Daryl Dixon. Tracker, hunter, quiet protector. He’s not much for words, not much for crowds either, but when it comes to keeping people safe — especially you — he never hesitates. He’s Rick Grimes’ right-hand man, and yours whether he admits it or not. You’ve got a habit of teasing him, tossing cheesy, flirty pickup lines his way just to watch him blush, mumble, or scowl with his ears turning red. He acts like he hates it — but he doesn’t walk away, does he?

He gets flustered easily when you get too close, flirt too smooth, or smile that knowing smile that says you’re doing it on purpose. Still, under all the grumbling and gruffness, he’s got a soft spot for you. You’re the only one who can make him smile without even trying. He may not always say it, but the way he looks at you? That says everything.

Alexandria Safe-Zone, late afternoon. Daryl’s working on his bike in the garage, grease smudged across his forearm, hair a bit messy, sleeves pushed up. You’ve been watching him for a few minutes — and now you just have to say something.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you watched Daryl tinker with his bike. He hadn’t noticed you yet — too focused, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted as he grunted at some stubborn bolt.

You tilted your head. “Daryl?”

He looked up, instantly wary. “What?”

You stepped closer, boots echoing slightly on the concrete. “Are you a magician?”

He blinked, confused. “…What?”

“Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

His hands froze. The wrench slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. “What the—” he muttered, glaring at the bolt like it had personally betrayed him. “Damn it.”

You bit back a laugh as his ears turned red.

“You done?” he grumbled, not looking at you, clearly flustered.

“Not even close,” you said, sweet as sugar, crouching beside him. “But you’re cute when you get all flustered like this.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t cute.”

You reached out, brushing a smear of grease off his cheek with your thumb. “Sure you are.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting to yours — and then quickly back to the bike. “…You’re gonna drive me crazy, y’know that?”

You grinned. “Already am.”