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anyotherwriter · 2 years

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Ask Me Again

For a request from @bringinsexybackk69 -- “Before the ZA, Y/N was a tattoo artist before the ZA and she met Daryl because she did the artwork on his back (the angel and demon). She met him through Merle (after publicly turning him down in front of a bunch of his army buddies) and after a couple years her and Daryl got married. Fast forward to the ZA, maybe one kids at the prison from WoodBury asks how they met while Y/N is giving the kids “temp” tattoos with some washable markers / letting the kids fill in her tattoos with the colored markers she found on a run.”

I hope you like it, I think it’s pretty cute!

okay, love you, bye.

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You made sure to stay as still as you could, sitting well the way you had many times before. It wasn’t a foreign feeling to have someone’s hands on you, or to be completely okay with it while filling your arms and your legs with painful, colorful artwork. You couldn’t begin to recount the number of hours you’d spent with needles and ink wells and the smell of disinfectant and latex mingling in the air, but you couldn’t deny that it was one of the things you missed the most. There was a heavy feeling of longing in your chest for that good pain that left behind nothing but beauty. Oftentimes you wished you were smart enough to engineer another machine, to fabricate that electric buzz that would typically over take the music in the shop you used to work at.

For now, the small hand wrapped around your bicep and the other holding a blue marker and coloring in the blank spaces would have to do.

"I wish I had more colors." The boy, around ten or eleven, said to you as he focused heavily on the way the felt of the marker tip glided across your skin, filling in the outline of the rose you had just gotten before everything went to hell.

"I always keep an eye out for more when I'm out there." You said with a small smile, remembering the success you felt when you found an orange marker that had rolled under a metal shelf in an old mechanic shop, only to uncap it and find it bone dry and crusted. "Maybe I'll ask Daryl to keep an eye out, too."

It was a simple suggestion, one you put out into the world without thinking it was odd or an intimidating thing to do. You were aware that most people at this prison, especially the folks that found refuge here from Woodbury, felt that Daryl wasn't the one to do personal favors. They were off put by the sneer he wore on his face most times, let alone the actions he displayed when he was angry in the snap of a finger. Recently, though, he seemed to level out. He was calmer, albeit more flighty and itching to leave the prison gates whenever people would attempt to speak to him- he was still trying.

"How did you meet Daryl?" The boy said, his voice quieter than before. It was a question that you'd been asked before, and a question you often didn't answer. Not because you didn't want to talk about it; you mostly wanted to respect Daryl in that he had no interest in telling anyone about himself and his life and you. Back at the Quarry, he was upset that you offered up as much as you did to the group, telling Shane and Lori that Daryl knew how to hunt, that you wanted to join the larger group for protection in numbers, that you and Daryl were married.

None of it was ever a secret, not by any means. Daryl didn't care if everyone knew he could hunt and hold his own, he didn't care about wanting safety in numbers- because that was a good call. What he cared about was the odd looks that you received when attaching yourself to him in such an intimate title. You were his wife, and in a world that would find itself full of lawless thieves and murderers, you were now his weakness and a target by association.

His fears in this new, broken world were similar to his fears of the past world. The way he voiced them to you in the tent the following evening after the group had settled, you could hear the apprehension and the fear in his voice he wouldn't admit was there. Since then, you promised him you wouldn't say anything he wouldn't.

It wasn't until recently, when Rick opened the gates to the people of Woodbury, that Daryl introduced you to someone new as his wife, something he had only done a handful of times since you'd gotten married. It was a sign that he was comfortable and felt that you were safe.

But he hadn't always been so sure.

"How we met?" you let out a deep exhale, making sure not to jostle your arm as the boy switched from the blue marker to the green. "You trying to get that one out of me again?"

"Daryl told me that I should ask you one more time." The boy smiled as he followed the lines of the empty leaves around the now blue rose. You would've thought that he was lying, but when you looked across the yard to where Daryl was propped up onto a table, he was already looking at you with a humored smile of his own.

