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Carl stares at himself in the mirror and sighs. He runs his hands through his shoulder-length hair, tossing it into several different styles before simply leaving it how it always is. It’s not like you have anyone to impress, he thinks. He turns away from the glass and rummages through his dresser. Even though he’s been at Alexandria for nearly two years now, he still doesn’t have much in his wardrobe besides flannels and a graphic tee or two. He dreads going to this party because he knows he’ll be the only one there, besides Daryl, that still dresses like he’s outside the walls.
He doesn’t know what the point of a New Years party even is, especially because it could be March for all they know. But Carol said that they had to try to embrace normalcy so Rick and Michonne are now forcing him to go. He tried faking sick, he tried offering to watch Judith, he tried every excuse he had but they ignored every one. “You aren’t sick, Carl, you were begging to go to Ron’s house just an hour ago.” Michonne told him.
That's the one thing he had to look forward to tonight; Ron. And who knows, maybe if he was lucky, Enid would be there too. So begrudgingly, he puts on the one clean flannel he has and trudges downstairs. He finds Rick sitting at the bottom of the steps, scratching at the back of his neck as if deep in thought. “Dad?”
“Carl.” Rick stands, his hair is damp from showering and he’s freshly shaved. He smells distinctly of pine. “I know you didn’t wanna come tonight, but I appreciate you doing this for me. For us.”
Carl nods as he grabs his beat up Carhartt jacket from the railing. “I just don’t get why we’re celebrating a holiday.”
“It’s not about New Years. It’s about…” Rick bends down slightly to get eye level with Carl and takes a pause to plan out his next few words “It’s about what we’ve got. Carol might tell you otherwise, you know how she is. But haven’t you seen this place, Carl? Crops, community, safety. We’re building a new world. A world where you’ll get to grow old and have kids of your own. You’ll have a house and a wife and you won’t have to worry about the things you worry about today.”
Rick drops his head, the corners of his lips suggest a smile. “Or a husband.”
“Dad!” He can’t help but laugh at the way his dad mutters the word husband.
His father takes a step back and raises his hands guiltily. “I’ve seen the way you look at that Ron boy.” Rick smiles in a way that makes Carl forget all about whatever was concerning him.
Carl’s face is a bright shade of red, he hides it in his hands and feels the warmth of his cheeks against his palms. “Whatever you say.”
It’s weird to hear his dad say Ron’s name, especially since that's a part of his life he tries to keep private. The idea of having a husband leaves an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Getting married isn’t something he thought he’d be able to do, and Rick implying that he could marry Ron isn’t something he thought of at all. He knows that he and Ron are much more than friends. But husbands? Boyfriends? The officiality of it all makes him dizzy. He sits down on the couch and watches Judith play with Denise as he continues to reflect on his fathers words.
Neither him nor Ron had ever brought anything like that up, and he didn’t think either of them ever would. The closest they had ever gotten was a month or two ago when they had snuck out together. Ron stole a couple beers from his parents and the two of them shared them as they sat by the pond. They laid on their backs and stared up at the stars, Carl remembers how the moonlight made Ron look like a painting.
After they finished their beers they walked back to Carl’s house together. Ron, the drunker one out of the two, had started talking about how he hated everything. He said he hated his dad and how violent he got when he was angry, and he hated his mom for letting his dad get so violent. He ranted about how he hated the sound of walkers clawing at the walls and how he wished everything could just go back to normal. Carl made a stupid joke about how much he was saying the word hate and that made him pause. The entire night was a blur but Carl remembered how Ron’s tone shifted when he said “I don't hate everything, man. I don’t hate you, I love you.”
It was silent for the rest of the walk home and neither of them brought it up the next morning. Carl brushed it off and told himself he probably only said that because he was drunk. But when it gets late at night, when he’s the only person in his house that’s still awake and even the dead have quieted down, he thinks of Ron’s words and asks himself if maybe they were true. He knows that Ron wears a mask when he’s sober and that it slips off when he drinks, he also knows that drunk words are sober thoughts, or whatever the saying was.
He quickly puts an end to that train of thought. He goes outside and takes a seat on the porch while he waits for his family to finish getting ready. The cool air makes him feel like a different person and for the first time today, he gets to sit back and enjoy having a silent mind. The wind sweeps through his hair as he watches the sun slip past the horizon. Leaning back in the rocking chair, he lets the winter breeze paint the tip of his nose pink. He watches two birds fly together, chirping distantly.
