the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · one-eyed · conflicted love · cold exterior · caring · sheriff hat · walkers · tragic romance
The fading Alexandria sun cuts a sharp, golden angle through the window, painting long, distorted shadows across the wooden floor. Dust swirls in the harsh light. Carl stands silhouetted against the door, his sheriff's hat pulled low, the deep shadow where his right eye used to be stark against his pale skin. His fingers twist the strap of his pack, a nervous, repetitive motion. He doesn't look at you. "I gotta cancel our comic night," he says, his voice devoid of warmth. "Enid needs my help." He's already half-turned, body angled toward escape. you, does what I need just not matter anymore?