When you met Merle and his Army buddies, you knew that he wouldn't make it too far. He was loud and boisterous to a fault. He wanted to fight anything that moved and believed that the world owed him something extraordinary. His buddies were no different. They would rock up into the tattoo shop you started to apprentice at, cause a bunch of trouble, and get high before sitting for the most cliché flash designs off the walls. You were able to fly under the radar and miss detection from them a few times, but one night, one of his buddies had seen a small flash of you as you tried to make a beeline to the bathroom for some reprieve from the noise.

"Hey, you!" Was all the guy had said, followed by the heavy footfalls of his boots. You hoped that maybe you could get away from him, make him believe it was just a hallucination from the high. But you weren't quick enough and his large hand locked around your elbow and pulled you back. "Where've they been hidin' you?"

"Leave her alone!" The familiar timber of your mentor's voice barked through the shop, followed by warnings of kicking their whole damn crew out if he had to. "She ain't doin' no business for you."

The hand didn't let go of you as fast as you would've liked and you weren't surprised by the red marks his fingers had left behind, either.

"Ladies like her ain't gonna put out for someone with such an ugly mug like you!" Merle yelled then, arrogance lacing his voice as he winked at you. "She's lookin' for a real man."

And you were convinced after that evening that there were no real men worth searching for around this town. You thought maybe this place would be different than where you grew up, maybe more friendly and accepting and welcoming; it ended up being more of a lateral move, not an upgrade. You'd sit in the back corner at a desk with chipping veneer and practice on the pig skins that your mentor bought from a butcher down the street for a reduced fee and mind your business. You'd work on your line work and your shading, all the while keeping an eye on every mouthy man that walked in the front door wanting to know what they could get for a single hundred dollar bill.

It wasn't until late one evening that Merle had come strolling back into the shop, nearly snuck in with an unusual quietness to him, minutes before you were meant to head out for the night. You didn't notice he was inside until he clapped his hand on the back of a new guy's shoulder, the sound resonating through the shop.

You hadn't seen him before. You were well-versed in the gang Merle usually toted around and the way their individual footsteps sounded, threatening and heavy as they dragged under them uneasily. But this guy… you didn't hear him at all, even as you watched him walk around hesitantly. His hair was a messy buzzcut of chestnut and his shirt was a ratty navy blue thing peppered with oil stains. When your mentor asked him if he was there for some ink, too, he declined.

There was a familiarity with Merle in the way he threw a wave your way, knowing you were tucked away in your corner behind a large, fake monstera plant you brought in to liven up the place a bit, and the disgusted glare you always gifted him in return. It was a routine now and you knew it was a game for him.

"Evenin', sweet cheeks!" He called to you, earning another glare. "How 'bout you hook my brother up with some free ink, huh?" He suggested loudly, and then laughed. Normally you would've told Merle to shove it, and that no one he's associated with gets anything for free, but you were stuck on the fact that this new guy was his brother. A brother that seemed to be quiet and reserved and anxious in the way he kept chewing at the skin of his thumb and glancing towards the front door. When Merle mentioned a tattoo for him, his head whipped up in your direction like he hadn't noticed you there sooner and his eyes widened slightly.

You steeled yourself, offered a tight smile to him, and turned back to Merle.

"Fuck off, Merle." You said before grabbing your bag off the floor and collecting a few loose drawings you had scattered on your desk. "I'd rather eat rusty screws."

And you made your way out the front door, the bell above it signaling your departure and you didn't mean to, but you looked back in through the window just in time to see the stranger sitting back on the couch, still chewing at his thumb, with the ghost of a humored smile tugging at his lips.

And then Merle disappeared for a while, weeks, and it seemed as if the town calmed down a bit. It felt a little safer to walk to your car in the evenings and you didn't worry about running into him and his crew at the gas station. You had gotten comfortable enough in the quiet hum to go out grocery shopping in the evening. It was late November and there was no traffic and you enjoyed the empty aisles as you got to take your time looking for unbruised apples. It was a different story when you left the safety of the bright lights of the store and started to make your way to your car. There was a familiar whistle from the dark part of the sidewalk, where a cloud of smoke clouded the group in a threatening aura. Merle was quick to step towards you as you continued to walk towards your car. You held your finger over the panic button on your keys, but you knew that he would just find it funny and probably press on further.

