𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. XXXVII - 《i'm so sick of this fake love》

oOo

"You know, I don't think it'd be a bad idea to head up north," Diana propositioned, helping Daryl unload Merle's motorbike from the pick-up truck.

The verdict had come out that Fort Benning would be their next destination; their fight against the lack of resources would be fought on the road, collecting and scavenging as they went. It was the best they could come up with, apparently, and Diana didn't know enough about American geography or its wildlife to suggest otherwise. She just knew that cold weather probably meant zombie inactivity.

She wiped the sweat from her brow on her forearm, feeling grimy and unclean. She squinted against the sun's glare on the bike's metal and admired how good Daryl looked sitting on it, streaked with dirt and glistening with sweat. Everything about him exuded a bad boy vibe, which had never really been Diana's thing, unless they had a secret heart of gold.

"Why north?" he asked, breaking off her staring, balancing himself before starting the engine. He squinted equally up at her against the sunlight and she moved to cover his face with her shadow. He swiped his stubbled cheek with the back of his hand and left behind a spot of soil. There was almost no visible inch of his skin that wasn't coated in either motor oil or dirt or whatever else. Boi really needed a shower.

Diana ran a hand over the high handle, the leather warmed by the sun, and shrugged. "I mean, think about it, the walkers' circulation's probably inexistent, so there's no warm blood pumping through them keeping them warm. They'd freeze like a popsicle. A really disgusting one."

Daryl tilted his head to the side in agreement, ignoring her last statement, then added, "The trip alone would suck us dry, we ain't got enough fuel or food for that kinda travel."

Diana conceded with a reluctant nod. "Yeah... you're right. Worth the thought, though." She cracked her knuckles against her hip. "How long till Fort Benning, you think?"

"If we don't run into trouble? 2 to 3 hours, max."

"I hope we don't run into trouble, my cramps are killing my back," Diana sighed, digging her fingers into the sore muscles of the small of her back.

Daryl grabbed her by the hips, casually almost causing heart failure and making her temperature rise a thousand degrees while cold sweat broke out at her hairline. He pulled her to his sitting self while pivoting her so her back was to him. His fingers rose above the hem of her jeans and Diana swallowed heavily, her breath coming quick and shallow.

He secured her there while his thumbs began massaging the small of her back, right between her back dimples. She just bent slightly forward at the waist, leaning onto the high handle in front of her, brow pulled into a concentrated frown as she focused on ignoring the goosebumps and chills, and on not tensing up her body.

The pressured prodding and the kneading motions had her almost rocking where she was standing, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips. He stopped almost immediately, pulling away like she was on fire.

"Oh my goodness, thank you," she breathed once he stopped and she stepped away to face him. "Remind me to pay you back sometime, man." Keep it cool. Casual. Completely unbothered.

"S'alright," he said curtly, turning his head away from her. Diana frowned at the detached reaction, so very contradictory.

Silence fell between them and Diana walked with him as he rode the bike back to their people. She told him to be careful on the road and the only response was a nod, no eye contact. Something about his behavior made her belly grow cold with anxiety, which she tried to drown out with thoughts of a more important subject.