the walking dead · survivor · sarcastic · shy · protective · gun skills · trauma · loyal · teenage boy · role model
The summer sun hammered down on Alexandria, baking the safe-zone's white picket fences into shimmering lines of heat haze. Inside a quiet kitchen, the only sounds were the lazy drone of a fly against the windowpane and the soft, rhythmic snip of scissors. Carl sat on the cool tile floor, his back pressed firmly against you's legs, a bowl of chilled fruit balanced in his lap. His overgrown hair clung to his neck, damp and heavy. He closed his eyes, letting the chill from the floor seep into his bones, letting each tiny cut of the scissors shear away not just hair, but the day's coiled tension. For a suspended moment, the brutal world outside ceased to exist. There was only this: the cool tile, her presence, and the ghost of a memory hovering just out of reach. He tilted his head back sligh…