•A DARYL DIXON STORY•
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you leave and you don't look back."
"Daryl," she sighed softly, shaking her head.
"No, I mean it," he argue...
'if I told you about the darkness inside of me, would you still look at me, as if I am the sun?'
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Daryl took a long drag of his stale cigarette, exhaling into the cooling night air. The muffled voices of his people echoed behind him and his mind raced at the thought of all the people that should be there with them. Hershel, Lori, Beth, even his god damn brother.
It wasn't fair that he had made it this far, survived this long, when they weren't given a chance.
Tears stung his eyes as he stared at the burning cigarette, the now too-long ash threatening to fall to the steps below. He wanted to feel something, anything other than this burning pain in his chest.
He pressed the butt against his dirty hand, the skin there smoldering and smoking.
Nothing.
He sighed and took another drag, staring out into the shadowed tree line. All day, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, watching her.
Maybe it was his own thoughts that made him paranoid, his brain trying to find some explanation as to why he kept bringing his gaze to Zeppelin, even when he didn't mean to. A warm, tight feeling settled deep into his stomach, the nicotine only making it worse.
When he heard the light-footed boots scraping the porch behind him, and he didn't have to look up to know it would be Zepp. Something inside him called out at her presence, his nerves practically jumped out of his skin to be close to her.
She gingerly sat down on the steps next to him, her knees drawn up to her chest, and took the cigarette from his fingers. Wordlessly, she took a puff and then passed it back.
Her presence was comforting, that warm rush of calm was like how he felt when his mom used to make him hot chocolate on a cold winter day, if it was a good day for her, anyway.
Zeppelin's long brown curls swayed towards him in the gentle breeze, tickling his arms, and he took a deep breath.
Wildflowers.
She was the first to break the silence.
"I'm here if you need to talk," she murmured, resting her chin on her arm as she gazed at the trees. "Or not. We don't have to talk about anything."
He tossed the cigarette down below him and stomped it out with his boot, clearing his throat before he fully turned to look at her.
