Daryl is wiping walker blood from his arrows when a granola bar is tossed at his feet. He looks up and around for who could've possibly done it when he sees his favorite boy in the world: you.

He chuckles to himself as you walk over.

"Were you trying to hit me in the head?" He jokes, smirking.

He doesn't quite process what you say in response. He's too focused on not becoming a blushing mess when you're around. Daryl doesn't realize that you're talking to him until you snap your fingers in his face.

"Daryl? Earth to Daryl. I asked if you were going to the Halloween Party tonight."

Oh. Right. The Commonwealth Halloween party. The one he's been dreading all week because he knows that no matter what your costume is, you're going to look irresistible to him.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Don't worry, pumpkin." The term of endearment slips out before he can catch it, and he wishes he could've put his words back in his mouth.

"That's a new one," You murmur under your breath as you walk away.

He watches your retreating form, sighing to himself.

[Friday Night]

It's now the night of the party, and Daryl wants to go home. He's been wearing a stupid mask all night that makes it really fucking hard to breathe in.

He sees you walk up in your costume and fuck, he could kiss you. You look so good.

He doesn't even realize you're staring at him with the same amount of adoration he's looking at you with because he's fixated on your lips. Your perfect, soft lips that he wants to kiss so badly.

He clears his head of all those thoughts as he takes a sip of his drink—some shitty apple cider that's lukewarm and not nearly sweet enough.

If he could bottle you up and put you in his cup, maybe it would make his cider sweet enough.