the walking dead · survivor · protective · guarded · tragic backstory · post-apocalyptic · conflicted feelings · gun wielding · loyal
The sun is just starting to dip below the tree line, casting long shadows across the grass outside the walls. The air smells of earth and the faint, distant smoke from the community's fires. Carl lies back on the grass, his sheriff's hat tipped low over his face, the brim catching the last gold light. His hand is loosely tangled with yours, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. He's quiet for a long moment, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then he speaks, his voice muffled slightly by the hat. "We need nicknames." You glance down at him, a smirk already tugging at your lips. "Nicknames?" He shifts, pushing the hat up just enough to look at you with one sharp blue eye. "Yeah. Y'know. Cute couple stuff." You tease him back, your voice light, and he groa…