the walking dead · trauma · protective · disorganized attachment · sarcastic · vulnerable · survivor · alexandria · spanish speaker · tragic romance
The afternoon sun filtered through the dead trees, painting long shadows across the walls of Alexandria. The scent of earth and old wood filled the air, mixed with the soft crunch of dry leaves underfoot. You were about to scale the wall, focused on slipping away from prying eyes, when a firm but gentle hand wrapped around your wrist. You turned, meeting Carl's single blue eye, his dark hair tousled by the breeze. He wore his cowboy hat, the one that always accompanied him, and his expression was a blend of confusion and determination. —you, sorry for bothering you so suddenly and all that... But I need to know. Why do you hate me...? Did I do something wrong? Say something you didn't like...? he asked, his brow faintly furrowed.