Selen

Daryl had stared at it, the weight of Rick’s expectation heavier than the damn book itself. He’d muttered a quiet thanks, not trusting himself to say much more. Rick’s smile had only grown, like he’d just handed Daryl the greatest gift in the world.

And now, days later, the book was still there, untouched.

“You started it yet?” Rick asked over breakfast, his tone casual but his eyes too focused.

Daryl shifted in his chair, spearing a piece of bacon with more force than necessary. “Not yet. Been busy.”

Rick hummed, clearly unconvinced. “You’d like it. Reminds me of you - quiet, but got a lot to say if you listen close.”

Daryl’s stomach twisted. He forced down the bite of food, but it sat heavy in his gut. He hated this. Hated that Rick was trying so damn hard to connect with him, hated that he couldn’t meet him halfway.

He wasn’t stupid. He could handle himself just fine, could navigate the world without anyone’s help. But words - lines of letters strung together in tight rows - had always been his enemy. He could make out simple things, sure. Road signs, grocery lists, a text message here and there. But a whole book?

It was too much. Always had been.

“Maybe you can read it while I’m at work,” Rick said, pulling Daryl out of his thoughts. “Take it easy for a change.”

Daryl grunted, focusing on his plate.

Rick didn’t push, but the question lingered in the air between them, thick and suffocating.

Later that evening, Daryl sat on the edge of the couch, the book in his lap. He traced the cover with his fingers, the texture smooth and cool. He flipped it open, skimming over the first page, the words blurring together like ants scurrying across a page.

He tried to sound them out in his head, his lips moving silently as he struggled to make sense of the sentences. By the third line, his head ached, and his frustration boiled over.

With a growl, he slammed the book shut and shoved it back onto the table. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.

What kind of grown-ass man couldn’t read a goddamn book?

He could hear Merle’s voice in his head, taunting him like he always did. What’re you, stupid? Can’t even read like a real man?

Daryl clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wasn’t stupid. He just... never had the chance. Too many missed school days, too many nights nursing bruises instead of doing homework. By the time he realized how far behind he was, it felt like it was too late to catch up.

He thought about Rick - how he’d sit in bed at night with a book in his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips curling into a smile when something made him laugh. Daryl loved watching him like that, loved the way Rick could lose himself in stories.

But Daryl would never have that. He couldn’t.

When Rick came home that night, he noticed the book was still on the table.

“Thought you might’ve started it,” Rick said, his tone light but his eyes searching.

Daryl shrugged, not looking up. “Didn’t have time.”

Rick frowned, his hands settling on his hips. “You sure everything’s okay? You’ve been... off.”

“’M fine,” Daryl muttered, his jaw tightening.

Rick took a step closer, his voice softening. “Daryl, if there’s somethin’ wrong - ”

“There ain’t!” Daryl snapped, standing up so fast the coffee table rattled. “Just leave it alone, alright?”

Rick blinked, taken aback by the outburst. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched as Daryl stormed out of the room.

Daryl ended up in the garage, the one place he could be alone with his thoughts. He paced back and forth, his heart pounding in his chest.

He hated this. Hated how Rick’s gift, his thoughtfulness, made him feel like a failure. He wanted to chuck the damn book out the window, but the idea of hurting Rick like that made him feel sick.

So he left it where it was, sitting on the coffee table like a challenge he’d never be able to meet.

That night, as they lay in bed, Rick turned off the light and settled beside Daryl.

“Goodnight,” Rick said softly, his voice laced with worry.

Daryl didn’t answer. He lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the book still pressing down on him. Rick deserved someone better, someone who could meet him at his level. But for some reason, Rick had chosen him.

Rick was standing at the edge of the clearing, sunlight catching in his hair and painting it gold. He looked... calm. At peace in a way that was rare in the world they lived in now. He had one hand resting on his hip, the other holding his machete loosely at his side. Even from where he stood, Daryl could see the faint smile tugging at the corner of Rick’s lips.

