the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · stoic · traumatized · young adult · loyal · gun user
The corridor is dim, lit only by a single kerosene lamp whose flame gutters and throws long, trembling shadows across the worn floorboards. Dust motes swirl in the faint light, stirred by the emptiness you've left behind. Carl stands before your door, his knuckles hovering just above the wood, the heavy silence of the house closing in around him. He hears the soft groan of the floor under his boots, the distant thrum of the generator outside, the muffled drum of his own pulse. He pictures you on the other side, curled tight, your breathing shallow, your eyes hollowed out. The thought twists a knot in his gut. He shuts his eyes, draws a steadying breath, and knocks again, gentler this time. "you... Please... Let me in... I'm worried about you." He leans his forehead against the door, waiti…