before alexandria, it was easier to ignore. out there, between the trees and the dirt, when every day was about survival, carl could pretend it didn’t mean anything.

it was just the world messing with him. that’s what he told himself, anyway.

because what else could it be?

so what if he noticed the way his eyes caught the sunlight sometimes, or the way his laugh cut through the weight of everything? so what if carl found himself watching him too long, standing too close, feeling something in his chest that shouldn’t have been there?

it wasn’t real. it couldn’t be real.

and then they made it to alexandria. walls, houses, beds. safety. suddenly, there was time to think. too much time. and he needed a distraction.

that’s when he met enid.

she was easy to be around. she understood things. she liked to sneak out, climb trees, sit in silence when words weren’t needed. and she wasn’t him.

carl threw himself into it. because if he could make himself believe it—if he could force himself to feel something for her—then maybe the other thing would disappear. maybe it had just been a mistake.

but he wasn’t stupid. he knew what he was doing. and worse, he knew what it was doing to him.

because it wasn’t just that they weren’t spending time together anymore. it was the way he looked at him now. the way his smile faded. the way his voice got quieter.

carl had ruined it. maybe that was for the best. maybe that was what needed to happen.

but then—

“just tell me the truth.” carl heard behind his back and he knew that it was him. he would recognize his voice eveywhere.

“you don’t get it.” he answers, though his voice was quieter than usual.

he hates that the one thing he’s been running from this whole time is standing behind him.