"𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞„

seven, videogames

"It's just an owl, Carl, she'll be fine." Jane says as she cradles the girl in her arms. She's sound asleep, just snoring a little.

"I know, I just don't want her to wake up. Everyone needs sleep. They don't wanna be woken up by crying."

"It'll be okay, look, she's sleeping through it."

"Only cause you're here," he tells her.

"Nonsense."

"It's true! She loves you, you know."
Who doesn't? He thinks to himself, as he watches her hold the baby with such ease. She's so gentle, so caring.

"I like the name you picked for her. Judith. It's a nice name." The owl hoots again, and Carl darts his eyes to the prison window. "Us J's gotta stick together." She says with a smile. He can't pinpoint why, but as her eyes fluttered to his, he couldn't help the fact that his face would heat up, or that his cheeks would start to flush a wine red.

Surely she had noticed, why wouldn't she notice?

"Carl?" Jane asks.

"Yeah..?" He replies untruthfully, half paying attention, half staring at her complexion in the moonlight. The shadows of the bars were strict to her face as she looked towards him with a fateful smile.

"Carl?" Michonne shouts, an arm placed rightfully on his shoulder to try and shake him awake a little. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, just remembered something, that's all."
Michonne nods at this comment. She knows who and what that was all about, but she doesn't mention it. She never mentions it. Just that girl's name follows many bad paths.

"I'M RON, THIS IS mikey, and Enid." The blonde boy gestures to the girl, propped up on his bed, reading a comic. This had immediately intrigued him - they'd already shared something in common from the moment they'd met.

"Hi." He says, trying to shake the nerves from his voice. To further fuel his uneasiness, no one gives him a greeting back.

"Wanna play some video games?" Ron asks, and Carl nods as the controller is thrust into his hand. He just stares at Enid as she doesn't even acknowledge him. He wonders if it's something about him? His face, his hair, his expression, maybe?

"I haven't played in awhile. Might be rusty." He spits out, with a weird newfound confidence.

"It's okay man, we get it. We totally get it." Mikey reassured him as he pointed to the foot of the bed next to him, where Carl ended up sitting. You don't, he thinks to himself, but starts to play anyway. The whole concept seemed too dystopian - too far out of touch. Just last week, he was starved, sharing Judith's dried applesauce that he would have never dared touch before hand. He had almost died, just three weeks ago. Now, he was preoccupied playing mariokart and worrying about unimportant, commercial things, such as socialisation.

Surprisingly, carl does seem to fit with them, when he tries to. Enjoy would be quite a strong word for their interaction, but he could possibly tolerate a meet up like this every few weeks if he had to.

Halfway through their three part race, the girl behind them rises and dumps the comic book on the spot where she had sat merely seconds ago. Carl turns his head to her as she does so, and she avoids his gaze like it's the modern day plague.