A/N: "Pictures" by $uicideboy$ ft. Maxo Kream.

pictures

On Sunday morning, Beth woke up with liquor on her breath and a lot of questions. She was confused by how naked she was, as well as Daryl's presence beside her. He summarized the last couple of hours that she was unable to recall, but she didn't say much.

His heart dropped a little when he accepted the fact that she had blacked out, and those words that had dripped from her mouth with heart-wrenching honesty had been nothing but Xanax and tequila and weed spewing out the same old sentimental bullshit.

She was irritable and cranky, crashing back down to Earth with a throbbing headache and an empty stomach. He threw on his clothes and watched her slink around, gathering up everything she brought for the weekend stay at Brittany's. Then they quietly slipped out of the apartment together, tiptoeing past sleeping bodies and scattered messes. On the way to his truck, she asked if they could stop somewhere for a quick meal and he happily obliged.

She was mostly quiet during the drive, but so was he. It wasn't until after they'd eaten and were already heading toward her workplace that he asked if she needed picked up after her shift. She shook her head and mumbled something about her dad picking her up since she would need to get up in the morning and begin packing the last of her things. Daryl merely nodded and reminded her of his offer to help her later in the afternoon - if she still needed. To his relief, she assured him that she would give him a call when it came time for her to start taking things over to her new apartment.

When he parked his truck outside of the little restaurant where she worked, she leaned over and pecked him on the lips, then threw her duffel bag and purse over her shoulder and climbed out of the seat. With a quick wave, a thanks for the ride "and everything else," and a promise to text him later, she slammed the door shut and walked off.

He watched her until he could no longer see her through the glass front doors of the building, and before pulling out and driving away, he turned his phone on and set it in the cupholder. His lips tingled from her brief kiss and his stomach was already churning uncomfortably with anticipation.

The rest of Sunday crawled by at an almost agonizing pace. Daryl busied himself with laundry and general tidying around his apartment, just for the sake of having something to keep his hands occupied until he could go back to work the next day. The continued rainfall diminished any plans he might've had for a relaxing bike ride. He tried his hardest to resist checking his phone every five minutes, but eventually he ran out of things to do and found himself lounging on the couch with the TV playing reruns while he scrolled through social media.

That was when he found two new pictures that Beth had been tagged in: one was the group photo on the couch, where he was very much visible at her side, and the other was a photo of a couple other people with Beth and Daryl clearly standing off to the side, close together and smiling. Beth had already 'liked' both photos. His heart leapt the slightest bit but he quickly exited the app and set his phone aside.

It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything.

Around ten, Beth texted him to ask what he'd done all day and complain about how her dad was acting stand-offish toward her. Daryl responded to tell her that he'd gotten some chores done and tried to throw in some reassuring words about how Hershel was probably just stressed about her move. But she didn't want to hear it - or read it - because she avoided the subject and threw out an "I miss you" that made his stomach clench painfully.

He fell asleep near midnight, struggling not to overthink everything, replaying her drunken words from the night before in his head like a comforting lullaby.

And though he only dreamt briefly, it was about her.

Work seemed to drag by on Monday. The rain had dwindled to sporadic drizzles of cold water, all hints of snow vanishing without a trace, and the sun was struggling to peek out from behind slow-moving puffs of gray. The wind was still chilly, but it was weak and only picked up during the brief showers that occured on-and-off throughout the day.

Daryl managed to resist sending Beth a "good morning" text until about ten or eleven, when he knew it was most likely for her to be waking up. But he didn't hear anything back for several hours, despite his consistent checking. If Dwight noticed, he didn't say anything.

Who was Daryl kidding - Dwight definitely noticed. Nearly every time Daryl pulled out his phone and looked down at the screen. Dwight shot him side-eyed glances all day, slight frowns and lifted brows, grumbles of disapproval that went unheard over the constant roaring of engines and clanging of metal inside the large garage. Daryl chose to ignore it.

They didn't talk much throughout the day, not even during their usual lunch break together. And when they did, Dwight was just bitching about something Sherry and her sister were going through. Daryl barely listened because, admittedly, all he could think about was Beth. Even when he tried not to. Even when he shoved his earbuds in and forced himself to focus on the bike he was repairing, on the engine he was rebuilding, on the fucking sandwich he was eating. But she kept popping up. His appetite was practically nonexistent as he repetitively pulled out his phone and checked for new messages.

