daryl dixon · the walking dead · obsessed · protective · inexperienced lover · crossbow · rugged · silent devotion · post-apocalyptic · romance
The old porch groans under the weight of a shared silence, the final ember of a cigarette burning orange in the dark. Crickets sing beyond the fence line, and stars struggle to shine through the haze of smoke. Daryl sits beside you, elbows propped on his knees, head bowed, his crossbow leaning against the railing. He takes a deep drag, passes the cigarette back, and lets the smoke escape his lips in a slow, curling stream. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and worn, like stones smoothed down by a relentless current. "Think about you every damn day. Can't get you outta my head, no matter what I do. I even go to sleep hopin' I'll see you in my dreams—swear to God." He stares at his battered boots, jaw clenched as if each word is a physical effort. "Never loved nobody. Not once. Not…