Hold my heart, its beating for you anyway

It started small.

Tiny things.

The prison had become strangely gentle lately.

Not safe exactly.

Never safe.

But calmer.

There were routines now. Gardens growing in the yard. Laundry lines swaying in the breeze.

People laughed sometimes.

You still startled when people touched you, though.

Not in fear.

Just surprise.

Like you weren’t used to it.

Daryl noticed because Daryl noticed everything about you.

The way you froze slightly anytime Carol squeezed your shoulder. How your entire expression softened whenever Beth linked arms with you. How you lingered embarrassingly long after hugs.

At first, he didn’t think much of it.

Then one evening Glenn threw an arm around your shoulders while telling some stupid story during dinner.

And you—

You leaned into it instinctively.

Tiny movement.

Barely noticeable.

But your whole body relaxed like someone finally loosened a wire pulled too tight.

Daryl stared.

Because the look on your face—

Jesus.

Like warmth physically surprised you.

Then Glenn let go after a second and you smiled like you were trying not to miss it already.

Something uncomfortable twisted in Daryl’s chest.

The realization hit fully a few days later.

You’d gotten hurt on a run.

Nothing major.

A twisted ankle and a few cuts after slipping down an embankment.

Still enough that Hershel ordered you off your feet for the day.

Daryl found you sitting alone in one of the prison cells that evening changing the bandage around your ankle.

You looked frustrated.

Mostly at yourself.

“Need help?” he asked from the doorway.

You startled slightly before relaxing.

“Oh. Hey.”

Daryl crouched beside you automatically.

Large rough hands reaching for the bandage.

You hesitated only a second before letting him help.

Silence settled comfortably.

Then—

When Daryl’s hand wrapped carefully around your ankle to steady it—

You went still.

Not tense.

Still.

Your breath caught softly.

Daryl glanced up immediately.

You looked embarrassed suddenly.

“…Sorry.”

His brow furrowed.

“For what?”

You shrugged awkwardly.

“Nothin’.”

But your face had softened in that same strange way again.

Like simple touch affected you too much.

Daryl stared at your ankle in his hands.

Then slowly:

“…When’s the last time somebody took care’a you?”

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

You blinked.

Then looked away.

Daryl’s stomach dropped immediately.

Because that silence?

That silence was answer enough.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

You laughed awkwardly.

“It’s not a big deal.”

The words sounded rehearsed.

Like you said them often.

Daryl hated that instantly.

He finished wrapping your ankle carefully.

Then without really thinking about it, his thumb brushed lightly over your skin once.

You visibly melted.

Not dramatically.

Just—

Your shoulders loosened. Your eyes fluttered slightly.

Tiny reaction.

Huge impact.

Daryl’s brain short-circuited completely.

Because suddenly he understood.

You weren’t just shy.

You were touch-starved.

And apparently nobody had been taking proper care of you.

Something deeply possessive and furious rose inside his chest.

Not at you.

Never at you.

At the idea of someone going this long without softness.

Without affection.

Without being held.

Daryl swallowed hard.

“…That feels nice, huh?”

Your face immediately turned red.

You looked horrified at being noticed.

“I—”

Daryl’s expression softened instantly.

“Hey. Ain’t makin’ fun.”

You stared at him uncertainly.

Then quietly:

“Yeah.”

The honesty in that tiny word wrecked him.

After that, Daryl couldn’t stop noticing it.

And once he noticed it—

He started doing something about it.

Not consciously at first.

Instinctively.

Like his body made decisions before his brain caught up.

He’d hand you things and let his fingers linger slightly. Stand close enough your shoulders brushed. Rest his palm briefly against your back guiding you through doorways.

Every single time, you reacted.

Subtle.

But there.

A tiny breath. A softened expression. A quiet almost-startled look of relief.

And every single time, Daryl felt like he was losing his damn mind.

Because you looked at touch like it was something precious.

Like you weren’t used to being handled gently.

It made his chest ache.

The first hug happened because of a nightmare.

You woke the prison with a scream.

Daryl was moving before he fully woke up.

Knife in hand. Heart pounding.

He found you sitting upright on your cot breathing hard, eyes glassy with panic.

No danger.

Just fear.

Daryl lowered the knife slowly.

“Hey.”

You looked up immediately.

Humiliation crossed your face.

“Sorry.”

Again with the apologizing.

Daryl hated that too.

“You ain’t gotta apologize for nightmares.”

You rubbed at your eyes quickly.

“M’fine.”

Bullshit.

Daryl stepped closer carefully.

Then stopped.

Because he wanted to touch you.

Badly.

Wanted to comfort you.

Wanted to ease that awful lonely look in your eyes.

“You want a hug?”

