Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 40 - Knots Untie

Nelly

Daryl's arm drapes casually around my neck as we walk the dark, empty streets of Alexandria. The night air is cool, and the quiet is comforting. His fingers are interlocked with mine, grounding me as we move together, our footsteps falling in sync with one another. There's something calming about these laps we take around the community at night. The world feels distant, like it doesn't exist beyond the gates. It's just us, moving through the stillness of a place we're slowly learning to call home.

He tells me stories about the stupid things he and Merle used to get up to before everything changed. His raspy voice softens with the memories, and I can almost see the younger version of Daryl—wild and reckless—following his older brother around, learning from him, idolizing him. I smile, imagining him as that boy, rough around the edges but with a heart that hadn't yet been hardened by the world.

He makes me laugh, and I surprise myself when I start sharing little pieces of my past. I'm not one to talk about before. It feels like another lifetime, a version of me I barely recognize. But for Daryl, I offer small details, knowing he's curious but never pushing. He takes what I give him, humming softly in acknowledgment, just listening. He doesn't pry. Even when the smallest thing I offer is a mundane story about my first job, he just nods, as if that alone is enough.

We walk for what feels like hours, his voice a constant in the darkness, wrapping around me like a blanket. By the time we head back to the house, the whole town is asleep, and everything feels quieter, even the breeze.

Daryl opens the door, holding it for me as I step inside. The house is silent, the kind of peaceful that only comes after everyone's drifted off to sleep. The dim light from the moon filters through the windows, casting soft shadows across the living room.

"So, you gonna draw me somethin' or what?" Daryl's voice, low and teasing, breaks the quiet as he shuts the door behind him.

I huff a laugh, collapsing onto the couch, and he follows, sitting beside me with our shoulders brushing. His warmth is comforting, familiar, and I feel a sense of peace I rarely allow myself to acknowledge. "What makes you think you deserve something so special like that?" I tease back, raising an eyebrow as he pulls my legs across his lap.

He doesn't answer right away, just grins that crooked smile of his before pulling me fully into his lap, his hands resting on my waist. "C'mon," he mutters, the roughness in his voice sending a shiver down my spine. "Draw me somethin'."

I shake my head, feeling the embarrassment creep in. There's something vulnerable about the request, even though it's just Daryl, and he'd never judge me. But still, the idea of sharing that part of me makes me hesitate.

He pulls me closer, until there's barely any space left between us, his forehead brushing against mine. "Is that what you did before?" he asks, his voice quieter now. "Draw?"

For a moment, my smile dims, and I know he notices. He's always watching, always tuned in to the smallest shifts in me. "No," I say, my voice softer now as I toss the sketchbook onto the coffee table. "I was a receptionist at a company I hated." I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, seeking the comfort of his presence. "I quit before the turn," I add, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

"Why?" he asks, his voice careful, gentle in a way that only Daryl can be.

The question hangs in the air, and I feel a tightness in my chest, the memories of that life clawing their way back. The life I left behind, the person I left behind. But instead of letting it overwhelm me, I push it down, focusing on the man in front of me, the one who grounds me in the present.