Michonne joins him outside, her hands buried deep in her coat pockets. She rests her elbows on the porch railing and glances back at the teenager with a sly grin. “So…” She pauses and licks her lips. “You and Ron?”
He rolls his eyes dramatically and scoffs. “Oh, my god, Michonne!” He can’t believe he’s having this conversation again.
She shakes her head and snickers. “It’s not like you’re very secretive about it! I bet Judith noticed the two of you accidentally brushing hands at dinner last week.” She turns to face Carl. “Accidentally.” She air quotes.
“I wasn’t trying to be.” He lies under his breath, just barely loud enough for Michonne to hear.
“Yeah, right.”
Before Carl can say anything else, his father walks through the door and asks if they’re all ready to go. He doesn’t know what to make of the interaction. Michonne has a way of getting under his skin, and what makes it worse is the fact that she never intends to. She just says the right things at the right times. Or rather, the right things at the wrong times. Had anyone besides Michonne brought Ron up then, Carl probably would’ve lost his mind. Which he definitely isn’t doing right now.
He doesn’t know how he let his guard slip so easily. If he was being so obvious about it, were Rick and Michonne talking about it behind his back? He looks at his dad in hopes that everything will make sense and that his nervous system will stop acting like he’s getting mauled by a tiger. But Rick just lets out a shaky breath and smiles at Michonne. What does that smile mean? Did it mean something? Carl knows they communicate non-verbally all the time, was that smile about him or something?
It doesn’t take long for him to calm down. Not because he’s gotten over his exchanges with his parents, but because he’s being so ridiculous about it that it makes him just feel embarrassed. The walk to Carol’s house is mostly quiet aside from the occasional complaint from Michonne. She mumbles about how cold it is and Rick gives her his coat, which she claims still isn’t enough. Carl didn’t even notice how chilly it was until she brought it up, he had been so in his head the entire time. But he doesn’t mind it when he feels the chill on the little bit of exposed skin on the back of his neck. It’s still comforting, like it was on the porch.
The smell of fresh baked goods wafting down the street grabs his attention, he looks up to see Carol’s house, which stands out among the rows of identical townhouses. Its porch is lined with potted flowers and currently; it’s the only house with its lights on. Aaron and Eric sit on the steps, talking quietly. “You guys look great.” Eric says once Carl and his family are close enough to hear him.
Michonne thanks him and the three of them step past the couple and inside the house. Carol’s house gives Carl a sense of comfort so familiar to where he lived in Georgia it’s almost unsettling. Every room is full of people, there's music playing from a record player somewhere and everybody's smiling. It's moments like these that make him forget that there's flesh-eating monsters on the other side of the walls. He stands back and watches all the moving bodies. People are dancing and laughing, this is the world Rick was talking about.
“Your father and I are gonna mingle, why don’t you go find your friends?” Michonne says, giving him a rub on his shoulder.
She didn’t have to tell him twice. He heads into the living room, figuring they’d be on the couch away from everybody else. They aren’t there, but he gets to talk to Carol briefly. He thanks her for having them over and hastily excuses himself to continue his searching. The only people in the kitchen are Glenn, Maggie and Sasha. They tell him about how they’re going scavenging next week and he tries to act like he cares.
It seems like every time he manages to squeeze his way out of a conversation, somebody else comes up to him and starts a new one. He listens to so many boring stories and fakes so many smiles, he feels like his head is gonna explode. After nearly 20 minutes of small talk, he finally hears Enid’s laugh. He maneuvers through the crowd, following the sound of her giggle and finds her and Ron at the end of an empty hallway. She’s sitting across from the blond boy and is seemingly soaking up every word he says.
“There you are. I thought I’d be stuck with him all night.” Enid juts her chin towards Ron.
Ron rolls his eyes at her and gives Carl a lopsided grin, his eyebrows are slightly raised and he disguises a laugh as a scoff. “Hey, Carl.” He grips a red solo cup like he’s afraid it’s gonna run away from him.
“Hi, Ron.” Carl smiles but he avoids Ron’s gaze. He steals the cup from his hands and takes a quick swig from it. He scrunches his nose and sticks out his tongue, it tastes like how walker guts smell.
“Yeah… Glenn was bragging about how he found an untouched liquor store. He was pretty proud of himself but I’ve seen like 20 people have that same reaction.” Enid sighs. “You can have the rest of mine, no way in hell am I gonna finish it.”
Ron looks to the floor and taps Carl’s foot with his. “What took you so long?”
