"Remember the first time you kissed me? It was on the cheek, outside of Hershel's quarantine zone. I remember feeling conflicted, because, I couldn't enjoy it. You were about to step into danger, and could've died. That's the first time I felt it, a...
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"CARL?" RICK'S VOICE APPEARED muffled through his bedroom door.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," he said, rubbing his eyes. It had become a routine that Rick woke Carl up, even if they were going their separate ways that particular day. He looked to his side, feeling absence in it's entirety. He found Jane's side was left empty and cold, just as he feared it would be - His arm outstretched towards where she should've been.
He remembered her getting up in the middle of the night, but he couldn't figure out if she actually came back. She'd probably gone back to her bed, afraid of being caught. Or maybe she was already up and dressed? Still, he was worried from the moment he opened his eyes. Being without her now made him crucially anxious - he was aware he shouldn't be so protective or obsessive, it wasn't right. But he was so scared to feel that pain again, the one only she could inflict. To lose her again might kill him.
"Carl, you okay?" Rick asked, tilting his head to the side. Carl must've shown some unhidden expression that had made rick react so fluently. He knew something was up immediately.
"Yeah, I just...nothing. Had a weird dream." He had to cover it up, his dad might move Jane to a different house in the neighbourhood if he found out they'd slept in the same bed. Not like they'd been doing anything sinister, anyways - and so, to carl, the lie was purely harmless.
Rick however, didn't buy the story, judging by the clear concern written all over his son's face.
"Breakfast is on the table, we've got guests." Rick mumbled, clicking the door shut as he retreated back down the stairs. Carl audibly groaned, throwing his head back to let himself rest for a split second before forcing himself to sit upright. The only thing bringing his feet to stand? The image of her waiting for him at that table, looking perfect.
He got dressed, realising his dresser drawer left ajar. Adding to the paranoia, he checked for missing items, but because all his clothes were the same, he couldn't find anything odd and dismissed it as himself being forgetful. He shoved on his usual: an undershirt, a flannel, and some blue jeans. He looked in the dusted mirror, brushing out his curls a little before applying a new bandage and fixing dad's hat on his head. He looked into his own blue eye, a dreaded feeling forming in his gut. There was something different about today.
"Hey," he said, trying to get rid of his shaken expression - nothing worked. He stopped at the bottom of the stair landing, looking at the seven people gawking up at him. None of them were Jane.
"What's up with you?" Michonne asked, pulling out a chair for Carl, referencing the pale colour his complexion had drained to.
"Have any of you seen Jane?"
"I thought she was with you?" Ellie pipes up, her mouth full of pancake. The situation here (one full of sun, a family breakfast and a lovesick teenage boy) should've been perfect. But suddenly he felt just sick, and cursed himself for it. Where the hell was she?
