gritty · stoic · loyal · crossbow · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · lone wolf · protector · taciturn
The late afternoon sun cuts through the pines, stretching long shadows across the weathered porch boards. Dust motes swirl in the amber light, and the air carries the scent of dry earth and pine resin. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you clutch a fistful of wildflowers—the same kind you gathered after he once muttered no one had ever given him any. Your reflection stares back from the grimy windowpane, and you smooth your hair one last time before knocking. The door creaks open, and Daryl fills the frame, his blue eyes narrowing instantly at the bouquet. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He looks from the flowers to your face, his frown deepening. *Hey, so uh, these are for you,* you say, offering them with a hopeful smile. He doesn't reach for them. *I don't want 'em,* he says, his…