𝑗𝑎𝑑𝑒🪻

you were watching the way the sweat tracked through the dirt on the back of his neck. he hadn't looked at you in an hour.

"sometimes i think about the interstate," you said, your voice cutting through the hum. "before all this. i wonder how many times i drove past your exit. how many times we were in the same mile radius and never knew it."

daryl’s hands stilled. he didn't turn around.

"we were never in the same world back then," you continued, leaning back against the porch railing. "if the world hadn't ended, we wouldn't never met. you’d be in some bar in the mountains, and i’d be at some desk in the city. we would’ve lived forty more years and died without ever knowing the other one existed."

the air seemed to get thinner. daryl felt a sudden, sharp spike of nausea in the pit of his stomach.

the image of it—a life where he was still just merle’s shadow, still just a stray dog with no home and no one to look at him the way you did—hit him like a literal blow to the gut. his vision blurred for a second, the green of the trees turning into a hazy, sickening smear.

he felt sick. physically ill. the thought of you being a stranger was a poison in his blood.

"i would've been just fine," he snapped. his voice was like a shard of flint—sharp, cold, and meant to draw blood.

he finally turned, his eyes narrowed and hooded. "probably would've been better. didn't need nobody stirrin' up my head, makin' me soft. i could've gone my whole life never knowin' your name and i wouldn't have missed a damn thing."

you didn't flinch. you knew that tone; it was the sound of a man trying to build a wall out of wet sand while the tide was coming in.

"you're a liar," you said, your voice dropping to that low, quiet register that always made him pull his shoulders in. "and you’re a coward. you’re sitting there acting like you’re made of stone because the truth is making your heart fail. look at your hands."

he looked down, and he couldn't hide it. his fingers were trembling against the bow.

"you’re terrified," you whispered, stepping into his space, forcing him to look at you. "you’re scared because if the world hadn't ended, you’d still be a ghost. the thought of not having me is like trying to breathe underwater. you hate that i’m the only thing that makes you feel like a person, and you hate that you can’t imagine a single second of your life without me in it."

"shut up," he growled, but it was weak. his face had gone a sickly, ashen gray, and the sweat on his brow looked cold.

"if i left right now, you’d come apart," you continued, relentless, breaking him down piece by piece. "you wouldn't just 'be fine.' you’d go feral. you’d hunt for me until you died because you don't know who you are if i'm not there to remind you. you're yearning for a world that doesn't exist just so you don't have to admit how much you’re suffering right now."

he surged to his feet, the crossbow clattering to the floorboards. he grabbed your upper arms, his grip desperate and punishing. he looked like a man who had just seen his own grave.

"i said shut up!" he choked out. the coldness was gone, replaced by a raw, bleeding ache that made his voice crack. his breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as if he were actually fighting for air. "ya think i don't know that? i don't feel it every damn time you walk outta my sight? i’d be dead."

he pulled you in, burying his face in the space between your neck and shoulder, his body shaking with the force of the confession. it was the most daryl way he could say it—half-angry, half-broken, and entirely yours.

"don't you talk 'bout not findin' me," he rasped, his voice muffled against your skin. "i'd find ya. i'd find ya in the dark, in any life,”