A Broken World

Sixty-One

His kiss slowed, like the urgency had melted into something heavier—something more real. His hands softened against my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones like he was trying to memorize the shape of me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but not in the bad way—not like when the walkers were outside the door or when the world felt too loud.

This was different.

Daryl pulled back just enough for his forehead to rest against mine. His breath was shaky. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

I let out a soft laugh. “Bullshit.”

His lips twitched like he might actually smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You were drivin’ me crazy.”

“You needed to be driven,” I said, quieter this time.

His hand dropped from my cheek to my waist, lingering there like he wasn’t sure if he should let go. “Ain’t good at this.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Me neither.”

Another long pause stretched between us. We could still hear the faint groans of walkers beyond the closet door, but they sounded farther away now. Or maybe we’d just stopped caring about the danger. For a moment, this small space felt like a world of its own.

“You scare the hell outta me,” he said suddenly.

I blinked. “What?”

“You do,” he repeated, eyes searching mine. “You make me feel like… like I could lose somethin’. Again.”

My throat tightened. I got it. More than he knew.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” I said, barely above a whisper. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He swallowed hard and nodded once, like maybe he was finally letting himself believe it.

Then he pulled me into him—no kiss, no words, just arms wrapped around my waist and his head buried in my neck. I closed my eyes and held him just as tightly. We stayed like that for a while, locked in a janitor’s closet in a half-decaying school while the world outside tried to kill us.

But for once… it felt like we were winning.

Eventually, he murmured, “Think they’re gone?”

I didn’t move. “Let’s give it a little longer.”

He huffed softly against my skin. “Not complainin’.”

Neither was I.

Because if the world wanted to fall apart again, it could wait a few more minutes. I had Daryl Dixon in my arms, and right now, that was enough.

We stayed wrapped up in each other a while longer, listening—half for the groans outside, half for the sound of our own hearts trying to calm down. My cheek rested against his chest, rising and falling with every slow, uneven breath he took. Daryl Dixon was always a quiet storm, but like this, with his arms around me and his guard lowered, he was just a man—one I had wanted for longer than I cared to admit.

“I meant it,” I said after a while, not lifting my head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand slid up my back, fingers tangling in my hair. “Better not,” he murmured. “Don’t think I could take losin’ you.”

I pulled back enough to look at him, and there it was—that flash of fear in his eyes he never let anyone see. Not when he was shooting walkers, not when he was staring down Merle, not even when he was covered in blood. But now, in the dark, with only me to see him? He didn’t hide it.