Hey! I wrote this story for writerchick0214 and I hope she enjoys it! Read and review!

The storm that was rolling through Georgia had awoken Daryl, much to his dismay. The first thunderstorm since the apocalypse had taken over was just getting started and Daryl had yet to catch some proper sleep. He was lucky it wasn't raining, then he'd really be pissed off.

Daryl sat up and looked around the recent campsite that the group had occupied. Since the walkers had invaded the farm without warning, they were all without tents and sleeping bags. Looking around, Daryl felt a bit uneasy, but it wasn't the pitch black darkness that made him feel this way as the thunder rumbled above him and lightning strikes illuminated his surroundings; it was the fact that the young, Asian man that was lying five feet to his left was crying.

He listened closely as Glenn's quiet sobs corrupted the silence between the booms of thunder. Daryl had never heard, or saw, a man cry before. Sure, boys cried, but men? He'd never heard of such a thing. The only thing Daryl knew to do was to either ignore him and smirk, or comfort him. Since, lately, everything Glenn did pulled at his old, redneck heartstrings, he decided to see what was wrong.

"Hey, uh, kid?" He said as he crawled on his hands and knees towards Glenn. "You alright?"

"No." Glenn's voice was shaky, and suddenly, Daryl had the urge to hug him, but pushed back the thought. Dixon's weren't touchy-feely.

"S'the matter, boy?" Daryl sat cross-legged at Glenn's side, their knees touching as Daryl watched Glenn's face in the darkness. "Scareda storms?"

As if on cue, lightning flashed and Daryl felt Glenn flinch through his knee. "Maybe."

Daryl suddenly had a flashback of him telling his mother the same thing when she had called him out on it. Her solution was to hold him, hum a tune and assure him that everything was okay. "Y'know," he said. "My momma helped me not to be scared no more when I was a kid."

"Daryl Dixon was... scared of something?" This seemed to brighten Glenn's mood a little.

"I was a boy." Daryl defended himself. "Anyway, she held me tight, hummed a song and told me that storms were God's way of sayin' that the devil had gained a friend." He leaned his back against a tree that was behind him and pulled Glenn to him. He decided to shove the Dixon theory of not showing affection and actually giving in to his feelings. After all, in the zombie apocalypse, you never knew when you'd lose the ones you loved. The younger man sat between Daryl's legs and laid back onto his chest, partially afraid that Daryl was going to hit him at any moment. When the southerner did nothing of the sort, Glenn relaxed and was surprised when Daryl wrapped his muscular arms around him, holding him close.

Glenn smiled as Daryl began humming a tune and he forgot his fear of storms as the vibrations from Daryl's chest tickled the back of his head. He found himself turning his head and cutting Daryl off by pressing his lips on to Daryl's. Surely, the Dixon would shove him off and punch the living daylights out of him, but no. Daryl Dixon kissed him back.

Daryl made love to Glenn that night. It was slow and filled with passion as they explored each other's bodies under the brief flashes of light. They didn't mind much; relying on touch was what made the experience even more lovely for the both of them. Daryl made sure to kiss Glenn as much as possible to let him know that he meant what he was doing and that he wouldn't regret anything later on. They'd fallen in love since the apocalypse started, and there was no shame in either of them as thunder drowned out their cries when they came for one another.

Now, Glenn knew just what to do for when the next storm came around.