“Leave me alone.” You demanded, hoping that he would just let you load your bags into your car and leave you be. But things were never that simple.

“Now, now,” he started as he rested his hand on the frame of the door just beside you. “Ya didn’ miss me?”

“No. Now leave me alone.” You tried to put the next bag from your shopping cart into your car when Merle reached into it and plucked out a bag of chips and ripped it open. He made a show of eating one loudly, close to your face, with a devious smirk on his face.

“Honey, I think…” He moved a bit closer to you, now, “that you and I could be somethin’ special.”

A laugh rose up your chest and you couldn’t stop it before it came out. It was a sound that echoed through the empty parking lot and Merle’s face dropped. His buddies behind him snickered as they tried not to laugh at their friend too much. They’d watch Merle try this dance with almost every other woman in town, most times with the same outcome, but it never humbled him quite enough.

He simply raised his eyebrows at you as you snatched the bag out of his hands, making sure to let your nails scrape painfully along the top of his hand.

“Merle!” Someone yelled from behind them. This time you could hear his foot fall. They smacked against the ground in loud, angry thumps against the pavement as they approached you. You didn’t dare take your eyes from Merle’s, who found the new voice a nuisance based on the way he rolled his eyes. It wasn’t until the flash of chestnut hair came into your peripheral that you even dared a look away from Merle.

“Daryl, c’mon, man!” Merle threw his hands up in the air in defeat as his brother stepped in between the two of you. He smelled like cigarettes and leather and dirt after a heavy rain.

“Leave’er the fuck alone.” He said around the half-burnt cigarette that hung from his lips. He didn’t have to physically push Merle away from him, even if it looked like he were about to, when Merle began to walk away with a few mumbles of how he was never allowed to have any fun lately, not with Daryl around.

When the group had made it far enough away from them that Daryl felt comfortable turning his back to them, he did so hesitantly, and made a show of putting a great distance between the two of you. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with him standing so close to you, he never wanted anyone to compare him to Merle in any way. You noticed the way he noticed the cigarette smoke swirling around his face when he exhaled and he tried to quickly put it out without you noticing.

He didn’t say anything to you, not while you quickly put the rest of your things into your back seat and slammed the door shut, not when he watched you carefully as you opted to leave your cart in the cart return about eight spaces over instead of taking it back to the front of the store like you normally did. He didn’t say a word to you until you closed your door and a small squeal followed the start up of your car. You jumped when his knuckles tapped lightly on the window.

“I can fix that belt for’ya.” He said cautiously through the inch opening you allowed him. He wasn’t hovering and he wasn’t getting too close to the window. He actually took another step back. You didn’t say anything to him in response, just shook your head, and he took the ‘no’ for what it was and stepped back far enough to let you pull away quickly.

And you thought about that for days. You thought about the way he stepped in for you, to help you, and wondered more than anything why he would.

The shop stayed quiet for a while too. You still felt your shoulders tense in the evenings, wondering if the bell above the door was that whole crew wandering in to cause trouble. You tried not to look up whenever you heard it, because if it were them, eye contact was a sure fire way for them to harass you until you left. It took another couple weeks before your peace was disturbed again.

“Mind if I talk to’er?” You barely heard him ask over the sound of the headphone in your left ear. You looked up slowly, noticing Daryl, alone, by the front door with his hands twisted into each other and barely stepping too far in. Your brow crinkled in confusion at him asking permission to talk to…you? It didn’t make sense. When he got the go ahead, he slowly approached you in your corner, where you took very well to bringing in another few large plants to build yourself a wall away from everyone else. He stopped a couple feet short and you paused your music.

And then there was a long, long pause of silence as he tried to figure out what he was going to say, or why he even stopped in to see you in the first place. He couldn’t help but sweep his eyes over the papers on your desk, the drawings scattered around as if the second you finished one, you began another. There was a whole mess of flowers and animals but Daryl’s eye caught on one that was mostly covered and forgotten. He could only see a wing peeking out, and he reached out slowly to pull it out. As much as you wanted to snatch the paper back from him, you let him stare at it for a while before speaking.