“What? I dunno. Denise was running late or something. She watches Judith sometimes.” Carl buries his nose in his drink.
Enid looks at them like they’re circus animals. “You guys do know each other, right?”
Carl ignores that. He chugs the rest of Ron’s unsavory drink, somehow keeping it all down, and scoots Enid’s cup closer to himself. He leans his head back against the wall behind him and hums along to a song he doesn’t know the lyrics of. Back in the day, he hated parties like this. Maybe it was because he was too young to enjoy them or because he couldn’t stand how loud they were, but now; he’d stay in this moment forever if he could. Listening to the sounds of living people makes him feel safe, it's hard for him to believe he ever had any doubt in this place.
Time seems to slow while he soaks in his surroundings. Enid says something he doesn’t completely understand and it feels like she talks for upwards of an hour. He keeps giggling about God knows what and when he takes a look at Ron–who was already staring at him–he feels unbelievably warm, inside and out. Most of the time, when the two of them drink together, Carl finds himself wanting to take care of Ron. But right now, he wishes he could crawl into the boy’s lap and never get up.
“I hate this song.” Ron says, as if trying to distract from something. The song in question being You Get What You Give by New Radicals, Carl furrows his eyebrows knowing Michonne is dancing in another room and trying her hardest to embarrass Rick. “Carol doesn’t like good music.”
“Neither do you.” Enid scoffs and licks her teeth.
“Didn’t you say he stole your music taste?” Carl speaks for what feels like the first time in years, he notes that he is now incredibly aware of his tongue. He ignores the odd feeling and takes way too big of a sip from his cup.
“He doesn’t like it like I do.” Enid grins, elbowing him in his side.
He laughs a bit too hard and a bit too loud at Enid’s remark, proceeding to laugh at how hard he laughed. His eyes fill with tears and he hears Ron start to giggle with him. Enid looks at the two boys as if they’re insane, but it only takes a few moments until she’s snickering too. Gasping for breath, Carl wipes away the tears welling in his eyes. By the time they’ve all caught their breath, they’re laying on the hardwood with smiles so wide they can be seen from space.
Carl lays with his feet against one wall and his upper back against the other. He gazes at Ron. The warm, dim light coming from the kitchen casts heavy shadows on his face. Carl is reminded of the night by the pond and his fathers words, which repeat in his head like a broken record. He finishes his drink and forces all of the thoughts out of his head. A Billy Joel song plays quietly and distantly, it’s somewhat muffled by all the chatter.
Ron seems to have other things on his mind. He begins to slowly get up off the floor, but his movements are so disjointed he looks like he’s trying to climb up the wall. When he finally finds his way up, he just stands quietly. His legs are spread wide but he sways like a blade of grass caught in the wind and he squints like he’s trying to read something very far away.
“You good?” Enid sits up and cocks her head to the side like a curious puppy.
Ron nods and remains standing. “Yup.”
Carl and Enid exchange a glance as Ron places a hand on the wall for support. He breathes through his mouth and his eyes widen. He jerks forwards and vomit comes flooding from his mouth. “Oh, fuck.” He groans during a pause. Foamy, clear barf spills onto the wooden floors and Enid stands, way quicker than Ron did. She places a hand over her mouth and takes a step away.
“Ron, eugh!” Carl exclaims.
Carl tells Enid to stay put as he jumps to his feet and leads Ron to the upstairs bathroom. They try their hardest to look even the slightest bit normal but judging from the stares they’re getting from the crowd, they may not appear as convincing as they were hoping. Carl shuts the door behind him and helps the sick boy to the toilet. He uses both his hands to hold back the locks of hair that dangle in front of Ron’s face. The sounds of the party are muffled through the floors, making the sound of puke hitting water the main thing they both hear. “Are you alright, dude?”
“Shut up.” Ron hurls. “Sorry, sorry.” He grips the porcelain with white knuckles.
Carl scrunches his nose and buries his face in his shoulder, turning his gaze away from the toilet bowl. He really didn’t wanna be alone with Ron tonight. Nothing against him, but Carl doesn’t trust himself not to say something he’ll regret. The toilet flushes and Ron gets up. He turns the sink on and cups his hands beneath the water and splashes it on his face, he drinks a little and takes a seat on the tile next to Carl.
Ron rips himself a piece of toilet paper and wipes his mouth with it. “Sorry. I gotta stop drinking on an empty stomach.”
“It’s no big deal.” Carl gives him a small, somewhat forced smile.
