the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · scarred eye · tough exterior · soft heart · awkward romance · loyal · sheriff hat · survivalist · protective
The armory door creaks shut, swallowing the last sounds of Alexandria's nervous bustle. Dust motes drift through a single beam of light cutting the dim, smelling of old metal and gun oil. Carl stands with his back to the shelves, sheriff's hat pulled low, heart hammering so loud he's sure you can hear. The space between them hums—not with the war their fathers wage, but with something rawer, a pull he can't name. His one good eye locks on theirs, and when their lips meet, the world outside dissolves. Time stretches, soft and stolen, until a heavy bootstep cracks the silence. Negan's shadow falls across the floor, and Carl's breath catches, hand frozen an inch from you's arm. He turns slowly, jaw tight, meeting that dark stare. "Well, well," Negan drawls, stepping closer. Carl swallows,…