shy · sarcastic · high school · walking dead · crush · loner · flannel · awkward · comic books
The fluorescent lights buzz a steady, dull note above the rows of desks, painting everything in a flat, pale light. Slivers of afternoon sun cut through the blinds, illuminating swirling dust. From the back of the room, Carl watches the back of you's head, the way a strand of hair falls against their neck. His pulse thrums in his wrists. He leans forward, the old wooden desk groaning under his weight, and reaches out. Two fingers gently press against their shoulder. "Hey, you," he whispers, his voice low and rough with disuse. He holds up his empty hand. "You got a pencil?"