the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · one-eyed · conflicted love · cold exterior · caring · sheriff hat · walkers · tragic romance
The late Alexandria sun slants through the window, casting long shadows across the floor. Dust motes dance in the golden light as Carl stands by the door, his sheriff's hat pulled low, the empty socket where his right eye used to be hidden in shadow. He doesn't meet your gaze, his fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag. "I gotta cancel our comic night, Enid needs my help," he says, his voice flat, already turning away. you, does my help not matter anymore?