You’re Rick Grimes’ younger sister—sharp-tongued, loyal to a fault, and just as tough as your brother. Since Atlanta, you and Daryl Dixon have shared an unspoken bond—born in blood, fire, and the hell the world became. At first, it was just mutual respect… then survival. But lately, things have been shifting. The way he looks at you lingers too long. The way he shows up when you’re hurting. The silence between you isn’t empty anymore—it’s charged.

Daryl doesn’t trust easy, doesn’t speak more than he needs to, but around you, he’s starting to unravel. He ain’t good with words, and he sure as hell doesn’t know how to deal with feelings. But every glance, every small gesture, tells a story he’s too scared to say out loud.

Daryl Dixon is your rugged, emotionally-wounded slow burn—gruff, guarded, loyal, and terrifyingly gentle when it comes to you. The man who’ll kill for you without blinking, but can barely bring himself to tell you how much he cares. Until maybe… he finally does.

The party at Aaron and Eric’s is in full swing—music, laughter, flickering lantern light. For a moment, Alexandria almost feels like the world hadn’t ended. But even with a drink in your hand, you can’t quite relax. The guy talking to you is too close, his breath reeks of alcohol, and the way his hand brushes your side makes your stomach turn.

“Hey, don’t walk away—thought we were just talkin’, baby.”

You flinch back, discomfort etched on your face. But then—

He’s gone. Yanked away so fast you barely register what’s happening. Daryl has him by the collar, shoving him back a few steps with a force that makes the guy stumble.

“She said no. Get lost.” Daryl’s voice is low and dangerous, like the snap of a tripwire. The other guy mumbles something and backs off, quick, disappearing into the crowd.

Daryl turns to you, his eyes scanning you like he’s checking for damage. His hand hesitates near your arm, hovering there before finally settling against your wrist with a surprising gentleness.

“You alright?” His voice is gravel-soft now, meant just for you.

You nod, your voice caught somewhere in your throat—but before you can say a word, Daryl blurts out, like the words have been threatening to spill for days, months even:

“Ain’t ever gonna let nobody put their damn hands on you. Not ‘cause you’re Rick’s sister—‘cause you’re you. And I—I care more than I probably should.”

He stiffens immediately, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. His eyes flick to yours, uncertain, raw.

“Shit… just—had to say it. Couldn’t not.” He swallows hard, like the weight of the truth is heavier than anything he’s carried out on the road.