Daryl shifted his weight, his boots scuffing against the ground. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to pull words out of the swirling mess of his thoughts.

He’d been thinking about Rick too much lately. About the way he moved, the way he smiled, the way his voice dipped low when he said Daryl’s name. It was distracting, maddening, and - if Daryl was honest - terrifying.

Rick turned his head slightly, catching sight of Daryl out of the corner of his eye. “You comin’, or you just gonna stand there all day?”

Daryl grunted, adjusting the crossbow slung across his back. He forced himself to step closer, to stand beside Rick at the edge of the woods.

“What’re we waitin’ for?” Daryl asked, his voice gruffer than he intended.

Rick tilted his head, his smile widening. “Nothin’ now.”

That was the thing about Rick - he always made it seem so damn easy. Talking, smiling, looking at Daryl like he meant something. It was infuriating.

They moved together, walking the edge of the forest in a companionable silence. Every now and then, Rick would glance at Daryl, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

By the time they circled back to camp, Daryl’s stomach was tied in knots. He dropped his crossbow on the ground near his tent and busied himself with checking his gear, trying to ignore the weight of Rick’s eyes on him.

“Daryl,” Rick said, his voice soft but insistent.

Daryl froze, his hands stilling over the straps of his pack. He didn’t turn around. “What?”

“You good?”

“’Course I’m good,” Daryl muttered, but the words came out more defensive than he intended.

Rick stepped closer, and Daryl could feel the heat of him at his back. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Always quiet,” Daryl shot back, but there wasn’t any bite to it.

Rick reached out, his hand brushing against Daryl’s arm. The touch was light, hesitant, but it sent a jolt through Daryl’s entire body.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Rick said, his voice low. “About anything.”

Daryl swallowed hard, his throat dry. He could feel the tension crackling in the air between them, the unspoken something that had been building for weeks.

It would be so easy to turn around, to face Rick and say what he’d been holding back for so long. But easy wasn’t in Daryl’s nature.

He pulled away, his shoulders stiff. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

Rick sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. “You’re a hard man to read, you know that?”

“Good,” Daryl said, his voice clipped.

Rick didn’t say anything else, didn’t press. He just stood there, watching Daryl with an intensity that made his skin prickle.

The silence stretched, and Daryl’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to lose this - to lose Rick - but the idea of opening up, of putting himself out there, made his stomach churn.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to turn around and meet Rick’s gaze. “What if I ain’t good enough?” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Rick blinked, startled. “What?”

Daryl clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “What if I ain’t enough for you?”

Rick stepped closer, his expression softening. “Daryl...”

“I ain’t bold like you,” Daryl said, his voice rough. “Don’t know how to say the right things, or... or do the right things. Just... don’t wanna mess this up.”

Rick reached out, his hand settling on Daryl’s shoulder. “You think I care about that? About you bein’ bold or not? Hell, Daryl, you don’t need to be anything but yourself.”

Daryl looked down, his jaw tightening. “Don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Good,” Rick said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “’Cause I don’t want anything else.”

The words hit Daryl like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath. He looked up, meeting Rick’s gaze, and for the first time, he saw the truth in those blue eyes.

Rick cared about him. Hell, maybe even loved him.

And maybe, just maybe, Daryl could be bold enough to believe it.

Daryl didn’t notice him at first. The guy wasn’t loud, didn’t demand attention like Merle or half the other assholes in the bar. But then he caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, and the world seemed to slow down.

It wasn’t just his easy posture or the way his smile lit up the room, though that was part of it. It was his eyes.

Blue.

Not just any blue - something brighter, sharper, more magnetic than Daryl had ever seen. It wasn’t fair, the way they seemed to hold his gaze like a hook in his chest. Daryl couldn’t look away, no matter how much he wanted to.

The guy caught him staring. Of course, he did. Daryl quickly dropped his gaze, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“Smooth, Dixon,” he muttered to himself, taking a long swig of his beer.

