Wrong

One: Neighbors

Daryl arrived at the store within a half hour. The store was just Walmart, nothing special. He headed inside and grabbed a cart, pushing it into the food aisle. He grabbed a lot of canned goods, knowing they'd last a long time, and after tallying up how much it'd cost, Daryl realized he had some money to spare. He decided that some fruit would really spice things up from the traditional canned goods and raw pasta.

As he was about to grab a bag to stuff with apples, his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Daryl flipped it open, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"I need you to get some more beers. Pete and the guys are comin' over tonight." Merle said groggily through the phone. "And did you eat my pizza?"

"Ain't nothin' else to eat." Daryl muttered, turning away from the fruit and heading back to the beer aisle.

Merle scoffed into the receiver. "Don' do it again, got it?"

"Whatever." Daryl muttered, adding a pack of bottled liquor to the cart. Now he was out of money. "'M almost done."

"Good. Hurry back." And Merle hung up, leaving the phone beeping.

Daryl rolled his eyes and flipped his phone shut and made his way to the register, reluctant to go back home. His head wasn't ready for another high, drunk hangover.

When Daryl pulled up to the house, be noticed that the neighbor's house had a moving van parked outside, and furniture was being loaded into the house by some mover guys. The neighbors had moved out a few months ago, and apparently someone had found something to like about the rundown house beside the Dixon's. Daryl's curiosity peeked, and he glanced around for the new owner, just as a man emerged from the house. He wasn't dressed in a uniform like the other people, so Daryl automatically assumed he was the owner.

And holy shit, he didn't look bad.

The owner had long light brown hair that was held up in a bun, while a thick beard ran against his jaw line and on his upper lip. He was lean, much leaner than Daryl, and was wearing a simple white button up and jeans. He smiled friendlily at one of the movers, and took a box from him. Daryl noticed his lean muscle underneath the T-shirt, and the bit of sweat on his chest. Daryl bit his cheek, just as the stranger's eyes landed on him. Daryl noticed just how large and round his eyes were, and though he was too far away to figure out what color they were, he knew they were a light color. The stranger smiled kindly at Daryl, and he felt his heart leap, his stomach churn, and heat radiating from his cheeks and ears.

Suddenly the door to his own house opened, snapping Daryl's attention away from the new neighbor.

Merle and the hooker were trudging down the steps, the lady laughing and leaning against Merle while he seemed more interested in Daryl's truck. "Get the beers, lil brudder?"

"Yeah." Daryl mumbled, his voice scratchy. From the corner of his eye he noticed the neighbor look away, and was walking back into his own house. Daryl was more than a little disappointed, but then his back started burning, and Will Dixon's words echoed in his mind.

"Fucking faggot!"

Daryl silently shuddered as he took the bags out of the back of the truck. He wanted to believe that he was straight - especially after what Mike had done to him - but no matter how many women he hooked up with, even if he got off on it, it never really felt... true. It felt more mechanical than anything else.

He helped Merle carry the beers into the house, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest as he remembered the stranger's smile. Merle shooed the whore out of the house before turning to Daryl, who was putting the food away. "Meet the neighbor yet?" He asked, lighting up either a cigarette or a joint.

"Nah," Daryl mumbled, and he couldn't help but glance out the window. The moving van was pulling away, and from this angle Daryl could see the neighbor's front porch. The neighbor himself was nowhere to be seen.

"Looks like a damn hippy," Merle remarked, taking a puff from the cigar. "Hope he don't mind loud music and drunk rednecks."

Daryl didn't say anything because the neighbor had come outside again, and was leaning on the porch railing with a clear glass of brown liquid, probably soda. He took a sip, and Daryl watched they way he pursued his lips to do so, watched as he swallowed the mouthful. Then Daryl realized he was probably acting creepy, but fuck, he wanted to get to know this guy, and who the hell he was.

The neighbor scanned the neighborhood, smiling and waving to a couple of kids who were scurrying across the sidewalk. Daryl smiled softly as the man took another sip of his drink. Daryl found that he'd rather be outside, and he took a look at his own front yard. The weeds were getting long, and so was the grass. A flash of embarrassment flooded through Daryl as he stared at the neighbor's neatly trimmed, weed-free yard compared to his own. He should clean it up, set a good impression on their new neighbor.

"Merle, we got any gas for that mower?" Daryl asked, glancing at his older brother, who was sitting on the couch with a beer and watching some sports.

"How the hell should I know?" Merle muttered.

Daryl rolled his eyes and sat up, taking one last glance at the neighbor before leaving his house. Once he was outside, he was aware of how hot it was, and was now sort of regretting his decision to mow the yard. But he was already outside, and from the corner of his eye he noticed the younger man staring. He tried keeping his blush down to a minimum and he walked down the steps of his tiny house. He couldn't help but glance at the neighbor, who smiled and waved a small, almost shy wave. Daryl swallowed a lump in his throat before giving an awkward wave back, feeling his cheeks heating up.

"How're you doing?" The man asked. His voice was very soft, and held a northern accent. Clearly he wasn't from anywhere around here.

Daryl was shocked by the fact that this man had actually spoken to him and was expecting a response. Most people wouldn't look twice at Daryl or any Dixon for that matter. And yet, this man was speaking to him, probably trying to start a conversation.

And here you are, standing there and staring like some mute idiot.

"It's pretty hot today." The man remarked, glancing up at the sky before fixing his eyes on Daryl again. Daryl's cheeks flushed red and he cleared his throat, realizing just how stupid he looked then.

"Uh, yeah." He mumbled.

The man smiled a little and took a sip from the nearing empty glass. "What's your name?"

Daryl briefly wondered why the hell this guy wanted to talk to him. What made Daryl appealing to look at and socialize with? Then he realized that the man was probably just trying to be polite, and Daryl was looking like an asshole by not answering.

"Daryl." He coughed, cheeks flushed. Hopefully this guy would just think that it was the sun and heat making his face red.

The guy smiled. "I'm Paul, but my friends call me Jesus. Pick whichever."

Oh great. Merle was gonna flip his shit when he found out that the guy next door called himself "Jesus".

"Well, I'll let you do what you've gotta do. My tea's almost gone anyway. See you around, Daryl." Jesus said, smiling kindly at him just before getting up and heading inside his own house.

Daryl mentally kicked himself, casting his gaze downwards and growling to himself. He should've tried harder to talk to the neighbor, instead he just looked stupid, like he didn't know what he was doing. But what was he going to say? Daryl sighed as he realized he had no chance with Jesus. Even if on the odd chance that Jesus was gay or bi or whatever, why would he choose to be with Daryl? He trudged out to the shed behind his house, remembering what he had come out for originally.