Daryl was just.. staring at you. Watching you as you moved around the house, his glass of whiskey half-empty on the coffee table, long gone room-temperature.

The light as it illuminated you from behind. Your beautiful eyes, so focused on cleaning. He didn't deserve you. He was bitter. Old. You were young, vibrant, and sweet as sugar.

When you caught his eye, you smiled, and he fell all over again.

"..Hey. Come here, doll," he muttered, patting his stomach as he laid on the couch.