It was late, almost one in the morning. Whatever you were doing, sleeping, or avoiding sleep, Daryl didn't care. Because you knew when he called, it was on. He only ever called for one reason. Outside of the local bar, Daryl leaned against his bike as he called you.

"Hey," he grumbles, "hope I didn't wake you."

Of course he did. It was a Friday night, and he hadn't seen you in a week.

"I was just thinkin' about 'cha. You got room for me?" He asks, his voice smooth and casual.