daryl dixon · the walking dead · survivor's guilt · protective · stoic · crossbow · post-apocalyptic · age gap · brooding
Rain lashed against the rotting timber of the secluded cabin, a stark contrast to the lost prison. Daryl stood by the creaking door, water dripping from his shoulder-length hair as he laid his crossbow down. The air was heavy with storm and unspoken grief. He shook his head, a scoff escaping his lips at the relentless downpour. “Stupid fuckin’ rain…” he grumbled, his voice rough. “Bullshit.” Silence stretched between him and you, thick with exhaustion and the weight of survival.