"I couldn't resist

Those angel's envy lips

Levi jeans on the floor

Got your boots by the door

And I'm begging, I'm begging for more

Around and around we go

Only you and I know

The giving and taking

The words that you're saying

You're bending and breaking me

You're the match to the gasoline

But you know I can take the heat

Our history

Ain't the only thing

I want you to hold

Against me

We can't pretend

That this has an end

We're both on the edge

Show me what you've got left

We've been here before

Leave regrets at the door

Oh I'm begging, begging for more."

Against Me - Scout Speer, Austin Giorgio

Chapter 22: Wine and Circumstance

The morning sunlight filtered through the frost-laced windows of the apartment, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The air carried a quiet hum of energy, one that no one seemed to want to acknowledge outright. Isabelle could feel it in the way Carol hummed softly to herself while rummaging through the small collection of supplies they had managed to gather over the past few months. Even Codron, normally dry and sarcastic, was unusually cooperative, volunteering to help Daryl with gathering more firewood that morning without his usual grumbles.

It was the day of the Christmas party, and though no one said it aloud, the anticipation lingered in the air like the faint scent of pine needles and the promise of something joyful. Isabelle found herself smiling without realizing it, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

"C'mere," Carol called from across the room, her tone warm but insistent. "You're not going to Montmartre with your hair looking like you've been wrestling walkers all morning."

Isabelle laughed softly, brushing a stray lock from her face as she stepped toward Carol, who was seated on the couch with a small comb in hand. "It's not that bad," she protested lightly, sneaking a glance in the mirror above the fireplace.

"Sit," Carol instructed with a teasing grin, patting the cushion in front of her. Isabelle obliged, settling on the floor between Carol's knees and tilting her head back slightly.

The comb moved through her hair with gentle precision, Carol's fingers weaving through the strands as she began to braid. Isabelle closed her eyes, letting the rhythmic motion of Carol's hands lull her into a peaceful quiet. But her mind, as always, found its way back to Daryl.

He was out on the balcony, the faint sound of his boots scraping against the floor as he worked on something—probably sharpening his knife or checking his crossbow. He always kept busy, his hands moving as though stopping for too long might let everything in the outside world catch up to him.

And yet, even in his restlessness, Daryl had a way of grounding her. It wasn't in the words he said—he was a man of few—but in the way he existed so solidly in her life. He was steady, dependable, respectful to a fault. Too respectful, sometimes.

Her lips curved into a faint smile as her thoughts wandered. Daryl always let her set the pace, always let her make the first move. Whether it was a simple touch or a kiss, he waited for her, like he didn't think he had the right to want her the way she wanted him. Like he didn't think he deserved it.

It drove her crazy.

The heat he stirred in her chest, the way her body responded to him—it was like a fire that never quite burned out. And yet he was so careful, always so patient. His gentleness was maddening in the best way, and the desire that built day after day had reached a point where it was impossible to ignore.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the balcony door creaking open. Daryl stepped inside, his boots heavy against the wood floor as he crossed through the living room. Isabelle's gaze followed him, drawn to him in the way it always was.

He was carrying his crossbow, his other hand brushing snowflakes from his coat. His face was set in its usual stoic expression, but there was a faint flush in his cheeks from the cold.

Isabelle's gaze followed him as he crossed the room, her attention fixed on the way he moved—deliberate, purposeful, utterly unaware of how much space he commanded without even trying. The sunlight caught on his hair, the grays glinting like silver against the darker strands.

She turned her head to watch him, not realizing the motion until she heard Carol clear her throat softly.

Isabelle blinked, her cheeks warming as she straightened her posture, suddenly very aware of the way her eyes had been trailing after him.

Carol said nothing, her hands steady as she continued braiding, but Isabelle could feel the faintest hint of amusement in her silence.

Her gaze flicked back toward Daryl. He had set his crossbow down by the door and was now quietly inspecting the bolts, his focus sharp and intent. Isabelle swallowed, her heart fluttering in her chest in a way that was both exhilarating and infuriating.

Isabelle's cheeks burned hotter as she turned her gaze forward, fixing her eyes on the flickering fire instead of Daryl. Her thoughts churned, the weight of them pressing against her chest like an ache she didn't know how to soothe. The quiet hum of excitement around the apartment only seemed to amplify her inner turmoil.

Was she in heat? She almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought, but it wasn't far from how she felt. It wasn't just the lingering anticipation of the party or the warmth in the air—it was him. Daryl. He had always affected her this way, but lately, it felt like her control was slipping, little by little, piece by piece.

It wasn't just the way he moved through the room, his presence commanding without effort. It was everything. The way his eyes locked onto hers, steady and piercing, as though he could see every part of her she tried to hide. The way his lips pressed together when he was thinking, or how he would chew on his bottom lip when he was uncertain. It sent a shiver down her spine every time she caught him doing it, a movement so small and unassuming yet so maddeningly attractive.

And his hands. God, his hands. They were strong enough to crush, to tear through walkers or hold his crossbow steady against the recoil. She'd seen those hands take lives when there was no other choice, but they were also the gentlest hands she'd ever known. The way he touched her was almost reverent, like he was afraid she might break under his fingertips. His careful restraint both melted her and drove her wild.

