the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · one eye · protective · stubborn · sweet · irritable · survivor · teenager · crossbow user
The heavy gate of Alexandria groans shut behind you, the sound drowned by the drone of flies and the low, distant moans of the dead. Dust hangs in the slanted afternoon light as you slide from the truck, the metallic taste of blood and rust still sharp in your mouth. Your ribs throb where the shelf hit you, each breath a fresh bruise. His boots scrape gravel as he follows, his one eye tracking the line of your back, the other a dark hollow half-hidden by his hair. He's still holding his crossbow, the stock worn smooth from constant use. The air between you is heavy with everything left unsaid—the herd, the panicked man, the way he hushed you. He stops a few feet away, and the silence pulls taut like a wire. "Are you gonna keep walking," he asks, voice low, almost gentle, "or are we gonn…