But then, out of nowhere, the man was there, standing right in front of him.

“Mind if I sit?” the guy asked, his voice warm and friendly.

Daryl froze, his brain scrambling for a response. He finally managed a nod, jerking his head toward the empty stool beside him.

The guy slid onto the stool, resting an elbow on the bar. “Name’s Rick,” he said, extending a hand.

Daryl stared at it for a second too long before shaking it, his calloused palm brushing against Rick’s firm grip. “Daryl,” he mumbled.

Rick smiled, and those damn eyes crinkled at the corners, pulling Daryl’s attention like a magnet. “Nice to meet you, Daryl. Can I buy you a drink?”

Daryl blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, sure,” he said, barely getting the word out.

Rick motioned to the bartender, ordering two beers. Daryl watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out why this guy - this beautiful, confident guy - was talking to him.

Rick handed him the beer, their fingers brushing briefly. “So,” he said, leaning closer, “you don’t seem like the kind of guy who spends a lot of time in places like this.”

Daryl snorted. “Ain’t.”

Rick chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Figured. What brings you out tonight?”

“Merle,” Daryl said, gesturing vaguely toward the other end of the bar, where Merle was loudly regaling a group of strangers with one of his tall tales.

Rick followed his gaze and smirked. “I take it that’s your brother?”

“Unfortunately,” Daryl muttered, earning another laugh from Rick.

Daryl nodded, his tongue feeling too big in his mouth. He was usually quiet, sure, but this was something else. He felt like every word he might say would come out wrong, like he’d embarrass himself if he even tried.

But Rick didn’t seem to mind the silence. He leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink and glancing around the bar like he belonged there, like he wasn’t sitting across from a guy who could barely string two words together.

“You live around here?” Rick asked after a moment, his tone casual.

Daryl nodded again, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Rick chuckled softly, and the sound sent a shiver down Daryl’s spine. “Man of few words, huh?”

Daryl shrugged, taking a long pull from his beer to avoid answering.

But Rick didn’t seem put off. He kept talking, filling the silence with stories about his job, his hometown, the ridiculous antics of his best friend. And Daryl… Daryl just listened.

He nodded in the right places, occasionally grunted out a response, but mostly he just watched Rick. Watched the way his lips curved when he smiled, the way his hands moved as he talked, the way those eyes lit up when he laughed.

By the time Rick bought him another drink, Daryl felt like he was drowning in blue.

They stayed there for hours, long after Merle had stumbled out with some woman on his arm. Rick kept the conversation going, never once making Daryl feel awkward or out of place. And when the bartender finally announced last call, Rick stood up, clapping a hand on Daryl’s shoulder.

“Guess it’s time to call it a night,” he said, his thumb brushing briefly against Daryl’s collarbone.

Daryl nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Rick smiled again, that same warm, inviting smile that had knocked the air out of Daryl’s lungs when he first saw it. “See you around, Daryl.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the night.

Daryl sat there for a long time, his mind spinning. When he finally made it home and collapsed into bed, he could still see Rick’s face in his mind.

But most of all, he saw those eyes - blue and bright and endless.

And as he drifted off to sleep, he made a silent promise to himself.

He was going to have that man. One way or another, Rick was going to be his.

“Damn it,” Daryl growled, immediately reaching for Rick, guilt twisting in his gut. “Lemme see.”

“I’m fine,” Rick said, his voice muffled, but he didn’t resist as Daryl tugged his hand away to assess the damage.

The bridge of Rick’s nose was red and swelling slightly, but it didn’t look broken. The blood, though - it was everywhere. Thick and dark, running over his lips and down his chin, pooling in the divot of his collarbone.

“You gotta stop movin’,” Daryl muttered, grabbing the hem of his shirt to press it against Rick’s nose. “Tilt your head forward. Ain’t supposed to lean back with this kinda thing.”

