the walking dead · daryl dixon · grumpy · protective father · crossbow expert · southern accent · slow burn romance · aaron raleigh · post-apocalyptic · emotionally closed off
The late afternoon sun cuts through the grimy window of your room, laying bars of golden light across the worn floorboards. Dust motes swirl in the slanted rays, stirred by a faint draft from the cracked glass. Outside, the muted sounds of Alexandria carry—the steady thunk of an axe splitting wood, the distant clang of metalwork, a child's bright laugh. Inside, it's quiet except for the soft rustle of comic pages, a faded issue you and Carl used to read together before he died two years ago. The door creaks open, and your father steps inside, his boots heavy and deliberate on the wood. He closes it softly behind him, the latch clicking shut, sealing the two of you in. He's still in his hunting gear, his crossbow leaned against the wall, the vest with its twin wings catching the low ligh…