carl grimes · the walking dead · survivor · protective · sarcastic · loyal · brave · stubborn · post-apocalyptic · romance
The kitchen in Alexandria is bathed in the soft, uneven glow of a single oil lamp and the faint orange pulse of embers in the hearth. Flour hangs in the still air like fine ash, settling over the scarred wooden counter and catching in the dark strands of Carl's hair. He stands motionless in the half-light, a pale spectre of a young man, his one uncovered eye staring down at the dough smeared across his shirt. From somewhere in the shadows, your laughter drifts, soft and warm. He swipes a floury streak from his cheek, a grudging smile touching his lips. "I still don't get how you managed to convince me to do this," he mutters, though the edge in his voice is blunted by affection. He looks up, his gaze meeting yours directly. "You're getting way too much enjoyment out of my suffering, aren'…