“What? You came for a tattoo?” You asked with humor. He frowned deeply at your question, knowing that the answer was no. He came by to apologize for Merle and the way he treated you that night, and for the way he probably treated you before that, and for Merle’s general existence. Daryl knew that his brother was… a lot to deal with, and he didn’t wish it on anyone. The answer was no, he didn’t come for a tattoo, he didn’t need one. Didn’t have the money for one.

“Sure.”

The surprised look on your face had Daryl almost smiling. Almost. But he wanted to keep his face neutral, he didn’t want you to look at him the way you looked at Merle, or his friends. You looked at them with an apprehensive fear, a fear that they were unpredictable and could cause you harm if you weren’t careful.

Daryl didn’t know you, hadn’t known of you until Merle dragged him into the shop that evening after he decided to get high and Daryl felt the need to make sure he didn’t get himself in any trouble, which they both had found later in the evening in the blinding red and blue lights and blood running from Daryl’s nose and knuckles. He thought you were tough with the way that you told Merle to fuck off without hesitation, then he thought you a fool for walking out in the night by yourself. He knew the people that lurked under the dark awnings of shuttered up businesses, he knew them well, and the worry he sat with far surpassed the annoyance he felt with Merle as he started to get messy in his stupor. He felt the same kind of worry for you when he noticed you walking out of that grocery store and the way they had all made a beeline towards you. He knew they were stupid and reckless and had little care for anyone else’s comfort. Daryl wanted to believe that Merle wasn’t going to hurt you, or push you too far, but he also knew his brother and decided that his rightful place was between you and Merle, making sure that Merle knew he had no place there at all.

Daryl got caught up in the uneasiness of your movements after that, in the way your keys shook a little harder as you tried to cram them into your ignition, the way you jumped sharply when his own knuckles gently tapped on your window. He didn’t know what he expected, he just knew that he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way you reacted to him, like he scared you, too. And he thought about it the rest of the night, and the next night, and the night after that. He thought about it enough that he found himself standing on the corner a block south and across the street from the tattoo shop. He’d smoke through a half pack of cigarettes and keep an eye out for anyone shady walking in the front door.

Daryl knew you weren’t alone inside, he knew that most people in town wouldn’t even dare mess with your mentor, on account of his past decisions to physically throw patrons out the front door into the street for disrespecting his staff. But Daryl still felt the need to watch the door for you. To make sure you didn’t feel like you had no safety. And on this night, he decided to walk in.

“Really?” You asked him, your voice a little higher than normal. You’d gotten to tattoo a few people by now, finding them to be understanding with you being new to tattooing, agreeable with the lower pricing, and friendlier than you’d expected. But this one almost felt like a trap, like if you let him sit for one, then you’d owe him something in return.

“Ya don’ have’ta if ya don’ wanna.” He mumbled, now unsure if he should’ve even come in tonight. How would you have possibly known that he came in as a friendly, as one of the few people in town that even knew your name.

But you found yourself swiping the papers across your desk into a messy stack off to the side and opening a few drawers while pulling out supplies. He felt his fingers grip the paper he still held a little harder at the sight of the packaged needles being laid out.

He knew it was silly to be worried about the pain of the needles since pain was all he really knew lately.

Daryl let you tug the paper out of his hands and prepare a stencil anyway.

“I ain’t got money, not enough a’least.” He said quietly. He didn’t want to wait until you were finished to remember that reaching into his pocket would only result in a few crumpled ones and fives that he’d snuck out of vehicles that he’d worked on at the shop in desperation because he was hungry. “I jus’ came to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?” You asked, now very confused. Daryl hadn’t done anything worth apologizing for, the only time he was close enough to warrant words before now he was helping you. If anything, you should’ve thanked him for helping you get out of the parking lot that night.

“Merle.”

He said it simply, and bashfully, knowing that he always felt the need to follow in his brother’s messy trail of destruction and clean up after him. He hadn’t expected you to laugh, though. You laughed as you slid on your black gloves, and laughed again as you took a step towards him that he hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared for you to come so close, and he took a big step back. It silenced your laughter quickly and you held your hands up slowly.

