young!Daryl's gf

That realization hits as he sees you braid your hair one morning. He’d been on a run the day before, ran into some trouble at the deserted town. Consequently, it was already dark when he turned in, and he’d headed straight to bed. Hadn’t had time to tend to his bike yet, so he got up early to make up for that.

Stupid thing had some kind of an engine problem, there must be something wrong with the tank. Somethin’ to take care of before the next run, before it became a real danger. Yesterday he made it back to the prison, but if that happened again, he might not be this lucky.

The thoughts and plans swirling through his head go quiet at once when he catches sight of you on the stone steps. Sitting with your back turned to him, idly taming your long curls. He stops in his tracks, unable to tear his gaze off of your body. Your hands weren’t moving right now, though, instead holding the half-finished braid as you were focused on something on the meadow.

His eyes follow your gaze and he catches a glimpse of a rabbit. Mhm… weird sight. He didn’t think it possible that it had come past the fences and, well, the countless walkers lurking behind them. It should be long dead, and yet… it was just hopping around without a care in the world.

He huffs, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Leans against the door, arms crossed, observing. That rabbit reminds him of you. It would seem impossible to a stranger that you of all people had made it this far. Seemed way too innocent for that, easily distracted as you were. He bets you would not hear him coming right up behind you if he chose to do so, too caught up in watching the rabbit. Cute, that hypothetical stranger might think. Still cute if he knew, just like Daryl, that you were a force to be reckoned with and had earned your place inmidst the survivors just like everyone else.

The rabbit disappears in a bush. Would make a nice lunch. He’d never think of killin’ it though, not after catching a glimpse of your happy smile as you went back to braiding.

Daryl figures this would be a good moment to move on, or else he’ll get stuck here watching you until you notice him, and that wouldn’t be ideal. So he pushes himself off the wall and walks past you, heading to the shed where he kept his bike.

Nods curtly as he walks past you on the steps. You flinch as he passes by — just as expected, you were too lost in your head to notice him ealier. But then, you look up and his gaze brushes yours and that alone might actually be enough to have him blushing. ‘Cause you’re smiling at him like that again. So infuriatingly sweet… And he’s almost out of danger, almost down the steps when he hears your soft voice.

“Good morning, Daryl!”

He stops in his tracks, hesistant, turns around again and mumbles a rushed “…Mornin'.” Walks away faster than before because he fears you might start a conversation.

… It’s been like that for a while now. He can’t really trust himself around you anymore. Doesn’t really know when it started, or what’s different about today, because it’s definitely gotten worse since yesterday — and since last week and the month before.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen you braid your hair before.

Truthfully, he knows you come out here at dusk to take care of it pretty much everyday. He’s not stalking you or anything! It’s just, he wakes up pretty early and sleeps outside the cells, so he notices stuff. You’re the first one up and you leave your cell at the same time every morning. He hears you shuffle around trying to be quiet, so… he usually can’t keep resting knowing you’re out there. In case a walker makes it over the barricade after all, or something else happens, anything; you catch his drift. So he’s bound to follow you outside eventually, pretending to have work to do. It’s not a lie, he usually finds some tasks that need to be taken care of.

Seeing you fleetingly in that calm moment you take for yourself is merely a perk.

God, it always is. No matter where he is while the rest of the prison is still asleep, the shed, the fences, whatever — he always makes sure he can see you from there. Not in a creepy way. He just likes to know you’re alright.

And it’s strangely comforting that you have that little routine, that you’re there doing the same thing at the same time everyday. He admires your persistance.

Really, ‘cause if he had hair as long as yours, he’d just cut it off. Only gets in the way when you’re fighting walkers. He’d think it impossible to actually take care of it like that.

At the beginning, people had still tended to such things as appearance. He remembers that back at the quarry, some had cut their hair. Daryl didn’t. Honestly, he already used to just keep it short and out of the way before everythig went to shit, never cared much about it at all. Now, he downright ignores it. There’s more important things to focus on.

Not in your world, apparently. You made life the prison have countless routines. Which is good, right, ‘cause they might be able to stay there for a while. Forever, Hershel insisted, but he wouldn’t be so sure of that. Even if so, all caution shouldn’t be thrown into the wind.

