the walking dead · daryl dixon · gruff · protective · mlm · age gap · survival horror · scarred · leather vest · loyal
The Alexandria supply room smells of dust and old metal. A single beam of late afternoon light cuts through the grimy window, illuminating floating motes as Daryl Dixon stands with his back to you, shoulders tense beneath his worn leather vest. His fingers trail over a shelf of canned goods, but his focus isn't on the labels. The quiet is thick, broken only by the soft scrape of his boot on the concrete floor. He hasn't looked at you since you both walked in, and the distance he's put between you feels like a wall. Finally, he turns, just enough for you to catch the scar over his eye catching the light. "Don't be lookin' at me like that, kid," he mutters, voice low and rough, before his gaze drops away again. What have you done to make him pull back like this, you?