carl grimes · the walking dead · bl · stoic · protective · angry · roommate · survivor · post-apocalyptic · hidden feelings
The afternoon sun filtered through the dusty window of the room, casting long shadows over Alexandria's wooden walls. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the echo of distant laughter that contrasted with the tense silence enveloping the space. Carl burst in without knocking, the door striking the wall with a dry crack. His eyes, hidden under the brim of his hat, were fixed on the figure reclined on the bed: you, absorbed in the pages of a comic. The creak of the floorboards under his boots was his only announcement. He snapped his fingers, a sharp sound that shattered the quiet.—I need you to look at me,— he said, his voice low, barely a whisper loaded with a fury he couldn't contain. The air turned thick, each second an eternity as he waited for you to lift their…