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Daryl’s spread out on the couch, laying flat on his back while staring at the darkness that gets lit by an occasional lightning somewhere in the distance. He knows that the stormy clouds are coming closer, as the night sky lights up a tiny bit more every time the lightning strikes again. It’s going to be any minute now, he knows it. There’s no way for you to sleep through it. A small smile is already tugging on his lips and he shakes his head, just thinking about it. He can almost hear your running footsteps already, thumping hurriedly down the stairs.
Many things have changed since the day he bumped into you - but this one hasn't.
*
“You make a step further and I swear to god…” Your voice is packed with threat and your eyes narrowed as you hold your gun up to the guy. The damn thing’s not even loaded, you ran out of bullets ages ago, but not like he can know that. He doesn’t seem to be scared by it though, or by you - so he’s either stupid or he’s fearless. You’re not exactly sure. Maybe he’s just a good enough judge of character to know straight out that you wouldn’t fire that gun. One thing you know for sure though, is that the guy’s hot as fuck, but that’s not exactly a valid criteria for anything nowadays. It’s a stupid thought you try to shake out of your head as you stare into his pair of sky blue’s, nearly hypnotized. Maybe you’re just not that scary looking, despite the fact you probably reassemble a rabid woodland critter at this point. It’s just another thing you’re not sure of though, since you’re trying to avoid mirrors. Not because you’re a damn vampire, but simply because you might get spooked by your own reflection. You probably stink something awful too, but he’s not much better either. Because - a shower? What is that even?
The man inches closer, hands held up in surrender. “Not gonna hurt ya, woman,” he grumbles lowly, but you don’t buy it. You’re determined in your intent to keep him away, not completely stupefied by his good looks and gravelly voice.
“Right, and I should believe it just ‘cause you said it,” you scoff and he doesn’t say anything, just shrugs and glances out through the stained window glass.
“A’right look,” he starts, gesturing towards the window, “there’s a storm comin’. Looks like ‘s gonna be a bad one….was lookin’ for a place to hole up for the night.”
You narrow your eyes some more, peeking at him through your lashes. “There’s no fuckin’ storm, I don’t hear or see nothin’,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief, but a slight distant rumble that does sound like thunder makes your eyes snap over to the window. “You a fuckin’ weatherman or what?” You don’t like it. You don’t wanna be holed up in here with this stranger, but being alone would be so much worse. And you sure as hell won’t be the one to leave your shelter. Not now, knowing that there was a storm coming. He doesn’t look like he’s about to leave either. You can’t detect a single trace of fear in his features as your eyes scan his face and his posture. You definitely gotta work some more on your act of scaring strangers away. You sigh and lower your gun. “Alright, you can stay,“ you mumble in utter annoyance, not wanting to let on that you’re actually kinda relieved to have him here to keep you safe from a fuckin’ thunderstorm. "But don’t you come near me.” You walk over to the blanket you have spread on the floor before he came and disturbed you, and you curl up, leaning against the wall.
Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just grunts and nods, then walks over to sit in another corner. But it’s been so long since you’ve had anyone around who you could talk to, and after a short while of stealing glances at the guy, you can’t help yourself. Your stupid tongue refuses to listen, mind desperate for something to distract it from the storm that’s creeping closer. “So, you’re gonna leave when the storm passes?” you ask. He grunts. Not much of a talker obviously. Just your fuckin’ luck. You press your eyes shut as lightning ripples across the sky. You know what’s next and you try to prepare yourself for it, but you still wince when the thunder rumbles. Your eyes open once it’s over and you catch his pair of blue’s staring at you through the candle light. Yes, candles. Because the dark kinda scares you a bit. Not as much as thunder does, though. “Must be cold to sit down on the concrete,“ you mumble again. He looks at you, but he doesn’t seem to catch on to what you meant by it. You roll your eyes and pat the empty spot on your blanket. "Or do you need a written invitation? Want it with a bow, should I sprinkle glitter over it? Get your ass over here!"
You see him tilt his head in confusion as he grumbles something again, shuffling up to his feet.
"Ya been alone long?” He asks as he slumps down to your blanket, obviously smitten by your overwhelming hospitality.
As if you know, time doesn’t mean shit no more. You shrug. “I guess.” Your gaze is trained on the stained window, but you feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull, as he actually tries to start a conversation. He tells you he has a group, asks you a bunch of stupid questions that make you stare at him blankly for a moment before you answer, feeling like you were being evaluated. “Don’ know how many dead I’ve killed, didn’t count. Were dead already, so I figured it didn’t matter. It’s not really killing, right?” The room gets lit up by lightning and you close your eyes, preparing for the thunder. It’s closer now, louder. You wince. You narrow your eyes when he asks the same question about people. You didn’t kill people. Well, you did kill one, but that’s only because he hadn’t given you much choice, he was already half dead when you stumbled into him. The man nods at your explanation. “You got a name?” you ask and he says it’s Daryl. Kinda suits him nicely, you think as your eyes give him a thorough once-over, mumbling out your own name before you focus back on the window.
“Ya afraid of thunder?”
His question makes you look back at him and you scoff, very aware of how silly that is, but yes, you’re afraid. Is it really that obvious though? “That’s just ridiculous!” You answer, avoiding to look at him. “ Course I’m not afraid of thunder. That’s just silly - ” But as you speak, the small storage room gets all bright again and you try to brace yourself for what’s coming. It’s so loud this time though, so close. The glass on the windows clatters slightly and you squeal, your hands flying towards his arm and you grab and squeeze it tight for a moment.
Shit!
You inhale sharply and release your grip on him, hiding your face in your hands in embarrassment. “Maybe a little,” you mumble, totally shamefaced, making him snort in laughter.
*
He kind of always thought you are adorable. From the moment he first laid eyes on you. Didn’t matter much that you had your gun raised at him back then. You were trying so hard to look like a badass, but all you did was to make his knees feel weak. He did learn later on that you in fact are a badass. You’re strong, brave. Sometimes you seem fearless even. Stupidly and unnecessarily reckless, infuriating him with your actions more times than not. But more than once had he also caught himself admiring you while you fought - walkers, people - it didn’t matter anymore, they were no match for your fiercefullness. But then a thunderstorm comes and so do you, running to him to keep you safe from harm. He chuckles to himself, catching on the familiar sound of you gasping in horror as the door to your bedroom flies open just in time for a loud roar of thunder from the outside. His chuckle morphs into a bark of laughter as you come running down the stairs and peak your head into the living room. You scowl, seeing his smiling, knowing expression.
“Asshole! You left the bed on purpose again,” you mutter and slump down beside him. “You make fun of me one more time and I’ll steal one of your bolts and stick it up your ass!”
He cackles and shakes his head. “Heard that one already. Yer repeatin’ yerself,” he says with a grin, as you lay down beside him and snuggle up to his side, still feeling offended, but also too afraid while at the same time too comfortable to give a damn.