It was the closeness that was undoing her. Bit by bit, the walls between them had come down. Every lingering glance, every moment of shared silence, every brush of his fingers against her skin—they had carved out something between them that felt impossibly fragile and yet unshakable all at once. And it was driving her crazy. The fire he ignited in her chest felt like it might consume her whole if she didn't do something about it.

She exhaled softly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she tried to rein herself in. Carol's hands worked steadily through her hair, the soothing motion doing little to still her thoughts. Isabelle's gaze flicked toward Daryl again despite herself, catching the subtle movement of his jaw as he clenched it slightly, his focus still fixed on his crossbow bolts.

Her stomach tightened. Even the smallest things—his movements, the way he carried himself, the quiet strength in everything he did—set her heart racing. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to calm down, but it was impossible. Not when every fiber of her being seemed to be drawn to him like a magnet.

"Get a grip, Isabelle," she muttered under her breath, barely audible. But her chest ached with the truth of it. She could deny it all she wanted, but there was no escaping it. Daryl Dixon was in her head, under her skin, and she didn't know how to get him out—or if she even wanted to.

"C'mon," Codron said, grabbing his coat. "Quick run. Won't take long."

Daryl frowned, his skepticism evident. "Where to?"

Codron waved a dismissive hand. "Just trust me." he said and Daryl raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Reluctantly, Daryl followed, adjusting his own jacket and grabbing his knife. The two men stepped out into the cold, their breaths visible in the frigid air as they made their way through the quiet streets. Codron led them with purpose, his pace brisk but steady as they weaved through the snow-dusted alleys.

Isabelle sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the cracked mirror, the soft winter light streaming through the frost-covered window and reflecting off the little collection of makeup she had spread out before her. A nearly empty tube of lipstick, a dusty compact of powder, and a few other salvaged odds and ends were lined up neatly on a folded scarf.

She leaned forward, dabbing the blush onto her cheeks and then inspecting her reflection critically. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than she'd expected. The faint color added some life to her face, and for the first time in what felt like years, she felt like herself—not just a survivor, but Isabelle.

The sound of the door opening behind her made her glance over her shoulder. Carol stepped in, still in her thick sweater and scarf, shaking snowflakes from her hair.

"Look at you," Carol said with a smile, her voice carrying a lightness that matched the day's unspoken energy. "Going all out, huh?"

Isabelle smiled, turning back to the mirror to sweep a bit of powder over her forehead. "It's been so long... Figured why not."

"You're doing better than I could," Carol said, walking over and crouching beside her. "Codron and Daryl went on a run."

Isabelle's hand stilled mid-swipe of mascara. "A run? Now?"

Carol shrugged. "Codron convinced him. Didn't say where. Just said they'd be back in a bit."

Isabelle huffed a soft laugh, imagining the exchange between the two men.

Isabelle capped the mascara and set it aside, turning to Carol with a grin. "Your turn."

Carol raised a skeptical brow. "I don't know about that."

"Sit," Isabelle said, patting the cushion she'd dragged over earlier. "Trust me. Won't hurt a bit." She smiled and gave her a quick playful wink.

With a sigh, Carol lowered herself onto the cushion, her legs folding beneath her as Isabelle began to work. The compact of powder was first, Isabelle carefully patting it across Carol's face.

As Isabelle moved on to the blush, Carol grew quiet for a moment before speaking, her voice softer. "My ex-husband never let me wear makeup."

Isabelle paused, her hand hovering near Carol's cheek. "Never?" she asked, frowning.

Carol shook her head, her gaze distant. "Ed used to say it was a waste of money. That I didn't need it, or worse, that I shouldn't try to make myself look 'too pretty.'" Her lips pressed into a thin line. "He'd get angry if I even thought about putting it on."

Isabelle's heart tightened, but she kept her movements steady as she swept the blush along Carol's cheekbones. "That's awful," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Carol shrugged, her voice tinged with a hint of her usual strength. "That was a long time ago."

"Well," Isabelle said, her tone gentle but firm, "You look beautiful. You should feel beautiful, too."

A small, genuine smile crept across Carol's lips. "Thanks."

Isabelle finished with the blush and picked up the lipstick. "Now, this is going to make you look stunning," she said, her playful tone lightening the moment.

Carol let out a small laugh, tilting her head up as Isabelle applied the deep berry shade with practiced precision. When she was done, Isabelle leaned back, admiring her work. "Perfect."

Carol looked into the mirror, her expression softening as she took in her reflection. "I don't even recognize myself."

"You're gorgeous," Isabelle said, reaching for a pair of delicate earrings and handing them to her. "And these will finish the look."

Carol took the earrings, her fingers brushing over the cool metal before she fastened them. She caught Isabelle's gaze in the mirror, her smile warm and full of something akin to gratitude.

Isabelle shrugged, smiling. "Sometimes it's just nice to remember we're more than what this world has made us."

Isabelle glanced at herself in the mirror, her gaze settling on her hair. She reached up, her fingers working carefully to undo the braid Carol had woven earlier. The strands fell loose, spilling over her shoulders. She leaned forward slightly, running her fingers through her hair to shake it out, the soft waves cascading around her face.

