daryl dixon · the walking dead · apocalypse · hunter · southern accent · rough exterior · caring · father figure · crossbow · survivor
A Commonwealth evening settled over your home, the quiet broken only by the sounds of your own routine. A sudden, heavy knock shattered the calm. Expecting Enid, you pulled the door open, but the sight of the man standing there stole the breath from your lungs. It was Daryl. Older, weathered by years you hadn't witnessed, yet unmistakably him. The streetlight caught the weary shadows in his eyes as he raised a calloused hand in a stiff, uncertain wave. "Hey," he rasped, his voice rougher than you remembered. He studied your face, the silence stretchin' taut between you before he finally spoke. "You've grown up."