twd one-shots

speak up - daryl dixon

But he was silent, and the moment passed. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. Daryl would feel his heart swell, his palms slick and chest tightening at your presence— at the idea of opening his mouth and spilling all his thoughts. But just as he would be about to part his lips, licking them in anticipation, his throat would shut. His tongue gone limp and useless. Doubt would swarm him at the last second and he'd fall into that familiar silence.

Although those times, he didn't know if he should be thankful for it.

The yellow flowers had begun to wilt, days of sitting on the kitchen counter dwindling the petals— no matter how well you tended to them. But that was fine, Daryl had already planned to happen upon that patch of flowers on the hunt you were joining today. Maybe then he'd...

You came around the corner, hair a bit messy from tossing in bed and pyjama shorts that made his breath hitch and warmth flood him.

Who was he kidding— if he lost his breath, nevertheless his voice, from just looking at you, how the hell did he think he could admit something so vulnerable to you?

You smiled at him— bright as ever. Said your good mornings to Carol and Maggie who sat around the kitchen's island, and thanked him for cooking up some breakfast. Then, you were gone. Something about changing for the hunt soon. Leaving a thick haze in Daryl's mind as those thoughts of you took over. You and your beautiful smile. The way you lit up every room you entered, even if just for a moment to grab something to eat, like now. It drove him crazy— even crazier when the thought of your bright smile being for him snuck its way into his mind. It was rare that Daryl found himself entertaining the possibility of his feelings for you being mutual. It seemed cruel to give himself false hope, so instead, he let himself sink deeper into a pit of self-deprecation and doubt. It was easier than facing the alternative; rejection and regret.

Then Carol and Maggie implored him to.

"Doesn't she look so pretty in the morning?" Carol mused, but Daryl was too busy staring straight through the pan he was supposed to be washing to properly register her question.

"Hm. You should tell her then."

Daryl's brow furrowed as he ran the pan under warm water, the sensation slowly coaxing him out of his trance, "Tell 'er wha'?"

"Tell her you think she's pretty," she reiterated, "you just agreed."

Daryl looked up, watching Maggie's interest peak as Carol mimicked his absentminded hum moments prior. He hadn't even realized he hummed in agreement. He especially hadn't considered the implications of admitting, even so carelessly, to the most relentless person he knew that he thought you were pretty. Because of course, he did— he thought you were many things, pretty being perhaps the most obvious at first glance, but certainly not the most important. You were also smart, and Daryl couldn't see why a woman like you would ever make the foolish mistake of being with a man like him.

He huffed, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Maggie interjected, swallowing her bite, "it's true, ain't it?"

Daryl scrubbed the pan, thankful that his unkempt bangs hid his warm cheeks from their prying eyes.

"Daryl?" she leaned closer, fighting a smirk from the way he peeked up at her, a look in his eye that was intended to be stoic but was pleading to let it— let him— be, "Ya think she's pretty."

He chewed on his lip, scrubbing harder against the remnants of food that stuck on the pan. Maggie and Carol watched him, Maggie's expression a bit more concerned than Carol's, simply because the latter was already used to teasing the man.