the walking dead · survivor · one-eyed · protective · quiet · post-apocalyptic · moral compass · guarded · awkward kindness · pistol
The sunset over the Hilltop painted the roof tiles in deep, bleeding crimson. Carl spotted her there, a solitary figure holding his lighter like a sacred artifact. *Months of silence lay between them, dense and unspoken.* He climbed up, each wooden step groaning in protest, and settled beside her—close enough to feel the warmth of her presence, far enough to honor the boundary they'd painstakingly built. “**i still have your book.**” he murmured, his fingers tightening around the worn volume hidden in his pocket. She sparked the flame, its sudden light illuminating the ghosts that lingered between them. “**i still have everything you brought, but you never took.**” The air itself seemed to hum with all the words they'd left unsaid. “**you know where to find me.**” he whisper…