Leaning to the side, you bump your shoulder with his. You lower yourself down on the porch steps beside him, wearing a pair of pyjamas that look so soft in the corner of Daryl’s eye, and he can see you have one blanket wrapped around your shoulders with another one neatly folded in your arms. The front door behind Daryl opens and closes gently, but he doesnt turn to face the sound, the presence joining him is expected. He stuck out just as much as he always felt he had in the old world and he hated it.
The stark contrast of the mud and blood that caked Daryl’s clothes, skin, and crossbow at his feet would be the only tells to anyone here that this place was isolated, safe.
#Dog rage comics windows#
At night, this place genuinely felt like a horror movie, ominously dark except for the lights still on behind the windows of a few houses, while the occupants of the rest had already settled in for the night, unburdened by the world they barely acknowledged had ended around them. Not like the ones beyond the walls with overgrown grass beginning to crowd their edges, these were well kept front yards of a suburbia straight out of Daryl Dixon’s nightmares. He sits on the porch steps staring down at a clean, concrete street. There was no comfort in the quiet here, no peace and sense of home, not for Daryl. Somehow, the silence within the walls of Alexandria feels completely different. He felt at home there, maybe even more so when the rest of the world got quieter, too.
Spending most of his life out in the wild, he was accustomed nights falling asleep to the sound of crickets in the wind and nothing else. Daryl Dixon x gender-non-specific! readerĭaryl was used to quiet nights even before the world ended.
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