The effect was effortless but striking. The braid had left her hair wavy, full of life, and the subtle makeup brought out the brightness in her eyes. Isabelle tilted her head, tucking a strand behind her ear as she studied herself. It had been too long since she'd seen this version of herself —soft, feminine, unguarded.

She shook her head lightly, smoothing her hands over her hair to settle the waves. "There," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Behind her, Carol smirked, folding her arms over her chest as she watched. "You keep that up, and you're gonna make Daryl have a coronary."

Isabelle blinked, her eyes snapping to Carol's in the mirror. "What?" she asked, her cheeks flushing immediately.

Carol shrugged, her smirk widening just enough to make Isabelle's blush deepen. "Oh, come on. You know exactly what I'm talking about. That man already looks at you like the rest of the world doesn't exist."

Isabelle bit her lip, the warmth in her cheeks refusing to fade as Carol headed toward the kitchen. She turned her gaze back to her reflection, her fingers brushing over the waves in her hair one last time. Carol's words lingered, weaving their way through her thoughts like the soft hum of excitement still filling the apartment.

Daryl followed Codron until they arrived at a small, unassuming shop with broken windows and a faded sign overhead. The letters were barely legible, but Daryl could make out the word "Tailleur" painted in elegant script.

"What're we doin' here?" Daryl asked, his voice low as he scanned the area suspiciously.

Codron didn't answer right away, pushing open the door and stepping inside. The shop was dark, its shelves and racks covered in a thick layer of dust. Bolts of fabric were scattered across the floor, and mannequins stood like frozen sentinels in the corners.

"Just wait," Codron said, rummaging through one of the racks, mumbling something in French as he did. After a moment, he pulled out a sleek black jacket and held it up. "Et voilà. Here, take this."

Daryl raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. "What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"

"You wear it," Codron said matter-of-factly, tossing the jacket to him. "You can't go to a Christmas party looking like… that.."

Daryl scowled but didn't argue, holding the jacket up and inspecting it with a critical eye. It was simple, well-tailored, and surprisingly in good condition despite the shop's state of disrepair.

Codron turned back to the racks, pulling out a deep green shirt for himself and a dark coat to match. "How's this?" Daryl's deadpan stare earned him another stream of french mumbled under Codron's breath.

Daryl muttered but slipped the jacket on. It fit well, the material snug across his shoulders without being restrictive. He caught a glimpse of himself in a cracked mirror near the counter and frowned slightly, adjusting the collar.

Codron smirked. "See? Not bad."

Codron turned back to the racks, rifling through with purpose as Daryl continued to adjust the jacket. The faint sound of fabric sliding against hangers filled the shop, mingling with the soft groan of the wind outside.

"Could use a tie," Codron mused aloud, his tone playful as he pulled a bright red one from a nearby display and waved it in Daryl's direction.

"Don't even think about it," Daryl shot back, his voice gruff. Codron chuckled, tossing the tie over his shoulder and continuing his search.

Daryl turned to face the cracked mirror again, his reflection catching him off guard. It felt strange, foreign. He tugged at the cuffs, rolling his shoulders to test the fit. He didn't even know what it was supposed to feel like.

Codron glanced over at Daryl, catching the slight furrow of his brow as he adjusted the jacket. A mischievous grin spread across Codron's face as he pulled another item off the rack, this time a black tie.

"Here," he said, tossing it at Daryl.

Daryl caught the tie mid-air, his expression turning even darker as he stared at it. He held it like he was prepared for it to bite him. Codron laughed as he tossed a black shirt to him. "This looks like your size.

"You'll clean up better than you think, Dixon," Codron said over his shoulder, his tone teasing but not unkind. "Isabelle's going to love it."

Daryl's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Instead, he grabbed his crossbow, slinging it over his shoulder as he turned toward the door. "You done yet?" he asked gruffly, eager to leave the shop and the uncomfortable attention.

A short while later, they returned to the apartment, their new clothes hidden in their packs. Carol was standing in the living room, her makeup done and wearing the new sweater that Isabelle had plucked for her out of her long forgotten closet. The soft berry shade on her lips and the subtle glow on her cheeks gave her an air of elegance that neither man was expecting. She was fussing over a steaming kettle on the fire when they entered.

Daryl and Codron froze in the doorway, their eyes drawn to Carol as she turned to greet them. The moment her face came into full view, both men looked at her in surprise.

"What?" Carol asked, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at her lips. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Daryl stepped forward, a flipside smirk on his lips as he gently grabbed her chin, "Look at you." He said it in that light teasing tone that was only ever reserved for Carol.

Carol snorted, shaking her head. "You're both ridiculous. Want some tea?" She gestured toward the kettle, clearly trying to deflect attention from the unexpected compliments.

"Sure," Daryl said gruffly, scratching the back of his neck.

As she poured the tea, Carol glanced back at them, her curiosity evident. "What were you two doing out there?"

Codron dropped his pack to the floor and grinned. "You'll see," he said cryptically, shrugging off his coat.

Daryl wore a simple black shirt that fit snugly across his shoulders and chest, the kind of understated attire that matched his personality. He reached for the new black jacket Codron had found for him and slipped it on, adjusting the fit with a quick tug at the sleeves.

