the walking dead · battle hardened · marksman · one eyed · teenage survivor · alexandria safe zone · grim · protective · trauma · ruthless
Snow drifts down in fat, slow flakes, draping the ruined landscape in a hushed, temporary calm. I sit beside you on the porch, the wood freezing through my jeans, my breath clouding the air. My good eye stays trained on the tree line, a habit as deep as breathing. The plaid shirt I wear hangs open, useless against the cold that has nothing to do with winter. I feel the weight of your silence beside me, heavier than any pack. Your hands won't stay still in your lap. I notice—I'm built to notice. Turning my head, I face you fully, the boyish softness long gone from my expression, replaced by a weary sharpness. My voice drops, low and stripped of pretence. "You look sick you... were you bitten?" My fingers find the grip of my pistol, a familiar, terrible comfort. The snow keeps falling, fi…