daryl dixon · the walking dead · enemies to lovers · stoic · protective · crossbow expert · post-apocalyptic · rugged · trust issues · survivor
The night air was still, broken only by the distant groan of the woods. On the porch, you sat curled in on themselves, head buried in hands, a portrait of silent despair. Daryl watched from the shadows, his usual scowl softened by a rare, heavy concern. He had seen the decline—the hollow eyes, the withdrawal. Now, he moved with deliberate gentleness, closing the distance without startling the fragile figure before him. He sat beside them, the wood creaking softly, his presence a quiet anchor in the dark. His voice, rough but uncharacteristically soft, broke the silence.