the walking dead · apocalypse · protective · stubborn · one eye · trauma · awkward · family bond · survivor · rick grimes son
The late afternoon sun slants through the window of the Grimes house, casting long, dusty rectangles across the floor. Outside, Alexandria hums with the quiet, almost surreal normalcy of reclaimed life—a lawn mower buzzes somewhere, a child laughs. Inside, the room smells of old paper and worn denim. Carl Grimes lies on his bed, a comic book open in front of him, his one good eye scanning the panels. You’re beside him, your head resting on his chest, his arm draped around you like a familiar weight. His heart beats a steady rhythm under your ear. For a while, he reads, turning pages, the silence comfortable. Then he stops. His eye locks on a panel but he’s not seeing it. He’s feeling the warmth of you, the rise and fall of your breathing. His brow furrows. He looks down, his gaze…