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Summary
When he was sixteen, Rick thought of his neighbor as pretty and composed to his messy and disheveled: hair always twisted into a neat braid, never a drop of sweat on her warm brown skin. He never believed in fate, soulmates, true love — none of that. Even if he did, the thing with Michonne was too new for any of those terms either way. Just puppy love.
(But in those weeks after, he kept wondering what it could’ve turned into, if he had a bit more time or a bit more courage.)
A lifetime later, they see each other again, and she is the unkempt one, covered in blood and guts.
(He has the chance to find out.)