There’s a slight hum coming from the lights and it’s much chillier compared to downstairs. The brightness is killing him and Ron seems to notice, so he pulls out his lighter and lights the candles Carol left in various spots in the bathroom, then switches the overhead lights off. They bathe the boys in an orange glow and at this moment, Carl could swear they were the only two people on the planet. Ron rests his head on Carl’s shoulder, and the warmth Carl felt before quickly comes back, washing over him like a wave. He moves his leg closer to Ron’s, desperate to be as close to him as possible. He sighs deeply and relaxes his entire body, which had tensed up without him even noticing.
Being alone together isn’t as scary as he expected it to be. He thinks of the boy laying on his shoulder. Specifically, his eyes. How sorrowful they always look, and how they’re similar to that of a stray puppy’s. But sometimes, usually times like this, there’ll be something besides sorrow in them. Something like truth. Carl can’t believe himself, he’s drooling over the thought of Ron’s eyes like he wasn’t just looking into them. There's just something so entrancing about him, something that keeps pulling Carl back in for more. It’s terrifying and it’s addictive all the same.
The survivalist in him says he shouldn’t be this attached to anybody from inside the walls, because there's no way it won’t end in tragedy. But every other part has vowed to keep Alexandria and its people safe, so tragedy is completely out of the picture. Meaning, if Ron gets so much as even a scratch, he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it never happens again. He chuckles at himself, when did he get so dramatic?
He feels the weight shift off of his shoulder, Ron looks at him curiously. Carl’s brain completely shortcircuits. Undone and smelling of vomit and alcohol, Ron Anderson is the prettiest boy alive. The candlelight illuminates half of his face and puts sparkles in his eyes. He looks at Carl through teary lashes and his cheeks are a rosy pink. A few sweaty strands of hair stick to his forehead. His lips, usually pale and chapped, are a glossy pink.
When Carl feels the need to kiss him, he feels a gentle longing, quiet enough to manage. But, he feels a violent hunger that makes him completely disregard self-control. It’s so loud and visceral and human, it makes walkers seem like regular everyday people. He wonders if this is how they feel all the time as he slides a hand down to Ron’s thigh and closes the gap between them.
If Carl was a smart person, he wouldn’t be kissing someone who just threw up. He wouldn’t have his hands entangled in their hair and he certainly wouldn’t be crawling on top of them. But he knows by now that he is in fact not a smart person. Ron’s lips taste of old, shitty beer and stomach acid and it drives Carl crazy. A newfound sense of boldness comes naturally, he doesn’t think twice when he lightly bites down on the other boy’s lower lip. He cradles Ron’s head to make sure he doesn’t hit it on the wall and grips his shirt to pull him as close as humanly possible. Quiet moans and heavy breaths are all to be heard besides the indistinct slow song that plays downstairs.
Everything moves so fast in comparison to earlier in the night. Hands move curiously up and down waists, hair gets caught in mouths and noses bump against each other. Carl kisses Ron like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance. He feels a hand run up the curve of his waist and kicks his head back softly. Ron, like a bloodthirsty vampire, immediately dives in to kiss at his neck. He leaves open-mouthed kisses on Carl’s jaw and all the way down to his ever-so-slightly exposed collarbone. A quiet, desperate noise escapes from his mouth and he can feel Ron smiling against his skin in response.
It’s like Carl is driven by hunger, like he is simply sitting back and letting it take full control. He grabs Ron’s face and kisses him like it’s all he knows. He takes a hand and holds it to Ron’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. The feeling is muffled by his crewneck, so Carl snakes his hand beneath the cloth and rests his palm just beneath Ron’s collarbones. His skin is warm and his heart hammers against his chest like it's about to burst right out, his breath shaky and unsteady but still, he kisses determinately. The tip of his nose squishes against Carl’s cheek as he brings his own hand to his chest, interlocking his fingers with Carl’s.
Carl forgets himself. He forgets what’s going on downstairs, he forgets why he’s sitting on the hard, cold bathroom floor, he forgets why he felt so afraid just moments ago. He guides Ron’s hand back down to his waist and buries his own hand in the dirty blond hair that tickles at his forehead. It’s all so messy and unchoreographed but Carl feels like this is all he was ever meant to do. He plays with Ron’s hair and tangles a strand around his finger.
