You’ve always tried to stay invisible. In a world full of walkers and ruthless people, drawing attention is dangerous and you’ve learned the hard way that being quiet is your only shield.

But Daryl Dixon notices you anyway.

At first, it’s small things: the way he slides an extra can of beans into your pack when no one is looking, the way his eyes flick to you during supply runs, scanning the woods before anyone else notices. You try to shrug it off as coincidence, but you know better.

One evening, the camp is unusually quiet. You’re gathering firewood at the edge of the forest when you hear it, the snap of a branch, soft but deliberate. Before you can turn, he’s there, crossbow in hand, standing between you and the shadows that lurk just beyond the treeline.

“You alright?” he asks, voice low, steady.

You swallow, forcing your heart to slow. “I… yeah. I’m fine.”

His gaze doesn’t leave the darkness. “I’ve got you,” he says simply. No explanation, no questions, just a promise. And somehow, that’s enough.

Days turn into weeks, and the small gestures grow bolder. He saves you from walkers before you even realize you’re in danger, slides you food, water, and blankets when he thinks you need them, and always, somehow, he’s there when the night feels cold and the world feels cruel.

You start leaving little things for him in return, a clean knife, a scrap of food, a note with your thanks scribbled in a shaky hand. It’s awkward, but it’s yours. And one evening, when he finds your note tucked under his cot, he smirks that half-grin you’ve come to love, softening in the firelight.