Daryl thinks he doesn't hear him right at first, and goes through an odd few seconds of embarrassment over thinking he'd heard that to a kind of low-level hybrid of confusion and panic. The look on his face isn't upset, just puzzled-- a hunting dog who's been given a command he doesn't understand. Like maybe he's dumbly fighting the instinct to check over his shoulder and see who Jesus is really speaking to.
Obvious?
What exactly are the markers for that sort of thing, that it should have been obvious? Has anyone ever loved Daryl before? His mother, he thinks, when he was very small and she was still alive. But he only remembers it in an indistinct haze, because thinking too hard about it reveals too much of the memory to be wishful thinking. What did he think he and Jesus were doing, then, if not leading up to something like this? He considers the pairings in their odd group, and he considers the ones that crumbled; never in a million years would he expect to be someone who was counted in that number, a normal person capable of experiencing those emotions but, more significantly, capable of inspiring that in someone else.
Daryl hadn't questioned it when Glenn and Maggie became what they were so fast. Anyone could tell. And in this day and age, why wait? As much shit as he gave them - or Beth and her brief revolving door of boyfriends at the prison - he could never begrudge it. The world is so awful. Daryl is used to the bad parts, though. He never needed to try and make it better because he can endure, he's used to it. What-- what the fuck is happening, honestly. What did he do to ever earn this. He's sure he hasn't. But he can't even argue that Jesus is misdirecting or trying to find solace the only place it might be available. Why, though?
Rough fingertips trace the side of the younger man's face. Daryl is difficult to read sometimes, but the way he just seems to not understand has to be clear. He pulls Jesus in closer, his grip almost too hard, too desperate to hold onto him. It's all right if you don't. No it isn't. And Paul is an idiot.
no subject
Obvious?
What exactly are the markers for that sort of thing, that it should have been obvious? Has anyone ever loved Daryl before? His mother, he thinks, when he was very small and she was still alive. But he only remembers it in an indistinct haze, because thinking too hard about it reveals too much of the memory to be wishful thinking. What did he think he and Jesus were doing, then, if not leading up to something like this? He considers the pairings in their odd group, and he considers the ones that crumbled; never in a million years would he expect to be someone who was counted in that number, a normal person capable of experiencing those emotions but, more significantly, capable of inspiring that in someone else.
Daryl hadn't questioned it when Glenn and Maggie became what they were so fast. Anyone could tell. And in this day and age, why wait? As much shit as he gave them - or Beth and her brief revolving door of boyfriends at the prison - he could never begrudge it. The world is so awful. Daryl is used to the bad parts, though. He never needed to try and make it better because he can endure, he's used to it. What-- what the fuck is happening, honestly. What did he do to ever earn this. He's sure he hasn't. But he can't even argue that Jesus is misdirecting or trying to find solace the only place it might be available. Why, though?
Rough fingertips trace the side of the younger man's face. Daryl is difficult to read sometimes, but the way he just seems to not understand has to be clear. He pulls Jesus in closer, his grip almost too hard, too desperate to hold onto him. It's all right if you don't. No it isn't. And Paul is an idiot.