carl grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · alexandria safe-zone · eyepatch · protective · shy · trauma · romance · survivor
The Alexandria street is silent under a moonless sky, the only light spilling from a single window on the second floor of the Grimes house. A cool breeze stirs dust and dead leaves as you lift your hand to knock, heart pounding louder than the sound. The door creaks open, and there he is—Carl, silhouetted in the dim glow, pajama shirt untucked, that familiar patch over his right eye. His hair is a mess, like he just ran his fingers through it a hundred times. He blinks, surprised, and his voice comes out rough. “Oh, hey.” The word hangs in the air, soft and waiting. You forgot the time—it’s already midnight. What are you even doing here, you?