behind when she’d wiped her mouth, so he used the clean side to get the space just below her lips. He met her gaze when he finished—a mistake. She was so close to him, her brown eyes looking even prettier without her glasses on.

“Thanks,” she said, a sheepish little smile on her face as she put her frames back on. “I knew I must look like a mess today, but I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“You don’t,” he said automatically, his voice soft. He hardly realized he was speaking. “You look… alive.”

Her head tilted, the sheepish smile turning into something more… coy. Almost teasing. And it dawned on him that he’d said that out loud.

“I mean… vital. Full of–uh–vigor. There’s a natural appeal to, um, sweat, and dirt. And effort. Your, uh—your humanity. It’s very… lively,” he finished weakly, turning away hurriedly and returning his hands to his lap.

She watched him toy with the edge of the handkerchief, his cheeks reddening. Whenever he got like this… the confidence that overcame her was so unfamiliar, yet so automatic. “Thank you.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, nodding, eyes still trained on his lap.

“Milton?” she asked, reaching out to brush nothing off of his shoulder—just an excuse to touch him.

He turned to her, eyes soft, voice trembling just a little. “Yes?”

“If I stop by the lab when I’m finished here, you think you might have a little iced tea left for me?”

His nod was automatic and he could feel that it was embarrassingly eager. But he was helpless. “Yes. Of course.”

“Okay, good.” She grinned. “That’ll give me two things to look forward to.”

“I’ll, um, see you in a bit, then.” He stood, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket before setting his canteen on the crate next to her. “You should have the rest. I’ve got plenty at the lab.”

“Thank you,” she said, already picking it up for another sip. “I’ll give it back later. Promise.”

Caitie was perched languidly on the edge of Milton’s desk, her legs swinging slowly as she ate a handful of blueberries from a paper bag and sipped at her mug of iced tea. She’d been there for half an hour now, watching him label samples and making small talk, laced with occasional, quiet jokes to coax little huffs of laughter out of him.

The heatwave had left them both lazy and sleepy-eyed, their skin warm, limbs heavy. Outside, the air was still thick, but the pressure had shifted and the sunshine had disappeared behind grey clouds that neither was aware of.

She let out a sigh as she finished her last blueberries, crumpling up the bag. Under the sound, she almost didn’t hear the beginnings of rain tinkling against the tin roof of the lab.

Milton froze mid-label, both of their gazes moving to the ceiling of the windowless building. The soft sound grew steadier, an unmistakable drumming against the roof.

“Is that…?” Caitlin didn’t say the word, as if afraid she might jinx it.

“Rain.” Milton smiled back at her, his eyes lighting up. “Finally.”

He straightened from where he was hunched over beakers, looking on curiously as she hopped off the desk and headed for the door, practically skipping. “Caitie—?”

She opened it and let out a giddy laugh, pausing only long enough to kick off her sandals and leave them toppled over by the threshold. The next thing he knew, she was outside.

He hurried over just in time to see her hold her arms out and turn her face to the sky, the droplets decorating her glasses lenses, her shoulders relaxing. It wasn’t a storm, just a steady, silvery pour. Even standing in the doorway, Milton could feel the cool relief against his skin.

Inside, however, he was warmer than he had been all day, staring as Caitie took her hair down from its clip, letting the rain turn the deep brown nearly black. It clung to her skin, as did her camisole, her dampening shorts riding low on her hips. Droplets beaded on her shoulders, dripping down her arms, sliding along the curve of her throat.

Keeping her arms spread out, she laughed, low and delighted, spinning in a slow circle.

He could only look on, his heart aching in his chest. He was jealous—both of the rain for how it touched her, and of her, for how unrestrained she was.

When she laughed, it was a sound barren of any cynicism, as though she’d never known fear. As if she was oblivious to the world that had ended around her.

She looked like hope. She looked like life itself. Barefoot and open… alive in a world that had tried to kill every good thing left.

Then she turned to him and grinned, waving her arms, beckoning him outside. “Come on!” she called, her bangs plastered to her forehead, clothes already soaked through. “It feels amazing!”

He gestured helplessly at himself. “Oh, I don’t—I couldn’t. I’m not dressed for it—”

She laughed like he’d said the funniest thing she’d heard in years, and headed back over to the doorway, onto the tiny little porch so they were eye-to-eye. She was dripping from head to toe, only inches from him now.

“Shoes and socks aren’t very hard to get off,” she teased, poking one bare foot against his shoe. “Milton… You’re overheated, you’re tired, and you’ve been hunched over a microscope all day. You need this just as much as I do."

When he only looked on warily, she continued, “It’s just water.” Her smile went from teasing to something much warmer, her voice softening. “Please? Come play in the rain with me.”

