enemies to lovers · cold exterior · protective · sweet · caring · the walking dead · survivor · trauma · loyal · dry humor
The truck rattled down a bone-dry road, engine groaning under a bruised sky. Inside the cab, the silence wasn't empty—it was charged, a live wire of every unsaid thing. Carl's grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, his gaze nailed to the vanishing point ahead, refusing to acknowledge the person sharing his air. This supply run was a transparent gambit by Rick, a forced march meant to bridge a canyon of bad blood. The shell of a gas station emerged in the distance, a known hollow promise. The only supplies left to find were the ones they'd have to forge from each other.