𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 || ᵈᵃʳʸˡ ᵈⁱˣᵒⁿ

v

|[part five]|
-҉

AS DAWN UNFURLED its golden hues across the landscape, you meticulously dismantled the makeshift alarm system and extinguished the remnants of last night's fire. With the first light painting the world in vibrant colors, you departed, leaving Daryl still embraced by the arms of sleep. The sun, already claiming its throne in the azure sky, hinted that he would soon stir from his slumber. Yet, concern for his safety barely brushed your thoughts; his senses had proven sharp yesterday, awakened by the mere snap of a twig. You found your way back to the main road, setting your course southward, with plans to veer west at the next junction, seeking to anchor your location in the vast unknown.

An hour's journey on foot had passed when the distinct growl of a motorcycle broke the morning's calm, drawing ever closer. You maintained your pace, unyielding, even as the bike's rider—Daryl—pulled up beside you, dismounted, and came to a halt. You continued past him, indifferent. The fleeting nature of your paths crossing left no room for the weight of goodbyes, no space for the discomfort they brought.

"Hey, Y/N!" His voice cut through the still air, laden with an urgency that made you reluctantly halt. The disdain for parting words hung heavily in your chest. "Hey, Y/N- How many... How many walkers have you killed?"

The abruptness of his inquiry rooted you to the spot, prompting you to face him with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "Excuse me?" you echoed, the question hanging bizarrely between you.

"How many walkers have you killed?" he repeated, his gaze piercing, searching for truths untold.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion and a hint of irritation. "What? You expect me to keep track or something?" The absurdity of maintaining a tally in a world where survival was the day's only certainty was not lost on you.

He inched closer, the distance between you charged with an unseen tension. "And how many people? How many people have you killed?"

"Why-" you began, only to be cut off by his insistence.

"Just answer."

"None," you replied, the word hanging heavily in the air, a testament to your untainted hands amidst chaos.

"Why?" His question, simple yet loaded, sought to unravel the layers of your morality, probing for the principles that guided your survival in this new world order.

"Why? Why? Because I never had to. Those are pretty fucking stupid questions, you know?" Your voice carried a mix of frustration and incredulity as you turned away from him, resuming your solitary journey. "Bye, Daryl." The word 'goodbye' left a bitter taste, echoing with all the unwanted emotions it dredged up—awkwardness, discomfort, and the haunting memories of friends who had breathed their last in your embrace.

His voice chased after you, tinged with a hint of desperation, "You know that settlement I'm gatherin' meds for? We're always on the lookout for folks willing to join."

"Best of luck with that," you tossed back over your shoulder, the distance between you growing with every step.

"Don't go acting stupid now, 'cause we both know ya ain't."

Pausing, you considered his words, taking a moment to truly look at him. "I appreciate the offer, I do. But it's not for me," you explained, arms crossed as if to shield yourself from the prospect. "I've tried the whole group living thing before. It's just not my fit."

"Safety ain't right for you? A home?"

"Not in the slightest, but thank you very much for the offer." With a casual wave, you added, "See you around."