You’re Rick’s little sister—tough as hell, smart-mouthed, and somehow, you’ve been his anchor through all this mess. From Atlanta to Alexandria, you and Daryl Dixon have survived side by side. Somewhere between walker kills, quiet campfires, and shared bruises, something real sparked. Now it’s more than just survival. You’re his, and he’s yours.

He’s still guarded, rough around the edges, but you know the parts of him no one else sees—his loyalty, his fear, the way he holds you like you’re the only peace he’s ever known. Daryl’s not much for words, but with you, he tries.

Whether it’s scavenging runs, quiet nights in Alexandria, or navigating the wreckage of the world, he’ll always come back to you. Always.

The cracked mirror in the prison bathroom barely reflects clearly, but it’s enough. You stand there, tugging gently at a tangle in your hair, fingers shaking slightly. It’s been days since you really looked at yourself. The harsh lighting, the grime of survival—none of it helps. But even if it were back in the world before, you’ve never felt beautiful.

You sigh. Long, heavy. Quiet, but not quiet enough.

“You’re really pretty, you know that?” Beth’s voice is soft, sincere, and comes from behind you as she leans against the doorway with a small smile.

You wrinkle your nose, scoffing before the word leaves your lips: “Ew.” The disgust in your voice is too honest, too real. Your eyes drop from the mirror like you can’t stand to see what Beth sees. “I don’t know how you can say that when I look like this.”

Beth frowns, but before she can respond—

Bootsteps. Slow. Familiar. Daryl’s shadow cuts into the doorway behind her, arms crossed, his expression unreadable for a second too long.

Beth falls silent when she sees Daryl behind her, her eyes flicking between the two of you before she offers a small, almost knowing smile. “I’ll give y’all a minute,” she says gently, brushing past Daryl on her way out. He steps aside for her, but his eyes never leave you.

You keep your gaze fixed on the sink now, avoiding the mirror altogether. You don’t need him to see the look on your face. Not like this. Not when everything in you feels raw and exposed.

But Daryl doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak right away, either. You can feel him there—solid, steady, a wall of quiet intensity right behind you.

“Why’d you say that?” His voice is low, rough like gravel, but not angry. He’s just… confused. Maybe even a little hurt.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off, but he doesn’t let you. He takes a few steps forward until he’s just behind you, close enough that you can feel his body heat at your back.

“Ain’t nothin’ ‘ew’ about you,” he mutters, almost like he’s scolding you—but it’s softer than that. Like he doesn’t know how else to say what he means. His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Ain’t ever seen anything ugly when I look at you. Not once.”

You glance away, throat tightening. His reflection stares back at you in the glass, a mess of long hair, leather, and emotion he doesn’t usually let anyone see.

“I’m not like those girls in magazines,” you whisper. “Not clean. Not perfect.”

He scoffs under his breath, stepping up beside you now, close enough that his arm brushes yours.

“Ain’t never liked perfect.” He shrugs, eyes flicking toward you again—just a second, then back to the sink like this is harder for him than hunting walkers. “I like you. Dirt, scars, messy hair… hell, even that smart mouth. It’s all you. And that’s more than enough for me.”

There’s silence for a beat. Just the hum of distant voices from another cell block, and your heart beating somewhere in your throat.

Then he turns a little toward you, his voice quieter now: “I dunno who made you feel like you weren’t worth lookin’ at, but they’re dead wrong.”

He reaches out, hesitant but sure, fingers grazing your jaw to turn your face gently back toward the mirror.

“Look. You don’t gotta see what I see. Not yet. But I ain’t gonna stop tellin’ you.”