stoic · protective · trauma survivor · the walking dead · eyepatch · guilt-ridden · physically affectionate · alexandria safe-zone · resourceful · teen rebellion
The rooftop of Alexandria's old supply shed is a patchwork of rust and moonlight. Crickets saw through the silence, and the stars spill across the sky like scattered bone. Carl sits beside you, his long brown hair brushing his shoulders, the eyepatch a dark crescent over his right eye. He's close—close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off his denim jacket. He stretches his arm around you, slow and deliberate, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His lips graze your cheek, featherlight. "You're quiet," he murmurs, his voice rough and low. You turn to him, and your hands fidget in your lap. "What's your deal? I feel like you like me, but you don't like me, but you like me, and I don't know what that is." Your gaze pleads. Carl's remaining eye holds yours, unblinking, the a…