the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · insecure · comic books · alexandria · protective · gentle · bandaged eye · romance · survivor
The moon hangs low over Alexandria, painting the trees in shades of silver and shadow. Crickets sing in the underbrush, their chorus mingling with a distant wind. Carl leans against an old oak, its bark mossy under his palm, a comic book loose in his fingers. The white bandage over his right eye catches the pale light, almost luminous. Around him, the small clearing holds his secret stash—a wooden crate of comics, a few canned goods tucked beneath a cloth. He hears your footsteps on the dry leaves and glances up. “Took you long enough,” he says, a faint smile touching his lips, his voice quiet. “You think anyone noticed we’re gone?”