How could he say no to that? He nodded, letting out a breath and toeing off his shoes, taking off his socks and tossing them in their little pile by the door—the sight of their shoes resting together filling him with an instant, domestic yearning—before following her out into the rain.

The downpour was warm and heavy, soaking his shirt through in seconds as he stepped off the porch with her into the damp soil. The cool blades of grass tickled the soles of his feet, mud squishing between his toes—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked barefoot outside.

Between the heavy fabric and beads of water blocking his vision, he expected to be uncomfortable. Instead, there was an odd sense of relief that overcame him, like the rain was washing away the stress of the day.

Caitie jumped into a puddle that had already formed, splashing his calves with rainwater and wet soil, a laugh escaping him without a second thought. She really was playing like a child in the rain.

When he met her eyes, shared that smile sacred to this moment only they were sharing, it was a sort of yearning he’d never experienced before. Like he was missing that moment before it had even passed.

It was as though there was no end of the world. No walkers. No Woodbury, no lab, no fences, no fear. Just rain, his wild heartbeat, and her.

He didn’t have the courage to do much other than stand there and watch, a smile planted on his face. It only faltered when she stopped in front of him, damp and dripping as she gazed into his eyes. He wondered if she had any idea how nervous she made him.

If he were a braver man, he would’ve leaned in, attempted to kiss her. Instead, he tried to say something, words he hadn’t even yet figured out. But all that came out was a sigh, lost in the sound of the downpour.

Caitie smiled and reached out, gently pushing his soaked hair off of his forehead, her hand lingering just a second longer than necessary before returning to her side. His breath caught, cheeks going pink.

She didn’t step away, and neither did he. She was close enough that their soaked clothes were nearly brushing. He could see the rain falling from her eyelashes, could smell the warm green of garden dirt and petrichor on her skin.

“I didn’t think you’d come out,” she said, voice raised a little to be heard over the rain.

“I didn’t either,” he admitted, laughing softly.

“I’m glad you did.” She turned her face to the sky again. “It’s nice, isn't it? Getting to feel something other than the heat trying to kill us?”

“Yes. It’s a relief. And remarkable, really, how fast the weather can shift when the atmospheric stability is compromised—” He cut himself off from delving into another ramble. “Sorry. You’ve been listening to my science talk for the past half hour. I shouldn’t bore you with more.”

Her head tilted again as she returned her gaze to his, her smile soft and amused. “I like your science talk.”

“Oh.” It was all he could seem to say while trying to suppress the aching in his chest, the warmth that was flooding his body. “I… I um… I like being here with you.”

She blinked, her smile growing. His fingers twitched at his sides. He was soaked to the bone. Cold now, maybe. Or just… stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with weather. Caitie stood there in front of him looking… wild, and sacred, drenched from head to toe.

And Milton—awkward and anxious as he felt—couldn’t stop himself. He cleared his throat, looking down at the ground in order to find the courage. “All of this has been much easier to bear, with you around.”

Caitie stared at him, her expression turning from playful joy into something more like wonder. His confession wasn’t flirtatious, it was real. Raw and stammered honesty from a man who rarely said more than he meant to, who often spoke as if he was afraid that the wrong words might slip out.

She wanted to tease, to flirt, to confess. To tell him that the sentiment meant that everything she’d been through—not only since the outbreak, but before it, too—was worth it to her, if she could take even a little weight off of his shoulders.

None of the words that came to mind seemed good enough. So instead, she stepped forward and placed one hand on the side of his face, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, right beneath the frame of his fogged-up glasses.

“You’ve made it easier for me, too,” she finally confessed when she backed away, hoping she hadn’t misread him, hadn’t stepped over a line that he didn’t want her to cross.

The shy, boyish smile that graced his face told her that she hadn’t misread him, not at all. “That’s… I’m… Thank you,” he stammered. “I mean—I’m glad. That I’ve… That we…” He stopped trying to talk, letting out a little hum as he gave up.

She grinned, and though it was sweet and warm, she couldn’t help a little pride from showing, emboldened by the way she made him blush.

Angry thunder rolled overhead, making them both jump. With a laugh, she stepped back and took one last spin in the rain before heading back for the door. “We should get inside, dry off.”

“I thought I might never hear music again,” Cait said softly as she collected several empty tea cups and mugs from around the lab. Though she missed her own playlists more than she could say, she always enjoyed what Milton picked out from Woodbury’s small selection. More often than not it was classical, or something he’d grown up listening to in his grandparents’ home: Ella Fitzgerald, Sinatra, Nat King Cole. Cait thought he was more of a romantic than he even knew.

It was hard to believe just months ago, she was on her own and near death. Now she had shelter, warm food, music… Milton. She could survive without the rest of it again if she had to, she was sure. But not without him, not anymore.

