The new duo slipped out of the house undetected, thanks to Arlet's knowledge of the neighborhood.

Carl was pleasantly surprised when she took a shortcut through a small patch of woods before arriving at an apartment complex. It was obvious they were in a little town, so the place wasn't very big. Still, the specific building was three stories tall.

"We're going in there?" Carl gaped slightly. "Won't there be a shit ton of walkers though?"

"Yeah, but I know a safe way." Arlet muttered. "One you wouldn't even think of."

"Show me."

"Gladly."

The teen followed his companion around to the back of the building. There was a little door she unlocked and swung open. "A service staircase only made for employees. Now it's mine."

"Sweet." Carl said. "No one knows about this?"

"Not really." She replied, ushering him in before locking the door behind them both. "They think it's just part of the complex."

"My apartment's on the third floor. I cleared the place out a long time ago so we won't have to deal with anything." Arlet said. "We need to be quiet around the first and second floor. There are still walkers there."

Carl gave a curt nod and followed the girl up the stairs. It didn't take them long to reach apartment number thirty-four on the top floor. Luckily, for the pair of teens, they didn't have any run-ins with the walking dead.

"Woah. This is where you live?" Carl gasped quietly. "You have a lot of stuff."

"Yeah." Arlet smirked. "I'm a collector."

The teen's blue eyes peered from beneath the brim of his hat and trailed across knickknack after keepsake. Some were glass figurines, some were stuffed animals or posters of celebrities long perished.

One dark colored couch sat in the center of the room. Underneath it was a black rug, and in front of it was a dark oak coffee table. Bookshelves, made of the same wood, adorned every wall and encircled the minimal furniture.

It felt cramped...but cozy.

"It's nice."

"If you wanna thank me for bringing you here, don't stab me in the back, please." Arlet sighed, dropping her bag. "I don't need any bullshit right now."

"Alright. I'll stay out of your hair." He replied, watching as she walked into another room. Judging by the look of the decor, it had to be hers.

"Thanks." Arlet mumbled. "Make yourself at home, I guess." She then closed the door, leaving the teen by himself to explore.

The apartment was bigger than it looked. On closer inspection he found another room that was (more or less) empty. He figured it was his now, judging by Arlet's lack of other companions.

There was a kitchen and pantry with enough food and water to last a few days. A sliding glass door with burglar bars led to a deck and a flimsy ladder. After climbing that, he realized it led to the roof of the entire complex, which he thought was weird. Eventually he went back into Arlet's apartment and let his mind wander.

Carl's thoughts drifted back to father but he shook them out of his head. Rick was alive and getting well. There was no way he was stupid enough to die or get himself killed.

Carl was sure of that.

"Hey?! Get the fuck out!" Arlet squeaked. Carl had been so absorbed in his thinking that he had failed to check the bathroom before he went in.

"Uh, s-s-sorry!" He stuttered, whirling back into the living room. The image of her standing there in only a t-shirt made him shiver. Walking in on her half-naked had obviously been an accident, but it didn't make it any less awkward.

Then again, he didn't see anything because the shirt was too long, too saggy, and didn't hug her curves like the other one.

"You could've knocked, ya know." Arlet huffed, exiting the bathroom to sit on the couch. Now she was wearing an old pair of blood stained jeans, her shirt, and a pair of scuffed Converse.

The image surfaced in Carl's head again, which caused him to wince. "Uh, s-sorry."

"Don't worry about it." She shrugged. "Shit happens."

She grabbed a book from the coffee table and shot him a deep glare. "Just don't let it happen again. Next time I might pop you one right in the forehead 'cause I'll think you're a walker."

"Yeah. Sorry."

Arlet breathed a deep sigh of relaxation before opening her novel. He watched her thumb through the worn pages until he lost track of time.

"You need something?" She asked, giving him a sideways glance. Carl, shaken out of his stupor, shook his head.

"No. I-I just zoned out for a moment."

It was true. For the most part, he had been thinking about his dad, Michonne, and even Judith. His legs were itching for movement again, but he knew it wasn't safe to go out. All his conflicting ideas were simply crippling.

"Okay. Just let me know if you have any questions."

Carl shifted from foot to foot and felt his leg muscles twitch again. He wanted to sit down on the couch, but he didn't want to creep Arlet out any more than he had.

The teen pressed his back against an open wall and slumped down onto the tile. It felt cold, which seeped into his feverish skin. With a sigh, he pulled out his water bottle and gulped down what was left of the lukewarm liquid.

It barely quenched his thirst and he cursed when he remembered he left his other supplies at that house. Deciding it was a good time to to take inventory of his items, he emptied his canvas bag on the floor.

Damn.

No ammo. No water. No clothes. Little to no food.

Carl was in a shit load of trouble if he couldn't find those necessities soon.

"You look a little messed up."

"Huh?"

The teen glanced up at the girl sitting on the couch and frowned. "Yeah. Those shitheads probably took all my stuff. It's not like I can go back and get it."

Arlet gave Carl a sympathetic look and passed him a pristine bottle of water from her pack. "Here."

"Wha-? Why?" He asked while opening it. The crisp crack of the lid nearly made him moan. It seemed like forever since he was able to open his own fresh water.

"I'm not gonna let someone die...if I can help it." She said, getting up. "I may not look it, but I'm still human."

Carl gave a bitter laugh and took a swig of the drink. "I'll thank you, by not stabbing you tonight." He joked.

"Appreciate it." She scoffed. "Don't drink all that just yet."

"Why?"

"Gimme a minute." Arlet yawned, disappearing into her room once more. She tossed some clothing in his lap when she returned. "You should probably clean yourself up. It's not like you're gonna get a chance to do it anytime soon."

"You're right." He sighed. "Thanks."

The teen looked in the mirror and groaned softly. Bruises of assorted colors lined his arms, chest, and legs. Ever since he and Rick escaped the prison, he didn't have the time to check his appearance.

He was sort of glad he didn't.

Sweat, blood, dirt, and god knows what was matted into his hair and caked on his skin. It took an enormous amount of scrubbing to make himself seem somewhat presentable.

Not that he was trying to look nice for anyone, but he liked being clean-ish. Stripping away each filthy layer made him feel more human. Like he was becoming less of a wild animal than he actually was.

The clothes Arlet loaned him weren't too different from the ones she was wearing. A dark brown tee with stained black jeans. They were way too large to be hers, which made him wonder who they originally belonged to.

An image of the girl stripping the clothing off a corpse made him cringe deeply. Daring to take a sniff, he pressed his nose to the shirt.

It smelled like detergent.

He took another long whiff, enjoying the clean scent. It had been forever since he was able to wear CLEAN clothes.

"Thanks, Arlet." Carl muttered, sitting back down on the floor near his minimal supplies. His temporary companion was still engaged in her book and didn't look up.

"If you wanna thank me, pl-"

"Please don't stab me while I sleep." Carl snickered while cutting her off. "What's the deal with that?"

He watched as Arlet lifted up the back of her shirt. The knife injury suddenly made so much sense.

"This is why." She muttered bitterly.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."