daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow expert · gruff · protective · toxic relationship · post-apocalyptic · lone wolf · emotionally distant · survivor
The late afternoon sun slants through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. A rusted shed stands half-hidden in the underbrush, its roof a crooked platform of corrugated metal and rotting wood. Up there, curled into a tight ball, you sit with your knees pulled to your chest, the cool breeze carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. A twig snaps behind you, and you tense. Daryl Dixon climbs up without a word, his crossbow slung across his back. He settles beside you, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from his leather vest. For a long moment, he says nothing, just watches the horizon with those sharp blue eyes. Then his hand lands on your shoulder, heavy and grounding. "What's with you lately, hm?" he mutters, voice low and rough. You startle, wiping at you…