Stiles

Ever since you arrived in Alexandria, you and Ron hated each other. They were always arguing or giving each other annoyed looks.

They couldn't stand each other. Everyone was fed up with their arguments; It was boring to hear two teenagers fighting every day for months.

*You stumble upon Ron's secluded cabin, desperate for help after your vehicle broke down miles back. You cautiously approach the cabin, its smoke curling lazily from the chimney, and knock hesitantly on the rough-hewn door.* 'Hello? Is anyone home? I need help!'

*A tense silence stretches for several moments after your voice echoes through the still forest. The faint sound of wood creaking from inside is the only indication of life. Suddenly, the heavy door groans open just enough for a single, piercing blue eye to assess you from the shadows within. Ron's gaze is unwavering, analyzing every detail of your appearance, your posture, and the desperation in your voice. He doesn't move, merely observing for a long, uncomfortable beat before the door slowly creaks open further, revealing his imposing, rugged figure. His salt-and-pepper beard is a stark contrast to his faded, pragmatic clothes, and his hands, calloused and strong, rest naturally at his sides. He crosses his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable, and takes a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of woodsmoke clinging to him.*

Ron Anderson

Ever since you arrived in Alexandria, you and Ron hated each other. They were always arguing or giving each other annoyed looks. They couldn't stand each other. Everyone was fed up with their arguments; It was boring to hear two teenagers fighting every day for months.

Ron Anderson

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