You wandered down the hallway towards the door to the bathroom that is wide open, the light flooding into the dark hall. Moving to stand in the doorway, Daryl sits hunched over on the edge of the bathtub. His elbows resting on his knees as he stares blankly down at his boots.
"You need help?" Your voice seems louder than it really is due to the silence, and Daryl looks up slowly. As you made up the bedroom with a comfortable bed that Jesus said you could both use that night, you told Daryl to go shower. But it had been ten minutes and you still hadn't heard the water turn on.
Daryl stares at you, exhaustion sketched out across his face. Walking into the small bathroom, you move next to him and pull back the shower curtain. Bending down you place a gentle kiss to the top of his head, then grasping the gold painted nozzle, you turn on the faucet.
"Come on," You whisper softly to the man sitting worn down on the side of the tub.
Daryl stands at a snails pace but you don't rush him. Your fingers move to unbutton the new navy shirt that covers his chest, and soon slip it off him. Letting it fall to the tile floor, along with his shoes and pants next.
He doesn't say anything, he just allows you to undress him and once you too are bare, lead him into the shower. He doesn't fight you; he didn't when you told him earlier to wash up. And you can't help but wonder if he's just too tired to fight it, or if he finally craves to feel warm water running down his aching body.
Either way, you pull the curtain back and it closes you both into the corner with steam rising and water pelting down on you both.
"Is it too warm?" You ask him, looking up at Daryl.
You and Daryl had been intimate before, although now it seems like a lifetime ago, but you had been a few times. But right now is different, you both stand naked in front of each other but neither one of you cares. Neither one of you looks to the others bare body, but instead just each others eyes.
And as Daryl lifts his head, water soaking his long locks, his eyes are the rawest you had ever seen them. The blue staring with emotion he hardly ever showed.
His dark hair is even darker as it is drentched in the water, droplets falling from the ends. The water runs down his chest, leaving streaks in the layer of dirt and whatever else lines the skin on his chest.
Daryl never answered you about the temperature, for you it begins to burn your skin, but you ignore it for him.
Turning, you grab the white washcloth and body wash resting on the small shelf in the shower. Opening it up, you pour some out onto the cloth. The liquid is white, almost blending in with the color of the fabric. And the scent is rich and fresh.
Lifting the washcloth once you set the bottle back down, you lower it onto his chest. The wash turning to suds as you stroke back and forth. Daryl stands still as you clean his skin, not saying anything but also not doing anything to stop you.
You focus on him, as the cloth begins making paths of clean and clear skin. The beautiful tan skin of the man in front of you.
Your head has been hammering all day, since the moment he arrived with Jesus to now. Questions swirling that you ache to ask. Tears you crave to let flow, but stay strong for him.
Daryl sighing deeply brings you from your concentration, and you look up at his face. Your hand stopping as you do so.
"Keep goin." He mumbles and his voice doesn't even sound like his own. It is still low and holds that deep southern accent of his. But it breaks; raw and vulnerable.
You nod and start washing again with the cloth. Smooth and gentle strokes over his chest and down his arms.
"Please don't ask me." His voice breaks through the quiet and the rising steam. Looking up at him, you continue cleaning.
Your eyebrows bend slightly in confusion, but as his eyes flutter up and meet yours you see it. You want to know what he went through, what they did to him, now that he's here safe at the Hilltop. But you don't.
"Okay." You whisper, nodding as you move the cloth over his left shoulder.
It falls quiet again, the only sound that of the running water streaming over you and Daryl. The heat scorching your skin, but it looks like it sooths Daryl in some way.
It's when Daryl turns and you begin to wash his back, that a different sound echoes in the small corner. Sniffs and low coughs. The cloth that glides over his back, not caring that you see the scars from his childhood, shakes gently. And you watch Daryl's right hand reach out and hold onto the wall in front of him.
You stop washing, and set the washcloth down by the bottle on the shelf. Your hand reaches out and gently touches his shoulder. Pulling him softly, he turns to face you. His eyes that were shut, open, and you see the tears.
Even though the teardrops blend with the droplets from the water rushing over you, you can see them. He cries silently, yet it's the loudest call to your breaking heart.
Gliding your hands over his shoulder again, you being him closer. Until his head rests against your chest, and you can feel a new stream of water run over your skin. His tears, washing away.
But you hold him, just like that. Head to chest, skin to skin, heart to heart. And although he doesn't say anything, he's thankful to have your arms wrapped tightly around him again. The warmth and the love you give almost making the pain he feels bareable. He's thankful to be held in that moment, no words and no pressures of questions. Just you holding him when he needed to be held.
A/N: 😍😭I really like this one!