Carl is on fire. He burns with desire and each one of Ron’s movements feeds the flame. The moment is more intoxicating than any beer he’ll ever drink. So intoxicating in fact that during a break for breath, three words slip from his mouth without permission. “I love you.” The severity of his words doesn’t sink in until he feels Ron’s grip on his waist loosen.
They break off of each other and Carl looks at Ron sheepishly, hoping he didn’t hear what he said. But judging off the raised brow and head tilt, he did. Carl backs off and sits against the door, totally panicking. He meant what he said, but why’d he say it? Why’d it come out so naturally? Ron said it too, why does he look so uncomfortable right now? Though, Carl can’t actually see most of Ron’s face, he’s just assuming he looks distressed. Just moments ago, the two were glued to each other and now it feels like they couldn’t be any further apart.
Carl is completely lost. He brings a shaky hand up to his face and wipes the slobber on his face off with his sleeve. He can hear Ron’s breath from the other side of the room, it’s steady and slow, that’s a good sign, right? He isn’t hyperventilating or anything, maybe Carl didn’t mess up as bad as he thinks he did.
Tonight definitely hasn’t been as bad as he expected, but he still wishes he could be anywhere else in the world right now, for Ron’s sake. Nobody ever taught him how to go about mushy stuff like this, and he never bothered to ask. He assumed it came naturally with age, and once he got old enough he’d gain a sense of wisdom that made him some dreamy bachelor like in the movies Lori watched before everything happened.
He refused to leave her side, so he’d watch them with her, despite finding them to be as boring as paint drying. They were all so similar to the point that they blend into one big, generic, mind-meltingly dull movie in Carl’s mind. They would always have a hunk that was handsome and never said the wrong things. By the end of the movie, he’d monologue about how much he loves the main character and he wouldn’t slip up once. He’d sweep her up in his arms and they’d drive off into the sunset while the music swelled.
Everything would be easy. That’s what Carl really wants, for things to be easy. He wishes he could read Ron’s mind and know everything he’s ever thought. That way, there’d be no more awkward silences or tense stillness. He could live life without worrying about saying the wrong thing. He tries reading Ron’s mind and when he fails, he kicks his head against the door in defeat. The thump echoes and now he really wishes he was at home in bed.
Ron looks up, confused. Carl can see his eyes sparkling in the light produced by the one candle that's still burning. When their gazes meet, Carl forgets how to breathe. Maybe this is a movie, actually. Maybe it’s a comedy and he’s the butt of every poorly-written joke. That’s the only logical explanation to his patheticness. He can taste his stupid words on his tongue and feels the need to rip it out.
He hears two voices in his head, an angel and a demon on his shoulders. One says that he ruined his chance at a future with Ron because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It tells him that since he couldn’t have just waited a little longer to say those words, Ron no longer wants anything to do with him. It recites Michonne’s words mockingly, using them as “proof” that he was being too vulnerable. And he should know by now that vulnerability gets people killed.
The other voice is quieter. It’s reasonable but Carl can’t hear much of what it’s saying. Instead of Michonne’s words, it recites Rick’s. The louder voice shuts up completely when Carl hears echoes of the word ‘husband’. “--and you won’t have to worry about the things you worry about today.” It continues. What does Carl worry about nowadays besides Ron? Maybe he won’t have to worry about Ron in the future because by then, he’ll have stopped being so afraid of simply talking to the boy.
Carl can do a lot of things right now, and he can say a lot more. He clears his throat and closes his eyes as if to brace for impact, just in case the louder voice was right and Ron did in fact hate him. “Let’s get outta here.” He says it like a question rather than a suggestion.
“Yeah…” Ron says quietly, with an inflection similar to Carl’s. “Yeah.” He repeats himself in a more confident tone as he pulls himself up off the tile.
After silently fixing up each other’s hair, they step out into the landing. They’re immediately blinded by the light on the ceiling, they shield their eyes and groan through giggles. Alright, they’re laughing together, Carl thinks they should be just fine. When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, he tries his hardest to not get spotted by his father. There aren’t any crowds of people for him to hide in anymore, but he and Ron get to the door without being pulled into an endless conversation.
Unlike earlier, Carl is quickly made aware of the chill in the air. It’s the type of cold that feels like it’ll never go away. He feels like he looks like Jack at the end of The Shining. He reaches up and wipes his cheeks, ridding any icicles that may have formed since he’s stepped outside. God, he hated that movie.
