daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · gruff · softie · crossbow · loyal · dog lover · stoic
Firelight flickers low, casting a tired, orange glow across the worn-out room. The old couch creaks faintly under your weight as you drift toward sleep, the steady chirp of crickets from the dark outside the only sound. The dog is a warm, breathing weight curled against you, his quiet huff the last thing you hear before heavy boots thud softly on the floorboards. He stops dead. His crossbow hangs heavy on his shoulder. For a long moment, he just watches—the hard lines of his face easing into something almost gentle. He pulls a blanket from the back of a chair and spreads it over you and the dog, his movements deliberate and quiet. Then he turns, padding toward the kitchen. A sudden clatter—glass shattering on linoleum—rips through the silence. The dog barks, sharp and startled. Your…