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“I know you're feeling like an outsider. It's not your fault, you know. Eric and I, we're still looked at as outsiders in a lot of ways. We've heard our fair share of well-meaning, but hilariously offensive things from some otherwise really nice men and women. People are people. The more afraid they get, the more stupid they get.” - Aaron
The bike roared, loud and out of place in the quiet neighbourhood of Alexandria as Daryl tore through the too-pristine streets for the second time in as many days. The sheltered suburbanites stared; many coming out onto their lawns or stopping on the artfully maintained sidewalks just to do so, fixing him with looks of annoyance and disapproval. It only made him rev the engine harder, taking the bike on an extra lap. Or two.
The people had already decided who Daryl was, that he wasn’t good enough for their gated neighbourhood. Never mind that the world outside their door had gone to shit, and that shit threatened to seep through their carefully constructed walls every single day. Safety wasn’t permanent anymore; no amount of walls or fences could truly promise that. His group had learnt that the hard way again and again.
The gears were grinding, but Daryl took the long way back to Aaron’s, drawing out the ride as long as he could. The bike sputtered as he came to a stop, riding it straight into the garage and propping the kickstand. He yanked the roller door down with his hands, effectively blocking out the nosey neighbours, and got to work making amendments to the bike.
When Daryl stepped out the front door at dawn, the neighbour across the way was out on her porch in a ridiculous pink robe and clutching a steaming cup of something in her hand. She looked at Daryl, sour as if she’d sucked a whole lemon.
“Don’t mind her,” Eric said, appearing in the doorway behind him stepping down onto the steps after Daryl, a covered glass dish in his hands. “She’s always like that.
“Morning, Mrs Nuedemeyer!” he called in greeting, waving cheerfully, and the woman in question. She looked for a moment as though that lemon had wedged itself somewhere far less pleasant than her mouth, before turning her gaze, pretending to be fascinated by the manicured lawn of her neighbour next door.
Eric gave a disparaging little chuckle, shaking his head. He looked back at Daryl to find the man stopped on the path at the bottom of the front steps, half turned and looking at him.
“You forgot your spaghetti,” Eric said, lifting the container in explanation.
“Nah, I didn’t,” said Daryl, voice raspy and quiet. Standing still, he watched Eric with a wary curiosity.
“Well, you’re taking it with you,” said Eric, walking down the steps and pressing the container to Daryl’s chest. Daryl grunted in annoyance and stood frozen still for a moment before reaching up to grab hold of the glass container. Eric beamed at him.
“You don’t have to wash it, but please bring the container back,” said Eric, sounding far too happy for the time of day. “Olivia’s going to put me on a watchlist if I requisition too many of these.”
Daryl gave him a long look, but shrugged a shoulder awkwardly, then turned and trudged his way back to the houses his group had been assigned.
Carol was in the kitchen when Daryl stepped in, shoving the container into the fridge.
“You been out all night?” Carol asked, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “At Aaron and Eric’s?”
“What’s it to ya?” Daryl asked, the words abrasive but lacking bite.
“Well,” said Carol, straightening her ridiculous blue cardigan she’d taken to wearing for her Suzie Homemaker routine. “The neighbourhood rumour mill is spinning its wheels about you three.”
Daryl’s brows furrowed, the semi-permanent frown that had taken up residence on his face deepened further than normal.
“According to the good people of Alexandria, the three of you are involved in some kind of torrid affair. And let me tell you, pookie, these people are heavily invested in imagining the details of what they think goes on behind those closed doors. It’s enough to make a sweet little housewife blush.”
Daryl scoffed. “Ain’t met a single housewife here I’d call ‘sweet’. Least of all you.”
Carol smacked his arm gently, her smirk warming into a small smile. “We’ve all got our parts to play,” she said, picking up a container of freshly baked cookies and heading for the door. "People are stupid. They make assumptions. Once they think they're right about you, think they know who you are, they forget you could be a threat."
In the following days, Daryl paid more attention to the whispers his presence elicited. He was used to being singled out by fancy folks like this, the kind who made a lot of assumptions about how undeserving Daryl was of their lifestyle, and deep down he thought maybe they were right. He didn’t belong in a place like Alexandria, never had, and still stuck out like a sore thumb even now, when the world was in ruins and everyone should’ve been on more equal footing. Daryl was a dirty smear on the meticulously maintained community.
