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IT WAS AN UNSPOKEN DECISION to never talk about their moment in the courtyard again. During the days that followed Hershel's amputation, Josephine and Rick managed to somewhat revert to their normal dynamic. They chatted mostly about food rations, Hershel's health, the security of the prison, and very little about Lori's pregnancy. He never brought up the topic of their courtyard-conversation, and she never divulged any further.
Josephine completely dismissed the memory of ever thinking of kissing him; she only replayed her confession over and over, concluding being a complete and utter fool to have ever said a word in the first place. She kept it hidden from her family, and she all but shoved it down Rick's throat—a close friend, yes, but she has no right to dump the top two most traumatizing events of her life onto him like that.
Rick, on the other hand, could not stop thinking about her mouth. Seeing her lips quiver in fear of losing her father from an action he performed. If Hershel hadn't survived he would have got down on his knees and begged for forgiveness, and if it pleased her, even to relieve her anger for a few seconds, he would spread open his arms and allow her to use him as a punching bag. He would take it: the pain, the hate if that's what she would have decided she would ever feel for him again. Fortunately, Hershel survived, and Josephine has not decided to shun him.
So, at night, when he's alone in his cell, lying alone with only his thoughts as he stares at the top bunk, he reflects on her tidbit of information she has trusted to him only. She lost much more than a child; she lost the sense of security in her life. She was tormented and violated and on the verge of death. His heart beats in rage, angry at many generations for creating a man to only inflict pain in this world, especially on the woman he can't stop thinking of kissing. He can't stop thinking of that woman.
He wonders what her lips would feel like, ever since they were only inches apart: would they be soft as they look, would they mold perfectly with his, would they reciprocate the same amount of passion he would bestow? How, how, how would it be to kiss her? But there's only so much his subconscious can grant him as he quite literally dreams of kissing her. . .
. . . . . Again, they are leaning against the concrete wall. However, instead of hyperventilating in his arms, she wraps her hands around his neck and runs her fingers through his hair. She blinks up at him through her eyelashes, and a playful smirk on her pink lips. She's beautiful, of course, she always is, but right now she is the definition of seduction. (he's never seen that side of her, and once he wakes up and remembers this part of the dream he is disgusted with himself for creating such an image so disrespectful of the friendship he has created with her. Yet, when he manages to resume his slumber, he has no control when he dreams of her again in a much more salacious scenario.) She parts her lips and tells him she wants this. (Rick can only assume this is his brain trying to make the fantasy acceptable and consensual to not make him feel like a complete pervert.) She closes her eyes first and leans forwards and connects their lips. He is shocked (every time) but ultimately responds and moves his lips in sync with her, falling deeper into a whirlwind of emotions he hasn't felt in a long time. . . . .
