daryl dixon imagines

twenty-six

You fold your arms over your chest as the light breeze hits your skin, also blowing the dill flowers as they sway back and forth. You smile softly at the way they grew in so closely and healthily.

"Hey, what you up to?" Daryl asks, walking up behind you.

"Those flowers. I planted them weeks ago. It's been so dry out, I didn't think they'd grow," you say, leaning your head on Daryl's shoulder. You glance up to the cross above it reading, 'Glenn Rhee.' You planted them at every tomb, but you love the way these ones sprouted.

"I feel like these ones sprouted so beautifully because of how good Glenn's soul was," you say softly, your voice almost blending in with the wind.

"Could be," Daryl agrees, even though you think he thinks it's most likely the stupidest thing he's ever heard. It was just a thought, though. Daryl was never one to really openly believe and speak about spirits and what happens after death.

"Bunch of rats were just caught runnin' out of the woods. The walkers are comin'," he says quietly, almost as if he doesn't want to pull you from your happy daze right now.

"Okay," you mumble, turning around and being hit with the hard truth of people frantically running around, trying to get the supplies they'll need to survive this battle. Bigger than one you've ever faced.

"I love you. You know that, right?" he asks. You nod, wrapping your arms around daryl and pulling him in for a hug.

"I love you too," you mumble, knowing damn well how you all could die by the end of tonight.