“Where do you want it?” You asked him in a quiet voice, afraid that if you spoke any louder, he’d turn around and high-tail it out of there. The design seemed larger as a stencil than it did on the paper and he knew where he would put it, but he also knew that it would be more revealing to you than he wanted to be. But he mumbled about his right shoulder to you and you waited patiently, for almost two minutes, before he got brave enough to start pulling his shirt over his head. He was skinny, and his shoulders boasted deep tan lines from his time in the sun. You could see that he was cautious when dropping his arms fully to his side, and the amount of hesitation he held in turning around for you.

Daryl hadn’t let anyone see him like this, didn’t plan to let anyone see him like this, but under the pink glow of a neon heart light you kept lit in your corner, and the way the light sparkled off the apples of your cheeks, he turned his back to you. And he didn’t miss the way you deeply exhaled at this sight of his scars; he expected it.

What he didn’t expect was how you walked him through everywhere you planned to touch him, and the moment just before you did. The pressure of the stencil, the encouragement from your hand around his bicep to pull him towards a mirror to make sure he liked the placement. He wasn’t used to how gentle you were with him when you got close into his space on your stool, finding a position that was comfortable for the both of you to be in. He couldn’t describe the way he felt when the needle started in on his skin mixed with the way your hands wiped away the excess ink and blood with such gentle care he hadn’t seen before. It was the moment he knew that he needed to protect you, even if you were repulsed by him, because no one had ever shown him such kindness and care. He wasn’t sure if his head felt fuzzy and a little dizzy at the pain or if it was because you’d ask him if he was okay every few minutes and offer him a break if he needed it. You offered him a bottle of water from the fridge and even a pack of crackers you kept in your purse that you always ate on your drive home.

He knew then that his soul needed yours.

A few days after you had tattooed Daryl in near silence, and declined the crumpled bills he tried to pull from his pants pocket, you saw him again. He didn't come into the shop. You didn't notice him until you pulled away from the curb and about to turn left down the next street when you saw a puff of smoke and a small orange light fall to the ground and get crushed beneath a boot. It was Daryl, and he tried to be subtle in the way he watched your car drive away, but you noticed. You noticed and you wondered if he was standing there long, if he was waiting for you, and if maybe he was the reason Merle hadn't been by in a long while.

You'd peak out the front window whenever you worked late in the shop to see if he was there, and most times he was. He'd just stand there, still as a statue, until you'd leave for the night and in your rear view mirror, he'd be walking in the opposite direction you were driving until disappearing down an alley.

It took nearly two weeks for you to decide not to get into your car, but instead cross the street and head in his direction instead. He followed the same routine of putting out his cigarette but stood there and waited for you to get closer. He couldn’t help but be surprised that you decided to approach him, he knew that you’d see him whenever you left, but he never imagined that you would feel safe enough to approach him on the cracked sidewalk under the broken street light. Daryl grew a little worried the closer you got, he had the quickest thought pop up that you may think he’s a creep, and a stalker, and you may be walking up to him right now to lay into him to leave you the hell alone.

“Wanna get some food?” You asked quickly, afraid of what he was going to say to you and if he thought you were weird.

You watched as a confused smile grew across his face. He hadn’t expected it, but then again, he hadn’t expected you, either.

“With me?”

And you nodded your head easily, and then like the fever dream he could’ve sworn it was, he found himself perched on the hood of your car, eating a burger from the only fast food joint that was still open in town as you sucked down a milkshake. He listened to you talk about whatever you wanted; your family, the hole in the toe of your shoe, which stars you could name even if neither of you could see them under the steady haze of light pollution.

That’s when he knew he was a goner.

After that evening, he was invited inside. You peeked your head out the door and waved him in. He was worried at first that you needed help, so he hurried. When he pulled the door open, he was met with nothing but peace and calm and warm air. You motioned for him to hop up onto your table, where he envisioned you strapping him down and tattooing him against his will, but it was just to give him a decent place to spend his time. And it became the norm, where he’d walk in and head straight back to your corner, often bringing food or a drink or a little trinket or the time he brought you a pack of AA batteries for your wall clock that died. Nights turned to quick weeks, and Daryl hadn't felt more at home.

