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“Merry Christmas.”
Daryl blinked owlishly at him as he came to a startled halt in the doorway, barely finished dropping his pack on the floor with one hand and hanging his crossbow from the hook with his other. Paul’s bare knuckles brushed against Daryl’s cheeks, bitten red by the chilly air outside, as he draped the soft woollen garment around Daryl’s neck.
“The hell’s this?” Daryl asked, his head dropping to look at where Paul’s fingers were folding the fabric over itself to knot it into place.
“It’s a scarf,” Paul replied, smoothing the tail ends of it down across Daryl’s chest. “A Christmas present. I made it, which is why the end is… like that.”
“This,” Daryl paused, his lips thinning out, turning down at the corners. “This’s what you’ve been spendin’ all month doin’?”
“Yeah. When I could,” Paul agreed. He stepped back, but his fingers lingered, pressing the soft wool to the worn plaid of Daryl’s jacket. “I made a few mistakes, but I got the hang of it. It’s nice, though, having something to keep my hands busy. I’ve started a blanket for Hershel, but the worst of winter will probably be over by the time it’s finished.”
Daryl reached up, hands gripping at the wool and fumbling to untie it. Paul took another step back, watching, letting the small hurt of the moment be pushed down, buried underneath a blank, passive expression he hadn’t felt the need to put on around Daryl in far too long. Daryl tugged the scarf free and held it in his hands, staring down at it like he didn’t know what to do with it.
“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” Paul said. Daryl looked up at him, something in his eyes that Paul couldn’t quite decipher. “It’s the first thing I’ve made. I know it’s not perfect.”
He watched Daryl’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He watched the exposed flesh of Daryl’s throat and face, pale in places and bitten red by the cold in others. Daryl’s hands fell, the scarf hanging loosely from his lax fingers and then he turned, marching right back out the door and into the cold again.
The trailer was silent in Daryl’s absence and Paul let out a long, laboured exhale. When you let people get close to you, you always got hurt. He’d known that his whole life and he’d gotten smart enough to avoid it at all costs, keeping his distance and bailing when anyone started to get too attached to him. Paul couldn’t say why he'd let himself lower his defences for Daryl, or why the pain of it felt so unexpected.
–
Snow had started falling in the hours before Daryl’s return, and it had only grown heavier since then. Paul stared out the windows, watching the flurries of white dancing down from the sky and coating the ground in a thickening layer of white. The lights from the trailer illuminated it, casting the world outside in a haloed glow illuminated by the lights of the trailers. Mist frosted the edges of the window glass and Paul could feel the cold air seeping through, despite the best efforts of the heater that kept the inside of the trailer warm.
He tapped his fingers against his knee, and turned his head away from the view outside, looking instead at his home. Books he’d scavenged for Daryl were mingled with his own, their knives were laid out together on the counter, their boots and jackets were lined up by the door. Their lives were so thoroughly enmeshed he wouldn’t know how to untangle them, even if he wanted to. Getting to his feet, Paul made his way to the door, stopping only to layer on a jacket and his coat, to pull on his gloves and beanie, to slip into his boots, and then he stepped outside.
The freezing cold air hit him like being body-slammed into a wall of ice. It brought him to a sudden stop in front of the door. It only lasted for a moment, before he pulled his coat closed around him and turned, jumping to grab hold of the guttering and pulling himself up onto the roof with a clatter. The roof itself was cold, and he could feel the ice and snow under his chest, he could feel it making the knees of his pants damp before he got to his feet.
A small, orange dot of light glowed at the far end of the roof and Paul followed it until the rest of Daryl’s form, cloaked in shadows, was close enough to touch. Paul sat down next to him, their legs dangling over the edge of the roof, not quite close enough to touch. Daryl exhaled and Paul inhaled a lungful of his smoke before reaching out and plucking it from Daryl’s lips and pressing it to his own instead, taking a long, deep drag. Smoke curled from his mouth, swirling on the frosty air and getting lost in the falling snow.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Paul said, holding the cigarette out to Daryl. Their fingers brushed when Daryl took it, leather against wool as their gloves met.
“‘S quiet,” Daryl said, his own voice a thin rasp of sound.
“It’s late. And cold,” Paul pointed out. “Even the walkers are slowed down when the weather’s like this.”
Daryl grunted, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the rooftop beside him.
“You’re wearing your scarf.” Paul kept his voice carefully observational, trying to bury some of his happiness at seeing it there, wrapped around Daryl’s neck, keeping him warm.
Daryl shrugged. His hands raised to the scarf in question, his fingers burying themselves in the soft wool and he hunched over himself, his shoulders raising and his head lowering. The fall of his bangs obscured his eyes and the lower half of his face disappeared beneath the deep green wool.
