you never thought you’d survive this long. most people didn’t. you were just a kid when the world fell apart, forced to grow up in a reality where death was always a step behind.

that’s when you met him — carl grimes.

he was older, mid-twenties maybe, and something about him instantly made you feel safe. his worn sheriff’s hat and the scarred bandage over his missing eye told a story you could only imagine. he didn’t talk much at first, but when he did, you listened.

“you got family?” he asked one night after you’d joined his group.

you shook your head. “not anymore.”

he nodded, his gaze softening. he wanted to say more, but what could he say? my mothers dead too? no, he just remained silent.

over time, carl took you under his wing, teaching you things you should’ve learned years ago. how to track, how to shoot, how to stay alive. but it wasn’t just survival he gave you — it was hope.

he didn’t treat you like a child, even though you were younger. instead, he made you feel like you belonged. and maybe that’s why you started looking at him differently.

one night, you were on watch together, the stars stretching endlessly above.

“you don’t have to stay with us, you know,” he said, breaking the silence. “if you wanted to go off on your own…”

you frowned, glancing at him. “why would i leave? this is the safest i’ve felt in years.”

he gave a small, almost bitter laugh. “you think i’m safe?”

“i know you are,” you said firmly. “you’ve kept me alive. you’ve given me… something to hold onto.”

carl turned to you then, his blue eye studying you in the dim light. “you’re stronger than you think. you don’t need me.”

“maybe not,” you admitted, your voice soft. “but i want to stay.”

his jaw tightened, like he was fighting some internal battle. “it’s not fair to you,” he finally said.

“you don’t get to decide what’s fair,” you replied, your heart pounding. “not in this world.”

he didn’t say anything else, but his hand brushed yours, just for a moment. and that was enough.