Daryl was beautiful in your eyes, even if his own self hatred often got in the way of that admiration. He was self conscious of the scars on his back. You knew that and gave him the space that you knew he needed. He was careful to hide the scars, always making sure if he did take his shirt off in front of you that his back was nowhere near your line of sight. He was good at hiding them, great even.

Seeing the way he viewed himself made you sick. You loved him, every part of him. He wouldn't scare you away with a few scars, even if he might think he would. You were determined to help him, even if he didn't want you too.

"I want to see them," you whispered one quiet morning. His eyes widened, pulse quickening. You could hear his heart pounding as your head lay on his chest.

You untangled your legs from his, sitting up. The lightly colored sheets draped around your waist as you did. It was always hard for Daryl when you looked at him like this, when he could see the adoration in your eyes. It made guilt churn inside of him. He didn't think he deserved your love.

"Them things are nasty," he said, his voice rough with sleep. He yawned, "Why would ya want to see them?" His added question felt nervous, something you often didn't see in Daryl.