Chapter Text
Alexandria’s teens were playing hide n seek, none of them really knew how it got to that, Carl was pretty sure Mikey suggested it and they all just kinda went along with it.
Carl had found the perfect hiding spot. Enid was seeker this round and she was scarily good at finding people, but the dresser in his room had the shelves taken out long ago, making a perfect hiding spot incase of an attack, whether it was for him or Judith, probably both if Rick was around. Either way, there’s no way Enid would think to look in there, as long as he was quiet of course.
But Carl Grimes could never win at hide n seek. He blamed Ron Anderson.
When he was about to close the second dresser door, hearing Enid’s count almost up, he felt excited, feeling like he might actually win this game for once. Until a hand stopped him from fully closing it. Because of course it did. Not even a game of hide n seek could go right.
When the door reopened, Carl was greeted with the sight of none other than Ron Anderson. It’s not that he didn’t like him, they used to be good friends, until you know the whole attempted murder of his dad that ended up blinding him in one eye situation. Ron had apologized for it more times than he probably heard an ‘I love you’ from his dad, he was always offering to help Carl with things or do something for him. At first Carl thought it was because Ron thought he couldn’t do it himself, and that pissed him off, it pissed him off a lot.
Naturally he simply bottled up his emotions until one day it exploded, when Ron had asked if Carl wanted help carrying a bucket of water for the horses Carl just about lost his shit, trying to calmly yell at him just because he’s half blind doesn’t mean he can’t carry a damn bucket. That day he figured out it’s not that Ron thought he couldn’t do it himself, but it was just his weird — and occasionally annoying — way of trying to apologize in a way other than words, didn’t stop it from ticking off Carl on occasion though.
So no, he didn’t hate Ron, but if the blonde asked if he needed help closing the door Carl knew he would have an aneurysm right then and there.
“No! This is my spot.” he declared “Find yer’ own.”
“I tried, there’s nowhere else!”
Off in the distance he heard Enid yell out the number six. Six seconds left.
Against his better judgement he grabbed Ron’s boney, flannel covered wrist and tugged him into the dresser, barely giving them enough time for Ron to attempt to scramble on his knees and close the door with a thump as magnet clicked against its pair on the frame of the dresser.
It was completely dark inside, barely a speck of light seeping in, thankfully for Carl since he was practically legally blind his other senses had kicked up a notch, though at the moment he hated it. All he could hear was Ron’s baited breathing, nervous, unsteady, probably from the possibility of being caught. It was a kids game but part of it reminded Carl of being hunted by walkers, or worse, so a little bit of his natural adrenaline kicked in whenever he played something like this.
The dresser was cramped, uncomfortably so. There was barely enough room for Ron to keep his feet planted, Carl could only imagine what he looked like, sitting in a damn dresser squatting like a chicken about to lay an egg. If he wasn’t actively focusing on not getting caught he would have laughed a bit.
“Is now a bad time to mention i’m claustrophobic?” Ron whisper yelled, a hint of embarrassment tugging at his voice.
Carl shushed him, probably louder than Ron had even been talking.
“Yes?!” he whispered back “Why would you come in here in the first place?”
Ron was so close he could physically feel him shrug.
“Dunno, there were no more hiding places left n’ I thought I would be fine.”
This idiot.
“Good god.” was honestly all he could think of to say in that moment.
Then the silence followed, neither of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity, both just waiting for Enid and her insane hide n seeking talent to find them.
Lord knows how much time passed, all Ron and Carl knew was apparently her skills weren’t as good as they originally thought, because she seemed to take forever to find them. After a couple minutes Ron’s legs were shaking, most likely from squatting for to long. There was really only one rational idea, but would Carl be the one to suggest it? Absolutely not.
Or, apparently he would be, because the sound of Ron’s legs shaking against hardwood was far from pleasant, and if you could see the shaking from the outside they were as good as caught.
“Dude, you can just —“ he started. Before he was so rudely interrupted. Again.
“If you seriously propose I sit on your lap, I will kill you and then myself.”
Well that was an answer.
“I know you don’t like being touched to much, but you’re literally shaking like a freezing alley cat right now, at the very least just try to sit down then.”
At that, Ron stayed silent.
But at least he was moving to sit his ass down. Carl was sitting with his legs crossed, but to actually give Ron some room he spread his legs out to either side of the walls, leaving slightly more space on the ground than there was before, and Ron ended up sitting down pretty comfortably, facing Carl head on, the only reason he could even tell was the breath fanning across his face in scattered gusts.
What Carl once assumed was nervousness had turned out to be panic, based on his labored yet quick breaths and the fact he was still trembling, it seemed he was having a freak out, or a ‘panic attack’. Carl had his fair share before, they definitely weren’t a fun experience.
