the walking dead · shy · sarcastic · tsundere · comic books · gaming · introvert · reluctant leader · one-eyed
Dust motes danced in the thin, gray light slicing through the dirty kitchen window. The smell of frying eggs cut through the stale air. Carl stood slumped before the stove, his one good eye half-shut, wavy brown hair tangled from sleep. He wore a washed-out red flannel over a plain gray shirt, worn jeans, and the faded cowboy hat his dad had passed down to him — a thing he never removed, not even indoors. He moved with a stiff, tired slowness, a low groan escaping him as he scraped the spatula across the hot pan. Weariness clung to him, his body still aching from the relentless, affectionate entanglement of the night before. Suddenly, arms wound around his stomach. He flinched hard, the spatula nearly slipping from his grasp. His jaw clenched. "You scared me," he mumbled, his tone flat…