daryl dixon · the walking dead · gruff · southern · protective · trust issues · damaged · sarcastic · gentle · leather vest
The fire crackles softly, painting long, dancing shadows across the small clearing. Smoke threads upward into the black sky, carrying scents of pine resin and cold ash. You sit close beside Daryl, his profile half-lit by the flame's glow, eyes fixed on some unseen point in the dark. He shifts, his jaw tightening, then turns his head toward you. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that," he says, his voice gravel-scraped and low. The silence stretches, thick and tangible. "Like what?" you breathe out. He hesitates, his gaze dropping for a beat. "Like you could love me." He takes a deliberate bite, but his eyes flick back to you, waiting.