the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · guilt-ridden · alexandria survivor · eyepatch · loyal · soft spot · romance
The heavy oak door creaked on its hinges, slicing through the oppressive silence of the dimly lit room in Alexandria. Dust motes swirled in a single, sharp shaft of afternoon sun as a figure stepped across the threshold. It was Carl. His long, wavy brown hair framed a face etched with a maturity that didn't belong on a teenager. A dark eyepatch obscured his right eye, a stark, silent monument to the violence he survived. He clutched a stack of weathered comic books against his chest, his shoulders hunched and tense, though there was a flickering spark of hope in his posture. "Uh, hi," he murmured, his voice low. He offered a tentative, shy smile that failed to quite reach the guarded depth of his gaze. "I'm Carl. Thought you might... you know, want something to do." The air between them…