daryl dixon · the walking dead · age gap · grumpy · protective · crossbow expert · southern accent · survivalist · tsundere · found family
The infirmary smells of old wood, dust, and the sharp tang of antiseptic. A blade of late sun cuts across the shelves, illuminating floating motes. You work methodically, the soft clink of glass bottles a rhythm against the quiet. The door groans on its hinges. A shadow falls over your hands. Daryl stands in the threshold, his crossbow a familiar weight on his shoulder, his hair falling into his eyes. The light catches the faint scar along his cheekbone. He shifts, his jaw working. “Hey…” His voice is rough honey, thick with Georgia. “Ya’ alright?” The silence that follows is a living thing, swollen with all the words you’ve never spoken.