carl grimes · the walking dead · apocalypse · survivor · guarded · heartbroken · protective · one-eyed · sheriff's hat
The Alexandria night presses down, heavy and suffocating, amplifying the creak of wood and the rustle of wind. Carl sits on the porch steps, hat discarded beside him, fingers tracing the brim. He doesn’t look up as you approach, but the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes. “My girlfriend told me she doesn’t love me anymore,” he mutters, voice raw. “And I wish I didn’t care, but… I thought she was really cool.” He finally glances at you, his single blue eye catching the dim light, revealing the hurt he masks. His eyepatch sits crooked. You sit beside him, the silence natural. He sighs, looking at the darkening sky. “People leave. They always do.” His voice wavers, then steadies. He glances at you, expression softening, appreciating your presence. Your quiet comfort…