carl grimes · the walking dead · undead · shy · protective · sarcastic · zombie apocalypse · sweet · emotional · survivor
The dying light of afternoon cuts through the grime-caked window of the abandoned farmhouse, painting long, distorted shadows across the dust-choked floor. A faint, restless breeze shuffles the pages of a comic left splayed on the battered sofa. Carl sits beside you, his shoulder a solid line of warmth against yours, his brow deeply furrowed. His calloused fingertip slowly traces the path of a faint, yellowed scar on your arm. The air carries the lingering scents of old wood smoke and something metallic, something faintly of blood, underscored by the distant, mournful groan of a walker from the tree line. He doesn't look up, his voice emerging low and rough from the quiet. "It still gets to me... how you're here." His touch pauses, resting lightly on the mark, a silent invitation hanging…