No I'm not here to startle you, hell I'm only here cause you asked me to
Its such a shame that we can't renew, all these feelings that we shared back a month or two
You know, I kept everything that reminds me of us, it sounds weird but your picture's still hung up

There were very few things that Carl Grimes missed. He didn't miss his mother, though she was dead. He didn't miss the prison, and the life they'd had there. He sure as hell didn't miss Shane or anyone from the original group. He prided himself on being tough and not missing anybody, no matter how special they had been. He didn't miss Beth even though her death had made him very sad, he didn't miss Sophia even though she had made him cry. He did what he had to do to survive, and he wasn't weak anymore. Nothing could phase him. Except for Ron Anderson. Ron Anderson had broken him, mind and spirit, body and soul. Ron had been there, shown Carl a soul-consuming love, and left just as quickly, leaving him breathless. Months later, Carl kept a framed picture of the two of them in his room to look at whenever things got particularly hard, because he missed when they were together. He missed being able to kiss Ron and feel his lips, he missed going over to Jessie's and just talking with another woman who wasn't Maggie or Michonne. He missed sneaking chocolate for Sam, because damn it all the boy deserved to have some chocolate. He wished he could go back to two months ago, when things between them were fine. He wished they had never fought, and that Ron had never left him. He even had Ron's old shirts. They were stuffed carefully inside his dresser, and Carl would sometimes go to sleep hugging one. He'd probably want those back by now.

I've tried getting distracted by other stuff, but it's not enough
I'm sleeping with a pillow, under lamplight
Freezing cold, cause you always liked the windows opened wide. Just so you know, I'll be here when you make it home

Ron could always count on him. Carl loved him with all his heart, more than he had ever loved anyone. Whenever they had sleepovers, Ron always kept the windows open wide because the chilly night air cooled him down. Carl liked being able to hear any sounds coming from outside, being able to detect if there were any dangers outside. No matter what he asked, Carl would do it for him. He would walk on water if Ron just asked. He would stop running into the woods if only Ron asked. Of course, he had asked when they got into one of their fights. It had been about Enid. Carl had wanted to go save her, and Ron hadn't wanted him in danger. That was one of their most serious fights ever. It was one of the only times Carl felt contempt for Ron, and he now wished he never had. He had wished he was dead in that moment, and would forever hate himself for those thoughts. The hurt look on Ron's face was burned in his brain, and even now his face would crumple when faced with it. No one else understood why he was so hung up over Ron. His relationship with Ron had been secret, as neither boy felt comfortable telling their parents they were dating. He stayed up late at night remembering the fluttering kisses Ron had given him when he snuck into his room, and how Carl would have to sneak out in the early morning after they had spent a night cuddling. No one knew why he grieved over Ron, having known nothing of them. They all thought he'd make a great couple with Enid, not realizing the only boy Carl loved was unattainable because of a few mistakes he'd made.

I'll call you up at like, 3 am again
Just to make sure that you know I don't mind waiting
And the call will end with us both saying
That we both hate this

One night, Carl would get the courage to call Ron up over the phone and work things out. He would tell him how much he loved him and make sure he really, really knew it. He would make sure no words were left unsaid, he would tell him how much he hated being apart and how lost he was. He knew Ron wouldn't mind the late hour because he cared about Carl, because he knew Carl missed him. Carl knew, deep in his heart, that things would be okay if he could just call Ron and talk to him about everything that had happened. They would laugh as they always did, and make plans to sneak out again at some time. If he just had the courage to pick up the phone and dial the empty house, things would be okay.

I'm not sleeping too well now I'm sleeping alone
And all you have to do is pick up the phone
And I'll come running to your aide but I'm sure you know
This won't help us grow

Over those few months, Carl had really gotten used to the warmth of Ron's body next to him on his twin sized bed. He had really gotten too attached for his own good. He was dealing with everything so badly, he wasn't able to cope, and if Ron would just pick up the damn phone things would be fine. If Ron had just picked up the phone earlier, he could've told Carl how traumatized he was, and everything could've been avoided. Carl thought about it all the time but it was useless. There was no use asking what he could have done when everything had already happened. Every day, he would aimlessly make his rounds around the compound, only speaking when spoken to, and trying to distract himself with guarding the fence. He ignored Enid, hating her because of the lack of grief she showed, because she acted like the rest of them. like everything was alright and an important person wasn't dead. He found himself unable to sleep now that Ron's flannel-clad body wasn't lying next to him anymore, instead shivering each night until day broke, laying on his bed and holding onto one of Ron's much too cold shirts. It should've been warm. Please, I'm begging you, just pick up the damn phone and don't be dead, I can't take it.

I'm sleeping with a pillow, under lamplight
Freezing cold, cause you always liked the windows open wide
Just so you know, I'll be here when you make it home

Carl thought wishfully, that he could still just pick up his landline phone, dial the numbers, and that he would call Ron and talk to him and everything would be alright. He would have his boyfriend back and everything would be normal again, like this had all been a dream. Except for the inutterable fact that none of it had been a dream. Carl looked in the mirror and need only see his bandaged eye to be reminded of the painful reality. Ron was dead. His boyfriend was dead. Dead. Dead, with the only things left to remember him in Carl's room. The hung photograph of them laughing together was all that kept him sane sometimes. Sleeping with the windows open like Ron did, and pretending his boyfriend was next to him instead of underneath the ground kept him sane. He couldn't live with himself. After their fight, he had told Ron he hated him, he had thought it too. He didn't tell him he loved him. Ron died thinking Carl hated him. The only thing Carl could be counted on now for was visiting Ron's grave daily, and being there when he would finally make it home and make everything all right again. Deep down in his heart, Carl knew if he wished hard enough that one day Ron would be standing there in front of him, as if nothing had changed, as if the walkers hadn't torn him to shreds. It had been 2 months, and everyone was urging him to move on, not understanding why Carl Grimes, the boy seemingly made of steel, had crumbled into mere nothingness. The truth was, he was completely empty except for the times where the pain in his chest was going to kill him. He had never felt this much pain. Not when his mom died, or Sophia, or Beth, not even when he thought his dad had died. He had not really cried over any of them, yet he still shed endless tears for Ron. Ron, his beloved, awe inspiring boyfriend whose flame was snuffed out just as it became a spark. The truth was, he would never get over the pain of losing Ron, and would be always waiting for him to come back and open the windows further so that he could get more night air while he slept. He'd have walked on water if Ron had asked, but he never could ask. He could never again tell him he loved him, or kiss him when he was upset about Pete, he was wiped off the face of the earth along with Carl's soul. It was because of Ron that Carl was stuck. Stuck hopelessly in the past, with a hopeless longing for a reality that wasn't genuine. He longed for something so simple. He longed for Ron. He couldn't do basic things anymore without having flashbacks to that night. Every time he saw a gun he flinched, and he couldn't shoot them at all anymore, having to just use a knife. He was angry. Angry at Michonne for stabbing Ron, angry at Ron for dying and accidentally shooting his eye out. Angry at Sam for making noise and killing everyone, including himself. He was angry that things weren't okay, and that he'd never feel okay again. He was angry that no one knew he had lost someone important to him. He was angry that Ron hadn't gotten the help he needed. He was angry that Enid didn't care, he was angry that no one but him did care. Why, just why, did Ron have to leave? After everything, Carl thought he was safe to care about something. He thought Ron could be counted on to stick around after he taught him to defend himself. He thought he could trust him to not be torn away by the cruel world Carl lived in, thought he could trust him to never abandon him like everyone else had. Now, he realized he was wrong, and would never make the same mistake again. Now, he had no one.