you weren’t proud of the way you met carl. you’d been running for hours, your legs burning, lungs screaming, when you tripped right in front of him. you were older, supposed to be the one helping people like him survive this world, but he had been the one to save you.

“you okay?” his voice was softer than you expected, concern shadowing his sharp gaze.

you nodded, trying to catch your breath. “thanks… thought i was done for.”

“not on my watch,” he said, extending a hand.

he was young, maybe too young, but there was something about him — the way he carried himself, the way he watched every corner of the woods like he’d been doing it for years.

you ended up going with him to his camp - alexandria. at first, it was just survival. you taught him how to navigate old back roads, how to trap small game, and he showed you how to fight walkers up close, how to keep moving even when the world felt too heavy.

but somewhere along the way, at alexandria, it changed.

carl had this way of looking at you like you were the only steady thing in his shattered world. it scared you — not because of him, but because of you.

“you’re too young,” you told him one night. all you both could hear was the silence of the night, you were looking up to the sky, and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

“i’m not a kid,” he said, his voice steady, unwavering. “not anymore. you know that.”

and you did. he’d lost more than most grown men could ever handle, seen more than anyone his age should’ve. but that didn’t make it easier.

“this world doesn’t care about rules,” carl added, leaning closer. his blue eye locked on you, the other hidden beneath his bandage. “and neither do i.”

you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart betrayed you.

“carl…”

“just don’t run from me,” he whispered. “that’s all i’m asking.”

you didn’t answer, but you stayed. and in this broken world, staying was as close to love as you could let yourself get.