By the time Christmas rolled around, he couldn't afford much of anything. He was making crap money and he felt you deserved so much more than he could give you, especially when you handed him a large gift bag from your back seat three days before Christmas. Daryl hadn't expected it to be awkwardly heavy and he stared at the green tissue paper that peeked from the top for an extra long minute before placing it on the ground. He crouched down on the sidewalk, not sure how he was supposed to react as he opened it. What if he didn't seem excited or grateful enough? He wasn't concerned with what was actually in the bag; it could be heinous and terribly ugly and absolutely useless, but he wouldn't care. He didn't take the fact that you went out of your way thinking about him for advantage. He braved a quick glance up at your expectant face before he dug his hands in. He knew the feeling before he pulled it out, and he couldn't help the smile he let out.

Seeing Daryl pull the vest out of the bag had you wrapping your arms around your middle a little self consciously. You weren't sure what he'd make of it. The reason for buying it made so much sense; a set of wings to match the ones you etched into his skin. You were worried it would seem like too much. He spread the black leather vest flat over his thighs as he stayed crouched on the ground and stared at the large, bright white angel wings stitched onto the back. His fingers toyed with the edges of the patches for a while.

"If you don't like it, I can return it, Daryl." You offered quietly, trying to remember where you had put the receipt.

"Nah, it's…" He said, but then stopped. He wasn't sure how to describe the way he was feeling. Elated and appreciated and lucky, to name a few. It was the moment he regretted not having anything for you. "I didn' get you nothin'."

His voice was quiet and you had to strain to hear him. He made sure the vest was secure in his hands before he stood back up, his shoulders hunched forward a little as he kept his eyes on the black stitching across the wings. It was easily the nicest piece of clothing he owned and he didn't take that for granted. You had done that for him and he couldn't wrap his head around that too easily. But something in his brain just… clicked.

He stepped forward so fast you hadn't anticipated it, his hands a little too clumsy and rushed as he reached out to take hold of your arms and he quickly covered your lips with his own. It was brief and harsh and he had no idea what he was doing. He didn't know how to kiss you right, but, if you'd let him, he'd spend the rest of his time doing everything right for you.

And you did let him.

You let him try your first kiss again after his nerves jumbled the first. And try it again after that just because you knew he wanted to.

The gentle kisses and soft touches became a norm, still accompanied by his overprotective need to make sure you make it home okay and that none of the shitbags in town even dare to bother you again. Daryl's run-ins with Merle grew more aggressive, the threats more genuine, especially when Merle learned that you had given Daryl a chance and not him. Merle couldn't understand why someone like you would shack up with his brother. A childish jab at you being "deaf, blind, and dumb" had Daryl breaking Merle's nose right in front of his juvenile group of friends in an instant.

As more time passed, Daryl kept more and more distance from Merle. Daryl took the loss of a place to crash, and false sense of safety of the streets with him, as an opening to get closer to you. He needed a couch; he needed a roof and food and warmth and love, and you had all of that ready for him before he even asked.

The calendar you kept posted on your fridge gained a significant amount of Daryl's jagged lettering, with his work schedule mingling with yours, small notes scrawled along the edges of the paper reminding you to be safe, and you reminding him to eat.

The transition between wanting to be with you and being with you was a taxing time for Daryl. He was concerned that everything he did, every move he'd make, would be wrong. He was still stuck in the knowledge that you let him kiss you whenever he wanted to, you chose to share meals with him, and your free time, too. It made him anxious, and he worried constantly about fucking it all up. He still couldn't get over the feeling of you plastering yourself into his side on the couch to watch TV and then falling asleep very shortly after. Your cheek would rest on his shoulder, his arm would be around your back with his hand having a firm grip on your hip, and your legs thrown over his. It became an almost nightly ritual that he grew to hope for, but was always too worried to ask you for your attention.

Daryl hadn't expected to tell you he loved you the way he did. He never imagined he'd make it this far with you, let alone sharing meals, and blankets, and some of the most honest, heart-clenching conversations he'd ever dared to have.