“I gave the Governor a list of some of your favorite music,” he said simply, neatly stacking the papers strewn atop his desk. “The next time they’re looting near that old thrift store, they’ll take a look.”

Her smile was as warm and natural as the blush dusting her cheeks. Milton had visited her while she was working one morning, tending to one of the new tomato plants in the garden and humming to herself. He’d startled her a little when he spoke behind her— “That sounds nice,” he’d said. She wasn’t aware that three simple words could give her so many butterflies.

He asked what the song was, and they had a short conversation about music before he had to return to his duties. It seemed as though no matter what she told him about herself, he managed to remember it. It was an unfamiliarity she was still getting used to.

Setting down the cups in her hands, she walked over and placed a soft kiss against his cheek. “Thank you. That’s so sweet.”

“Well.” Milton was the one who was blushing now. He shrugged his shoulders. “I just hope they can find at least a few of them. The Governor did say it was picked pretty clean in there last time.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured, unable to resist leaning in for another kiss against his soft skin. “It’s sweet either way.”

As the next song began Milton set down his stack of papers, adjusting them needlessly, lining them up perfectly with the folders beside them. It was a gesture of half habit, half nerves.

“C'mere.” Cait said, taking his hand and tugging him towards her. He wouldn't dream of resisting the affection, even as he stiffened up as she said, “Dance with me.”

“I… I don't know how,” he admitted, trying to remember to breathe as her arms looped over his shoulders, around his neck. 

His own hands found the dip of her waist, settling there with the lightest touch, still in disbelief that they got to hold her like this.

“Me neither,” she laughed softly, gently moving side to side. “Just sway with me then.”

He followed her movements, matching the slow rhythm of the music. For one short song, they were silent, simply enjoying the nearness. It was one thing he appreciated about her so much, that she didn’t seem to mind the quiet moments, didn’t always try to fill them. It wasn’t that he didn’t love talking to her, but that it was so rare in his life to find someone he could just be silent with. 

As another song began, neither made any move to pull away. 

“Milton…” Cait smiled softly as they swayed, bemused by the unnecessary question she was about to ask, and unable to stop herself from asking it anyway, no matter how useless of a question it was. “If things were different… if all this never happened, and we’d still met somehow…” She shrugged, feigning casualty, as if his answer didn’t have the potential to break her heart. “Do you think you still would’ve liked me?”

“Yes.” Milton’s answer came quickly, no pondering necessary. But it wasn’t the full truth. “I think…” he held her gaze, swallowing over the nervous lump in his throat, “that I would love you even if we’d never met.”

He felt the hitch in her breath as she stilled, her eyes searching his face as the music played on around them. 

Should he not have said that? It was too soon, of course it was too soon. But when death was looming over them every day, breathing down their necks, how could he be expected to keep something like that to himself? She was the only thing that seemed to make sense anymore, her and his love for her.

“You love me?” she asked softly, watching a pretty blush color his cheeks.

He nodded. “Yes. I do.” He fought the urge to ask “Is that okay?” It wasn't as if he could change it, no matter the answer.

She slipped her arms from around his shoulders and dread washed over him—she was disturbed enough by the confession that she was moving away. But then her hands were on his face, her lips pressing gently against his.

When she pulled back, his face still in her hands, her voice was dreamy as she said, “I love you too.”

The security that washed over him, the fulfilment, was almost too much to bear. He wanted to say something romantic, but could only manage a smile and a shaky, relieved sigh as he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing as his cheek rested against her hand. 

It’d been a long time since he’d accepted he’d never hear words like that from somebody. At his age, without so much as an inkling of romance in all his life, it was easy to believe it would never happen. God, he was glad to be wrong. And god, he was glad it was her. 

When he opened his eyes again, she had a look on her face that was almost… guilty. Milton tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. His voice was soft as he prodded, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She bit her bottom lip nervously as he kept looking at her with those pretty, curious eyes. 

With a heavy swallow, she relented. “I just can’t stop thinking lately that if all of this is what it took for us to meet…” It took her a moment to continue, to admit what she was so ashamed of. “Then I’m glad it happened.” Honesty and shame were clear in her voice as her eyes brimmed with tears. “I can’t help being grateful for it. I know that makes me selfish, I know how terrible it sounds… But I’ve never been so happy.”

Terrible wasn’t at all the word that Milton would’ve used to describe the confession. It was undoubtedly the most romantic sentiment he’d ever heard in his life.

“Then… I suppose we’re both selfish,” he assured her, the words falling from his lips with ease. If he could wish away this plague, reverse time so it never happened and never would… he wouldn’t. Not if it meant losing her.