"Hold still," Carol said, stepping forward. She reached up and brushed his hair out of his face, smoothing it down to where it wasn't quite as unruly. "There. Now you don't look like you just crawled out of the woods."

Daryl's lips twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a frown. "Thanks, I guess."

Codron chuckled, fastening the buttons on his jacket.

Daryl was in the process of starting to speak when the door to the bedroom creaked open, and Isabelle stepped into the living room.

The soft sound of her footsteps seemed to silence the room as all three turned to look at her.

Daryl's eyes locked onto hers immediately, the rest of the world fading into the background. Isabelle wore a simple black shirt that dipped slightly in the front, with a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. The shirt and slacks hugged her figure just right, her hair loose and wavy, falling around her shoulders like a cascade of gold. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, whether from the warmth of the apartment or the way Daryl was looking at her, she wasn't sure.

Their gazes held, a current passing between them that neither could ignore. Isabelle's lips parted slightly as she took him in—the way the black jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the quiet confidence in his stance, the way his hair fell just so despite Carol's best efforts. He looked… striking. More than that, he looked like her Daryl.

His blue eyes roamed over her with a mixture of awe and longing, drinking in every detail as though committing it to memory. She watched his eyes search her face, her neck and further down, his bottom lip working between his teeth in the way that made her crazy. When his eyes met hers again, she quirked an eyebrow up at him, and he sheepishly dropped his eyes to the floor, his jaw tightening.

Codron's playful grin widened, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Well," Carol said, her tone dry but amused. "Looks like everyone cleans up nicely."

Isabelle's lips curved into a shy smile, but her heart was still racing. Daryl rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes sneaking another glance at her before turning toward Codron.

"Ready to go?" he muttered, his voice gruff but lacking its usual bite.

"Always," Codron replied, clapping him on the back. "Let's not keep the party waiting."

As they set out for Montmartre, the chill of the December air nipped at their faces, their breath visible in soft puffs against the fading light. Carol and Codron naturally fell into step ahead, their quiet conversation punctuated by the occasional laugh or Codron's animated gestures. He gestured at the sky as he spoke, his enthusiasm making his face look younger, almost boyish.

Daryl walked beside Isabelle, his hands tucked into the pockets of his new jacket. His steps were steady and unhurried, his gaze sweeping their surroundings as if on autopilot.

The sound of their boots crunching against the packed snow filled the brief silence that followed. Isabelle kept her hands clasped around her scarf, her fingers brushing against the soft wool as she tried to focus on the rhythm of their walk rather than the man beside her. Yet, her gaze strayed, drawn to the way his broad shoulders moved beneath his jacket, how his profile softened in the glow of the setting sun.

"You cold?" Daryl asked suddenly, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

She blinked, glancing at him with a faint smile. "Not really. The walk's keeping me warm."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he looked ahead again. "Good."

As they approached Montmartre, the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the rooftops and scaffolding in hues of gold and amber. The snow that blanketed the streets and buildings glowed faintly, reflecting the last rays of daylight as the sky shifted into a canvas of deep purples and soft pinks.

Isabelle slowed her steps, her breath catching as she took in the scene before her. Montmartre's rooftop community stretched upward like a beacon against the encroaching night. Lanterns had already been lit, their soft golden light weaving through the wooden beams and makeshift pathways, creating a warm, inviting glow.

The faint sound of music drifted down to meet them—a soft, lilting melody carried by the cool breeze. Voices mingled with the tune, laughter and conversation blending into a harmony that felt almost otherworldly in its warmth.

When they reached the top, the sight that greeted them was nothing short of magical. Tables were arranged beneath a canopy of twinkling lights strung between the wooden beams, their golden glow casting a warm radiance over the gathering. The rooftop was alive with movement—families chatting, children playing, and a small group of musicians tuning their instruments in one corner. The scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the crispness of the evening.

Fallou appeared from the crowd, his brightly colored scarf standing out against the muted tones of the night. His grin was as wide and welcoming as ever as he approached, his arms spreading in a grand gesture.

"Ah, you made it! Bienvenue!" he exclaimed, his voice carrying over the hum of the gathering. He took a dramatic step back and gestured to all of them. "And look at you! Magnifique, all of you!"

Carol chuckled softly, shaking her head at his theatrics, while Codron grinned, his excitement still bubbling over as he scanned the lively rooftop scene.

Fallou's gaze landed on Isabelle and lingered for a moment, his smile softening into something warmer. "Isabelle," he said, his tone dipping slightly in reverence, "you are radiant tonight."

Isabelle felt her cheeks flush as she offered a modest smile. "Merci, Fallou. You've truly outdone yourself. This is… beautiful."

Fallou's grin returned in full force, his hands clapping together as he turned to Daryl. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he gestured toward him. "And you, Daryl Dixon—ah, the man of mystery in a jacket! I barely recognize you. Très chic."

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting at his sides. Isabelle put a reassuring hand on his arm. Fallou took a step forward and clapped him on the shoulder, "Tonight, we celebrate!"

Fallou was already pouring glasses of wine when they reached the table, his movements animated as he recounted a story to a small group of onlookers. Carol and Codron were nearby, filling plates and exchanging smiles with the other guests.

