New World (D.Dixon) ~rewritten~

•chapter 3• <rewrite>

"Handcuffs"

<Rewritten Version>

Word Count — 7512
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Alessia's POV
The box truck rattled over the uneven terrain, every bump making the air feel heavier. The deal with Jim and Dale had been made—first pick of any gun from the bag, and the radiator hose for the RV. It was a fair enough trade, but there was still that feeling in the pit of Alessia's stomach, the gnawing sensation that came with the constant uncertainty in this world.

T-dog, Daryl, and Alessia were in the back, bouncing around like cargo, while Rick handled the wheel and Glenn sat in the passenger seat. The ride was rough, and every jolt sent them careening in every direction. There was no comfort anymore, just an endless stretch of days that blurred into each other, defined only by the ever-present danger outside and the uncertainty of survival.

Alessia tried to keep her balance, her grip tightening on the edge of the truck bed. But with one particularly sharp turn, her body lost its footing, and she tumbled toward Daryl. Her shoulder slammed into his chest, knocking her slightly off balance before she fell into him completely.

Before she could even react, she felt his hands on her—firm but quick—steadying her before she could hit the floor or, worse, her head against the metal side. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rough either. His touch, though brief, made something stir inside her, something she couldn't quite name.

"Sorry," Alessia whispered, instinctively backing off, her cheeks flushed from the closeness, her heart pounding a little faster than it should.

"Watch it, girl," Daryl grumbled, rolling his eyes, his voice laced with a mixture of irritation and something else—something guarded. He nudged her with his shoulder, pushing her slightly away.

Alessia, now fully aware of the awkwardness of the situation, mumbled, "Thank you," trying to hide her discomfort. She quickly adjusted herself, repositioning her body in the seat, but her mind lingered on the brief moment. She was grateful for his reflexive actions, but something about the exchange left her feeling more exposed than she'd like.

Daryl didn't look at her again, his attention focused on the road, his posture tense as always. He was the kind of man who never allowed himself to be too close to anyone, even if he was always the one others relied on when things got tough. Alessia could see it in the way he held himself, that edge of emotional distance, like a protective barrier against the world.

But for a second, when his hands touched her, when he'd kept her from falling, Alessia had felt something different—a sense of warmth, of care, buried deep under the layers of his hardened exterior.

She didn't know why it mattered. She had no business thinking about it, and certainly no reason to entertain the feeling. It was just a fleeting moment. But the more time she spent around Daryl, the more she realized he wasn't like anyone else. And that only made it more confusing.

As the truck jolted again, Alessia looked out the window, trying to focus on the world beyond, trying to ignore the quickened beat of her heart. But the image of Daryl's hands on her—the strength in them, the brief contact that lingered in her thoughts—was harder to shake than she wanted to admit.

Daryl's POV

Daryl's thoughts twisted with Merle's voice echoing in his mind like an old, familiar wound. *"Dixon's don't do feelings. Women are just a good time, nothing more."*

He gritted his teeth, forcing the thoughts away. He couldn't afford to care, not about her, not about anyone. Feelings led to vulnerability, and vulnerability was a death sentence in this world. But it didn't stop him from noticing the way Alessia's green eyes—bright, almost unnervingly bright—had caught his attention. It wasn't just her eyes, though. It was the way she'd looked at him, the way she treated him differently from the others. She didn't care about the things people whispered behind his back. She didn't make him feel like a freak. She *saw* him.