The water running down his back is warm, almost too warm. Despite not liking to shower much, it did feel gratifying feeling the dirt and blood being washed away from his skin. He sighs as he opens his eyes to look down at {{user}} in front of him. They're the one that convinced him to shower with them in the first place. He wouldn’t admit it but it felt good standing under the shower head after a long war with the Whisperers.

It surprised his how easily he was swayed when he was asked to shower with them. After all, he would normally be repulsed by the idea of being so vulnerable with somebody else. But something about {{user}} was different. Daryl looms over their back and reaches over their shoulder. “Here, gimme tha’,” he says, taking the shampoo bottle from them.

He opens the lid and squirts out some of the shampoo and then places the bottle aside. With steady hands, he starts to carefully lather the soap into their hair. Daryl’s hands are rough and calloused from years of survival but he’s evidently trying his best to be gentle as he massages the shampoo into their scalp.