As they approached, Fallou thrust a glass into Daryl's hand, his grin as bright as ever. "To new friends and old," he declared, raising his own glass high. "And to finding joy, even in the darkest of times."

The crowd echoed his toast, glasses clinking together as laughter and cheers rippled through the rooftop. Isabelle glanced at Daryl, catching the faintest hint of a smile on his face as he raised his glass in quiet acknowledgment.

The rooftop was alive with celebration, a swirl of music, laughter, and the warm glow of lanterns casting dancing shadows across the beams and tables. The soft strumming of a guitar accompanied a handful of voices singing a tune that, while unfamiliar, carried a joyous rhythm that invited clapping and stomping along. Children darted between the adults, their laughter echoing above the melodies, while small groups huddled together, sharing stories and the occasional burst of laughter.

Daryl stood off to one side near a group of tables, his almost-empty wine glass in hand. Fallou was beside him, speaking animatedly as he introduced Daryl to a man in a heavy coat who spoke in rapid French. Daryl nodded occasionally, his eyes narrowing slightly in concentration as he caught a word here and there.

"You see, my friend," Fallou said, switching back to English for Daryl's benefit, "this man, René, is one of the most skilled craftsmen left in the city. If you ever need something—tools, weapons, anything—he's the one to talk to."

René chuckled, his thick accent rolling through his words as he responded. Daryl gave a faint nod of acknowledgment, lifting his glass to his lips for a sip as Fallou carried the conversation. The wine was stronger than he was used to but smoother than he'd expected. It warmed his chest as he drank, a comforting contrast to the chill in the air.

As he lowered the glass, his gaze wandered, scanning the lively crowd. His attention snagged on a figure across the way—Isabelle. She was mid-laugh, her head tilting back slightly as she spoke to a woman near one of the tables. The lantern light caught her hair, the soft waves gleaming like spun gold, and her cheeks were flushed, whether from the wine or the cold, he couldn't tell.

Daryl's grip on his glass tightened briefly as he watched her, his chest constricting with a quiet, unnameable emotion. She seemed lighter tonight, freer, the weight of the world momentarily lifted from her shoulders.

Then, as though she could feel his eyes on her, Isabelle glanced up. Their gazes locked across the bustling rooftop. Her smile softened, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes held his. She looked away, breaking the connection as if shy, but after a beat, her gaze found his again, this time more deliberate, the corner of her mouth curving upward slightly.

Daryl's lips twitched into a rare smile in response. He gave her a small nod, raising his glass to her and Isabelle's smile widened just a fraction before she turned back to her conversation.

A hand brushed against his back, drawing Daryl's attention away from Isabelle. He turned, finding Codron standing beside him

"Hé, frère," Codron said casually, his voice cutting through the noise of the party without effort. "Care to smoke?" He held up a rolled cigarette between two fingers, offering it to Daryl with a raised brow.

Daryl nodded, thankful for the interruption, taking the cigarette Codron offered.

"C'mon," Codron said, tipping his head toward a quieter corner of the rooftop. "Let's step out for a bit. Too much noise in here."

As Daryl excused himself from Fallou and René, a woman walked by with a pitcher of wine and offered him a refill. He accepted and muttered a quiet thanks before taking a sip.

Daryl followed Codron, the two of them weaving through the crowd until they reached a small, secluded area at the edge of the rooftop. A low railing separated them from the open sky, and beyond it, the city sprawled out like a glittering canvas against the darkness.

Codron was already lighting his own cigarette, his grin widening as he watched Daryl accept the matches and do the same.

Daryl took a slow drag from his cigarette, his eyes scanning the cityscape below. Paris stretched out before them, its rooftops dusted with snow and its streets dark and leering to the horizon. The Eiffel Tower stood in the distance, its iconic shape barely visible in the moonlight through the haze of the evening.

Codron leaned casually against the railing, the faint glow of his cigarette casting soft shadows on his face. He exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it curl into the cold air before dissipating. "Not a bad view, eh?"

"Not at all," Daryl agreed, his voice low. He took another drag, the warmth of the smoke curling in his chest as he exhaled, letting it drift into the night.

Codron chuckled softly, shaking his head as he stared out at the city. "Y'know," he started, his tone more thoughtful now, "I used to dream about nights like this. Before everything went to shit."

Daryl glanced at him but didn't interrupt, letting him continue.

"I'd imagine a party like this," Codron said, gesturing back toward the lively rooftop behind them with his cigarette. "Laughter, music, wine. People actually living with no worries of tomorrow." He paused, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. "Didn't think it'd ever happen again."

Daryl grunted in response, his gaze returning to the city. "I ain't never been to anything like this. Even before… Wasn't exactly the kind of thing we did back home."

Codron nodded, a flicker of understanding passing over his features. "Yeah? What did you do back home?"

Daryl took a moment, the smoke from his cigarette curling around him as he leaned against the railing. "Kept to ourselves mostly. Grew up in the woods. Huntin', fishin'. That," he nodded out to the darkness of the city. "That's what I was used to."

Codron chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I can see that."

They stood in silence for a while, the sound of the party behind them fading into the background as they each took in the view. Daryl could feel his head starting to swim with the alcohol. The once familiar warmth of it creeping through his limbs. That subtle, heavy pull in his breath, the slight haze that dulled his edges

The once-familiar tingle settled into his arms and legs, making every movement slower, every glance more deliberate. He shifted his weight against the railing, his fingers brushing the cool metal as the moments stretched into minutes.

