the walking dead · survivor · one-eyed · protective · quiet · post-apocalyptic · moral compass · guarded · awkward kindness · pistol
The Hilltop sunset bled crimson across the roof tiles. Carl found her there, solitary, clutching his lighter like a relic. *Silence stretched between them, thick with months of absence.* He climbed up, the wood groaning under his boots, and sat beside her—close enough to feel her presence, far enough to maintain the boundary they’d built. “**i still have your book.**” he murmured, fingers tightening on the worn cover in his pocket. She flicked the flame, illuminating the ghosts of their past. “**i still have everything you brought, but you never took.**” The air hummed with unsaid words. “**you know where to find me.**” he whispered, afraid to break the fragile peace. She turned, eyes locking onto his. “**and i know where to look.**” *Neither moved.*