“God — here just — hold my hand, breath with me.” he said, reaching out and tapping blindly until he found Ron’s hand, grasping it in his own. He had completely forgotten that this was in fact all a game, and he could literally leave whenever he wanted. This was not a life or death situation. He would be perfectly fine if he left. Though, perhaps part of him made him forget, the selfish urge of wanting to keep Ron close, and offer him the comfort he actually deserved to get in life, was becoming overwhelming. Yes, he felt like shit for it, the only ‘justification’ he could even begin to think of was that Ron got himself in there knowing it would likely stress him out. So it was his own fault. Obviously.
Ron squeezed back, and after a second Carl felt him shift forward, and shaggy, uncut hair tickle the nape of his neck. Ron had laid his head on Carl’s shoulder. Ron was laying on him. And holding his hand. And breathing on his neck. Basically hugging him, honestly. Now it was Carl’s turn to freeze up.
He focused hard on not breathing to heavy, scared that if his chest rose to much Ron might think he was suffocating him or something and move, that was unfortunately the last thing Carl wanted.
Carl had no idea where to place his other hand, Ron had one draped around his torso in a weird, awkward hug, and the other hand was still holding onto Carl’s at a now awkward angle that he couldn’t bring himself to care about.
Apparently Ron Anderson did like human contact sometimes. Carl didn’t see that one coming. Absolute curveball. Not that he was complaining at all.
“You can put your hand on me y’know, I’m not gonna break or anythin.” Ron said, his breathing now more steady with a light laugh.
It was at that moment Carl realized his unplaced hand was just stuck out — as much as it could be in the small space — and hovering in the air awkwardly.
“Okay.”
It was not okay. Nothing about this situation was okay. This whole thing pushed back the brink of platonic to an entirely new level and it was making Carl go insane.
With a strange high in his chest and given permission he placed his hovering hand on the small dip of Ron’s waist, making his touch light, if the fabric of Ron’s flannel wasn’t sticking up he wouldn’t even know if he was touching him at all.
Carl literally heard Ron’s breath hitch in his throat, it wouldn’t be the first time Ron jumped into something he wasn’t actually ready for. Within a second Carl moved his hand away, scared that he was right about it being to far.
“Well why’d you do that ?” Ron asked, lifting his head up off Carl’s shoulder to (probably) look him in the eye.
Well now Carl had more questions then he could answer.
“Your breath stopped for a second, I thought you were uncomfortable, you know since you usually don’t like human contact any—“
Just like in all the movies he watched growing up that his mother loved he was cut off before he could finish his sentence by another pair of lips on his. Or near his. Because of the dark Ron’s aim was a bit off and he just barely missed kissing Carl’s nose instead.
It felt weird not closing his eyes — or eye — when they kissed, but since it was pitch black in there he didn’t see a logical reason to. Plus, if he could see, he would have killed to see Ron’s face in that moment.
Ron’s eyes however, even in the darkness were screwed together so tight his eyelashes bout ripped off with every small moment of his eyes underneath. Even when he pulled back it took a second for them to come undone, afraid of some random light suddenly making him able to see Carl’s face, and he didn’t know if he could do that. Not yet, anyway. To afraid of the anger, disgust, revolt, anything that could radiate with those scary blue eyes.
Carl was ready, though. More than ready. He wanted to see Ron so bad it might as well have been killing him, eating him from the inside out.
Carl could feel Ron squirm against him, like a worm in a bucket trying to find any possible way out. Blonde hair and pale skin collided with the back of the dresser — or technically the side from a regular point of view — from Ron’s struggling, making him let out to loud of a groan when his head collided with the thick wood.
“Oh shit man, are you okay?” Carl asked, eyebrows furrowing towards the center of his face.
He didn’t want to reach out, both for the fact he knew it would be hard to find Ron in the dark without accidentally poking his eye out and because Ron already seemed stressed enough, the last thing he probably needed was hands coming out of nowhere and grabbing at him. But Carl didn’t really know how else to even begin to try and comfort him, he had always been told he was good at comforting people, or awful at it depending on the person you ask. He was mostly only good at physically comforting people, long hugs or an arm around a shoulder, words were never something he was to good at, so currently Carl Grimes was at a loss.
A strained “mhm” was all he got in reply, followed by a sharp hissing sound of pain.
“Hit a damn nail.” Ron said, very obviously fake laughing. Probably to try and raise the mood, so Carl felt inclined to giggle along with him for a second, no matter how forced both of them sounded.
The universe must have decided to bless Carl — and curse Ron — because at that moment the two front doors of the dresser opened, they had been found, both boys forgetting they were supposed to be quiet so they didn’t get hunted down by the fearsome hunter known as Enid.
“You two are loud as hell.” she ‘complained’ standing in front of the dresser with a hand on her hip, the other one dangling next to her leg.
“Yeah, it was getting pretty boring, you know with you not being able to find us n’ all. Had to start giving you hints at some point.” Ron shot back cockily, a tiny but noticeable shit-eating grin on his face as he climbed out of the dresser.
“Oh please, quit it with the savior complex, Ronnie.” her words sounded harsh, but the smile she wore told otherwise.
He just laughed and brushed off his pants, not even daring to look in Carl’s direction it seemed.