Fuck, he was pathetic. Was this what being around her did to him?

By the time 3:30 rolled around, he'd convinced himself that he was just worried about her. He was worried about her moving, about her relationship with her dad, about her current financial situation and - most of all - her mental situation. He was still admonishing himself for not remembering to look at her thigh and check for new cuts when she'd been lying half-naked next to him. But it had been dark, and all he'd been able to think about was how close she was, how warm she was, and how absolutely plastered she was - on a concoction of booze, pills, and weed.

And just when he was beginning to accept the fact that she wasn't going to text him back, that she didn't need his help and had honestly probably just forgotten about him, that he needed to focus on something else - anything else… she texted him.

Hey, sorry I didn't text back, I've been packing all day. You still at work?

He tapped out a response and sent it in less than two minutes, hesitating momentarily on what he should say. He hated the way his heart raced whenever her name popped up on his phone, and thinking about how much he hated it made his stomach flip-flop angrily. He swallowed back the rising bile and subconsciously clenched his jaw when he pressed Send.

Yeah but it's slow. You still need help moving?

What he said wasn't even true. He and Dwight and the rest of their coworkers had a backlog of shit to get through on top of their ever-growing list of new jobs, and Joe was already sulking around the shop, grumbling about 'overtime' and 'lazy ass slackers.' They'd even taken a shorter lunch than usual for the sake of catching up.

Yet Daryl was having a really difficult time prioritizing work over Beth. It just didn't seem important when he knew that she needed him. When he knew that he had all these moments he could be spending with her, that he may never get again. These moments he'd hungered so desperately for over the last several months.

He simply couldn't bring himself to give a shit about what Dwight or Joe or anyone else thought. All he fucking cared about was Beth. She was all he had the capacity to truly care about.

He had to prove to her that he was reliable, that she could depend on him. He had a lot of shit to make up for. And step one was defining himself as an enduring part of her life, a pillar for her to lean on amongst the wreckage; proving to her that he was no longer a ghost, but a man. A real man.

If you're not busy. I don't want you to leave work too early or anything, I can probably manage the rest on my own.

Not busy, don't push yourself. Save the heavy stuff for my truck. I'll be there in 30.

Lol okay. Drive careful, the roads are still muddy.

She didn't have all that many possessions. It was mostly books and clothes, which she'd already hauled into the city and into her new apartment. He helped her load the few bits of furniture she had into the bed of his truck - a mattress, a bed frame, a dresser, a nightstand, a desk, a few bookcases, a small second-hand loveseat, a cheap flat-screen TV that had been in her bedroom, and a single small 'dining' table with a fold-out chair - and tied them down with his bungee ropes. All the oversized, oddly-shaped things that she couldn't fit into her little red Honda Civic.

It seemed Hershel wasn't feeling exactly generous with the hand-outs after Beth decided to drop out of college and move into her own apartment. Daryl felt that was kind of wrong considering how much unused furniture resided inside the big farmhouse. But then again, he hadn't even had this much help when he was starting out - and he'd been even younger than her when he'd gotten away from his father and headed out on his own. Not to mention, Hershel had already been more than generous by giving her Maggie's old car with no strings attached, so it sort of evened out in a way.

She had the essentials, and anything else she might need, Daryl already planned on helping her out with. Whether she wanted the help or not. There was no way in hell he was going to let her live in a shady neighborhood in the city without making sure she was all set up and safe.

Beth chatted happily during the entirety of both their trips back-and-forth. They worked together to maneuver the furniture from his truck into her new apartment, and on the second haul, they only needed half of the pickup's bed to carry her remaining furniture. She loaded the last few boxes into her Civic and said goodbye to her daddy while Daryl sat in his truck and watched in the rearview mirror.

There were tears rolling down Hershel's wrinkled cheeks, and when Beth turned around, Daryl saw tears pooling in her big blue eyes. But she was fighting them back. And then she was getting into her car and buckling up, and a few moments later, he was watching her follow him down the muddy road as they left Senoia and drove toward the Atlanta city limits. He tuned his radio to a heavy metal station and cranked up the volume, struggling to keep his eyes on the road ahead rather than Beth in his rearview.

