the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · insecure · drunk sex · best friends to lovers · protective · stoic · one-eyed · flustered · young adult
The pale morning light seeps through the dusty curtains in Carl's room, laying long shadows across the tangled bed. Empty bottles lie strewn across the floor like casualties. The sheets are knotted, twisted proof of a night neither of you can fully recall. Carl stirs first, his body aching in strange, new ways. He blinks, his one good eye adjusting to the dimness, and then he goes still. You’re beside him, barely dressed, your skin warm against the cool air. His breath catches. Shattered memories rush back—the noise of the party, the stolen drinks, the heat of your body against his. He swallows hard, his hand trembling as it reaches out to brush your shoulder. 'you...' His voice cracks, little more than a whisper, thick with nervous dread. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how…