Sometimes, he forgot entirely that he was covered in scars. They were as much a part of him now as his hair or his toes. Back before the world went to his shit, he'd catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror and would be startled by the red and white marks. But now, there weren't any mirrors.
Besides, there wasn't time to worry about something as stupid as scars. So he pushed down the nerves that wanted to choke him and watched unblinkingly as Carol peeled off her layers and stood naked before him. She gave him a shy smile as she rubbed her hand over her arms nervously and he hastily tugged off his boots as she sat beside him on the bed, watching him silently.
"It's alright." She murmured as he stripped off his underwear. He answered her with a hasty kiss, nothing as suave as he would've liked, but she responded fervently, clutching at him and pushing him down onto the mattress.
They didn't say another word all night. Not as she pushed them up onto the mattress, or when his lips skimmed the contours of her body. He said nothing as her head dipped below the covers and her mouth made him feel things he'd never felt in his life, nor did he say a thing when she came so hard on top of him, he had to silence her with a palm so her cries didn't disturb the others.
She fell asleep in a sweaty heap beside him and it was the first time he had ever felt like he could sleep with someone else so close to him. Like he could fall asleep and not wake up to someone beating seven bells of shit out of him or screaming in his face. It seemed scars weren't always marks made on skin.
Still, he would savour this night. This first night, he hoped. He wondered. Carol breathed easily. Exhaling over the cooling skin on his chest, her hair tickling over the hollow of his throat.
A couple of hours later, he felt her stir, body stiffening as she remembered where she was, but relaxing when she realized that he wasn't moving either. Her fingers brushed up from his hip, fluttered over his chest and as she moved them side to side, he realized that she was tracing out the pattern of one of his scars. It was a big one, above his heart, the skin puckered and raised. That one was a steak knife and it never healed properly because a 15 year old Merle had done the patching up.
"Ain't a single one of 'em that are pretty to look at." He told her that fact as though it were a warning. It only got worse the further she would go down, in the cold light of day.
Carol didn't say anything for awhile, didn't stop her rhythmic motions on his chest. Then her head shifted down, full lips pressing her mouth over the line, trailing kisses from end to end.
"They're beautiful." She whispered finally, just millimeters from his skin.
Daryl froze. Beautiful? Never been a word that could describe any part of him.
Carol's head tilted up, came back under his neck and she turned upwards and kissed the soft bristle under his jaw.
"Just like the rest of you." She murmured.