Codron, leaning comfortably beside him, broke the quiet by bumping his elbow against Daryl's. Daryl glanced at him, catching the glint in Codron's eyes as he held out another cigarette. Daryl took it without a word, nodding his thanks.

Codron struck a match against the railing, the tiny flame springing to life. He lit his own cigarette first, then held the match out to Daryl, the faint glow illuminating their faces for a fleeting moment.

Daryl leaned in, the tip of his cigarette catching the flame. He drew in a slow breath, the ember flaring briefly before he pulled back and exhaled, the smoke curling into the crisp night air.

"Thanks," Daryl muttered, his voice gruff.

They smoked in silence for a while longer, the quiet between them comfortable. Daryl felt the weight of the night settling over him, the alcohol and the rare sense of ease combining into something he didn't quite recognize.

Codron hesitated, his cigarette hovering near his lips as he stared out at the distant city lights. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling into the night air before disappearing. His tone, when he finally spoke, was quieter than usual, almost tentative. "When you go to Spain… or back to America…"

Daryl turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking toward Codron. He didn't say anything, just waited.

Codron shifted his weight, dropping his gaze to the ground before turning his head to meet Daryl's. "Do you think… there's a place for me?"

Daryl studied Codron's face for a moment. He didn't answer right away, taking another slow drag and exhaling as his gaze drifted back to the city.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice steady but soft, like the word carried more weight than it seemed.

Codron nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looked down at his cigarette. He flicked ash off the end, his posture relaxing just a little. "Alright," he murmured, almost to himself. "I just have nothing left to keep me here. Maybe a change of scenery will be good."

Daryl nodded, taking the last drag of his smoke before flicking it out into the darkness.

"Dépaysant." Daryl said, his voice laced with something close to humor. Codron's head turned to him then, a smirk on his lips.

Codron let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and brief as he shook his head. "Dépaysant," he repeated, his smirk lingering as he glanced out at the horizon. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." Daryl lifted his glass towards him, then took another long sip.

Codron mirrored the gesture, lifting his own glass with a faint grin before downing the last sip. The wine, though not the finest vintage, was warm and smooth enough to ease the weight of the conversation.

"J'ai besoin de plus de vin." he said, giving Daryl a parting pat on the shoulder, before he made his way back into the party. Daryl watched him as he disappeared into the crowd, passing Carol before being swallowed by the mass of bodies. She nodded in his direction, a small smile tugging at her lips before making her way over.

She stepped out into the quieter corner of the rooftop, her boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted wood. "You hiding out here?" she asked, her tone light as she joined him at the railing.

"Just needed some air," Daryl muttered, his gaze drifting back out to the city. He swirled the last bit of wine in his glass before taking a slow sip.

Carol leaned against the railing beside him, her arms crossed against the cold. The distant sound of music and laughter filled the brief silence between them, a soft counterpoint to the crisp night air.

"Codron seems to be enjoying himself," she said, her tone teasing as she glanced toward where he'd disappeared.

Daryl huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Carol smirked, her gaze following his for a moment before shifting back to him. "And you? You surviving the party?"

Daryl shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Ain't so bad," he admitted, his voice low.

Carol tilted her head, studying him for a moment. "It's good to see you like this," she said softly, reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt. "Letting yourself breathe a little."

Daryl glanced at her, his lips pressing into a faint line before he gave a small nod. "Feels... different," he murmured, almost to himself.

Carol smiled, the kind of smile that carried years of understanding. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "That's not a bad thing, you know."

Carol's gaze shifted toward the soft crunch of footsteps behind them. Isabelle was walking toward them, her wine glass balanced casually in one hand, the glow of the lanterns catching in her hair and lighting her features.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder as she approached, his gaze lingering a moment longer than he intended. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, unbidden but genuine.

Carol straightened, brushing a speck of snow from her coat as she caught the quiet exchange between the two of them. A knowing smile crossed her face, and her tone carried a hint of mischief as she said, "I'll leave you to it."

Daryl shot her a look, one eyebrow twitching upward, but he didn't protest. Carol gave his arm a light pat before turning and heading back toward the party, the crunch of her boots fading into the background.

Isabelle stood beside him, her shoulder just brushing against his. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers playing absently with the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes flitted between the skyline and Daryl, as if she couldn't quite decide where to look.

She took a sip from her glass, her gaze drifting over the city before settling on Daryl. "It's so quiet out here," she said softly, her voice carrying the faintest trace of a smile.

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, his focus shifting back to the skyline. His fingers tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, the warmth of the wine still lingering on his lips.

Daryl glanced at her, catching the way her fingers fidgeted against the glass and the faint blush coloring her cheeks. His lips twitched upward, barely a smile, but it softened the rough edges of his expression.

"You look nice," he said, his voice low and matter-of-fact, like the words weren't planned but just slipped out.

