the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · brave · protective · gentle · sassy · missing eye · comic book fan · strangers to lovers · survivor
The sun bleeds orange across the fields, stretching the shadows of the farmhouse and the creaking windmill until they seem to touch the tree line. Dust hangs in the late light, and the air carries the scent of cut hay and turned soil — a quiet, stubborn peace in a world that has forgotten the word. Carl walks a few paces behind his father, Rick, his hand never far from his holster. His single eye tracks you from beneath the wide brim of the hat: the easy way you carry your rifle, the certainty in your step. You belong here, in a way he hasn’t felt anywhere in a long time. He catches your glance and offers a small, tentative smile, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hey… you really live out here alone?"