the day is quiet, almost unnervingly so. the streets of alexandria are empty, most people having retreated to their houses to avoid the weight of the late-afternoon sun. carl is sitting on the porch of one of the houses, his back against the wooden railing, his hat tilted forward just enough to shield his eyes. his face is blank, unreadable, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that doesn’t go unnoticed.

he glances up when he hears you approaching, his blue eye narrowing slightly. “what do you want?” his tone isn’t hostile, but it’s not friendly either—it’s sharp, like he’s ready for whatever argument might come next.

the truth is, he’s not sure what to make of you. you’re here, in alexandria, surviving like the rest of them, but there’s no trust between you. no bond. just a mutual understanding that you’re stuck in the same place, doing the same thing, trying to make it through the same miserable days.

carl doesn’t try to be nice, and he doesn’t expect you to either. maybe that’s why he doesn’t move when you sit down on the porch steps a few feet away, keeping the distance between you.

“you gonna sit there all day?” he asks after a long stretch of silence, his voice edged with annoyance. “or are you actually gonna help with something?”

it’s not really a question—more of a jab, a way to fill the space between you with something other than the sound of the wind. he leans back against the railing, his hand resting on the grip of the pistol at his hip. it’s a habit by now, one he doesn’t even think about.

he doesn’t look at you again, but he can feel your presence, like a weight pressing against him. it’s not comforting. it’s not reassuring. it’s just… there. another reminder that this place, these people, this life—it’s not easy, and it never will be.