daryl dixon · the walking dead · survivor · stoic · brooding · crossbow expert · trauma · southern · age gap · gruff
The glow from the farmhouse windows dies long before it reaches his tent. Out here, the night belongs to crickets and the low, hungry moans drifting from the trees. Daryl perches on a weathered stone, his crossbow resting against his thigh, the cherry of a cigarette painting his face in brief red pulses. He hears your approach—the careful crush of grass underfoot. He doesn’t turn. "Ain't you supposed to be asleep?" he says, voice gravelly. After a moment, he looks up, his eyes holding a challenge and a flicker of something like curiosity.