•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...
'there dwells in my mind, the deepest longing for you.'
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"Shit," Zepp grumbled, fumbling with the bandage wrapped around her fingers. She scraped her knuckles hard against a tree while hunting that morning, the tiny wooden splinters jutting out of the wounds like broken glass.
More annoyed than actually hurt, she had picked each piece out carefully one by one, but was struggling to tie the gauze with one hand. Then firm, strong fingers replaced her own, grazing her skin as softly as silken sheets.
Daryl gave her a small half smile before focusing on his task, gently twisting the fabric around her hand, careful not to pull it too tight. His breath whispered against her skin, and it sent goosebumps barreling down her arm.
He politely pretended not to notice.
"Thanks," she murmured, struggling to meet his eyes as much as she was now struggling to breath. He looked away into the distance as children screamed playfully, and she snatched the stolen moment to graze over his figure.
The extra food since they had been here had added to his already stacked muscles, his body was finally able to hold on to some calories and it showed. His hair was growing longer, all but a few strands were almost to his shoulders now, and she wondered what it would look like pulled back, and almost snorted from the image.
He looked towards her again, catching her just as her gaze started to drift down lower. Her cheeks flushed, and she cleared her throat before rising from her perch on the porch stairs.
"So, what's your plan for today?" She casually steered the conversation away from herself. Aaron was going to be busy in town for the next few days and she hoped that didn't mean she wouldn't see Daryl as often either.
"Oh big day, ya know. Meeting at the office, gym session, maybe a nice dinner after," he tilted his head playfully, a quiet smirk forming.
"Oh? You got a date for this nice dinner of yours?" She arched an eyebrow, leaning against the porch frame with her arms crossed over her chest.
She could've sworn she saw him blush, just a quick flash of bright color before he ducked his head, tightening the mismatched strings on his boots.
"Yeah, maybe," he murmured.
"Z!" An all too familiar voice called out from behind her, and she twisted, squinting against the bright sunshine heading to the highest point in the sky.
None other than Spencer Monroe sauntered up the driveway, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a book in the other.
"What are you up to today?" His grin was wide and shining, his almost too white teeth glinting in the dewy rays of sun. It reminded her of the Cheshire Cat. "Personally, seems like a great day for a drink and a story."
