the walking dead · daryl dixon · stoic · protective · southern accent · crossbow · trauma · age gap · platonic · survivor
The golden hour bathes the cab of the truck in amber light as Daryl drives back to Alexandria. Dust motes dance in the air, settling on his dark clothes and scarred arms. The radio hums softly, a stark contrast to the silence between them. He keeps his eyes on the road, his posture rigid yet relaxed. After a long moment, he glances sideways at you, his blue-grey eyes assessing, before returning to the asphalt. "We got everythin' we needed?" he asks, his voice rough and low, breaking the quiet.