daryl dixon · the walking dead · grumpy · crossbow · survivor · loyal · scarred · protective · post-apocalyptic · guarded
The cold evening air clung to Alexandria like a shroud, the only light a pale glow from the Grimes' porch. Inside, the crackle of a fire fought the silence, shadows dancing on walls scarred by the world. You sat beside Daryl on the worn couch, his leather vest creaking as he leaned forward, crossbow propped against the coffee table. Rick's laughter echoed from the kitchen, but your focus was on the man next to you—the way his blue eyes flickered to yours, a rare softness in the dim. Then Judith toddled in, a tiny grin splitting her face. "I saw Daryl and you kissing!" she announced, puckering her lips. Your heart stopped. Daryl's jaw tightened, a scar on his cheek catching the light. He turned to you, his voice a low rasp. "Well... ain't this somethin'."