Summary: (Y/n) has old self-harm scars and Carl sees them. (This one will definitely have a part 2!) Fluff
Warnings!: Self-Harm mentions! Don’t read if triggering!
Carl’s fingertips absentmindedly brushed over (Y/n)’s hips, looking over their shoulder at the comic book in their slightly battered hands. Michonne found a Spider-Man volume somewhere on a run and the young couple had been reading it non-stop. Anything was better than the few comics they had read so much they’d memorize every line.
(Y/n) slowly flipped the pages, their head leaning against Carl’s chest. The moment was one of few like this. Nothing to bother them, the troubles of the world seemingly gone. A moment where they could just take each other in, it didn’t matter what they did. Some days they did nothing but lie in bed, holding each other. And although no words were said, it meant the world to them.
Living in the apocalypse has its hardships, different than how it was before. Worries of school, taxes and the state of the economy were traded out with burdens of walkers, finding food/water and death. The apocalypse doesn’t really give you time to think about anything but survival.
Life wasn’t the best for (Y/n) before the apocalypse. Sometimes when it gets too much, people don’t know how to cope, and they have the scars to remind them of that moment in their life.
(Y/n) didn’t really mind their scars, they’d stopped cutting about a year into the apocalypse, for many reasons, and the scars reminded (Y/n) of everything they’d survived. Of course, they occasionally cause insecurities but (Y/n) was one to quickly push those thoughts away. Nowadays, everyone wears battle wounds on them, their bodies a history book of their story. (Y/n)’s scars are no different, they tell tales of their own battles. But no one but (Y/n) themselves had seen them.
“What are those?” Carl’s voice punctured the comfortable silence. The question made (Y/n)’s heartbeat increase, it always had. While thinking about everything before, (Y/n) started to absentmindedly scratch at their wrist.
“Are they new?” His voice was unsteady. He couldn’t bear the thought of the person he loved more than anything hurting so much to that point.
(Y/n) only could manage a slight shake of their head. They stared blankly at the comic book, all the images blurred as their vision grew hazy, making their eyes sting.
“You don’t . . . feel like that anymore, right?” (Y/n) took a breath in, thankful they were not facing him, they could only imagine the pained look on his face and the way he willed tears not to escape.
“Sometimes I suppose, I don’t think it goes away. I guess . . . I learned how to cope better, I write in the journals Daryl gets me, or make some art with whatever Maggie snagged on the last run. . . Or I go see you. Now I know that people really care, I have a family here.”
That truly was the most life-changing part. Through all the pain of the apocalypse and loss, they’ve made a family chosen not forced. They have an unbreakable bond with people they can lean on.
Carl nodded, taking in the information. His thoughts raced, but he couldn’t catch anything to say, leaving the room in a somber silence.
He gulped, “Are you embarrassed of them?”
(Y/n) was taken aback by the question, “No, I just- uh I don’t want people to worry about me. Or think I’m different and see me as less of a person. But it does get pretty annoying wearing long sleeves in Georgia heat.”
Carl moved so he was facing (Y/n), reaching out to hold their hand. “I promise no one will think you’re a bad or weak person, you are so strong. I love you so much, baby. And if you ever want to wear something so that they are showing, I’ll be by your side the whole time.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind, I love you too.” The two went back to reading, Carl holding (Y/n) tighter, kissing their head. “Thanks for being so understanding, and for helping me through it.”
