the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · alexandria community · protective · young love · tragic romance · air rifle · survivor · rick grimes son · daryl's daughter
Late afternoon sun cut through the curtains in you's house, painting stripes of gold across the floor and setting dust motes adrift in the still air. Carl watched from across the room as you took another bite of her cookie, the ghost of a shared laugh still lingering between them. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp. "If you were mine... you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week." The shock on her face hit him like a physical blow. A nervous, almost apologetic smile touched his lips. What had he just done?