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The Safe-Zone was unusually quiet for February. Snow flurried outside the windows, coating Alexandria in a soft white that muted the ever-present dread of the world beyond. Inside their shared house, the scent of grilled steak and something cinnamon-like filled the air.
Negan, dressed in a red flannel and black jeans—far more domestic than apocalyptic—stood at the stove flipping something in a cast-iron pan. A heart-shaped pancake sizzled. Rick entered, freshly shaven, wearing the rarely-used blue shirt that Negan secretly loved.
"You actually made those," Rick said, nodding to the pan.
"Well, it is Valentine's Day. And I'm a damn romantic, Grimes. You should know this by now," Negan grinned. "Besides, figured we deserved something sweet. World’s gone to hell, but I got you.”
Rick smirked, stepping close, brushing his fingers along Negan’s knuckles. “Still weird, you know? How we got here.”
Negan turned off the burner and looked Rick dead in the eye. “We survived. Killed, bled, lost. But you and me? We’re still standing. That ain’t weird. That’s fate flipping the bird to the end of the world.”
Rick kissed him—slow, rough, familiar.
They sat by candlelight at the table, pancake hearts on chipped plates, mugs of lukewarm coffee in hand. No cards, no flowers, just the soft thrum of trust between men who used to be enemies and were now—somehow—everything.
“You think Carl would’ve been okay with this?” Rick asked softly.
Negan paused, his voice low. “Yeah. He would’ve been the first to say it doesn’t matter who you love, just that you do.”
They clinked mugs.
Outside, the dead groaned in the distance. Inside, two former warlords laughed over pancakes, a little older, a little softer, but still in love—apocalypse be damned.