He zips his Carhartt up as much as possible. The collar chokes him slightly but at least it warms him up a little bit. He hopes Ron isn’t as cold as he is, he takes a glance in his direction, just to check. The moonlight exaggerates the redness at the tip of Ron’s nose, his lips are chapped again and he walks just a little faster than Carl does. Carl notes how the moonlight shines down on him and makes him look like a painting.
Why does that thought feel harsher than the winter? The unsettling feeling of deja-vu washes over Carl like a wave, or rather hits him like a tsunami. The smell of alcohol, the late night spent with a drunken Ron, the heavy silence. But for some reason, after he reflects on it slightly; the memory doesn’t sting as much as it used to. He had felt so guilty when he thought about it earlier and now it just feels like something he’ll get to laugh about someday.
Maybe, he thinks, when he said those words in the bathroom, he was getting something off his chest. That might be why they just fell from his lips without any thought, because he couldn’t hold it in anymore. His revelation makes him feel like the smartest person alive. This has to be how Isaac Newton felt when he discovered gravity. Though despite his genius, he still has words left unsaid. He still needs to find a way to talk to Ron about everything and before he even does that, he’ll have to find a way to stop being so afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Without even thinking, he starts talking and hopes his brain will just catch up. “Ron, uhm. About what I said…” Ron looks at him expectantly.
“I meant it.” He still has a million things to say, that didn’t even scratch the surface. But it was something.
Ron kisses his teeth and blinks twice. He looks confused. Now, Carl really doesn’t know what to say. He thought he was being as straight-forward as possible, but Ron is looking at him like he didn’t even hear what he said in the bathroom, like what Carl said just now went in one ear and out the other.
Carl will do whatever it takes to speak Ron’s language. He just wants to get everything off his chest. If he has to tattoo the words ‘I meant it when I said I loved you’ on his forehead, he’ll do it. He thinks of a way to rephrase what he said but he can’t come up with anything that won’t make him sound like a dork. The two boys stand in the cold as Carl wracks his brain. “Whatever.” He mutters as he takes a step towards Ron.
If words won’t work, this has to. He grabs Ron by the arm and pulls him in for a kiss. It feels like the first time. It’s gentle and it makes Carl’s heart flutter nervously, but he couldn’t care less about getting caught. When he pulls away, he looks Ron dead in the eye and repeats himself. “I meant it.”
“Carl, dude.” Ron says. “I know.”
Carl was trying to be like the hunks from Lori’s romance movies, but Ron ruined his attempt at cheesiness. “What does that mean? Why were you so confused before?” Carl has no idea what's going on at this point.
“I knew you meant it, I didn’t know why the fuck you were telling me.” Ron is noticeably nowhere near as stressed as Carl is.
“Then why didn’t you say anything when I said it?!”
“I don’t know, man, it came out of nowhere! I was gonna but then you jumped off me like I did something.” Ron laughs defensively. He looks like he can tell how pissed Carl is getting.
“I was–” Carl groans and takes a pause to compose himself. “I love you, Ron. I didn’t mean to say it but it’s true.”
Ron smiles devishily. “I love you too, Carl.”
They walk to Carl’s house together quietly. Despite the silence, it isn’t tense in the slightest. When they get home, Ron steals a pair of sweatpants without asking and the second they’ve both changed; they’re tucked into bed together. The bedroom smells of weed and fresh laundry, and Carl listens as rain starts patting against the window.
He hears Ron snoring behind him. It begins to pour outside, a tree branch taps at the side of the house and the rain beats against the window so hard, Carl worries it’s gonna wake Ron. It’s pitch black except for the bit of moonlight peaking through the curtains and the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that shine a sick green.
Carl’s never felt safer. With Ron’s arm wrapped tightly around him, he feels like he won’t have to be scared ever again. This is exactly what Rick meant when he was talking about a world where Carl could get married and not have to worry about silly things anymore, though it came a lot sooner than they had probably both expected. This may only be a little taste of the future, but god, is it sweet.
Looking up at the plastic stars above him, Carl drifts into a peaceful slumber. He may not be getting married tomorrow, but this is what he wants for the rest of his life. He’ll continue to love Ron even if he can’t read his mind, simplicity be damned.
When they wake to the scent of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee, they just lay in bed together quietly. Carl lays on his side and lets Ron play with his hair. Mourning doves coo distantly and everything is still. It feels like time has stopped for everybody besides the two of them. Rain still taps at the window, though not nearly as hard as it did last night. Carl looks at Ron and can just feel his cheeks turn pink.
“Morning.” He smiles.
Ron’s eyes are half open and he smiles back softly. “Good morning.”