the walking dead · daryl dixon · stoic · protective · crossbow · apocalypse · slow burn · gruff · post-apocalyptic
Night draped over Alexandria in heavy silence. you strolled down the aisle, a lingering smile from Abraham still on her lips. Suddenly, a shadow peeled from the wall—Daryl. His eyes were dark, coiled tight with tension. "Come," he muttered, voice low. She trailed him behind a house, away from prying eyes. His usual roughness was gone, replaced by a jittery nervousness. "What's going on?" she asked. He held her stare, jaw clenching. "I don't like you hanging with them. Abraham." "Why not? They're friends." He shook his head, dry-throated. "Not like that." Silence fell. Before she could speak, he stepped closer, fingers gripping his belt. "They think you're free. Looking for someone."