It’s what he expected to hear from them and it’s what he’d assumed they were all whispering about when he passed them in the streets, their heads ducking together and faces shifting into looks of distaste. It wasn’t until Carol told him exactly what the rumours were about that he started paying attention, actively trying to listen in to what snatches of comments he could hear instead of blocking them out.
It built up for days, Daryl simmering in his irritation. He tried, awkwardly, to mention it to Aaron, but Aaron had just sighed, long-suffering and tired. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he apologised to Daryl as if he’d been the one to blame for his neighbours being pricks.
“I understand if you don’t feel comfortable spending time here,” Aaron had said, weary and sad. “We can move the bike over to your house, all the equipment. It’s - it’s yours anyway. Might stop people speculating about you.”
Which had only made Daryl angrier. “Nah,” he’d said, waving Aaron off. “It ain’t you. They’re the ones who’re bein’ dicks, talkin’ shit about things they don’t know a damn thing about. You want me gone, I'm gone, but I ain’t never gave a shit 'bout people like that before and I ain’t startin’ now.”
Aaron had smiled, bittersweet as it was, and said, “Of course you can stay. Any time you like; we like having you around.”
Daryl had nodded, and that was that. Or, it would have been, if only people had learned to keep their damn mouths shut about it.
Daryl strode up the short path then trampled across the lawn making a bee-line for where the two men were sitting by the flower bed, a small array of gardening tools and a small pile of uprooted weeds lying between them.
“Daryl? Is everything okay?” Aaron asked, getting to his feet, face morphing into concern at the look of fierce anger and determination Daryl was sporting.
Daryl didn’t answer, and he didn’t slow on his path towards the man, stopping only when they were barely a foot apart, only to grab a fistful of Aaron’s shirt and haul their mouths together in an awkward, almost painful kiss, mouths colliding too hard to be enjoyable. Aaron’s hands flailed at his sides for a moment, before reaching up to carefully, but firmly, push Daryl back.
“Daryl, what-”
“That make ya happy, ya stuck up pricks?” Daryl turned to shout at the neighbours standing in their own gardens, or simply watching from the behind half-closed curtains. “Y’all wanted a show, here it is!”
“So, what? I’m stuck playing the jilted lover now, am I?” asked Eric, rising to his feet, hands on his hips and a bemused smile on his face as he took in the scene before him.
Daryl’s eyes narrowed and he stomped over to Eric and planted a smacking, closed-mouth kiss to his lips as well, while Eric tried his best not to laugh.
"Ya got what ya wanted now mind your own damn business!” Darly yelled at their audience, and finally everyone started ducking their heads away and moving at twice the pace they had previously, the streets effectively clearing.
“You do realise this is probably only going to make them talk more , right?” Aaron asked, but he sounded amused.
“Least they won’t do it where I can hear it now,” Daryl muttered, face red and finally losing steam.
Eric hummed a vaguely agreeing sound, and looked at Daryl. “That was sweet of you, Daryl. In a weird sort of way. But if you kiss my husband again, some rumours are going to be the least of your problems.”
“You can’t threaten everyone who tries to kiss me,” said Aaron, quirking a smile at Eric.
Eric’s eyes narrowed. “Who else is trying to kiss you?”
“Are you doubting my appeal?” Aaron asked, leading them back into the house.
“I’m doubting the standards of everyone in this town,” said Eric, shooting a quick look at Daryl. “Except Daryl, apparently.”
“Come on,” Aaron said, turning back to Daryl who was still standing awkwardly on the lawn. “You might as well come in.”
Daryl shrugged, and stalked inside after them, shoulders hunching. “Sorry,” he muttered as he cleared the doorway, unable to make eye contact.
Eric laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. This is honestly the funniest thing that’s happened to us since the world ended. Sheryl Neudemeyer might never make eye contact with me again, if I’m lucky.”
Aaron shook his head, and clapped Daryl on the shoulder. “You gave me a bit of a heart attack there, but we’re okay.”
“Daryl shuffled awkwardly in the entryway, eyes drifting to the garage door.
“Go on,” said Aaron. “You’ve got a bike to fix right?”
Daryl grunted an affirmative and left, shutting himself away for the next few hours in blissful silence.