Isabelle's breath hitched slightly at the unexpected compliment, her gaze snapping to him. For a moment, she simply blinked, caught off guard by the directness of his words. A faint flush colored her cheeks, but she managed a soft smile, her grip on the glass steadying as she tilted her head. "Thank you," she said, her voice calm but tinged with warmth. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

Daryl's lips curved into the faintest smirk, his eyes still fixed on hers. "Don't feel like myself in all this," he admitted, his tone low, rough edges softened by something quieter.

"Well," Isabelle's smile turned playful as she nudged his shoulder with hers, the small gesture breaking the stillness between them. "it suits you."

She took a sip of her wine, her gaze drifting briefly back to the skyline, but the quiet intensity of Daryl's gaze pulled her attention back to him. There was something about the way he was looking at her—steady, unhurried, and unwavering—that made her pulse quicken.

Daryl's hand moved almost instinctively, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. The motion was gentle, unhurried, and as his fingers lingered near her cheek.

The warmth of his hand against her skin sent a quiet shiver through her, the kind that didn't come from the cold, and she leaned into his touch almost instinctively. Isabelle set her glass down on the edge of the railing, her hand brushing his as her gaze remained locked on his. The air between them felt heavy, charged, as though the world around them had fallen away entirely. The faint buzz of the wine in her system made the moment feel heightened, her thoughts hazy but her senses sharper, every brush of his fingers more electric.

Then he closed the distance.

His lips found hers in a kiss that began slow and tentative, as though testing the unspoken boundaries between them. But the alcohol, lingering in both their veins, seemed to strip away their restraint. The kiss deepened, urgency building like a storm, as though the weeks, months of holding back had come crashing down in that one moment. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, and Isabelle responded in kind, her hands gripping his jacket as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

Daryl's other hand moved to her hip, the rough warmth of his palm anchoring her as he pressed her firmly against him. The cool night air nipped at her cheeks, but the heat building between them drowned it out. The faint buzz in her head mixed with the fire igniting in her chest, every touch, every press of his lips sending sparks through her, each more consuming than the last.

Isabelle's heart raced, her body humming with a mix of adrenaline and desire. She leaned into him, her hands sliding up to wrap around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. His beard scraped against her skin in the best way, adding to the raw, unpolished intensity of the moment.

With a swift, fluid motion, Daryl turned them, pressing her back against the railing. Isabelle gasped softly against his lips, the cold metal at her back a fleeting sensation compared to the heat of his body against hers. His kisses grew fiercer, more demanding, as if the buzz of the wine had given him permission to let go of the restraint that so often defined him.

His grip on her hip tightened just slightly, anchoring her there as his kisses grew deeper, more insistent. His hand, still tangled in her hair, tilted her head back to give him better access, and Isabelle surrendered to him completely, her breath hitching as their mouths moved together in a rhythm that felt natural, inevitable. Every touch, every press of his lips, was deliberate, sending waves of electricity through her, that made her knees feel weak. The world seemed to blur around them, reduced to nothing but the raw, electric connection crackling between their bodies.

Daryl broke the kiss just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers. The heat between them seemed to pulse in the cold air,lingering in the space where their bodies met.

He made a low, guttural sound deep in his throat, one that sent a thrill straight through Isabelle, as her hands slipped under his jacket. Her fingers, warm and teasing, slid up the bare skin of his back, leaving a trail of sensation that made his muscles tense. She felt his breath hitch as she teasingly dragged her nails across the skin of his back.

"Isabelle," he murmured, her name rough and gravelly on his lips, filled with something between a plea and a warning. The sound of it sent a shiver racing down her spine, and a soft, knowing smile curved her lips.

"What?" she asked, her voice soft and teasing, her nails dragging lightly down his back again, just enough to elicit another low rumble from him. The way he responded, his grip on her tightening, the low sound he made in answer—it sent a jolt of heat straight through her.

"You're gonna drive me crazy," he murmured, his forehead brushing against hers as he caught his breath. But there was no protest in his tone, only a quiet surrender that matched the way his hands moved over her, rough yet impossibly gentle.

"Maybe that's the idea," she teased softly, her nails lightly scraping his skin again, reveling in the way he shivered under her touch.

Daryl kissed her again, his lips crushing hers with a passion that left no room for second-guessing. He pushed her firmly against the railing, his body shielding hers from the cold, and Isabelle felt the world around them fade completely. All that mattered was this—his touch, his warmth, the unspoken promise in the way he held her.

The party behind them might as well have been a different world entirely, the laughter and music barely a hum in the background. Here, in this stolen moment, it was just the two of them, lost in each other as the city lay silently below.

The walk back to the apartment was quiet, the frigid night air biting at their flushed cheeks as the group moved together through the snowy streets. Codron stumbled slightly, his laughter echoing into the silence, a clear indication that the wine had thoroughly done its job. Carol chuckled softly, steadying him once before giving up and letting him manage on his own.

By the time they reached the apartment, Codron pushed through the door with exaggerated enthusiasm, tossing his jacket over a chair before collapsing onto the couch. He stretched out with a contented sigh, his arm flopping over his face.

He muttered something lazily in French, his voice slurring slightly as he drifted into a wine-induced stupor. His breathing evened out almost immediately, and the faint sound of his snoring filled the room.

Carol rolled her eyes but smiled, pulling her own coat off and draping it neatly over a chair. "He'll regret that tomorrow," she remarked lightly before turning to Daryl and Isabelle. "I'm calling it a night." She offered them a small smile. "Don't wake him up—or me."

