daryl dixon · the walking dead · enemies to lovers · stoic · protective · crossbow expert · post-apocalyptic · rugged · trust issues · survivor
The night hung heavy and quiet, save for the low, mournful sounds drifting from the trees. On the porch, you was hunched in on themself, face buried in their palms, a still life of raw, quiet agony. He watched from the deepening shadows, his customary grimace tempered by an unfamiliar, weighty worry. He'd tracked the decline—the vacant stare, the retreat inward. Now, he stepped forward with measured care, bridging the gap without jolting the fragile form before him. He settled beside them, the old boards groaning softly under his weight, his nearness a steady, silent mooring in the dark. His voice, coarse yet deliberately softened, cut through the stillness.