The sun had already gone down long before they made it back to the farm for the second and final haul, so by the time they were pulling up to the apartment building with the last of her furniture and boxes, the moon was rising steadily in the darkened sky and the stars were beginning to twinkle to life one-by-one. The rain appeared to have finally stopped, leaving behind large puddles, dripping awnings, and wet sidewalks and streets. But the clouds were floating by quickly, as though they were fleeing the scene of a crime. It left a cold chill that rippled through the air and stung Daryl's cheeks, making him wish he'd worn something more than just his vest and long-sleeved shirt. He'd left work in such an antsy rush that he hadn't even grabbed his coat.

Beth was still optimistic and chatty as they worked together to move the last of her things into her new place. He couldn't help but feel a burst of hope, sharing her optimism for once as he saw the light in her face and eyes, heard the upbeat tone in her voice. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe it was the change she needed. And when she was feeling this good, how could he not feel just as good right along with her?

Maybe that heart-wrenching confession that she'd mumbled against his lips during a hazy blackout had been nothing more than a shitty combination of tequila and sedatives making nonsense come out of her mouth. At least… he could hope.

She certainly didn't seem like she was in constant, unseen pain as she fluttered around her new little home, scooting furniture into place and opening boxes and organizing, organizing, organizing. The place was already spotless and it seemed somewhat new, probably recently remodeled, from his estimate. New carpet, fresh paint, not a speck of dust in sight - a stark contrast to the outside appearance.

The building itself looked pretty run-down and the brick was painted a disgusting shade of yellow, somewhere between marigold and baby shit. And the neighborhood was sketchy, with flickering streetlights and neglected streets, sidewalks, and gardens. Several buildings along the block had sturdy black bars on the outsides of all the windows and doors. There was a complex just down the street that looked like it was riddled with old bullet holes. He wanted to ask how much the place cost exactly, but decided against it. She already knew it was less than ideal, and she wouldn't appreciate him pointing it out.

Time always flew when he was with her, and this occasion was no different. It didn't really feel like work while he was helping her set up the living room and kitchen, assisting in sorting the boxes and organizing her extensive collection of clothes and books, volunteering to lift and move the things that were a bit too heavy for her to manage on her own. He didn't even pull his phone from his pocket once, not until it was nearly nine o'clock.

And when he did, he found a text from Dwight that had arrived unnoticed a couple of hours prior: Thanks for the overtime, asshole. Hope you're at least getting your dick sucked for all this.

Daryl had the urge to roll his eyes as he darkened the screen and shoved his phone back into his pocket, ignoring Dwight's text. He knew he'd have to answer for skipping out early once he got to work the next day, but for this evening, that was the farthest worry from his mind. Beth was all he could focus on.

When she was finally satisfied with the progress she'd made on unpacking and settling into the little place that was now all her own, she and Daryl plopped down on the faded loveseat and heaved a collective sigh of relief and satisfaction. And not long after that, she was turning on the TV and hooking it up to Netflix, flipping through to find a show they'd already watched a hundred times and asking what he wanted to do for "dinner."

Something about it felt so natural. He hadn't planned on staying after helping her with all the manual labor, but he also hadn't planned on leaving. Each moment was being played by ear, and he was doing nothing more than letting himself drift along with every ebb and flow of her perpetual tide.

And as she pulled out two packets of Top Ramen and looked to him with a grimace, he shrugged and frowned, shaking his head. He quickly pulled out his phone and opened the Domino's app.

"'M gonna order pizza. You want cheesy bread?"

He slowly realized that 'Beth's place' had an entirely different set of rules than his place. Which had always been the case, considering her place had always been her father's house, so they'd abided by Hershel's rules - breaking some here and there, somehow always avoiding getting caught.

But in her little apartment, which was quickly filling up with her familiar scent and all the things that screamed Beth at first glance, there was a new and indescribable comfort growing and filling the barren corners. It warmed Daryl from the inside out, left him at a loss for words when he watched her saunter into the bedroom and rifle around in a box of clothes. An empty pizza box sat on the kitchen counter, an old episode of Family Guy playing quietly on the TV. Wordlessly, she changed into pajamas, and a few minutes later, she was returning to her spot beside him on the little loveseat, a small glass pipe and lighter in her hand.