"Night," Isabelle said softly, watching as Carol disappeared into her room, the soft click of the door signaling her retreat.

The room fell into a hushed stillness, the only sounds the crackling of the fireplace and Codron's soft snores. Daryl glanced at Isabelle, his eyes catching hers in the dim light. Her lips curved into a faint smile, and she nodded toward their shared room.

Daryl followed her wordlessly, the weight of the evening lingering in the air between them. The moment they stepped inside, Isabelle turned to him, her fingers curling around the front of his jacket as she pulled him closer. Before the door had even clicked shut, she pushed him firmly back against it, the impact soft and muffled. Her lips found his in the next breath, catching him off guard.

The kiss started slow, exploratory, but the quiet charge of the evening, coupled with the wine still buzzing in their veins, quickly ignited something deeper. Daryl made a low sound in his throat, his hands finding her waist, fingers curling against the fabric of her shirt. Her hands moved to the lapels of his jacket, tugging it off his shoulders without breaking the kiss. He shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor as his arms wound around her, pulling her impossibly closer.

Isabelle broke the kiss only long enough to grab his hand, guiding him toward the bed. She stopped when they reached it, turning and gently pushing him to sit down on the edge. Daryl went without resistance, his hands steadying himself on the mattress as he watched her, his breathing uneven, his gaze dark with want.

She climbed onto his lap with deliberate ease, straddling his thighs as her knees settled on either side of him. She looped her arms around his neck, her lips finding his again, and this time there was no hesitation. The kiss was hungry, their mouths moving in a rhythm that matched the heat building between them.

Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, her fingers deft as she worked them free one by one. The fabric parted, revealing the strong lines of his chest beneath, and her hands slid over his skin, her touch warm and lingering.

Daryl groaned softly, his hands moving instinctively to her sides, steadying her as she leaned into him. When she pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes locked on his, filled with a mixture of anticipation and fire. His hands slid to the hem of her shirt, pausing for only a fraction of a second as though silently asking for permission. Isabelle gave him a small, encouraging nod, and he wasted no time.

His fingers slipped under the fabric, slowly sliding it up over her body, his touch sending sparks skittering along her skin. She raised her arms, letting him pull the shirt over her head and toss it aside. Daryl's hands lingered on her bare sides, his thumbs brushing over her skin as his gaze roamed over her, his expression somewhere between awe and desire.

His gaze locked with hers for a heartbeat before he leaned in, his lips trailing along her jawline. He gently tilted her head to the side, his fingers threading through her hair as he pressed soft kisses against the curve of her neck. The rough graze of his beard and the light scrape of his teeth against the sensitive skin between her shoulder and neck sent a shiver coursing through her.

Isabelle arched into him instinctively, her hands sliding into his hair, her fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled his mouth back to hers.

Without breaking the kiss, Daryl's hands slid to the backs of Isabelle's thighs, gripping her firmly as he stood in one smooth motion. She gasped softly against his lips, her arms wrapping around his neck for balance as he turned and knelt onto the mattress.

Daryl braced himself with one arm as he lowered them onto the bed, his other arm still wrapped around her, holding her body against his. He settled his weight carefully into the V of her thighs, his chest pressing against hers as their breaths mingled. His lips moved over hers with a hunger that matched the heat pooling between them, and Isabelle could feel the tension in his body—the restraint warring with the raw need simmering beneath the surface.

Their breaths quickened, shallow and erratic, as Daryl's lips claimed hers again. There was a desperation to the kiss, as though the night had peeled back the last of their walls, leaving only the fire between them. Isabelle's hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, her fingers gripping the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt.

She broke the kiss just enough to murmur, "Off," her voice breathless and edged with need.

Daryl obliged without hesitation, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it to the floor. Isabelle's hands returned to him immediately, roaming over the bare expanse of his shoulders, his chest, her touch eager and electric.

She leaned up, her lips trailing along his collarbone, her teeth grazing the line of his neck as she tasted him, each touch deliberate and consuming. The low sound that rumbled from his throat sent a shiver through her, sparking something deeper, more urgent.

Something in his expression shifted, the last traces of restraint slipping away. His lips found hers again, the kiss deep and consuming, as though he was trying to memorize every detail.

Isabelle's hands wandered downward, her fingers trailing over the firm lines of his chest before settling at his waistband. She felt the way his breath caught, the slight tremor beneath her touch betraying the storm he was barely holding back. Her intent was clear, her touch both assured and tantalizing, each motion drawing them closer to the edge of losing themselves entirely.

The moment stretched, taut and electric, before it snapped. The tension gave way to something urgent, raw. Their kisses grew hungrier, their touches more fervent, each movement igniting sparks that seemed to set the room ablaze.

In the quiet of the night, the world beyond their closed door ceased to exist. They surrendered to each other entirely, letting the darkness cloak them in a moment that was theirs alone, the night folding around them in its quiet, fiery embrace.

**Author notes: Thank you all so much for following along with my story! I hope you're enjoying it so far! Don't forget to click on follow so it alerts you when new chapters are posted! And I live for your comments, so please let me know what you think so far! Thanks again and I hope you like it!**