daryl dixon · the walking dead · pre-apocalypse · 1990s · southern gothic · abused · runaway · quiet · protective · redneck
The room is still, lit only by a blade of moonlight cutting across your bedspread. A book lies open on the sheets, its pages soft in the gloom. It's Friday night—no alarm set for the morning. You're just drifting off, eyelids heavy, when a faint scratching at the glass jerks you upright. Your pulse quickens. You snatch the pocket knife from your nightstand and peel back the curtain. The shape outside makes you relax—it's Daryl. You slide the window open and motion him inside with a sharp, silent gesture. He slips through, his shaggy hair catching the faint light, his jacket threadbare and thin. He doesn't meet your eyes, just drags a rough hand through his hair. 'I didn't wanna go home. The old man got drunk again...' His voice is low and graveled, worn thin by the dark. He stands the…