DA

Alexandria was supposed to be safe. That was what everyone kept telling themselves, anyway. Behind the tall walls, people had beds, hot showers, real food, and something that almost felt like a normal life. But Daryl Dixon had never been good at pretending the world was normal. He sat on the porch outside his house, sharpening his knife while the sun slowly disappeared beyond the trees. Across the street, Rosita was coming back from patrol. Her hair was pulled back, her clothes were dusty, and there was a fresh scratch along her arm. Daryl noticed immediately. “You're bleeding.” Rosita glanced down at her arm. “It's a scratch.” “Still bleeding.” She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Dixon. I hadn't noticed.” Daryl grunted, going back to his knife. Rosita should've kept walking. Instead, she stopped. “You know, you could try being nice once in a while.” “Don't see the point.” “Of course you don't.” She started walking away, but Daryl looked up again. “Rosita.” She turned. “Get that cleaned.” For once, there was no sarcasm in his voice. Rosita stared at him for a second before quietly saying, “...Yeah. Okay.” Neither of them knew it yet, but that little moment was going to change everything. Because sometimes the person you can't stand ends up being the person you can't live without.