He was silently thankful that it was weed and not alcohol this time. At least with weed, he didn't have to worry about being hungover for work in the morning. And neither did she. Plus, it felt somewhat nicer to know she was high rather than drunk when she leaned into him and cuddled up against his side. Maybe it was the comfort he took in the fact that her inhibitions weren't affected in the same way, that it wasn't just lust or old habits causing her to relax against him. Maybe it was the strange yet reassuring emptiness that filled his head with every puff of the pipe, the euphoric light-headedness that reminded him that everything could be okay.

Or maybe it was the way he could practically feel the taut thread wrapped around their wrists coming back together, collapsing between them like a cat's cradle; the way that the pungent smoke around them slowly dissipated and left them molded into one another, two souls melting down and reshaping into one solid form. Maybe it was the blurred and sharp lines of their edges leisurely colliding, and the way they pricked the surface of her skin and caused her to pour herself out across his lap in a heap of softness, of nostalgia, of comfort and of home. Maybe it was all of that pent-up pain, that suffering, that longing and aching and incessant need for something lost - something placed in him - that was slowly pulling itself out of her, through every pore and outwards across his every nerve.

Maybe, he told himself, it was the love leaking out of her. Overflowing.

At Beth's place, she didn't have to ask if he was spending the night. And he didn't bother asking if it was okay, because he already knew the answer. That boundary seemed to be put behind them at this point. He didn't have to toe the line with unease anymore. It was beginning to feel more like a step forward.

They fell into bed together, full of pizza and cheesy bread and reeking of marijuana, all bloodshot eyes and tired muscles and sky-high minds. It was natural and without question when Daryl stripped down to his boxers and tanktop and crawled in beside Beth.

He was too tired to think about how bare she was, how tightly she was pressed against him, how warm her arms were around him. He was barely able to fight sleep for more than five minutes after his head hit the pillow, and her breathing steadied within seconds. They were both drained of energy and full of greasy food, and sleep settled down upon them like a heavy blanket.

He didn't budge the entire night, awaking with a jolt an hour before the alarm on his phone was set to go off. There was a loud banging from what sounded like the next-door neighbors, possibly on their front door or inside their apartment. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the noise, but it persisted every few seconds. Beth remained motionless beside him, lightly snoring.

His brain had woken up, though, and it rapidly went into overdrive with paranoia. By the time his alarm went off, signaling that it was time to get up and head to work, he had to pry himself out of Beth's tight grasp and force his legs to carry him away from her dark apartment. The banging sound had stopped, but his mind hadn't. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to spend every night with her - not for the sex or even for the companionship, but just to make sure she was actually safe.

Dwight gave him the cold shoulder all of Tuesday, poorly disguising it as "focusing on catching up." Daryl was perfectly fine with that. In fact, he preferred it. At least it was better than seeing the unspoken judgment in his friend's face, hearing the low tone of disappointment in his voice, the flicker of recognition at the unwashed and unchanged state of Daryl when he walked into work after driving there directly from Beth's apartment.

She was all he really cared to think about anyway. He was content with sticking his earbuds in and cranking up the music, imagining Beth's face and her light snoring and the way she'd nuzzled into his chest. His heart skipped when he remembered how her lips had lingered on his when he'd whispered goodbye, how she'd seemed to not want him to leave. The hollow aching had throbbed painfully for the entirety of his drive to work, and it barely lessened as the day wore on.

And whenever someone interrupted him, forcing him out of his thoughts and away from the escape of his music and his fantasies about Beth, he snapped at them. Even when it was his boss, Joe. Daryl ignored the mutters and pointed glances from his coworkers. An hour after their usual quitting time, he decided he'd put in more than enough work and called it a day. He didn't bother saying goodbye to Dwight, but he did make sure to grab his coat on the way out.

Beth didn't text him until after he'd gone home, showered, and settled into his couch. As if she'd known he needed a saving grace, needed her. She asked if he was busy, and when he said no, she asked if he might want to pick her up from work since it was drizzling outside and her muscles were still sore from the day before - and she had no money for gas to fill the empty tank of her Civic. That was all the invitation he needed. Without hesitation, he asked what time she was off. And this time, he brought his clean work clothes along in the passenger seat of his pickup truck.

