Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight

before everything, it'd caused issues in his life nearly every day. in fact, the only person he really ever talked with for more than a few minutes at a time was merle.

and since the world had gone to shit, silence had become necessary for survival. daryl never really wanted to talk and he never really had to. for the first time in his life, it was actually beneficial for him to be quietly perceptive. and he liked it that way.

that is, until he met you.

daryl had gone to scrounge baby supplies for judith and found you trapped in the back seat of a car, surrounded by walkers. after daryl killed them, he was unsurprised to find you pointing your gun at him. afterall, the world ended. and if he were a woman seemingly alone in this fucked up world, he'd be pulling guns on people too. especially strange men with hunting knives and a crossbow.

what did surprise him was the tightening in his chest as the terrified look in your eyes. that paired with the haunting beauty of your face knocked the wind out of him.

he finds his body moving before he can think as he lowers his crossbow to the ground. then, moving slowly towards you like a frightened animal, he holds one dirty hand out towards you with what he hopes is an encouraging look.

"s'okay. 'm not gonna hurt ya."

after a few seconds of labored breathing, you allow him to help you from the back of the car, keeping his hand on your elbow as you wobble a little.

"ya bit?"

you shake your head, closing your eyes for just a brief second. it only takes you a few seconds to respond but daryl doesn't notice, too captured by the georgia sunrise lighting up your hair.

"just haven't eaten in a few days."

your reply is scratchy and daryl is reaching for his water bottle before you're even halfway done. daryl shakes his head as you take a small sip, using his index finger to lift the bottom of the bottle back to your lips. he finally takes the water back once you've dranken enough to satisfy him.

"daryl."

"y/n."

and from then, daryl was attached to your hip like a guard dog.

at first it was hard. it was hard to learn daryl's unspoken words. which was most of them. but eventually, as the archer kept you company on watch shifts and as you accompanied him on runs, you slowly learned to read daryl in the silence. you learned the twitch of his brow when something confused him. you learned the click of his jaw when something pissed him off. more than anything, you learned how observant he was.

the first time it happens, you mention something offhanded to maggie about your knife being dull. the next day, daryl is sharpening his hunting knife and sharpens yours without saying a word.

then of course, there's your boots. they were the only pair you'd brought into this mess and it hadn't exactly been a high priority to get new boots in between running and scavenging. even after coming to the prison, it sort of just fell on your to-do list.

but of course all it took was one groan and a roll of your ankle for daryl to appear at your cell door a few days later with boots that were about your size, give or take.

it got to the point where the others began to notice.

glenn teasing him as he scratches up his arms picking wild strawberries after you offhandedly mentioned missing eating strawberries while watching tv. (he couldn't get the tv, but he sure as hell was gonna find strawberries if it killed him).

carol smiling as she notices him tinkering with the same wooden box in his cell under a flashlight after he'd already said he was going to sleep.

everyone sees it.

everyone but you.

and daryl doesn't really know what to do with that. he's never verbally professed his feelings before. as much as he can recall, you don't really speak when you're together. daryl's quiet and you're okay with that. it's part of what endears him to you.

still, daryl begins to worry that it's what will stop him from actually being with you. and for the first time in his life, daryl feels genuine frustration that he can't just walk up to you and spill his heart out. he thinks fleetingly about asking one of the others for help, but that idea goes out the window when he pictures the teasing that would ensue.

so, he doesn't say anything. he just keeps dropping gifts at your door.

carol on the other hand had no issues being outright. and she had even less of an issue meddling with her best friend's love life. especially when it was blaringly obvious to her that you and daryl were starting to fall in love with each other.

the next time that carol has watch with you, she takes it upon herself to do some meddling. to her surprise, you broach the topic with her.

"you and daryl are best friends right?"

she clicks her tongue, adjusting the rifle in her hands with a contemplative shake of her head.

"he'd never put it like that, but yeah. more or less. what's up?"

you don't meet her gaze as you talk. carol has a certain maternal energy about her that makes it hard for you look at her head on sometimes.

