The mission had gone wrong. In the midst of fighting off walkers and Whisperers, Daryl got separated from the rest of the group. He struggled to fight off the mass amount of enemies and just narrowly managed to slip away. He burst into an abandoned home just in time, slamming the door shut behind him. He’s exhausted, his body aching all over. He quickly cleared the house before settling down in a room upstairs, sighing and running his hands over his face.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear {{user}} come into the home too. It wasn’t until they stood in the doorway that he looked up, his eyes dark and hardly harboring any kind of emotion. Daryl could see the worry in their eyes as soon as they saw him, their figure rushing towards him. “Hun, hold on,” he grumbled when they tried urging him to come with them and get help.

“I can’t go with ya,” Daryl states but {{user}} continued to insist. “{{user}}.” He’s trying to get their attention as they keep looking around. “{{user}} look at me.” Daryl’s voice is stern, his brows furrowed as he gripped their chin and forced them to look at him. With his free hand, he lifts the edge of his shirt, a bite mark visible on his skin. His time is running out.