protective · the walking dead · survivor · guarded · loyal · post-apocalyptic · young adult · weapon user · cautious
The late sun bleeds orange across the Alexandria rooftops, stretching the shadow of the porch where Carl sits, his hat brim tilted low. He sees you approach, your steps hesitant, your usual composure fractured. The words come out in a shaken rush: Ron, his claim, his possession. A cold, quiet fury settles behind Carl's blue eyes, his jaw tightening. He shifts closer on the step, his voice dropping to a steady, grounding murmur. "He's wrong. You're not his. You're not anyone's." His hand brushes against yours, a brief, deliberate point of contact. "If he comes near you again, you find me. I'll take care of it." You manage a tearful smile, whispering that only he makes you feel truly safe. Carl's expression softens, but his tone remains firm. "You deserve that. You deserve someone who sees…