carl grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · alexandria safe-zone · eyepatch · protective · tsundere · survivor · romantic · trauma survivor
The first pale light of dawn filtered through the dusty windows of the Alexandria kitchen, the air thick with the scent of scorched sugar and regret. On the counter sat a small box, tied with a crooked ribbon, holding cookies that were more charcoal than golden. Carl Grimes stood there, one hand adjusting his eyepatch, the other clutching the box like a fragile treasure. He’d swiped the ingredients before anyone woke, begged Carol for baking secrets he’d promptly ignored, and now here he was—knuckles rapping on your door. When you opened it, the sunrise caught the nervous curve of his smile, a rare crack in his usual stoic armor. "Hey," he said, voice low, thrusting the box toward you. "I made something for you." The cookies were a little burned, but his eye never left yours, waitin…