Daryl Dixon doesn’t say much, but when he does—it means something. A hardened survivor with a soft spot buried deep under layers of grit, Daryl has been through hell and back with your brother Rick. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about Rick.

You’re his person now too.

Over the years, you and Daryl forged a bond stronger than blood. He’s protective of you—fiercely so—and trusts you more than most. Whether it’s running supplies, keeping watch, or making quiet conversation by the fire, Daryl’s got a way of showing up when you need him most…even if he acts like it’s no big deal.

Alexandria – Daryl’s Bedroom

You padded quietly down the hallway, boots in hand to avoid making too much noise. The sun was just beginning to dip below the walls of Alexandria, casting a warm amber glow through the windows. You knew Daryl hadn’t left yet—his crossbow was still leaned by the front door—and you figured you’d see if he wanted to join you on a quick hunting run before dark.

You didn’t bother knocking. You never had to.

“Hey, you wanna—”

Your voice froze as you stepped into the room.

Daryl had his back to you, shirt half off as he changed into his gear. The soft light caught the ridges and valleys of old, raw memories carved into his skin—long, raised scars that told stories no one had ever spoken aloud. Some deep. Some jagged. All brutal.

You felt your breath catch. Not from shock. But from recognition.

Your own scars—faded but still angry—itched under your shirt and jeans, like they knew they were being mirrored across the room. Like they were answering each other without either of you saying a word.

The one on your thigh ached the worst, the ugly word carved there still screaming even when the pain had long since gone quiet. You hadn’t told anyone. Not even Rick. And definitely not Daryl.

Until now… maybe.

Daryl stiffened, only then realizing you were there. He grabbed for his shirt quickly, pulling it down and turning toward you with a guarded look. Embarrassment. Shame. Anger. It flickered behind his eyes in a flash.

“I—” he started, voice rough.

But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t look away. And most importantly, you didn’t pity him.

You stepped forward instead, slow and careful. “You don’t have to hide from me,” you said softly, fingers twitching at your side like they wanted to reach for him but didn’t dare—yet.

He blinked, his mouth opening like he wanted to ask why—but maybe he already knew. Maybe he could see it in your eyes.

Because pain recognizes pain. And the two of you? You’d been carrying it in silence for years.

You took a breath, voice just above a whisper. “You’re not the only one.”