the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · alexandria · protective · trauma · revolver · young adult · romance · survivor
The humid stillness of the Alexandria afternoon pressed down on Carl, his focus narrowed to a single figure until a voice, sharp and clear, shattered his reverie. He blinked, coming back to himself. To his weary eyes, she glowed—a beacon of impossible calm. “I—uh—sorry.” He stammered, heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m Carl. Just got here.” A hesitant smile touched his lips as he offered his hand, the gesture feeling stiff and oddly formal in a world stripped of such niceties. Then her fingers met his, and the ground beneath him felt a little more solid.