The question came out rough.

Awkward.

Like he physically wasn’t used to offering things like that.

You stared at him like he’d spoken another language.

“A what?”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably.

“A hug,” he repeated. “Jesus Christ.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“You’d hug me?”

The sheer disbelief in your voice nearly fucking killed him.

Of course he would.

Jesus.

Daryl’s chest tightened painfully.

“…C’mere.”

You moved instantly.

Like your body decided before your brain could.

And the second Daryl wrapped his arms around you—

You collapsed against him.

A tiny broken sound escaped your throat as your hands clutched weakly at the back of his vest.

Daryl froze.

Because nobody had ever held onto him like that before.

Like he was safety. Like he was home.

Your entire body relaxed by degrees in his arms.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like you were afraid it might disappear.

Daryl tightened his hold immediately.

Protective instinct hitting him so hard it almost hurt.

“It’s okay,” he murmured awkwardly into your hair. “Gotcha.”

You trembled once against him.

Then whispered so quietly he almost missed it:

“Thank you.”

And that—

That absolutely ruined him.

After that, things escalated quickly.

Because now Daryl knew.

And now you knew he knew.

Which meant every bit of affection became charged with unbearable awareness.

Daryl started touching you constantly.

Not even on purpose anymore.

A hand at your waist. Your knee pressed against his during dinner. His arm slung around your shoulders during watch duty.

And every single time, you unconsciously leaned into him like a moth to a flame.

Daryl became addicted to it immediately.

The way your eyes softened when he touched you. The sleepy little sighs you made. How naturally you started seeking him out afterward.

It destroyed him.

Completely.

Carol noticed first.

“You’ve gotta stop looking at her like that.”

Daryl frowned.

“Like what?”

“Like she hung the moon and invented kindness.”

Daryl looked offended.

“Ain’t lookin’ at her like nothin’.”

Carol stared.

“You carried her juice box across the yard yesterday.”

“…She asked.”

“She was fifteen feet away.”

Daryl grunted and walked off.

Carol laughed herself breathless.

You were not doing much better.

Because Daryl Dixon touched like he meant it.

Careful. Steady. Protective.

Every casual touch from him felt devastatingly intimate because Daryl wasn’t casually affectionate with anybody else.

Only you.

And the worst part?

He always looked at you afterward.

Like he needed to make sure you were okay.

Like your comfort mattered to him more than breathing.

One evening in the common area, you ended up tucked against Daryl’s side beneath a blanket.

Halfway through the conversations, you realized his fingers were absentmindedly rubbing slow circles against your arm.

Your brain nearly shut down.

You tilted your head slightly to look at him.

Daryl noticed immediately.

“What?”

“…Nothing.”

His hand paused.

“You want me t’stop?”

Immediate panic hit you.

“No.”

Too fast.

Too desperate.

Heat flooded your face instantly.

Daryl stared at you.

Then very slowly resumed the gentle motion against your arm.

Something soft and wrecked crossed his face.

Like that answer affected him way too much.

Truthfully?

It did.

The breaking point came during a storm.

Heavy rain hammered against the prison roof while everyone crowded into the cafeteria overnight.

Space was limited.

Blankets everywhere. People sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder.

You sat beside Daryl shivering slightly from the cold.

Without a word, he opened one arm toward you.

Invitation.

Your heart stumbled.

“Y’sure?” you whispered.

Daryl looked at you like the question offended him.

“Get over here.”

You curled against his side carefully.

Daryl immediately wrapped his arm around you fully.

Warm. Solid.

Safe.

Then—

Without thinking—

You nuzzled slightly closer.

Tiny movement.

Instinctive.

Daryl stopped breathing.

Because holy shit.

You trusted him.

Trusted him enough to seek comfort from him naturally.

His hand tightened carefully against your shoulder.

And then quietly, rough like confession:

“Ain’t nobody been takin’ care’a you right.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

You looked down.

“No,” you admitted softly.

Daryl went still beside you.

Then after a long moment:

“Gonna change that.”

Your breath caught.

You looked up slowly.

Daryl was already staring at you.

Eyes dark. Intense. Terrifyingly honest.

“Don’t think I can stop now anyway,” he muttered.

And suddenly you realized something equally devastating.

Daryl wasn’t just comforting you because he pitied you.

Daryl liked touching you.

Needed it too.

Maybe almost as much as you did.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Daryl…”

His hand slid carefully up your back.

Slow.

Gentle.

“You got any idea what ya do to me?” he asked hoarsely.

No.

No, you really didn’t.

But judging by the way Daryl looked at you right now—

Like touching you had become something dangerous and necessary all at once—

You were starting to understand.

Then finally, slowly, Daryl pressed his forehead against yours.