The Lucky One//twd

021. Too Late to Undo

Madison's POV

The door creaked open. Glenn didn't say a word—just looked at me with this hollow, exhausted expression that made my stomach drop. His eyes weren't angry anymore. Just... done.

That was worse.

"Glenn..." My voice cracked as I took a step into the room. He didn't stop me, but he didn't move either.

He looked like he hadn't blinked in a while.

"You don't have to say anything," I offered quietly. "But I just—I need to say I'm sorry."

He didn't respond. Just stared through me.

"I didn't mean for that to happen," I went on, heart pounding. "I was drunk and I was stupid and—God, I'm not trying to make excuses, I just—I messed up. And I hate myself for it."

Still nothing.

"I'm not even sure what I feel right now," I said, biting back tears. "But I know I never wanted to hurt you."

He turned away. That single movement felt like a knife in my chest.

"Glenn," I whispered. "Please."

He didn't slam the door in my face, but he may as well have. He stepped back into the shadows, sank onto the edge of the cot, and stared at the wall.

The silence said everything.

I stepped out of his room with a weight in my chest that made it hard to breathe.

⸻

I didn't know where I was going. My feet carried me through sterile white hallways that buzzed with fluorescent light and the low hum of distant generators. The CDC had become a mausoleum. Quiet and cold and full of regrets.

I ended up outside the main common room, where a few stragglers were cleaning up the remains of whatever passed as our "celebration." Shane was arguing with someone in the corner. Lori was pretending not to notice. Dale was trying too hard to smile.

None of it mattered.

I walked past them, through another corridor, until I found Blake leaning against a wall near the lab doors. He looked like hell. Hair mussed, jaw tight, arms folded across his chest. He didn't look surprised to see me.

"You talked to him," he said. Not a question.

I nodded.

"And?"

"I think I broke something I can't fix."

He didn't gloat. Didn't smirk. Just looked at me with those goddamn eyes that made me feel things I didn't want to admit.

"You okay?" he asked.

I almost laughed. "No. Not even close."

He took a step closer, slow and deliberate, like he was giving me the chance to run.

But I didn't.

"Tell me to walk away," he said softly. "And I will."

I stared at him. My heart was still thudding from the conversation, from the guilt, from everything I'd just thrown away. My brain was screaming at me to be smart.

But my body was already leaning into him.

"I can't," I whispered.

That was all it took.

His hands found my waist, pulling me to him like I was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. He kissed me like he'd been holding back for weeks—like he didn't care who saw anymore. I clutched at his shirt, curling into him as the kiss deepened, my body desperate to feel something besides regret.

The walls around us felt like they disappeared. There was no CDC, no apocalypse, no fallout. Just Blake. Just this.

He pulled back first, breathing hard. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here."

I hesitated. "We can't—"

"Not tonight. Just... when we leave. Come with me."

He meant it.

I could see it in the way he looked at me. Like I was more than a mistake. Like I could still be something worth saving.

"I don't know if I deserve that," I whispered.

"Doesn't matter. I want you anyway."