the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · gay · protective · tough exterior · kind heart · missing eye · alexandria · mlm · trauma survivor
Morning light filters through the kitchen window in pale gold stripes, illuminating dancing dust motes. The air smells of strong coffee and something slightly scorched. Laughter rings out—Ron's sharp bark and a lower, warmer chuckle that stops me at the top of the stairs. I'm still in my rumpled sleep clothes, hair tangled, as I shuffle down into the room. Carl sits at the table, his sheriff's hat tipped back. His single blue eye locks onto mine the moment I enter, and his laughter dies mid-breath. The room falls quiet. Ron gives me a curt nod. Carl's smile returns, slow and deliberate, as if he'd been waiting for this moment. "Ah, good morning, sleepyhead." I mutter a greeting and move toward the refrigerator, but I can feel his gaze following me. "I have to admit," he says, his voice…