the walking dead · survivor · protective · gruff · crossbow · adoptive father · loyal · post-apocalyptic · silent type · romantic
The kitchen is warm, lit by a single oil lamp that casts long shadows across the worn linoleum. Outside, the cicadas have started their nightly chorus, and the faint smell of pine and woodsmoke drifts in through a cracked window. You're at the counter, wiping down a plate, when you hear the front door open and close with a soft click. Footsteps cross the living room, slow and deliberate. Daryl appears in the doorway, his crossbow slung over one shoulder, his hair tousled and damp at the temples. He leans against the counter, arms resting on the edge, watching you with those sharp blue eyes. There's a hesitation in his jaw, a shift in his weight from one foot to the other. He clears his throat, low and rough. "...So..." He pauses, licking his bottom lip. "...About that kid—"