It was another night of escaping with each other, locking themselves up in their own little bubble. There was no question about what the plan was or whether he was spending the night or not. It was an unspoken agreement. Cemented by the softness in her voice as they sat close together on the couch and she mumbled, "I'm glad yer here. It's kinda scary stayin' in a new place all by myself."

And she didn't have to say it, but he could hear it: It feels more like home when you're here. Because he felt it, too.

When he was with her, he didn't even touch his phone except to check the time and make sure his alarm was set for work. She mostly did the same, except not really. Every half-hour or so, he caught glimpses of her intent blue eyes set on the screen in her hands, tapping and typing hurriedly, swiping and locking the screen before he ever had a chance to curiously peer over her shoulder or down at her phone. Was she texting her friends? Checking Tinder? Clearing meaningless Instagram notifications? Talking to another guy? The paranoia threatened to chew a hole through the lining of his stomach. He reminded himself that it didn't matter - none of it mattered, he was the one who was here with her, he was the one she was spending her time with. That's all that mattered.

The idea remained locked in place, made stronger by the way they spent the rest of the night together. Another shared bowl of weed, another episode of a goofy show, another cuddle session on the couch that led into heatedly making out. They didn't have sex, even though his cock was hardening and twitching beneath his jeans. She apologized and explained that she'd started her period, but he shushed her with his lips and drank in every kiss she was willing to offer.

He ignored the aching between his legs, grateful for the opportunity to explore her mouth and her bare breasts beneath her thin pajama top, even if it meant stopping his hands from drifting any lower than the waistband of her pants. He didn't need to have sex with her every time they stayed together - in fact, he took a little comfort in knowing that she didn't want sex but that she did want him to sleep beside her.

That had to mean something… didn't it?

She normally wore contacts to compensate for her less-than-perfect vision, he knew, though it wasn't something that most people recognized. He also knew that she hated wearing her prescription glasses, and only caved when her eyes were feeling particularly irritated by the contacts. It felt like a different form of nakedness that she was allowing him to see when she took out her contacts and resorted to the square, black-rimmed glasses that she so despised in his presence. It was a sight he hadn't witnessed in countless months; one of the intimate moments that he'd nearly forgotten about among the mile-high pile of memories he had stored away from their relationship. Something that had become so routine that he'd barely noticed it after a while, and didn't even think about it until it was no longer there. Another faint reminder of a deep-seated comfort that was shared between them, unshaken after all this time. Like she was letting him see a hidden side of her, trusting him to keep the secret between them; allowing him to see no-makeup-not-trying Beth at her most vulnerable.

Except, these days, she wasn't such the shy and modest Beth he'd fallen in love with years ago. He'd realized that even before losing her. She'd begun blossoming into her confidence, discovering her own assuredness of her place in the world - and, consequently, the beauty she possessed. Either that, or wasting nearly four years with him had caused her to simply stop caring what other people thought anymore. Daryl wasn't quite sure which it was.

As they lay in her soft bed, warm bodies sunken into the mattress, thick blankets pulled up over their half-naked forms to their tightly-pressed shoulders, he watched through heavy-lidded eyes while the glow of the bedside lamp washed over them and she scrolled through her Snapchat feed. He found himself unable to do anything but admire her, and wonder what was going on in that complicated head of hers.

Then she was turning the selfie camera toward them, lifting her phone up and focusing the lens on their sleepy expressions with the pillows as their background. Daryl's arm was lazily resting over his forehead and his dark hair was obscuring his face, but Beth was in clear view with her long, blonde hair splayed out beneath her and square-rimmed glasses framing sleepy eyes, a smug little half-smile on her lips. At the same second that she tapped the Capture button, he reflexively moved his hand to cover his overly bloodshot eyes. He'd never liked pictures, especially when he wasn't prepared for them. And she wound up with a slightly blurry photo of the two of them - though his face wasn't clear, he was still recognizable close beside her.

She scoffed and giggled at the photo, but didn't ask to retake it. He couldn't help but smirk at the result.

Part of him wanted her to post that Snap of them lying in bed together to all of her social media, but another part of him dreaded the consequences if she did. Would she have to endure disapproving looks and unwanted advice from her friends like he'd been enduring from Dwight? Would it push her away from him, give her second thoughts and more doubts? Or would it mean that she showing him off, telling the world about their little secret, announcing him back into permanency?