Maybe he clings to it a little too much, though. It’s what he ponders on now, crouching down beneath his mud stained bike, trying and failing to focus on the engine. You seem happy in this place, and on top of that, you seem to truly believe in it.

It’s enough to make him work even harder to make it a place worth living in.

Daryl gives up on fixing the bike completely now — there’d be time for that later. Instead, his gaze drifts over the meadow to the cell block you were still sitting in front of. The braid had turned out beautiful. Well… your hair was always pretty. But since the prison, you had put more time into it. Yeah, he noticed that.

It had been nothing but simple, practical braids for a while now, all during winter. Lately though, you wore your gorgeous curls in such elaborate hairstyles he’d only ever seen in magazines. Daryl didn’t even know there were multiple types of braids, or maybe he just never paid attention before.

Yeah… that’s it, probably. You make him notice things he’d never ever care about if they weren’t connected to you.

Deep down, he knows what was different today. Of course, he knew it from the beginning.

Just yesterday, you’d shyly approached him as he was prepping the motorcycle for the run. It was supposed to be a quick sweep, they knew the nearby town well by know. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just, well, scouting for things worth coming back for. Maybe check out the couple of shops they hadn’t entered yet, see if there was anything left in there.

Asked him if he could look for some hair care products while he was out. And you looked at him so sweetly too, with that shy smile as if you were actually expecting him to tell you off. It had become his main goal the second you asked, of course you didn’t know that. Meanwhile he didn’t want you to get your hopes up since, well, he didn’t know shit about beauty products (also, it was possible that he wouldn’t find anything of the sort). Just gave a gruff “Yeah”, but your eyes immediately lit up.

And then, well, that got him even more motivated. The run stretched and at some point he’d been out hours longer than he planned, but he was dead set on fulfilling that wish of yours.

As fate had it, he actually did find a bunch of stuff he thought might be what you were talking about. Fancy shit, shiny ‘n all after he dusted it off. And a spare hair tie, too. Maybe you’d like that. Since you only had one left after losing the rest during the winter.

God, he hoped he had picked the right thing. If not, that was a fucking waste of time. He grew more anxious by the second on his trip back to the prison. It was distracting, dangerously so. It’s a pattern, really, has been developing for some time now: you, occupying his thoughts.

That night, it led to him overlooking a group of walkers on the road until it was too late to turn around. Shit. Not really that much of a problem, but he had to hit the brakes real hard until they were screeching. Could feel something snap in the engine, but he couldn’t deal with that right now. Hastily grabbed his crossbow and took care of the walkers.

As he returned to examine the bike, he realized that something was in fact broken, but it was only a minor problem. He’d tend to it later. Or… tomorrow, one glance at the dark night sky told him. Driving home was still possible, anyway.

After that momentary distraction from whether or not you’d like his findings, he went back to worrying. ‘s why he staggered to your cell before going to bed… The curtain, serving as a makeshift door, was pulled close, so you were probably sleeping. Not wanting to disturb your slumber, he placed the things in front of your cell.

You must have heard his shuffling around. Right as he turned aorund to head to his own cot on the stone floor, the curtain was pulled back, revealing you, still in your day clothes. Must have been reading or something.

Before he could say anything, your eyes dropped to the bottles he had carefully placed on the floor. Your eyes lit up immediately. Flickering up to his nervous ones, you gave him a giddy smile, and a wave of calm washed over him.

Clutching the precious bottle of hair oil to your chest like a treasure, you thanked him profusely. Apparently, it was the exact same brand you’d used before… Daryl thought your happiness excessive at first, but you seemed genuinely grateful. It got him a little flustered, so he just waved it off and trotted off to his bed.

Now, leaning against the bike and watching you from afar, your careful movements, how blissful you seemed, the pink bottle standing next to you on the stone step — he understood. This was what was different… Seing how serious you were about this. How something small like this made your whole damn day, judging from the giddy look on your face.

Knowing that he caused it…

Fuck, he might be in deeper than he thought he was.

In all honesty, Daryl would have been absolutely content dwelling on his small victory for the whole day.

