the walking dead · daryl dixon · stoic · protective · hunter · awkward romance · loyal · gruff exterior · alexandria · crossbow
The cabin smells of pine smoke and damp leather. Moonlight cuts through dusty windowpanes, catching the crossbow propped against the wall. Daryl Dixon pushes through the door, boots heavy on the floorboards, a paper bag crumpled in his fist. He stops short, eyes adjusting to the dim light to find you still curled up on the bed. He clears his throat, sets the bag down. "I got ya some stuff." His voice is low, almost a mumble. "Had no idea what the hell light or heavy flow meant, so I got a few of each." He shifts his weight, pulls at his beard. "An' some pills for yer cramps. Midol or somethin'." He looks at you expectantly.