He watched her type out a little caption: "new apartment, who dis." Then she posted it to her Snapchat story - where something like 100+ of her friends, most of whom he'd never met, could see it for the next twenty-four hours.

And before they drifted to sleep a short while later, he made a mental note to himself to download the Snapchat app and reactivate his old account, hoping that Beth was still on his friends list so he could see that photo before it disappeared forever.

The next couple of days passed in a similar fashion. Dwight's shoulder grew a little less cold until he seemed to have gotten completely over his grudge on Friday. Daryl reckoned it probably helped that he'd stayed two to three hours past quitting time for the remaining days of the week to help catch up on all the backlogged work they had to do, allowing Dwight to go home on time after half a week of working late.

He knew Dwight wasn't really trying to tell him what to do when it came to Beth, and that he only got pissy when it began making Daryl apathetic about work and actually affecting Dwight's day-to-day routine. But it still felt like a little more than that to Daryl. Then again, when it came to Beth, it always felt personal.

He'd barely spent more than a few hours combined at his own apartment all week. He'd been sleeping at Beth's new place, swallowed up in her big bed, wrapped up in her small form. The pattern from Tuesday continued into Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday: he woke up in her bed, kissed her goodbye and forced himself to head into work, then he worked and daydreamed about her all day, then he headed home and showered and by the time he was dressed in clean clothes, she was texting him and asking if he wanted to come over and "hang out." And then he'd meet her at her apartment - usually arriving fifteen or twenty minutes before her little Civic came to a halt in its usual parking spot. (Thankfully, she made enough tips on Wednesday that she was able to afford half a tank of gas so he didn't have to force her to accept his money.) And, of course, she'd greet him warmly and ask him if he'd eaten yet and make a remark about starving, and then they'd go inside and she'd cook something small or they'd order some kind of takeout food (on his card even though she objected to him paying), and then they'd smoke a bowl or two from her little glass pipe - or a blunt that one of her coworkers had given her as repayment for covering a shift - and they'd cuddle in her warm bed and drift into each other, falling into the irresistible routine of kissing deeply and caressing bare skin. They'd make out, hot and heavy, and he might slip his hand down and massage her clit until she was moaning softly into his ear, or she might wiggle her fingers beneath his boxers and stroke his aching erection until he came quietly into her hand. And then they'd fall asleep, cuddled up close together, to the sound of Bob's Burgers or South Park playing at a low volume on her laptop.

He wasn't sure why she hadn't been drinking, but he wasn't about to question it. She seemed more like herself than she'd been in weeks. Or at least, the Beth he was familiar and most comfortable with. He figured she was too worn-out from work and unpacking and rearranging to do much else besides come home, make some more progress on unpacking, and relax. And admittedly, he liked it that way. When he caught sly glimpses of her bare thighs as she crawled into bed each night, he saw old marks and scabs - but nothing new, no fresh cuts. And by the end of the week, he began to think that maybe she was too busy and exhausted to dwell on all the things that constantly weighed her down. Maybe she'd finally figured out a healthy way to keep her mind preoccupied.

Or maybe, he almost dared to think, his presence was helping her feel better. Could it be that, maybe... he was the one capable of filling whatever huge, gaping wound it was that she'd been walking around with?

Could he be helping her to heal for once, instead of causing new pain?

He didn't know. And he had no expectation of finding a definitive answer anytime soon. But the way she clutched onto him tightly every night, curled into his side and nuzzled her face into his neck; the way she mumbled "I love you" like she couldn't hold it in, and asked him if he'd eaten and how his day had been; the way her lips lingered on his every morning, as though she didn't ever want him to pull away… It was almost like she was telling him something. It was like she wanted him there all the time, like she wanted back what they'd lost so long ago. It was every missing piece that he'd been yearning for slowly falling into place around him, before him, inside him.

There was never any question about it: at her side was exactly where he belonged, and where he felt most comfortable. She'd filled a deep and gaping hole within him. She'd set up shop, taken residence, reserved every vacancy he had to offer. There was no room for anyone else.

(Not that there ever really had been to begin with.)