"nothin', i've just been... wondering. he always," you pause, taking a deep breath as you finally turn to meet her gaze. the patient, understanding look in her eyes is so pure that it has your heart clenching. "he brings me things."

"what kind of things?" carol cocks her head to the side. her tone is innocent enough, but the playfulness that's dancing behind her eyes leads you to believe she knows more than she's letting on.

"all kinds. anything, really. Stuff that I mention to him, some stuff that i don't."

her brows furrow as she turns back to scan the horizon.

"doesn't sound like an issue. unless it's unwelcome."

"no!" you know that you're a little too quick to the defense, but at this point, you were pretty sure carol already knew about your feelings for daryl. "no, it's not at all unwelcome." you pause again, frustrated that you can't seem to find the right words this morning. "is he always like that?"

the snort that leaves carol is abrupt and you have to stop yourself from jumping at the sound.

"daryl?" her tone is slathered with disbelief. "never."

the duality of her words isn't lost on you. you feel your skin heat up as you take in the hidden meaning of her words. if daryl isn't normally like this then that means that he... likes you. and, though you can't be certain, probably in the same way that you like him.

the absurdity of it causes you to laugh out loud, garnering a confused look from carol.

"sorry. it's just, the thought of daryl liking me back." you don't even care that you've just confirmed your feelings, too caught up in the hysteria of the scenario.

there was absolutely no way that daryl liked you back. he was strong, resourceful, caring. a pillared member of the group who everybody liked. why would a guy that could bend the world to his fingers go for the girl who was making daisy chains with little kids in the courtyard of an abandoned prison during the zombie apocalypse?

carol rolls her eyes, playfully nudging you with her shoulder.

"so, what? you think he spends two weeks fixing an old record player for just anybody?"

her words suck you back into reality as she stares at you questioningly. when you don't reply, she clicks her tongue and looks back towards the horizon, rifle steadily in grip between both hands.

"just my unprofessional best-friend opinion."

the two of you sit through the rest of your watch hour in silence. it's not uncomfortable, just occupied as you turn her words over in your head.

the longer you thought about it, the more it made sense.

the constant "gifts". the way he'd casually search you for marks after a run. the way he always made your plate before he made his.

you felt actually stupid for not realizing sooner.

the second that sasha climbs up the guard tower to relieve you of watch duty, you're flying down the stairs and back into c-block, straight to daryl.

he's alone, sitting on one of the metal tables as he sharpens a few pieces of wood into makeshift arrows. he doesn't speak as you approach. which, you don't expect him too.

he nods in greeting, shifting over to make room for you to join him.

"daryl do you... like me?" your voice is hesitant and your heart pounds in your chest. you can't build up the courage to look at him as you ask.

the fluttery feeling in your stomach intensifies in response to his continued silence. daryl may not be a man of many words but he always answered you.

"you keep givin' me things."

"so?" his words are accompanied by a shrug and a grunt that you know means, 'what about it'.

"nobody goes out of their way for someone they're not in love with. not in this world." your words get quieter as the uncertainty builds.

maybe carol was wrong.

your breathing hitches as you consider the possibility that you have been reading this whole thing wrong. the possibility that daryl doesn't like you and that he was just being a nice guy.

but daryl is observant.

he notices the hitch in your breathing. he notices the anxious bounce in your leg. he watches as you stand, resigned that you've got it all wrong. and he knows that it's now or never. one work-worn hand slowly grabs onto the softness of wrist as you move to leave.

"wait." his gruff voice is tilted by an urgency that it doesn't usually harbor. enough of one to make you stop. though he can feel your gaze, daryl can't bring himself to look at you so he settles his eyes on threaded charm bracelet that he made you after finding a bunch of little flower charms in a quikmart.

"'m not good with words."

you nod, voice a timid whisper. "i know."

"though' ya knew."

"that you like me?"

you roll your lips between your teeth as daryl nods.

it's unspoken between the two of you after that. the words are never stated, but it's clear to the both of you, and to the others, that you're together.

but daryl knows that he wants to do something special. you'd told him it was okay a hundred times but he wants, no he needs, to do something to make up for almost making you cry.

after his run the following day, you're reading in your cell when he grunts his arrival.

there, looking entirely too delicate in his rough hands, is a small bundle of carefully picked flowers. they're tied together with what looks like a shoelace, the ends messily tied into a lopsided bow. it's not perfect, but it's from daryl.

you turn the small bundle over in your hands, a smile spreading across your lips as you turn to him.

"thank you,"

"'s nothin'"

he leaves without another word.

it's nothing. that was what made you really fall in love with daryl. not the gifts. but the way that he so naturally gave them. like it really hadn't been any trouble to stop on the side of the road gathering flowers and shoelaces to bring you a small piece of joy in the monstrosity of what the world had become.

time would take every gift he gave you. the berries would be eaten. the knife would grow dull. in a few days, these flowers would wilt. but none of that mattered because what you'd really been collecting weren't flowers or fruit or polished steel. they were his 'i love yous'.

sitting there, cradling yet another of his gifts to your chest, you knew you'd never needed to hear the words at all.

"forza! for cazzo, forza!" he muttered, running a hand through his already dishevelled dark hair. he wasn't even watching the magical projection floating in the air anymore. he was stalking back and forth, a lean, coiled spring of pure italian angst. his slytherin tie was loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms dusted with dark hair. he looked like a roman emperor about to sacrifice a senator.

"theo, they're just kicking a ball," you said, not looking up from your page.

he stopped pacing and turned to you, his eyes wide with theatrical horror. "just kicking a ball? amore mio, this is not 'just kicking a ball.' this is history. this is honor. this is the legacy of the roman empire condensed into ninety minutes of pure, beautiful agony." he gestured wildly at the floating screen where a tiny player in blue had just fallen over, clutching his shin.

"he seems to be in agony," you noted dryly.

"arte! he is an artist! a master of the dramatic fall! it is a strategy, a ballet of pain designed to manipulate the referee, a brutish german with no appreciation for subtlety," theo explained, pacing again. "and you, my bella, are distracting me with your… your book."

"my apologies," you said, marking your page and closing the book. "wouldn't want to interfere with the sacred ritual."

"exactly," he said, pointing a finger at you. "it requires concentration. positive energy. i have a lucky sock on."

"you only have one lucky sock on?"

"yes. the other one is for the second half. it's a system, tesoro. you wouldn't understand."

you watched him for a moment longer, a fond smile playing on your lips. he was ridiculous. a pure-blood wizard with a family tree that could be traced back to caesar himself, and he was losing his mind over a football match. but he was your ridiculous wizard.

he finally sank onto the floor in front of your chair, leaning his back against your knees. he tilted his head back to look at you, his dark eyes pleading. "say it."

"say what?"

"you know. the good luck phrase."

you sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but you leaned down and whispered against his ear, "forza azzurri."

he shuddered, a full-body tremor of what you could only assume was raw, unadulterated italian pride. "sì, così. again."

"forza azzurri," you said, a little louder this time.

"bellissima," he breathed, turning his attention back to the game just as the crowd in the magical projection roared. a blue jersey had scored. theo shot to his feet, his arms thrown in the air, a string of joyous, rapid-fire italian erupting from him. "ci credo! meraviglioso! che gol! did you see that? did you see that beauty, mia cara?"

"it was very… blue," you offered.

he spun around, grabbing your hands and pulling you to your feet. he spun you in a clumsy, ecstatic circle, the common room blurring around you. "it is more than blue! it is the color of the sky, the sea, the blood of michelangelo! it is everything!"

he stopped spinning, his hands still holding yours, his face flushed with victory and the fire in the hearth. he was breathing heavily, his eyes shining. "we did it."

"you kicked the ball from all the way over here? impressive, nott."

"no, you fool," he said, his voice dropping to that low, intimate murmur that made your stomach flutter. "you. you said the words. you brought the luck. it is always you."

he let go of one of your hands to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "sei il mio portafortuna. you are my good luck charm."

"just yours?" you teased softly.

"always mine," he whispered, and then he was kissing you. it wasn't a soft, sweet kiss. it was a winning kiss, a triumphant kiss, tasting of victory and something else, something dark and inherently theo. it was a kiss that claimed, that promised, that left no room for doubt.

when he finally pulled away, the roar of the crowd from the magical screen faded into the background. the rest of the common room was celebrating, shouting, but in your little bubble by the fire, it was silent.

"they still have another half to play," you reminded him gently.

because to him, that’s what you’ve always been.

the only issue being, he’d stayed quiet for so long, content to be your closest friend, that he wasn’t even sure you knew of his feelings.

scratch that, he was certain that you didn’t know of his feelings.

theodore nott had, for all intents and purposes, friendzoned himself, as it were.

and for a while, he was okay with that. because labeling something?

that makes it fragile. breakable.

except now, it was all he had in him to stand off in the shadows of the darkening corridor, fists clenched white with barely restrained rage as he watched adrian pucey attempt to make a move on you.

before he knew what he was doing, he’d stalked over to you and flung one large, heavy arm over your shoulder. he wasn’t subtle about the way that he pulled you closer.

he was even less subtle about the way that he glared at adrian with a look so venomous, even a snake would slither away.

theo doesn’t let up until his opponent stalked away, pridefully trying to keep the dejection out of his features.

honestly, theo was a little surprised. he’d expected more pushback from adrian. he’d expected at least an insult or snide comment. maybe even a hex.

what he had not expected was to turn towards you and be met with a scathing look.

“what? oh andiamo bellissima, don’t tell me you actually wanted pucey to be hitting on you?” theo’s tone was dripping with contempt and exasperation.

he watches as you cross your arms, a petulant groan escaping your soft lips. admittedly, he’s only half listening to you as you tell him off about…

well, something.

theo’s eyes slowly travel your face, and then your body, head to toe. he finds himself distracted by the way the hem of your skirt hits the soft skin of your thighs.

even more completely enamored with the way your lips wrap around each word.

he has to recite a few boring prayers in latin from his nonna’s lectures about his lifestyle just to keep himself from boring holes into your chest as it rises and falls with your frustration.

“it’s not just that, theodore!”

the use of his full name by his best friend snaps him back to reality.

this was more than your usual whining at theo’s antics. or the way he’d always force you to eat some of your vegetables at dinner.

no, this was genuine.

“you always come between me and any guy! you— you say sweet things like you might— and then you just don’t! but oh, merlin forbid some other guy is interested in me!”

theo really doesn’t appreciate what you’re insinuating.

it’s only half true after all. sure he does chase guys away, and he absolutely sweet talks you, but he doesn’t do it to lead you on or to make you miserable.

he does it because he wants you in a way he knows he can’t have you.

but theo doesn’t tell you this. no, theo watches in complete silence as you scoff and turn heel on him.

in fact, theo has been doing nothing but watching recently.

watching you ignore him for the past two and a half weeks.

watching you laugh with your friends at your own table at meal times.

watching you walk right past him at your usual study time in the library.

watching you look through him at this very moment as he corners you.

theo watches you for another second after that. like he’s waiting for you to look back at him. like you always do.

you don’t.

your shoulder brushes past his as you move to leave and something in him finally snaps loose.

“stop.”

it comes out rougher than he means for it to.

you pause at the end of the corridor but don’t turn around immediately. when you finally face him, your expression is exhausted. not angry. not even really sad anymore.

just tired.

theo thinks for a fleeting moment that he’d prefer if you screamed at him again.

“what, theodore?”

and there it is again.

theodore.

not theo. not some sarcastic nickname muttered under your breath.

just theodore.

like you’re trying to remind yourself he’s only a person.

his throat tightens.

“you think i don’t let people near you because i like messing with your life?” he asks quietly.

“i think you don’t know what you want.”

the words land cleanly between his ribs. because the worst part is that maybe you’re right.

theo knows what it’s like to want in ugly ways. he knows obsession and jealousy and possession because he grew up surrounded by men who mistook those things for love.

but this thing with you has never felt ugly. and that’s how he knows.

