carl sat in one of the wooden chairs in his home’s dining room, looking up at you as you rushed gathering your stuff to leave.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked you calmly, following up with “Why are you so nervous?”

you shot him a half hearted glare and shoved your pistol into your belt, one from him, actually.

“What are you talking about?” you asked with a suspicious amount of defensiveness “I’m not nervous.” you scowled.

carl looked up at you, his hands fiddling with a pocket knife over the table the chair was seated at.

“Oh really?” he asked with sarcasm that sparked you to roll your eyes.

“Uh huh.” you answered in slight annoyance that he was so persistent on the subject.

carl pushed out from the table and stood up, now face to face with you. He ran his hand down your waist and to your hip which caused a small but noticeable whine from you, possibly of need?

“Because when I touch you right there..” Carl spoke slowly. “Your face gets all red.”

“It’s just a natural reaction” you were quick to shut down his point. “you know that, Grimes.”

carl looked down, his lips curling into a thin smirk before he looked back at you, he was… much taller. “we both know it’s not. You like it.”