Because Spencer had mistaken your politeness for encouragement.

Daryl had been away on a run with Rick and Aaron for nearly two weeks, and though he had left with his usual grumble and a promise to be back before you had the chance to miss him too much, you knew better. You missed him the moment he walked through the gates.

Besides, there were some things easier dealt with when your boyfriend happened to be terrifyingly competent with a crossbow and a permanent scowl.

You hadn't told him. Partly because you didn't want to worry him, and partly because you knew exactly how he'd react.

The mere thought of Daryl discovering another man had been making you uncomfortable was enough to picture the storm cloud that would settle over his face, so you tried to handle it yourself before he arrived.

"Spencer, seriously, quit it. I'm not interested."

"Not interested right now?" he'd asked hopefully.

"No. Not interested. Period."

And he smiled. Actually smiled.

As if his persistence would somehow change your mind.

"I get it, you're difficult."

"No, Spencer, you're being difficult. I don't want you." you pause between every word like you're speaking to a toddler.

His expression changed to something like disappointment for only a second before that easy smile returned, making your skin crawl for reasons you couldn't explain.

"Guess I'll keep trying then."

You'd stopped even replying to his greetings after that, not wanting to give the man any reasons to think he had a shot with you.

When Daryl arrived, you took a mental note to explain him everything. How annoying Spencer had been these last couple of weeks, how scary it was starting to look for you. But you waited the first day to pass, enjoying a peaceful time with him before throwing the bomb when things were calmer.

The next day, you woke up earlier than him, it had rained the night before, leaving the air cool and smelling faintly of wet earth. You had changed into one of Daryl's old shirts, the oversized sleeves hanging past your wrists, curled them up to make him breakfast, while your head wondered how you'd approach the subject without him storming out of your house immediately and stamping his fists directly onto Spencer's nose.

A knock woke you from your thoughts. You sighed deeply.

"Come on, I know you're home." the known voice said from the other side of the wall.

You closed your eyes.

Of course ignoring him had apparently encouraged him. Wonderful.

"Can we just talk?" his voice called through the door. "You've been avoiding me.". No shit.

You remained frozen on your spot. Then came another knock. Louder this time.

"Seriously?"

You were just beginning to gather your voice to yell at him to leave when footsteps sounded behind you and strong arms slid around your waist.

You nearly jumped out of your skin before a familiar warmth pressed against your back.

"Who the hell's bangin' on your door?"

"Good morning, sleepyhead." you dodged the question, turned to face him and press your lips to his. "Missed you so much these days."

"I missed ya too."

He wore only a pair of overused sweatpants, his exposed chest was marked with scars colored differently, some old and some new ones, his hair was a mess, falling over eyes still heavy and swollen with sleep, and there were faint marks from the pillow pressed against one side of his face. Confusion had settled into a frown as he glanced toward the front door and then back at you.

The knock came again. Daryl frowned.

"Seriously, hun, who's that?"

You stiffened, and immediately, he noticed.

"Who is it?"

"Promise you won't get into a fight for this."

That answer earned you a look.

"The hell's going on?"

"Spencer's been bugging me like an asshole but's gotten worse now. He's been knockin trying to get me to talk to him."

"He's-" Daryl looked between you and the door. "He's been coming to your place?" you nodded.

"I told him with all the letters I wouldn't want him painted gold but he won't listen."

Daryl's eyes darkened.

"That little prick–"

"Y/n?" Spencer called from outside.

Silence. You felt Daryl go completely still.

"Daryl?"

His head turned very slowly toward the front door.

"Daryl–" you repeated weakly.

"Sweetheart."

Another knock interrupted you.

"I know you're in there!"

Daryl released you with alarming slowness, you had witnessed walker hordes that looked less threatening. He wasn't angry at you, not even close.

But there was a very particular expression on his face that usually preceded somebody making poor life choices.

"Daryl."

"Mhm."

"Behave."

"Mhm."

"That wasn't convincing."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead so absentmindedly it nearly distracted you from the fact that he was marching toward the front door with absolutely no shirt on. He opened the door.

Spencer's confident smile vanished so quickly you wished you had recorded to replay it later.

Because as the door opened and he expected you, finally deciding to give him a chance or invite him in, stood instead Daryl Dixon, looking thoroughly unimpressed with existence itself, broad-shouldered and shirtless, like he owned the place.

And behind him, visible over his shoulder, stood you. Wearing one of Daryl's shirts.

Spencer blinked.

Daryl blinked back. Then, with all the warmth of a man discussing the weather, he asked.

"Can I help ya?"

The poor fool actually opened his mouth.

"I uh... I was looking for–"

"For my girl?"

Daryl's eyebrow lifted, he sounded calm — which made things worse.

"She's busy, pal."

Spencer's eyes widened.

My girl. The words settled warmly in your chest despite the embarrassment threatening to kill you.

"Didn't know y'all were together."

Daryl's expression got heavier.

"Well, now ya do." The message was, thankfully, finally received.

Spencer muttered something that sounded like an apology before retreating down the street with remarkable speed.

Daryl watched him until he was far enough, then closed the door, turned around and looked at you smiling like a child who just got cotton candy.