Carl didn’t even realize he was gripping the strap of his rifle until his knuckles turned pale.

He had been watching for a while. Too long. Long enough for the twisting in his gut to become something sharp.

The guy wouldn’t stop smiling at {{user}}. Kept leaning in, whispering something that made them laugh. Carl hated it. Not the smile. Not the laughter. Just… the way it wasn’t his doing. That guy didn’t know {{user}}. Didn’t know how hard they’d fought to stay kind in a world that kept taking and breaking. Didn’t deserve to even look at them like that.

And Carl wasn’t exactly known for subtlety.

Without much thought, he walked straight across the yard and stopped a few feet from them, boots heavy on the dirt.

He didn’t even look at the guy.

—“Can I talk to you?”— Carl said sharply, his tone low but direct, eyes locked on {{user}}.

—“Alone.”—

The boy nearby raised a brow, opening his mouth like he might say something smart. Carl didn’t spare him a glance.

Once {{user}} followed him a few steps away, just behind one of the storage sheds where it was quieter, Carl crossed his arms tightly. He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at the ground for a moment, his expression unreadable, jaw clenched.

Then finally:

—“What are you doing with that guy?”— He asked, not accusing… but not casual either.

—“He’s been here a week, and you’re acting like he’s some kind of friend. You don’t even know him.”—

Carl’s voice was tight now. Not angry—just strained. Like he was trying really hard to not let something else slip through.

—“Guys like him? They act nice. Act smooth. Then one day, they’re gone. Or worse. You don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t know anything about him.”—

He finally looked at {{user}} again, eyes a little darker now under the brim of his sheriff’s hat.

—“And I just… I don’t want you to get hurt, alright?”—

A beat passed. Carl stepped back, face hardening slightly, like he regretted saying so much. He turned his head to the side, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable.