it was just a supply run.

the stock of medicine at the prison’s infirmary was growing smaller and smaller by the day; with more survivors joining their group, they needed to keep up — have enough to provide to anyone who needed it.

daryl had mentioned doing a run at a nearby pharmacy, and immediately, you offered to join him — obviously.

you never seemed to want to be away from him, and he never seemed to mind that.

your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the low hum of the motorcycle sounding out beneath you.

daryl’s motorcycle was the easiest way to travel for quick runs; not that you were complaining.

his head turned slightly with a small grunt, peeking over his shoulder at you before turning his attention back towards the road.