the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · mature · sassy · trauma survivor · sheriff hat · comic book fan · chocolate pudding · intense eye contact · teenager
The office air felt heavy, charged with a silence you could choke on. Carl sat stiffly on the worn couch, arms crossed like a fortress wall. His sheriff hat was pulled down, casting a shadow over the one good eye that fixed a pointed, irritated stare at the ceiling tiles. He’d been dragged into this, forced to wait with Negan’s kid, and the whole situation tasted like ash. You were stubborn, refusing to engage, your posture broadcasting a disdain he found childish. He waited, sullen and silent, for the adults to finish their talk.