"We should get married." He mumbled one evening, his eyes glued to the sharp lines of the stars that littered the space around your wrist and onto your hand, your left hand with a fourth finger that seemed terribly bare as far as Daryl was concerned. It wasn't something he had wanted before, nor something he allowed himself to dream of. He hadn't even meant to say it out loud, because at this point, he hadn't even told you he loved you yet. He was still coasting on touches and sweet, safe words and relying on actions to hopefully say the things that the lump in his throat wouldn't allow him to yet.

But this…this came out so easily. So fast and clear and as truthful as Daryl could be.

You snapped your head up to him quickly, eyes wide and a little hazy from the sleep you were just about to slip into. You thought you didn't hear him right, that you were having an in-between dream. But you weren't, and his words sat there waiting for you to react. You were sure that you looked alarmed, especially with the way he began to pull his arm off of you in an attempt to put space between you.

"Daryl-" You said gently, reaching out to grab his arm. The blanket that you had rested over your feet slid to the ground into a heap. Daryl still tried to move away.

"M'sorry, I… tha's not what I meant." He said, dropping his head into his hands and allowing his thumbs to press into his temples a little too hard.

"It's not?" You asked, your voice almost too hard for him to hear. He didn't miss the way you almost sounded disappointed.

"Ya ain't known me tha'long." He ground out, looking for any reason to fix what he'd said. "I ain't… yer too… I don't now, I ain't no good for ya." His shoulders sagged in defeat with the way that intrusive thought kept coming back to him as frequently as it possibly could. He didn't dare look at you.

"No, Daryl. No." Your voice was firm, almost sounding mad, as your grip on his arm tightened. You were afraid that this would be the beginning of him pulling away from you.

When he looked at you, he wished he hadn't. Your eyes seemed bigger and sadder and he wanted to kick himself. He knew he was fucking everything up.

"It's not tha' I didn' mean it." He started slowly, his voice gravely as he tried to get the jumbled thoughts together. "It's just…the timin' ain't right, is it? I can't give ya nothin'... no ring, no home, no fancy dates or a big wedding. I don't have shit and you don' deserve that."

"It doesn't matter, Daryl."

And he felt himself growing frustrated because it did matter to him. He offered you no opportunity, no safety net, no stability. He was less than half a man and he knew it.

"If you ask me again, I'll say yes, Daryl. I would've said yes the first time, too." You said, now sitting up straight and letting go of his arm. You could see him starting to retreat into himself, both physically and mentally, and you knew he needed a moment. You were gonna give it to him. You forced yourself to stand up slowly, before crouching down in front of him. He had his head dropped back into his hands, his eyes keeping good guard from your gaze. You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his head, made sure that he heard your very clear 'I love you', and stood again.

When you stepped out of the room, Daryl tried to take a deep breath but his lungs wouldn't fill. He wanted to scream and break something. He'd never been so close to something he wanted so bad. You had opened the door for him as wide as you could and he felt so stupid for not walking through it already. Minutes had passed, and it was too long. The laughter coming from the television was so misplaced it hurt.

When he heard your footsteps slowly walking around from the direction of the bedroom, he finally found the courage to fly to his feet and make his way quickly to you. There was no reason for him to put it off, put you off, and to put off the things that he wants the way he usually does.

“It is what I meant.” He said when he stepped into the room where you had taken to slowly folding and putting away laundry. You seemed calm and content and Daryl would’ve been confused if he didn’t know that you knew him better than he knew himself. You knew that one way or another, he’d come to you when he was ready to talk. You half expected him to come in and apologize quickly, want to move on from the unexpected conversation you’d found yourself in, and bury it for a while. You hadn’t expected him to say that, or to get as close to you as he could, to grab the clothes from your hands and chuck them on the basket across the room, or to grab your face and pull you into him so firmly. The kiss was everything he needed to tell you how he felt about you, because he knew that words would fail him. He wished he knew how to tell you that he belonged to you in every way possible, and he would sell his soul to spend his life with you. Though, he suspected you already knew.