Beth had to work an earlier shift than usual on Saturday, which meant that she and Daryl's little weekday routine had leaked into the weekend. Her apartment was finally fully unpacked, decorated with all her knick-knacks and paintings and posters and framed photos, every cardboard box emptied and thrown out, leaving a small living space that screamed Beth at every turn. It was all pink and purple and yellow and music and old family pictures and porcelain horse figurines. It was cozy and inviting. And leaving had been harder than he'd expected when he watched Beth lock up around half past nine in the morning and kissed her longingly beside her car, gray clouds foreboding overhead.

The air was cold and sharp, and she was eager to get into the warmth of the driver's seat and head for work. Just before she shut the door, she looked up at him with those cornflower blues and fluttered those long eyelashes and asked, "See you tonight?"

And of course, he nodded confidently and flashed her a crooked smile. Then he watched her drive off down the street before getting into his pickup and rolling out of the small parking lot of the apartment complex.

It wasn't until he was stopped at the first stoplight that he realized he had a whole eight hours to fill. Eight hours of whatever he could do to pass the time until he was able to be with her again. So he used the time to catch up on some errands he'd been procrastinating - things he would've normally gotten done throughout the week, but that he'd been putting off for the sake of picking Beth up and spending every possible moment with her.

That's how he ended up in the Walmart a few miles west of her apartment. He wouldn't have normally gone to that particular location since it was pretty far out of the way from where he lived, but he'd wandered down there after grabbing a late breakfast in one of the many drive-thrus along the way, intending to pick up a couple new pairs of work pants and some other household items - like a second toothbrush that he could leave at Beth's place. And he figured it was close by, so there was no point in driving past and waiting to get to his own neighborhood or his usual Walmart.

He began to regret his poor timing while he was standing in the Men's Hygiene aisle, three pairs of brand new black jeans cradled in his arm along with two new toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste, eyes focused on the row of various body washes before him. A man's voice hit his ears, rising with familiarity above the scattered conversations of fellow shoppers around him and the constant stream of pop music playing from the speakers in the ceiling.

"Hey, Daryl."

He turned and straightened his back just in time to see Jimmy approaching from the end of the aisle, apparently having recognized Daryl in passing. Why he felt the need to say hello, though, Daryl couldn't quite figure out. The sound of the other man's voice made his skin prickle with a million unseen pins. His heartbeat immediately quickened and something like nausea was beginning to bubble at the bottom of his throat.

Daryl looked at Jimmy quizzically, not even bothering at an attempt to hide his confusion as to why he was speaking to him. They both knew what had happened, it should've been a silent passing and nothing more. He shouldn't have even made eye contact. What the hell did this kid want to say that hadn't already been said and done? Didn't he cause enough damage already?

"What?" Daryl snapped. He eyed Jimmy up and down, fighting back the twitch in his arm, the reflexive clenching of his fist at his side. His blood was boiling rapidly at the sight of the other man, at all the painful memories that merely looking at his face brought to the surface of Daryl's mind.

He wanted to punch him. He really wanted to punch him. It was a long time coming, after all.

But he didn't. Instead, he stood still as a statue and stared down at the kid - who was barely two inches shorter but, nonetheless, far scrawnier - and listened to what he had to say.

"You, uh - how ya been?"

Daryl shrugged, unable to hold back the scowl curling his lip upward. "Alrigh'. You?"

Jimmy shrugged as well, but it was much more tense. He took a half-step back and cleared his throat. Daryl remained stoic.

"Good - good, I s'pose," the younger man responded, maintaining the faint confidence in his tone. Which told Daryl that this kid had something to say - something specific. He could already sense that this wasn't a 'small talk/let's call a truce' kind of confrontation. They were long past assuming niceties and civilities in one another's presence. Even though Jimmy was still making a half-assed attempt at it.

"So you an' Beth… yer workin' things out again?" He asked.

There it is. What you really wanted to talk about. The anger pulsed hard and lively along with the heartbeat in Daryl's throat. He swallowed hard and blinked, tried his best not to let the doubt show on his face.

His response was clipped and tense. "I'ono. What's it matter ta you?"

Jimmy shrugged indifferently and it made Daryl's blood boil all over again. The younger man glanced down awkwardly at his boots and scratched his brown-haired scalp as though he were taken aback by the slightly aggressive response. "It doesn't - I was' just curious, I guess. Bein' nosey. Just - kinda makes things weird… ya know?"

