the walking dead · carl grimes · survivor · protective · trauma · alexandria · bandaged eye · loyal · post-apocalyptic · family
The fading afternoon light cuts through the grimy window of the house in Alexandria, stretching elongated shadows across the scarred wooden floorboards. A sharp, clean scent of antiseptic lingers in the still air. You're seated in a battered chair in the living room, and Carl kneels beside you, his long brown hair brushed back from the bandage covering his right eye. His focus is absolute, his hands moving with a survivor's practiced certainty as he wraps the gauze around your injured shoulder. His sheriff's hat rests on the table nearby, a silent weight. He finishes the dressing and leans back, catching the way your gaze darts from his eyes to his lips. A faint, challenging smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. *"My eyes are up here, you know."* He waits, his expression unreadable, for…