However, fate had other plans. He’d been busy repairing the bike, it seemed like any other day in the new prison community. It was strange, after spending the winter on the run, constantly on the verge of starvation. He doesn’t yet know what to think of the whole community thing, either. Reminds him of this Woodbury place, and his memories of the town were anything but fond. The people there… how they cheered when he and Merle were shoved into a group of walkers like it was some sick and twisted form of entertainment…

He knew it wasn’t like this now. Though he recognized some of the faces, that he did.

In his heart, he knew that this was a good thing. People cared for each other.

Today, this was proven again. Yet, everyone would have preferred if it had happened in some other way. There was a breach of security in one of the cell blocks, near the infirmary. Only one walker, and they secured the passage afterwards, but it was enough…

The screams came first, children who had been playing in the yard. Of course, he went running towards it. So did Rick, Carol… everyone, really. But they were too late, again. No children had been harmed, but one of the men. Maimed right there in full sight of the helpless community.

He heard a shot ring trough the air, faintly recognized that it had come out of Glenn’s direction, but his eyes were fixed on you. Breathless from running so fast, arm hanging limply down your side as you clutched your gun, motionless.

You looked devastated.

Most people were, as a grave was dug and the body buried that same day. But they were used to such occurences by now, though they had become rare as of lately.

With you, it seemed different. The light in your eyes was gone, replaced by a dull, melancholic shimmer.

Daryl couldn’t shake the visual all day. Worked up the courage to see if he could do something, ‘cause he itched to see you smile again. It made him straight up uneasy, worry gnawing at his heart to see you this wistful.

It might not be his place to look after you, but you see, he was genuinely concerned. It was such a harsh contrast to your happiness in the morning! A small, stupid part of him hoped he could make you feel better somehow. He tried hard to fight it, ignore the impulse, but it was in vain.

So, he found himself right in front of your cell that evening. Most people had gone to sleep early, not in the mood to have fun after what happened. Your curtain was half open, though.

Daryl cleared his troath before coming closer, fighting his nerves.

“You, uh… y’in there?”

No answer. Growing worried, he pulled the curtain back and stepped inside.

What he finds makes his troath go dry instantly. It’s… it shouldn’t, really. But it’s you, and he’s never seen you like this.

Daryl stops dead in his tracks. Can’t tear his gaze off of you, actually. You must have noticed him going still in the doorway, since you turn around. The motion makes your wild curls bounce, cascading way over your shoulders. His eyes trail down to the tips of your open hair, stopping at your hips.

Fuck… That’s a new kind of pretty. In their free, untamed state, you look like a completely different person, actually. Or rather: like that part of you that has survived on pure grit. This is why you’re still here. This is the woman that saved his defenseless ass when he was cornered by a walker, shooting the corpse straight through the head. With his crossbow, no less. He’d thought you were badass back then, but now you look the part and more.

You look like a warrior angel.

He should probably say something now. Feels your eyes burning into him, a silent question. Finally, he looks up.

“Your hair.” He croaks.

Tilting your head, you wait for him to go on. “Mhm?”

Daryl feels his face flush. He feels like he’s burning up all of a sudden, though the stone walls of the prison make it a shadowed, cool place.

Clears his troath, then mumbles, “… ‘s different.”

God, why can’t he be normal. Could’ve said anything, complimented you even, because you clearly deserved one or a hundred. Instead, he’s just, what… stating the obvious? Smooth, really.

To his surprise, you get a little shy. Look away as if you can’t hold his gaze, “I know. It’s messy. I just… leave it like that when I sleep. It’s more comfy.”

Is he imagining things or are you blushing a bit?

Anyway, he doesn’t know what to say. So he just stays silent and stares at you.

However, you seem to grow more nervous with the second. The bashfulness seems to have turned into offense, and your brows furrow as you glare at him from where you’re sitting on the bed.

Crossing your arms over your chest, “You know, some people actually care about their appearance. Not everyone can walk around all— dirty and muddied with old blood clinging to them…”

It stings. It shouldn’t, ‘cause that shit has never bothered him, but it does. Because you said it.