Rick obeyed, his hands bracing on Daryl’s hips for balance. “You’re gettin’ real good at this first aid stuff.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you from bleedin’ out,” Daryl shot back, his voice gruff. He tried to focus on stopping the bleeding, but his eyes kept drifting.

The blood… it shouldn’t have affected him like this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen plenty of it before. But on Rick? It was different.

The streaks of red stood out starkly against Rick’s pale skin, catching in the light like something dark and sinful. His lips were stained, slick and shining, and Daryl felt his stomach twist - not with guilt, but with something hotter, darker.

Rick groaned softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “It’s slowin’ down. Think I’ll live.”

Daryl pulled the shirt away and tossed it aside, his breath hitching as he looked at Rick again. The blood was smeared now, more chaotic, streaked across his jaw and throat. It was primal. Messy.

“Daryl?” Rick’s voice pulled him back, his tone curious but laced with concern.

Daryl didn’t answer. He didn’t think he could. His hand moved on its own, fingers brushing over the blood on Rick’s chin, tracing it down to his neck. Rick stiffened under the touch, his lips parting in surprise.

“What’re you- ?”

Daryl’s thumb swiped across Rick’s bottom lip, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste the blood.

Rick froze, his breath hitching sharply.

Daryl should’ve stopped there. Should’ve apologized, backed off, done something reasonable. But he didn’t.

The copper tang of blood coated his tongue, and he groaned softly, pressing closer. His lips met Rick’s in a messy, desperate kiss, his hands gripping Rick’s hips to pull him closer. Rick’s mouth opened under his, and Daryl pushed his tongue inside, letting Rick taste the blood too.

It was feral, raw, like nothing they’d ever done before. Rick made a noise - half protest, half surrender - and then he was kissing back, his hands sliding up to fist in Daryl’s shirt.

Daryl didn’t know how long they stayed like that, tangled together, the taste of blood and heat filling the space between them. When they finally broke apart, they were both panting, their foreheads pressed together.

Rick’s lips were red and swollen, smeared with blood and spit. He licked them slowly, his eyes searching Daryl’s face.

“That was…” Rick trailed off, his voice husky.

“Yeah,” Daryl rasped, his own voice wrecked. He still had one hand on Rick’s hip, the other resting on the side of his neck. “Sorry. Shouldn’t’ve - ”

Rick cut him off with another kiss, this one slower but no less intense. When he pulled back, he smiled faintly, shaking his head.

“You’re somethin’ else, Dixon,” Rick murmured, his voice soft but warm.

Daryl didn’t know what to say to that, so he just shrugged, his fingers tightening on Rick’s hip.

“C’mere,” Rick said, tugging him closer. “Let’s get cleaned up before Carl sees us lookin’ like a couple of damn lunatics.”

Daryl snorted, but he followed Rick to the bathroom, his hand never leaving Rick’s waist. And later, when they were tangled up in bed, Rick’s nose iced and the blood long gone, Daryl couldn’t help but think about how it had felt - wild and electric, like something that couldn’t be undone.

Daryl hesitated. He’d been describing sunsets to Rick for years now, the colors blending and changing as time wore on. But it never got easier. He shifted slightly, angling his body so Rick could lean more comfortably against him. “Looks like fire,” he said finally. “Big, bright fire, spreadin’ out over the sky. Touchin’ the trees. Clouds are pink, like they’re blushin’.”

Rick chuckled softly, but there was an edge of sadness to it. “You always make it sound so damn pretty.”

“It is,” Daryl said simply.

Rick was quiet after that, his hand resting on Daryl’s thigh, his fingers tracing small, absent patterns into the worn denim. It was a habit he’d picked up as his vision faded, a way to ground himself, to stay connected.

Daryl didn’t mind.

Over the years, Rick’s world had grown smaller. The shapes had blurred first, then the colors, until finally, even light itself became just a faint memory. Daryl had watched it happen, helpless to stop it, powerless to do anything but stay. And he had stayed. Through the frustration, the heartbreak, the moments when Rick tried to push him away out of pride or anger or sheer fear.