“i know what i want,” he says resolutely.

you laugh once, humorless. “really? because from where i’m standing, it just feels like you want me close enough that nobody else can have me.”

theo flinches, brow furrowed and frown deepening. the silence stretches.

outside, thunder rumbles somewhere beyond the castle walls.

you look at him then. really look at him. and your face softens for half a second.

“that’s the problem, theo,” you continue quietly. “i know you better than anyone and i still don’t know what any of this means to you.”

his chest caves in a little at that. because you do know him.

you know he takes his tea with too much sugar when he hasn’t slept.

you know he reads the last page of books first because he hates uncertainty.

you know he gets quiet on the anniversary of his mother’s death and mean when he’s scared and restless when he cares too much.

you know every ruined and ugly thing about him.

but not this. never this.

theo drags a hand down his face before looking at you again. if he doesn’t get this out now, he knows he never will. that he’ll have to live the rest of his days watching you be happy with someone else.

“do you know how awful it is,” he says softly, “to be around someone all the time and still feel like they’ve barely touched the surface of you?”

your expression falters.

“theo—”

“i know you,” he cuts in, voice gentler now. “i know the sound you make when you’re trying not to laugh in the library. i know you hate pumpkin pastries but eat them anyway because pansy likes them. i know you pretend not to care about quidditch scores but you always ask draco who won.”

he steps closer, hand coming up to cup your jaw like it belongs there. like he belongs with you.

“and i know that every time someone looks at you for too long, i feel sick over it. i am,” he pauses, eyes flicking as he searches for an appropriate word. “i am undone by you.”

you stare at him. silent, breathing unevenly, chest doing that fucking heaving thing that threatens to bring him to his knees.

theo swallows hard.

“but i don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “because you’re my best friend and if i ruin this, i ruin everything.”

your eyes finally soften completely at that.

“theo,” you whisper.

he shakes his head once, desperate suddenly.

“i wish you could know me the way i know you,” he says. “not this version of me that jokes and picks fights and acts like none of this matters.”

his voice drops. “mio dio, i wish you knew how much it matters.”

you’re close enough now that he can see the exact moment your anger breaks apart. and when you speak, your voice sounds small.

“then tell me.”

theo looks at you for a long moment. then, very carefully, like he’s handing you something fragile enough to shatter in your palms, he says,

“i think i’ve been in love with you for a while.”

you exhale shakily, the only sound in the otherwise silent corridor.

“oh.”

theo huffs out a laugh at that, eyes dropping to the floor for a second and sarcasm rising to the surface like a defense mechanism. “yeah. brilliant response, really.”

but then your hand slips into his sleeve, fingers curling lightly around his wrist.

and theo goes quiet.

“i think,” you murmur slowly, “that maybe i’ve been waiting for you to say that for even longer.”

Once he actually hits the front door, he can smell the fresh cookies that you'd made with the girls. You're curled up on your guys' massive couch that he insisted on getting so he could cuddle with every piece of his heart at the same time.

Jason has like three seconds max before each of his calves has one of his daughters attached to it with a collective chorus of 'Daddy!'.

He doesn’t even attempt to keep a big ass grin from splitting his face. Instead, he just reaches down and carefully pries them off, picking them up in his big, strong arms and proceeding forward until he’s standing in front of you, one tiny little human in each arm with a panty-dropping smile.

Meanwhile you’re busy trying to ignore how hot he looks. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the thickness of his chest. The way that his biceps flex as the girls squirm in his hold.

You look up, his smile morphing into a cocky grin as he catches you checking him out. Your husband gets this glint of mirth in his eyes and the next thing you know, he’s shifted both girls to one arm and thrown you over his shoulder.

You’re protesting, mouth full of complaints and warnings about hurting himself. Jason just gives you a look that you know means, ‘Are you serious? I’ve fought Solomon Grundy’.

The more you chastise him about being careful, the more he smiles at you until you finally fall silent after he says something stupidly sweet about holding his entire world in his arms.