He shifts in the doorway, debating on whether he should leave. He huffs, “… Didn’t mean ta-”

You interrupt him, lips pursed. “Do you even know how much time it takes to do my hair everyday? Huh? Well, a lot, actually. It’s exhausting! And I know it’s not the same thing, but it makes people feel normal. Not like you coming back from some hunt or run or whatever looking like you lived in the woods for years. It makes them uncomfortable, don’t you get that? It’s so…”

Your voice trails off.

Daryl has not interrupted you once, just listened you go on and on with your rant. If it hurt him, he doesn’t show it at all. His face seems to be made of stone, not one muscle moving. The mere sight of him makes hot tears burn behind your eyes. It’s not his fault, he… You wish you could disappear right now. What had gotten into you?

You didn’t mean any of the things you just said, so why did you feel the need to say them?

Daryl observes your change of emotion. You seem… deflated, all of a sudden, sunken into yourself. Because of him? A clump forms in his throath, and he feels hot guilt flare up in his gut.

Then, a broken sob echoes in the small cell. It rings in his ears. That might just be the saddest thing he’s ever heard… and all the insults you just threw at him are forgotten in an instant.

He’s next to you in a heartbeat. Leaning over your crouching form, a hand hovering just over your shoulder. “Hey, uh… You alrigh’? Didn’t mean ta… yunno.” You look up at him, eyes sad and watery. Run a hand over your face, then sigh. The sound damn near breaks his heart. “Daryl, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said all that.”

He gulps, finally deciding to gently rub your shoulder. “’S okay. Know I ain’t some pretty sight. Jus’ didn’t think ya cared ‘bout that. … If ya wan’t me ta, I’ll take a sho—” You shake your head violently, a tear rolls down your cheek. “No, don’t. I really didn’t mean that. It’s just… with what happened today… I felt so useless. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

His heart softens. And then he does something he never thought he’d have the courage to do… He sits down right on your fucking bed and wraps an arms around you in an attempt at comfort.

To his immediate relief, you lean into the touch. Shaken by another sob, you cling to his shirt, face buried in his shoulder. “Shh…” He rocks you gently. Feels tears wet the fabric of his shirt, but he doesn’t care about that, either… though it’s a hundred times worse than blood ever could be.

His voice is a deep rumble in his chest, vibrating against your cheek, “Y’ain’t useless.”

Your grip on him tightens, then. Your sobs have died down, too. He takes that as a sign to continue.

Clears his troath, “’N fer the record, ya hold this whole damn place together. Smilin’ an’ bein’ sweet ta everyone ‘n all that. … With the hair stuff, too.”

A weak, defeated laugh.

“Nah, ‘m bein’ serious. Ya’ve done more fer this group than y’know.” He hums, grip losening. You slip out of his arms then, pulling back to look at him.

Your eyes are red and puffy. Makes something in his chest hurt real bad. He attemps a smile, though it probably comes out as more of a grimace. He’s not good at this stuff.

You breathe slowly, eyes softening. “… You know I don’t mind the dirt, right?”

He looks away, down at the floor. Offers a gruff “Mhm”, nothing more.

You reach out, touching his arm. Persistant. “Really. I don’t, not at all. Clean or dirty, doesn’t change how much I like you.”

The depth of what you’re feeling flies straight over his oblivious head, too caught up in keeping his feelings at bay to even consider that they might be mutual, but he picked up on the sincerity of your words. Looks at you again, this time you smile.

Daryl doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to. Instead, you fall into his arms again. You’re not sad anymore, this is something different. You just hold him, and he holds you, one hand gently tangling in your curls and stroking your head.

His voice breaks the silence after a long time has passed. “Coulda worn ‘em like this all the time.”

You smile against his bicep. “It’s so messy though, don’t you think?”

“Nah. ‘s pretty.” Good thing it’s dark in your cell, because both of you blush at that.

He might feel your heart beating a little faster, though. If he does, he keeps quiet about it. Instead, he stays perfectly still, breathing quietly, steady. He’s not going anywhere. He’s still there, looking at the dark ceiling, solid as a rock next to you as you drift into slumber at his side.

