𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒, Daryl Dixon

⁶⁴, HAIRCUT

  It had been a long time since she'd looked at herself. Really looked.

  Her skin had tanned darker since her sunburn faded, and her hair had gotten longer. A lot longer. Vex tugged at the ends that were now nearly down to her naval; she needed to cut it. It hadn't been touched since the world went to shit, and having it tied back made her forget it grew.

  For now, though, Vex pushed it behind her shoulders, studying her face a bit closer. Sparse freckles had appeared across her nose and forehead, presumably from the sun exposure, and she still had a faint scar on her cheek from the night in Woodbury.

  The only mark still left from Paul.

  She stepped back, frowning slightly at the sight of herself. Wild curls, freckles, a faded Van Halen shirt with the neckline so stretched out it slipped down, exposing one of her shoulders and a black bra strap. Dark black plain jeans that hugged her legs and hid the healed wound on her thick, tucked into the same boots she had worn the day the world went to shit.

  She looked young. Every piece of her appearance subtracted another year off of her age; Vex wondered if she had ever really changed after 20. Or if it was all makeup and clothes that Paul picked, the stifling rules of the military, the presentation she tried to have as a mother.

  In some opinions, she was young. Only barely into her 30s, Vex was the youngest within the group she was setting out to meet. Carol was 10 years her senior, while Rick and Daryl had 7 years on her.

  But Vex felt her skin crawl at the idea of looking like she did when she was 20. Perhaps it had to do with being groomed from the age of 13, being told she was mature and ahead of the curve, yet somehow also naive. It was so deeply ingrained to look and act older than she was, that simply being her age unnerved her.

  Vex blew the thought away as she turned from the mirror. No one had questioned her for it. No one had scolded her for being younger or mentioned her appearance at all. Focusing on it would lead her nowhere. These people were not like Paul.

  Daryl Dixon was not like Paul.

🗡

  Daryl found Vex before Rick or Carol had. She was walking toward the gate, her rifle already strapped across her chest, waving at Jack who seemed to be manning it today.

  "Hey."

  She turned, a soft smile gracing her features as she saw Daryl catching up with her.

  "Hey," Vex greeted, "I think I'm gonna cut my hair."

  Daryl looked a little confused for a moment, but nodded, "Alright."

  Vex narrowed her eyes, taking this as a challenge.

  "Yeah, apparently Jessie used to be a hairstylist," She confirmed, turning away as they walked closer to the gate, "I'm thinking a bob. Super short, real blunt, you know."

  "Sure," Daryl nodded, his confusion still clear.

  "Or maybe I'll get it all buzzed off."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Just trying to see where the line is."

  "Huh?"

  "You know, when you'd freak out."

  "'Bout your hair?"

  Vex laughed, nodding. She waved to Jack as he opened the gate, the man waving back as they passed through it into the open world beyond. They turned into the forest, setting off to their meeting place with Carol and Rick.