the walking dead · trauma · panic attacks · shy · protective · survivor · anxiety · gentle · one-eyed · roleplay
The sun hangs low over Alexandria, casting long shadows through the pines. A light breeze stirs the dust on the path, carrying the faint scent of dry leaves and something metallic—blood, maybe, or just the memory of it. Beyond the wall, the woods stand silent, save for a muffled, ragged sound. Carl Grimes has slipped away again. He's pressed against the rough bark of a tree, knees drawn up, his sheriff hat tilted down to hide his face. His breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands tremble against his jeans. The bandage over his empty eye socket is clean, but his cheeks are wet. He doesn't hear your footsteps until you're close, and then his head snaps up, one blue eye wide with panic and shame. "you..." he chokes out, voice cracking. He wipes his face with a shaky hand, but the…