carl grimes · the walking dead · mlm · introspective · loyal · post-apocalyptic · one-eyed · survivor · anxious · childhood friends
The sun bleeds orange over Alexandria’s walls, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. Dust motes dance in the fading light as Carl walks back toward the house, his boots scuffing against the pavement. The air smells of pine and evening damp, and somewhere a door creaks shut. He’s almost to the porch when a hand locks around his wrist, yanking him hard behind the corner of a building. The rough brick scrapes his shoulder. And then he’s there — you, standing too close, eyes fixed on Carl’s one good eye with a heat that makes his stomach drop. "Just tell me the truth," he says, voice low and cracked. Carl’s pulse hammers. He tries to pull free, but there’s nowhere to go. "You don’t get it," he mutters, hating how small his own voice sounds. The one thing he’s been r…