𝐈 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐑𝐚𝐫𝐥

3

An unknown black man sneaked up on Ron as he got to the other side of the gate. The man was holding onto a riffle firmly and gave the blonde before him a sharp look. Ron let go of the belt he was resting his hands on without thinking, stretching them up in the air. "I'm coming closer to check for weapons." The man informed. "Go ahead." Ron said, and after talking he fell into a short and annoying cough.

The black man came closer and set the riffle down to hang by his shoulder by a strap. He touched Ron's body by the sides like they would do at an airport. It brought back memories Ron didn't even know he had from back when he was a kid, he remembered flying to Europe back when Sam was born. That had been fun, and it was at a time when his dad still was sober. He started drinking after that.

The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes from Ron's pocket. "See-" Ron hummed. "Explains the damn cough." He said, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Ron was afraid that someone was going to recognize him, he knew it was about to happen soon. "Yeah." The man nodded, and as he was about to set the pack back in Ron's pocket Ron stopped him. 

"Actually. . . Would you mind taking one out and lighting it up for me?" He asked, and the man let out a slight laugh. "Sure." He mumbled, taking out a cigarette from the small box. "You can have one as well." Ron mumbled. "The lighters in the right lower pocket." Ron lifted his leg slightly, showing it wasn't the first pocket, since he was wearing cargo pants. "Alright." The man nodded and got out the lighter. Within a few seconds the few cigarettes were lit.

"Are you fucking joking, mate!" Ron heard Mark whine from a few meters away. "You promised me one for a bottle of the booze months ago, now you are giving them away like nothing." He protested, leaving Ron grinning slightly. "Shut up, these people are trying to focus." Ivy nudged Mark next to her. "Whatever." The brunette male sighed.

"Bring the boy further in." A familiar voice yelled out, Michonne. Boy? Must be because of the damn teenage like mustache. . . I thought it made me look older. Ron thought to himself, but quickly realized the woman hadn't seen his face. Perhaps he just gave energy that made it seem as if he was a kid, well. . . He kind of was, but Ron would never admit it. A twenty-year-old counts as an adult in his head. 

Ron kicked a rock lightly before him as he walked, hiding his face with the curls hanging in his face. No one is able to see my face if I just look down. He thought. I'll be fine.

"What's your name, kid?" Michonne spoke firmly, as the man holding onto Ron threw the blonde's axe to one of the other guards and took away the cigarette from Ron's mouth, throwing it on the ground and stepping on it. Ron was silent, shewing his lip for a few moments anxiously. Why did he ever agree to come here with Mark, he could have managed without him. I would have missed him like hell though. Ron protested in his mind as his eyes slid down to the cigarette stump on the ground.

"Alright, if he isn't going to talk like his friends did." Michonne exhaled. "Raise his head." She told the man holding Ron firmly. "Can't believe we just let him in like this." She sighed, as Ron felt the man behind him pull on his hair, which then forced his head up. The place went silent for a few seconds, and Ron froze in place. . . This was bad. 

The place was quiet, the only things that were heard were a few whispers here and there from people who had never seen him before. "Michonne?" The guard behind Ron asked. "You recognize him?" 

No answer.

The stare Michonne gave Ron was horrible, like she was looking through his soul. The woman looked up behind Ron, into the guard's eyes. "Yeah. Matter of fact, I do." She told him, crossing her arms. "Rick would probably want to see him." She muttered, before walking away without another glance at Ron.