He couldn’t miss the way you slipped a steady and confident ‘yes’ in between kisses, answering the question that still hung in the air around you. He meant it, and so did you, It made him want to cry and scream to release the pent up excitement that bubbled up so quickly in his chest, an excitement he’d never felt before. You’d just agreed to spend your life with him like it was a casual conversation on a wednesday night about the outcome of a football game, like it was an everyday thing, normal and factual.

“So, what? Did you get married before the world ended?” The boy asked, finally capping his markers and leaning back to admire his work. You had always intended to go back and get the flowers colored in; you wanted oranges and pinks with small bits of green- but the empty lines offered you, and the kids, and sometimes Daryl, a chance to turn them into whatever they wanted.

“Oh, yeah,” You said quickly, your eyes finding Daryl’s again. “Like three days after that.”

“Three days?” The boy said with a look of shock on his face. “Doesn’t that stuff take a long time to plan or something? My sister used to watch those dumb shows on TV where the people tried on thirty dresses alone!”

“No,” you laughed, wondering what your wedding dress would’ve looked like had you had one. “I didn’t have a fancy dress like that. Just pulled a blue one out of my closet while Daryl waited for me to hurry up and pick something.”

You saw Daryl get up from his place on top of the picnic table across the way and start to make his way over to you. His face had grown tired, his features harder and stressed. You wished that things could go back to the way they were, in your shitty apartment with Daryl fixing the kitchen sink plumbing because you knew your landlord wouldn’t even bother. To both of your shoes chucked haphazardly to the side by the front door, telling anyone that came in that you were both there, lived together, belonged together, took on the world together in that small, worthless town. You hoped that one day, a hope that was beyond misplaced in the death and destruction that the world only knew now, that one day he could rest and breathe deeply and find a happy that he always deserved- one that you planned to give him for better or for worse. You just hadn’t expected the world to turn to the worse so quickly.

“Do you wish you had a fancy dress?” The boy asked a little quieter, his eyes catching onto Daryl’s approaching figure, still intimidated by him no matter how many times you’d tried to tell people that he was just a big softie.

Daryl’s left hand was reaching out to you in an instant, waiting for you to latch onto him so he could whisk you away into privacy where he could let you sit on his lap, back pressed into his chest as his face rested in your hair, and whisper into your ear how much he loved you over and over. He was never possessive before, he never wanted you to feel trapped with him. But now, when you were away from him for too long, he’d start to panic, his mind would race, and he’d fixate on you until he knew you were safe and alive and in one piece.

Your eyes caught the smudge of black ink on his ring finger, a smudge of initials that complimented your own smudge, and you couldn’t help but smile. After leaving the courthouse that day, Daryl wished he could’ve given you a ring. He hadn’t said that since the night of his jumbled, sudden proposal, but you knew it in the way that he spent the first week of being married to you playing with the empty space on your finger and glancing at it every now and then. You were sure he had a plan to get you one, one that involved working a lot of overtime, and odd side jobs to save up some extra money for one. Watching him get so stuck in his head about it had you rolling your eyes one evening and digging your tattoo machine out of your bag. You pulled him over to the small table crammed into the corner of the kitchen and got the space ready the way you would at the shop. He asked what you were doing a couple times, and though you didn’t answer, he quickly found out when the loud buzzing filled the small apartment and he watched in disbelief as you permanently scratched his initials onto your finger. When you held up your hand for him to see, you could see that his eyes were glassy and his neck was turning red and he didn’t hesitate to rest his hand out close to you, asking for the same thing. Something so permanent and unmistakable. Something that he’d look at every single day and think of you, and to know that you, too, would be thinking about him every day, even if bits of the ink fell out from hand washing or got blown out from sun exposure, you were still his.

“Nah, no fancy dresses for me.” You pretended to gag, which made them both laugh, as you let Daryl pull you to your feet. You waved to the boy as Daryl pulled you with him.

“I dunno,” Daryl mumbled once the two of you reached the door of the guard tower. He pulled it open for you, and looked you up and down before his eyes settled on yours, “Tha’ blue one seemed pretty fancy.”

********

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