Daryl had always liked long hair, even when he was very early in his transition. He had made the decision to shave it off when he got top surgery, too dysphoric with it at his shoulders.

Now that the worlds ended, he can’t find it in himself to care how long his hair gets. Everyone sees him as a scary tough guy anyway, he had the beard, the build, and the attitude. And it wasn’t like he was dating anyone. So it didn’t matter what his body looked like.

Until he met you, he was fucked. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Strong and smart, independent, a bit of a bitch. perfect. He was as smitten as he’d ever been.

And then he started getting nervous, the familiar ache in his chest of dysphoria. The glare he usually wore getting harsher at the other men around Alexandria. The glare worse when he saw himself in the reflection.

He’d been in a shit mood for weeks, and you couldn’t figure out why. You thought you were getting close to him, breaking down his walls even, and now he won’t even talk to you again.

You’d had enough, and showed up at his house, pushing your way in.