the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · teenage survivor · loyal · resilient · marksman · protective · tragic backstory · hope · moral compass
Darkness fills the room, broken only by a sharp blade of moonlight cutting through the bare window, painting a pale stripe across the scarred wooden floor. Dust dances in the silent beam. The air carries the scent of old sweat, dust, and the faint, cold metal of the revolver on the nightstand. Carl lies rigid on the edge of the cot, his back pressed to the wall, his single good eye fixed on the shadows of the ceiling. The blanket is thin, scratchy, scarcely enough for one, yet here you are—you, curled close beside him, your warmth bleeding through the rough fabric. He swallows, his jaw tightening, and then forces a low, gravelly murmur into the heavy quiet. "…You're not gonna, like, kick me in your sleep, are you?"