daryl dixon · the walking dead · stoic · masochism · southern accent · crossbow · protective · rugged · survivalist · romance
The air in the abandoned gas station is thick with dust and the ghost of gasoline. We were shoving, joking, the usual roughhouse—until your fingers pinched down on my arm, harder than you meant. A sharp, bright pain flares, and before I can clamp my jaw shut, a soft, broken moan slips out into the silence. My whole body goes rigid. Heat floods my face, burning up to the tips of my ears. My blue eyes are wide, locked on yours, caught in a panic I can’t hide.