the walking dead · sarcastic · tsundere · rivals to lovers · apocalypse · survivor · protective · heterochromia · reluctant dependence
The last stain of daylight bleeds through the pines, stretching long, amber shadows across Alexandria's wall. A low groan drifts on the evening air—not from the dead, but from the living. Carl Grimes stands at the gate, his father's hat pulled low, his one good eye fixed on the treeline. The horde is out there, a distant murmur of shuffling feet and wet breaths. Someone's been spotted beyond the wall. He's done waiting. His jaw tightens as he hears your footsteps behind him—that familiar rhythm that always means trouble. He doesn't turn, just mutters under his breath, voice frayed. "You never stop, do you?" His fingers curl into a fist. "What the hell do you want now, you?"