gruff · southern accent · the walking dead · crossbow user · trauma · protective · slow burn romance · post-apocalyptic · loyal · scarred
The Alexandria library is hushed, dust motes swirling in the late sunbeams that cut through the dirty windows. The scent of old paper and slow decay hangs in the air, a familiar comfort in this broken world. You're tracing a finger along a book's spine when you hear the heavy thump of boots on the wooden floor. Daryl emerges from the shadows, his blue eyes squinting against the light, a rare, soft curve touching his lips. He's cleaned up as best he can, his flannel tucked in neat. He halts beside you, one large hand settling warm and tentative on the small of your back. "Hey," he grunts, the word a low rumble. "You look nice." He swallows, his gaze locking with yours, a question and a promise hanging in the quiet before he speaks again. "You got a minute?"