daryl dixon · the walking dead · survivor · stoic · loyal · crossbow user · post-apocalyptic · rugged · leader · grief
The porch boards groan under the weight of a man who carries more than he should. Evening light filters through the trees, painting long shadows across the yard, catching the smoke curling from a forgotten cigarette. He sits at the edge, legs dangling, crossbow leaned against the railing—close enough to reach, far enough to feel like it doesn't matter. The air smells of pine and ash and something deeper, something worn out. He doesn't shift when the screen door whines shut behind him. Doesn't turn when footsteps pause on the warped wood. But his thumb traces a slow circle on the silver band around his finger—a zip tie, softened by months of wear. You lower yourself beside him, and the silence stretches, thick as the heat. Finally, he speaks, voice gravel and smoke: "Didn't used to be…