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed. The mattress is cold beside you — he must have left a while ago. A pang of guilt makes your heart convulse, as slowly and torturously the events of last evening come rushing back. You bite your lip, staring at the dark ceiling. Why did you have to say these things? It’s not like you’re the only one affected by the death of that man. You didn’t even know his name, and still you took out your frustration on Daryl.

Daryl, who had done so much for you. Probably the person you trust most out of everyone in this prison. Scratch that, he’s the person you trust most in the whole world.

And he wasn’t even angry. A vivid memory of the way he stood there resurfaces: just taking every word you threw at him. He looked like a kicked puppy.

Even though he forgave you on the spot, you don’t feel right about it.

Another apology would feel stale, but you still felt the urge to do something. Mhm, you would apologize to him every day from now on if it meant he’d believe it someday.

… Maybe he’s outside already. A quick glance out of your cell reveals some stray rays of morning sunlight shining trough the barred windows. You know that he gets up early like you, and as you step behind the makeshift curtain-door you see that his cot by the officers watchpoint is empty.

It doesn’t take much more to make up your mind. The tiredness vanishes from your bones and quietly, trying not to wake the others, you taper to the exit.

It’s really early, barely dusk. You’re about to close your eyes and take in the quiet, pleasant atmosphere in your little morning ritual when you halt in your steps at once, going still.

It’s him.

You don’t know what to say. Barely have time to take in the sight of him, right at the steps of the cellblock, fiddling with something. Around him are your hair supplies, scattered chaotically on the steps. He’s holding your precious wooden brush, there’s two hair ties, and next to him, the oil he brought back yesterday.

Before you can say something, he jerks his head towards you. Lets out a defeated grumble, as if you were interrupting him with something. He gets up, resignated, and looks up at you from the bottom of the stairs awkwardly.

“… Yer awake.”

You nod hesistantly.

A hint of something flashes in his eyes, gone before you can put a name on it. He clears his troath shyly, averting his gaze. “Thought I could fix yer hair t’day. Since it’s so much work ‘n all… You jus’ lean back and let me do it fer ya.”

Warmth floods your heart. He is… He did that for you. Not angry, he still wants to make you feel better despite everything that happened.

Still feeling a little bit guilty, you walk down the first few steps, leaving only one in between the two of you. It leaves you on eye level with him, a weird position. You’re used to him towering over you.

From here, the anxious glint in his eyes is even more obvious.

Nervously fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you answer. “Are you sure?”

Relief flashes over his face. His voice is steadier as he grunts, “Yeah. Wouldn’t’ve offered if I wasn’t.”

You smile happily. “I… Okay!”

Without further ado, you plop down right there in front of him on the stone stairs.

He blinks once, shakes his head. Huffs, then he steps behind you and sits down, too.

This… mhm. This was not how he imagined it to go down. He thought you might protest but… you seem thankful. Makes him feel proud, but at the same time, he’s absolutely panicking.

He just hadn’t planned that far yet! And now, having only just escaped your expectant eyes, with your back turned towards him… You’re right there. You trust him with this.

He clears his troath. “Uh… Ya gon’ tell me what ta do?” He blushes a little bit, feeling all clumsy all of a sudden. Good thing you can’t see his face right now.

A soft laugh rumbles trough your body. Daryl relaxes instantly. “Mhm. I’ll show you.”

And then you turn around a little bit, and he’s mesmerized by your warm smile. Doesn’t care that you can see him now, all caught off guard and at a loss, which is so uncharacteristic for him — no, not when you look at him like this.

Especially not when you take his hand in yours, the one that’s clenched around your pretty hairbrush, and lead it towards your head. You demonstrate the motion like that, and he feels a little stupid ‘cause he probably could’ve figured that out by himself but then again, he doesn’t ever want to hurt you on accident.

You let go after a while. Turn around again, and he inches a little closer. You sit between his thighs, and he’s dead focused on detangling those pretty curls. It’s easier than he expected. Still, he’s extra careful not to tug too hard. His fingers are impossibly gentle as he runs them through your soft hair… It feels really nice. You close your eyes, getting lost in the sensation.

