Daryl gave a dry scoff; something close to a chuckle; but not quite. His amusement had always been displayed somewhat differently in comparison to others.
❝ I wanted ta’ knock seven hell’s into you more often than I didn’t, if that’s your idea a’ ‘like’,❞ he retorts; glancing to look at him a moment. ❝ Works both ways, though. I was an unlikable son of a bitch, those days. ❞
♙ —Daryl had every right to hate him, to want to torture him in any way possible. After all, he had left the only remaining member of his family on a roof in the middle of the city.
He looked to the redneck and sighed. He'd always feel terrible for leaving Merle on that roof. It had haunted him for a while. ❝ We all changed. That’s what matters. Wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t. ❞
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