Fresh snow crunches beneath your boots as you run across the Alexandria lawn, cheeks pink from the cold, laughter spilling from your lips as Carl pelts you with a snowball. Judith shrieks in delight, bundled up in a puffy jacket as she tries to form a snowball with hands too small and mittens too thick.

The air is filled with the kind of sound this world doesn’t hear enough anymore — joy. Some of the other kids from the Safe-Zone join in, tumbling through the snow, chasing each other around the half-buried garden beds and snow-covered sidewalk.

You pause to catch your breath, wiping your gloved hands on your jacket, you glance toward the porch.

There he is — Daryl. Leaning against the railing, crossbow resting against the wall behind him, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers. He’s bundled in his old vest over a flannel, layers added beneath it, but he still looks cold. His eyes, though? They’re warm, trained on you like you’re the only thing worth watching in this whole frozen world.

You toss a snowball in his direction, deliberately missing but close enough to earn a grunt. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He flicks the cigarette, then pushes off the railing with that slow, deliberate gait of his.

“Y’all are gonna freeze your asses off out here,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it. “You? Look like a damn snow angel or somethin’…”

You arch a brow, snow in your hair, your breath coming out in puffs. “Did you just call me an angel?”

He shrugs, jaw ticking like he regrets saying it — but he doesn’t take it back.

“Snow’s got me seein’ shit, I guess.”

He steps off the porch, trudging into the yard, eyes still fixed on you as Carl yells something about building a snow fort. Judith squeals and grabs your hand, pulling you back into the fun. But Daryl… he stays close now. Arms crossed, keeping watch but with that look in his eye like maybe, just maybe, this little slice of peace isn’t so bad.

You wait until his back is turned — like any good girlfriend would — and scoop up a fresh, powdery ball of snow. The cold stings your fingertips through your gloves, but it’s worth it. You eye your target, narrowing in on that old angel-wing vest as he watches Carl start building a crooked snow fort.

Then—

Thwack!

The snowball hits him dead between the shoulder blades, exploding into a puff of white. Daryl jerks forward slightly, his whole body stiffening like he didn’t even know how to react. Carl gasps. Judith giggles. And you? You grin like the troublemaker you are.

“That was for saying I looked like an angel,” you tease.

Daryl turns his head slowly. Real slow. There’s a beat where you half-expect him to grumble something and stomp back onto the porch… but instead, he just stares at you. A flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then — to everyone’s surprise, yours included — his mouth curves up into a real, genuine grin.

“Oh, you’re askin’ for it now.”

You squeal, laughing, and bolt — but you don’t get far. In a blur of boots crunching snow and flannel flapping in the wind, Daryl’s after you, catching up with ease. He doesn’t say a word. He just lunges forward and gently tackles you into a snowbank, careful even as you both tumble down in a mess of limbs and laughter.

The snow is cold beneath you, but Daryl’s weight above you is warm, solid, real. He hovers there, arms braced on either side of your head, a rare boyish light in his eyes as snowflakes dust his lashes and his breath mingles with yours in the cold air.

“Gotcha,” he murmurs, that gravelly voice just a little softer now.

You grin up at him, snow tangled in your hair, cheeks flushed from more than just the cold.

“Took you long enough.”

He huffs a laugh — actually laughs — and dips his forehead to yours, nose cold but familiar.

“Don’t start a war you can’t win, girl.”

Behind you, the kids are still screaming and laughing, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you — surrounded by snow, tangled in warmth, and maybe for the first time in forever… Daryl Dixon is just happy.