Daryl, meanwhile, is fully immersed in the task at hand. He’s begun braiding now, copying the motion he’s seen you perform every morning for weeks now. Only, well… it turns out looking just a little off somehow.

He curses under his breath, undoes a part of the braid again only for it to turn out exactly the same on second try.

Still gives it his all, concentrated up to when he ties it in the end. He leans back to take in his work. Yeah… it’s a little different. He hopes you won’t mind.

His voice is deep and rumbly when he speaks up again. The sun has fully risen now, it took him a few minutes to get the hang of it. “I uh… ‘s done.”

You turn around, smiling. “Thank you, Daryl.”

He lets out a strangled laugh, “Yeah, don’t gotta thank me. Ya haven’t seen it yet.”

He expects encouraging words, you undoing the braid right there to do it again yourself, everything, but not that giggle. “Let’s see it then!”

Doesn’t expect the way you grab his hand and pull him up, nor that you don’t let go of it as you run up the stairs and lead him to the rundown lavatory, where you stop at the mirror and look at yourself.

He’s nervous, shifting on his feet as you take in the messy result of his work. His worry is gone the moment you turn back towards him. Your eyes are earnest, and there’s a glimmer in them that makes his heart do a strange flip.

“… It’s perfect.”

He bites his lip, a little confused ‘cause he knows it’s anything but. Your hair always looks beautiful, yeah, but his attempt at putting it in a simple braid didn’t come close to the elaborate, fancy hair styles you’re used to.

Yet, you surprise him once again. The bathroom feels smaller after your quiet confession, but he loses all sense of time and space when you take a step towards him and give him that look. You’re smiling, but in a soft, whimsical way he hasn’t ever seen before.

He loves it. But what he loves even more is the way you stand on tiptoes, reaching up to press a small, lingering kiss to his cheek. Daryl tenses up instantly, body going rigid as his skin burns where your lips brushed against it. You’re still looking at him, and he couldn't avert his gaze if he tried to, mesmerized by your eyes. Your hands are holding onto his forearms, but he doesn’t even realize it, still feeling the ghost of your touch.

“Thank you.” It’s whispered, only for him to hear, but it pulls him out of his trance. Daryl blinks, trying to think of something to say, but he can’t come up with anything.

You don’t seem to mind. Your eyes soften at his silence. And then, you walk away, braid swinging, a light bounce to your step, leaving him dumbfounded, standing right in the middle of the bathroom.

Daryl can’t think about anything but that kiss for the whole day. You’re occupying the entirety of his thoughts and it’s worse than usually. And he doesn’t even mind. Keeps quiet the whole day instead, pondering on what to make of the gesture. Why did you do that? Do you also get this strange feeling whenever you stand close to him? Like nausea, but in a good way. Did you really like the way he did your hair?

Even though he doesn’t find answers for the first two questions, he’s pretty sure about that last one. When he sees you again at lunch in the yard, you’re still wearing the braid. He expected you to have changed it up right after you left, so he’s incredibly flustered when he sees you haven’t. Carol must think he’s sick or something, he didn’t even dare look into your eyes when you filled his plate.

But he’s observing you when you’re not looking. It warms his heart, how you interact with the other people. It’s as if you’re healed again — not a trace of that crying woman he rocked to sleep yesterday to be seen.

You’re yourself again, even if the messy braid makes you look a little different.

And you’re so pretty. Though he has to admit, he thought you looked breathtaking with open hair, wild curls untamed.

Which is why he feels extra lucky when he catches sight of you again that night. After avoiding you for the better part of the day, still unsure of what to make of the new dynamic between the two of you. He’s still thinking about it, can’t stop actually, even though he should sleep. Everyone else has gone to their respective cells, he’s stretched out on his cot at the side, overlooking the room. Lost in thoughts, he doesn’t even hear the soft padding of footsteps approaching.

But then he sees you. Wearing your sleeping clothes, an old tattered shirt and worn pants. Daryl sits up quickly, propped up against the stone wall, staring at you.

Your hair is open. Must’ve been on your way to bed, then. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and he gets a little lost in tracing singular curls with his eyes.

