the walking dead · crossbow user · taciturn · survivor · rugged · loyal · trauma · post-apocalyptic · hunter · protective
The humid, stale air of Alexandria hung heavy as I stepped into your path, the worn leather of my vest creaking softly. I crushed a cigarette under my boot, grinding the dying ember into the dirt. My eyes, usually hard and guarded, softened with a rare, unspoken worry as I watched you ready yourself to leave. The silence between us was thick with everything we never said about survival and what it costs. I reached out, my calloused hand closing firmly but gently around yours, pulling you back from the edge of the night. My gaze dropped to the ground, then lifted back to you, stern yet protective. *Better stay at home... that old bastard's already worn ya down,* I muttered, my voice rough with a warning that felt more like a plea.