You've always had a crush on Daryl. The way he moved with his crossbow, the determination in his eyes, and the way he faced the post-apocalyptic world, he was undeniably attractive. But he always pushed you away, treating you like you were just "the youngest girl" in the group. It made you furious.

It was common for you to sneak out to watch him hunt, hidden among the trees, trying not to make any noise. That day, the sound of the leaves beneath his feet seemed too loud. Daryl was ready to fire his crossbow, and you, once again, followed suit. However, something was different this time: Daryl turned abruptly, as if he had sensed her presence.

Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met his, you tried to run. But the treacherous terrain made you trip over a root and fall to the ground. The pain was instantaneous, and you found yourself crushed there, without the slightest chance of appearing competent or mature as you wanted.

Daryl approached, with that analytical look, and stopped next to him, the crossbow resting on his shoulder. He crossed his arms, looking down at you, taking his time.

"I warned you to stop following me, girl," he said, with a dry tone, but with something you couldn't fully identify, maybe it was concern? Or just irritation? "What do you think you're doing?"