You stop just short of his blankets, a little bashful. Your voice is quiet, as to not wake the others. “I just wanted to say thank you again.”

He hums, “Said tha’ twice this mornin’.”

But your shake your head. “Not for that. Well, also for that, but I was talking about last night. I didn’t mean to lash out and I, uh… I hope I didn’t keep your from sleeping.”

Ah. “Nothin’ ya gotta thank me for.”

“Yes, I do. You stayed until I fell asleep. And I know I apologized already, but I want you to know that I really didn’t mean what I said.” You look at him, and Daryl realizes that you still feel bad about the things spoken then. Sure, it had hurt in the moment, but he believed you the first time you insisted it wasn't how you felt about him.

He nods. Eyes softening a little. Did you think he was mad about that? Really? When he can’t imagine anything nicer than having you fall asleep in his arms. Except for waking up next to you, maybe. But he didn’t want to overstep.

“’s okay, really.”

You still don’t look convinced, but a little less guilty, reassured. Can hear it in your voice when you say goodnight. He looks at you as you retreat to your cell, wild curls bouncing with every step.

Mhm… he’ll just have to prove it to you again, then. Work hard to convince you. Your glow is back, and he needs to keep it that way. Won’t stop at anything.

And just like that, he’s waiting for you in front of the prison again the next morning. It becomes a routine, him doing your hair. And with every day, you smile wider at him when it’s done.

Also, he still gets a kiss on the cheek everytime he does it, so. That alone would be motivation enough to keep going! But it makes you happy, too. That’s what does it for him. Everything else is just a perk.

His hands still tremble. And he’s scared of fucking up and it looks messy the first couple of times — but you still tell him it’s perfect just like that first morning.

He’s beginning to think that you’re perfect. No, scratch that, he knows you are.

You were when he first met you back when you were a skittish, shy woman that couldn’t kill a living thing.

You were when you realized that this was reality now, and that to live, one had to take life.

You were when anger and gried clouded your senses and you let out all of your frustration on the undead.

You were when you used his arrows to shoot a walker that cornered him, when you saved his life like it was something worth saving.

At the same time, you were when you kept the group alive by not protecting but nourishing them. Perfect. You were truly perfect in every sense of the word, in every state of mind. You were perfect when you tamed your curls and perfect when you left them wild and open.

Or maybe it’s just that to Daryl, you’re the only ideal worth protecting. Something golden, something purely good inmidst danger and ruins. Maybe it’s not “you were perfect when” but “he loved you when”, ‘cause he did! He always has.

There’s sides of you he doesn’t know yet, and in his eyes, that makes you all the more perfect. Your beauty is not limited to vision, it’s transcendent.

And you trust him enough to reveal it to him, and he falls harder every single fucking time, merely because you were already perfect before and he was already on cloud nine, and he didn’t think he could feel with even more intensity but you always convince him otherwise.

It’s like with the hair. Such a small thing, yet so meaningful.

He’s honored every time you allow him near you when it’s not done, when you’re your most vulnerable self, unwound. Proud that you let him do it, too, because it’s your special ritual. It helps you live in this reality. Daryl knowns now that it doesn’t come as easy to you as he thought it did because you make everyone feel at home.

This is a battle too, one he didn’t witness before but now pays extra attention to.

It’s he who holds on to that spare hair tie, now. Because yeah, he’d always stop to braid your hair if you asked him to. In the morning, in the evening, on a run. No matter the danger, either. It’s always dangerous now, everyday, everything. He doesn’t do it because he wants to help you accept reality, or pretend this is normal. Not because he’s ever enjoyed norms: no, he adapts quickly, doesn't even blink when devouring a piece of squirrel.

But he wants you to feel just right, put together, at all times. He wants to protect your bubble. Because it isn't really one… it’s just a way of seeing things. Your way of living.

He’s overjoyed anyway whenever you leave your hair open.

You’re beautiful. Love grows wherever you go, but it’s not because of your hair, it’s because of you. Because you love wildly even though there isn't much left to love. You make it feel worth it in spite of that fact, and, following your example, Daryl begins to fall in love, too… Only it’s not with the world.

𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑦𝑜𝑢.