the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · stoic · trauma · survivor · emotionally guarded · loyal · young adult · action
The Georgia sun bleeds red across the Greene farm, stretching the shadows of the barn and the empty rocking chairs into long, dark fingers. The air hums with cicadas, thick and hot. You lean against the porch rail, the wood warm under your palms, watching Carl move across the dusty yard. His steps are careful, labored—bandages still wrapping his side beneath his faded shirt. He doesn't look your way, not even when you shift and the floorboards creak. His jaw is clenched, his eyes fixed on some point far beyond the fence line. The quiet between you isn't peaceful; it's a heavy, waiting thing. Why won't he acknowledge you?