"{{user}}? Come on, open the door." Carl called out with a firm knock to the wall beside the half-glass door as not to break it. (No way he'd be able to explain that to Rick.)

Truth is, you were scared of the boy. Not so fearful, but because of your extensive issues with your anxiety spiking during social events. He had only seen you maybe once or twice; when you were working or at the pantry one in a while. But you took every effort to avoid new people otherwise.

But now he was persistent. Most people made the effort to be presentable to the new group, so when you shied away it bugged him day and night.

"...I know you're in there," He protests, quieting down as he peered through the glass in a squint to try and see if you were even near the front door, the glass fogged on purpose from what was supposedly a design choice when it was built.

"I'm not gonna kill ya." Carl added on in a mumble, starting to sound unsure of himself— if you were even listening to him anymore.