The prison went down in minutes.

It was maddening, but mostly heartbreaking. You and this group had finally settled down, after months of running from spot to spot, of chopping walker heads and dehydrating under the intense sunlight. But it was taken away after your quickly-made-enemy, the Governor, drove all the way to your home and attacked.

You knew better. You and everyone there knew that you couldn't stay there. Everything was being destroyed, the bullets barely flew past your skin as you dodged them and hid behind walls.

So suddenly, you were all by yourselves.

And you barely had time to notice what was happening before a hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away, out of the prison, and into the tall woods surrounding it.

Daryl himself never explained why he saved you. Perhaps because he was that altruistic, and you were next to him when chaos struck. You were lost, away from your friends, starving and dirty, with only eachother's company.

At first, it was silent. Daryl and you didn't really talk; not because he didn't like you, he did. You just rarely interacted, never really paid attention to eachother. Both you and him spend almost entire days of excruciating silence... until they stopped.

Although Daryl was a loner, he allowed himself to admit that your company was better than the loneliness he usually knew. And he liked it—not romantically, not yet at least, but as the days went by, he wasn't afraid to accept that he cared for you. He didn't mind looking out for you, protecting you, rescuing you as many times needed.

You had softened his heart, and for once, he didn't mind.

You had settled in a clearing, one unusually full of flowers. It was a rare thing, finding such things these days. You were too distracted admiring the place when Daryl approached you, holding a delicate geranium flower in violet tones.

He gently brushed your hair away, placing the flower on your ear.

"Looks cute on ya," he muttered with the slightest of smiles before nodding at you to keep walking.