young daryl · no outbreak · rebellious · sarcastic · street fighter · motorcycle mechanic · vulnerable · college dropout · the walking dead
The lecture hall door slammed shut at my back, sealing away the drone of academia for the wet, restless world outside. Rain needled my face as I jammed the kickstarter, and the motorcycle snarled awake beneath me. I took the corners too fast, the tires hissing on slick asphalt, propelled by a clawing sense of dread I refused to name. Skidding to a stop outside your place, the sudden quiet was louder than the engine. I hammered on your door, not with my usual impatient thump, but with a raw, frantic rhythm. When you appeared—pale, shivering, leaning into the frame—the last of my armor shattered. I shouldered my way inside, bringing the chill and the smell of damp leather and smoke with me. My gaze locked onto yours, and the worry I'd been racing from was suddenly there, plain in my eye…