“I thought you didn’t like it,” Paul said, looking down as he swung his legs, watching them move through the air. The damp patches on his knees and chest started to frost over and he shivered.
“‘S ugly as shit,” Daryl replied automatically, but he shifted, shuffling closer until their bodies pressed together from foot to shoulder. The warmth from Daryl’s body was enough to stifle the next shiver that had started.
“You like it,” Paul said, turning his face towards Daryl, watching him curiously.
Daryl grunted and shrugged. “Yeah.”
Paul exhaled heavily. “So why’d you walk out?”
Daryl didn’t speak for a long minute. His jaw clenched and the muscles in his cheeks tightened with it.
“Never got no Christmas present before,” he said, his voice quiet and low, a ragged rasp that was almost lost in the icy-cold air. “And I didn’t…”
Daryl trailed off, shrugging his shoulders and looking away.
“You didn’t get me anything,” Paul realised, slowly.
Daryl's shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed suddenly on the silo in the distance.
“Having you here–”
Daryl let out a harsh scoff, turning to meet Paul’s eyes. “You say me bein’ here is a gift I’ll push you off this damn roof.”
“So I give you a handmade scarf that I laboured over for hours upon hours, weeks of effort, and in return you’re gonna give me a broken bone and a night in the medical trailer?”
Daryl’s lips pressed together tightly, looking away. “Seems like.”
Paul laughed, a near-silent sound, but it was visible in the warm misting of his breath as it met the cold air. He bumped his shoulder against Daryl’s, jostling him gently. “Romantic.”
Daryl huffed out a small sound, a far the closer sound to humour than Paul thought he’d hear from him that night. They lapsed into silence, lending against each other and watching the snow fall across the Hilltop. Lights from the windows of the other trailers and Barrington House slowly started to extinguish as the residents finally settled in for the night.
“Got you this,” Daryl said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small sachet, holding it out in the air between them, tentative and uncertain. “Picked it up on the run. Thought you might…”
Daryl trailed off, shrugging his shoulders and looking away. Paul snatched the packet from Daryl’s fingers, squinting to read the label in the low light of the lanterns.
“Cocoa?”
Daryl shrugged. “Thought you might get a kick out of it.”
“I do,” Paul assured, shaking the sachet between his gloved fingers.
“‘S expired.”
Paul’s lip twitched until he found himself smiling, lopsided but genuine. He squinted down at the packaging again. “Only by a year.”
“Got some rum in my pack.”
“Well,” Paul said, his voice breathy and light. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“‘S all the same shit I’m always bringin’ back,” Daryl said, his hands reaching up to sink into the warm twists of the scarf looped around his neck.
Paul exhaled, watching him for a long moment. “That doesn’t make it any less special. Has anyone ever told you you worry too much?”
Daryl snorted, turning his head away for a moment before flitting back again. “Ain’t the usual complaint I hear.”
“It’d be boring if we only ever waited for pre-ordained special occasions to share the good things we find with each other.”
Paul reached out, his fingers bumping against Daryl’s as he adjusted the fall of the scarf. When he flicked his gaze upward, he found Daryl’s eyes on him, watching. Paul tiled his head to the side, then curled his fingers tighter into the wool, tugging until Daryl was pulled towards him, their lips crashing together. It was almost painful at first, until they found their easy rhythm, familiar and no less intoxicating for it.
When they finally parted, Paul’s lips felt swollen, and he could see the dark, slick line of Daryl’s own lips before him, his cheeks and nose reddening in the cold.
“We should go inside,” Paul suggested, his voice low, his breath mingling with Daryl’s in the small space between them. “Get this cocoa into a mug and both of us out of these clothes.”
“And the rum?”
“And the rum too,” Paul agreed. His eyes dropped for a moment, seeing their hands still tangled in the green wool. “Maybe you can leave the scarf on.”
“‘S ugly,” Daryl said.
“It is,” Paul agreed. “Life’s ugly. Love’s ugly, sometimes. Keeps you warm, though.:
Daryl eyes him for a long moment, before shaking his head. “You’re goddamn corny as shit.”
“I’m feeling very sentimental.”
Daryl grunted, slowly rising to his feet, and pulling Paul up with him. “Rum n’ cocoa you want?”
Paul hummed, pulling Daryl into him again, their chest bumping and their lips meeting. “The cocoa can wait ‘til after. You’ve been gone three days, Daryl, and I’m cold.”
Daryl made a small sound, leaning in to nip at Paul’s jaw, his teeth scraping lightly over Paul’s cold skin. “‘S go get warmed up.”