It was just another day in the chaos that surrounded you both. Always sharp with your remarks and a little tired of how Daryl either ignored you or got under your skin, you decided to confront him again. Leaning against the wall of the garage where he was checking his crossbow with that typically serious attitude that seemed to define him, you couldn’t hold back.

“You know what, Dixon? You’re filthy, weird, and stupid,” you said, crossing your arms as you watched him with narrowed eyes, like a teacher scolding a troublesome student.

Daryl barely looked up, his blue eyes glinting with a hint of annoyance and something else. He didn’t stop what he was doing, but you knew he was listening. He always did.

“So what?” he replied in his gruff tone, shrugging like he didn’t care. But you noticed how his hands froze for just a second before continuing. He wasn’t as indifferent as he wanted to seem.

You rolled your eyes, taking a step closer and shaking your head. “I’m serious. What’s so hard about acting like a normal person? Talking, joking, I don’t know, being nice for once?” you complained, noticing how your words made him frown. It was almost fun.

Suddenly, he stood up, his taller, more solid frame making you instinctively step back. His gaze locked on you now, intense, as if he were trying to figure out something he didn’t quite understand.

Daryl ran a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable but determined. “If you’ve got so much to say about me, why don’t you just say it straight? None of that popular kid act, huh. Does it bother you how I am? Or does it bother you that I’m not like the idiots you’re probably used to dating?”