Every word that slipped out of his mouth grated hard against Daryl's nerves, penetrated his head and remained there unwillingly. He tried not to mull them over, tried really hard not to read into them. He wanted to turn and walk away, wanted to shove this scrawny asshole out of his way and flee the shitty little Walmart entirely, wanted to rush out to his truck and text Beth so she could laugh with him about this stupid dickhead and his unbelievable gall.

Yet he couldn't. He had too many questions. What Jimmy said didn't make sense. It urged an explanation, an elaboration on the omitted details. And he was speaking so fucking casually, so goddamn nonchalant and almost smug. Like he didn't honestly care but he wanted to pretend like he cared, just to make himself look valiant.

Like he had any reason to give a shit about Beth's life, let alone to utter her name aloud.

The fuck did he care?

Daryl's response poured from his mouth before he could stop it: "No, I don't know. Can't see why it'd be weird since you left 'er."

Tell me why it's 'weird,' he wanted to say. What the fuck made you word it like that? Why do you look like you know something that I don't? Why the fuck do all the little pricks your age act so fuckin' cocky, like yer all so sure as shit about yerselves and every stupid fucking thing you do?

"Well, yeah - I left her. But she's still beggin' me ta talk to her," Jimmy said, his voice lowered as though he were sharing gossip, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while a slight resemblance of pity drifted across his face. "I haven't texted her back in months, she deleted me off Facebook. I've tried to ignore her, I mean - I didn't delete 'er or block her or anything. I told her we could try to be friends. I didn't want everything ta be all… rotten. I never wanted any bad blood - between anybody. I didn't mean ta hurt 'er like she says I did, but - "

"Bullshit," Daryl interrupted, the words bursting from his pursed lips in a low growl. "You knew exactly what you were doin' from the start."

Yer a fucking pussy, he thought. Always makin' excuses, avoiding confrontation like the little bitch that you are. A sad excuse for a man. If I'd met you five years ago, I'd have already whooped yer fuckin' ass and taken your wallet. Mighta even let Merle give you some scars to show for it.

"Not bullshit," Jimmy snapped back, raising his eyebrows and frowning slightly, his tone quickly turning apologetic. "I didn't know the… whole story. Fer a while. And when I did - well, I tried ta do what I thought was best. Fer everybody. I tried to end it maturely. But if she's still thinkin' that me an' her have a chance - "

"Why the fuck would she think that?" Daryl growled, his eyes narrowing reflexively as he leered over the other man. "Wha' makes you think she even wants that?"

But the words were still ringing in his ears. "Begging me to talk to her" - it was a lie, surely it was a fucking lie.

Yet there was a part, deep down inside Daryl, buried amongst his shame, that wanted the answer. Even though he already knew the answer. Even though it was the answer he'd already expected, already dreaded, already felt coming like the light rumbles of a far-off thunderstorm. It rattled his bones now, threatening a torrential downpour upon every paper house he'd been struggling to build. It quaked beneath his feet and foreshadowed the inevitable drop of his heart.

"She still messages me on Instagram every day," Jimmy said.

It was so matter-of-factly, so plain-faced and without emotion. And Jimmy's tone was so clearly on the edge of nervousness, with the obvious tentativeness of brutal honesty, that Daryl had no choice but to believe it. He could read people - he could read this kid - and what this kid was saying wasn't bullshit.

Fuck. It wasn't bullshit. Fuck, fuck…!

His stomach dropped farther and farther down toward his feet with every word.

"I only answered her once - just ta tell her that we gotta move on from each other - but she won't stop. Then I saw you guys in those pictures Brittany posted, and then I saw her Snapchat a couple nights ago - looked like you guys were layin' in bed together. So, ya know, I reckoned - I thought she'd finally stop messaging me… y'know, if you guys are workin' things out or whatever."

Then Jimmy huffed out a humorless laugh and shook his head as he finished, "But she hasn't."

His brows were slowly knitting together as he frowned decidedly and squared his shoulders, appearing to be waiting for Daryl's reaction. Or for a resolution. Like Beth was some sort of puzzle that they were both trying to solve - or maybe a parasite that they were both struggling to rid themselves of.

He never fucking deserved her. Why did she ever care about him? What did she ever see in him?

What did he have that Daryl didn't?!

to be continued...