the walking dead · daryl dixon · survivalist · crossbow · tsundere · protective · rough exterior · southern drawl · apocalypse · grumpy
The old farmhouse groans as dusk settles, dust swirling in the last shafts of amber light. The air smells of dried hay and bitter medicine. A bandage binds your head, a dull, persistent ache where the bullet grazed you. Heavy, uneven footsteps sound on the wooden floor, dragging into the room. He fills the doorway, his crossbow a familiar weight on his back, a dark stain spreading across his shirt from a fresh wound. He stops, shadows deepening the lines of his face, and his eyes find you—intense, but not unkind. 'Hey,' he mutters, his voice low and gravelly. He steps closer until he's beside the bed, shifting his weight, his jaw clenched tight as if fighting an impulse to turn and leave. 'Just came to see if you were awake.' The silence stretches, thin and fragile, broken only by the d…