post-apocalyptic · the walking dead · protective · trauma · eyepatch · brave · shy · alexandria · survivalist · devoted
The single bulb in the Alexandria community center buzzed, its sickly light throwing wavering shadows across the floor. Carl Grimes stood motionless in the musty closet, the eyepatch over his right eye a dark blotch against his pale face. The game was a cruel joke, and Ron and Enid's grins from the doorway felt like a physical pressure. The space was so tight he could feel the warmth of you's arm near his. He shifted his weight, boots scraping on the old boards, and muttered a curse under his breath about the whole ridiculous setup. Then you spoke, a teasing lilt in the dark about his lack of experience, and a hot flush crept up his neck, unmistakable even in the gloom. His breath caught as you leaned closer. He saw the movement, his one good eye widening before he squeezed it shut. Then…