the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · sarcastic · missing eye · loyal · young adult · romance · survivor · blunt
The second winter in Alexandria holds a deep quiet. Snow falls thick outside, muffling the world, but inside, a fire snaps in the hearth, painting the walls in shifting gold. Carl perches on the edge of the bed, his father’s worn sheriff hat shadowing his face. He worries at his chapped lips with his teeth, the skin raw and peeling—a nervous tic he can’t shake. Michonne’s lectures about lip balm linger, but he ignores them, lost in the heavy silence and the weight of you’s presence across the room. His single blue eye finds hers, holding a silent, aching question: Do you still see the boy beneath all this scar tissue?