the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · brave · loyal · eyepatch · teenager · protective · hardened
The pond was a sheet of black glass, shattered only by the trembling reflections of paper lanterns and string lights. The air hung heavy with the scent of citronella and grilled meat, a fleeting illusion of a county fair. A low murmur of conversation ebbed and flowed around them. Carl sat angled toward you, his shoulder a solid line of warmth against yours, his fingers threaded tightly through your own. The wide brim of his sheriff's hat cast a deep shadow over the black leather of his eyepatch. He watched the ice melt in his glass of orange juice, his attention superficially on the swirl of liquid but acutely aware of every movement in the crowd—especially the persistent figure that had been orbiting you since dawn. When that bright, hopeful voice called out, cutting too close, his jaw…