'A' to 'Z' Rarl

G → Gratitude

Carl and I have been hanging out a lot more since then, but I still get the twist in my stomach when I think about him, and it gets worse every time I see him.

My friends are starting to get annoyed, I think. I don't talk to them nearly as much anymore, but I don't think Carl would be comfortable meeting them just yet; at least, not Mikey. Mikey has lived in Alexandria his entire life and hasn't been outside the walls since the beginning. He doesn't know what it's like, and Enid... Well, Enid is just... intense. I fear it'd just be too much for Carl. He's far too on edge and jumpy to be able to handle Mikey's shouting laughter or Enid's dark humor. I've been trying to focus Carl on things he's comfortable with, things he enjoys and getting to properly know him seems like a good first step.

So far, I've figured out that he's super competitive when it comes to video games. I don't have many "good" video games, per se, but they seem to be good enough for Carl. He claims to like them all, but I know that he avoids the first person shooter ones for a reason. I don't press the matter, though.

I sit on my bed, watching him battle in a single player match of some weird bootleg Pac-Man that one of the runners had picked me up on a run. It has some strange music, off colors and a weird glitch where the pink ghost is invincible at times, but aside from that, it is playable, and Carl is absolutely head over heels for it.

His thumbs slam into the buttons as fast as they can, and I tease him about taking it easy on my controller, but he brushes me off with a small laugh that sends my heart aflutter.

"Fuck you, Clyde." He mutters after a moment as the orange ghost devours Pac-Man, tossing the controller to the ground with a sigh as he looks over his shoulder at me. He has the most horrible case of hat-head I've ever see, hair pressed flat to his skull on top, and I can't help but laugh.

His face splits into a smile and he laughs too, despite not really knowing what's so funny. He's much more prone to laughing now, I notice. I wish I'd known him before the world ended; we could have been friends then, too.

"Are you hungry?" I ask after the fit of giggles dies down, and he shrugs, still looking bemused. I go to respond, about to offer him some leftover spaghetti that was in the fridge, but I hear the front door open and close, and the telltale shout of Mikey bursting into my house.

"RON ANDERSON," He yells in a sing-song voice, and I see Carl pale slightly, looking at me with worry blooming behind his eyes.

"Window," I urge him. He's not ready for Mikey, I know that much. He quirks a brow and I gesture to the window again. "Go, quick! Before he starts bombarding you with bullshit questions!"

Carl rushes to the window quickly, opening it before stepping out onto the roof. I close it behind him, watching him climb down the siding of my house for a moment before turning in time to see Mikey burst into my room in his usual Mikey way.

I know that, now, Carl is thankful, but at some point, he's going to need to talk to other people, and not just me.