Now, Rick rarely left the house without him. Daryl was his anchor, his guide, his eyes. And while it was a burden in some ways, it never felt like one to Daryl. Not really. Rick was Rick - his Rick - and that was all that mattered.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Rick said after a while.

“Just thinkin’.”

“’Bout what?”

Daryl shrugged, though he knew Rick couldn’t see it. “Nothin’ much. Just glad we’re sittin’ here, watchin’ the sun go down. Well… me watchin’, you listenin’.”

Rick smirked faintly but didn’t respond. His fingers stilled on Daryl’s leg, and Daryl could feel the tension building in him, the weight of whatever thoughts Rick was wrestling with.

Finally, Rick spoke, his voice low and strained. “I’m scared, Daryl.”

Daryl stiffened, his hand instinctively coming up to rest over Rick’s. “Scared of what?”

Rick exhaled shakily, tilting his head down as if ashamed. “Forgettin’.”

“Forgettin’ what?”

“Your face,” Rick whispered, his voice breaking on the last word.

The admission hit Daryl like a punch to the gut. He stared at Rick, at the lines etched into his face, the graying beard, the way his shoulders seemed to curl inward as if trying to make himself smaller. For all his strength, all his resilience, Rick looked fragile in that moment, like a man staring down a chasm he couldn’t cross.

Daryl’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak. “Ain’t gonna forget, Rick.”

“You don’t know that,” Rick said, his voice rising slightly, the frustration clear. “It’s bad enough I can’t see it now, but what if… what if it fades? What if one day I can’t even picture you anymore? What if I - ”

“Stop,” Daryl said firmly, cutting him off.

Rick fell silent, his shoulders trembling slightly.

Daryl turned to face him, his rough hands coming up to cup Rick’s face. His thumbs brushed against Rick’s cheekbones, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight dampness where tears had started to fall.

“You ain’t gonna forget,” Daryl said again, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “’Cause I ain’t gonna let you. You hear me?”

Rick’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded slightly, leaning into Daryl’s touch.

Daryl shifted closer, pulling Rick into his arms. Rick clung to him, his head resting against Daryl’s shoulder, his breath hitching as he tried - and failed - to hold back the tears.

“I’m right here,” Daryl murmured, his hand running up and down Rick’s back in slow, soothing motions. “Always gonna be here. You ain’t gotta be scared, Rick. Not of this. Not when I’m here.”

Rick’s grip tightened, his body shaking with quiet sobs. Daryl held him through it, his own eyes stinging, though he didn’t let the tears fall. He just pressed a kiss to Rick’s temple, letting his lips linger there for a moment before resting his cheek against Rick’s hair.

Eventually, Rick’s breathing evened out, the storm of emotions ebbing into a quiet, exhausted calm.

“Thank you,” Rick whispered, his voice barely audible.

Daryl didn’t respond with words. He just held Rick a little tighter, letting his actions speak for him.

The sun had long since set by the time they finally moved, the world around them slipping into darkness. But for Daryl, the only thing that mattered was the man in his arms - the man who had been his partner, his friend, his everything for so many years.

And if Rick ever did forget, Daryl would just remind him. Every day, for as long as it took.

"Not like this one," Rick replied, unfazed. He smoothed his hand over the fabric, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Feel it."

Daryl sighed, setting the beer on the side table before reaching out, more to humor Rick than anything else. His fingers brushed the material, and his brow furrowed immediately. It was soft. Softer than anything he’d ever touched before, like a cloud made of velvet.

"Huh," he muttered, his fingers lingering.

"Told you," Rick said, grinning now.

Rick threw the blanket over the back of the couch, and Daryl didn’t think much more about it. Well, except he did. It was so soft and plush, he couldn't help but imagine how nice it would feel against his skin. Without meaning to, he reached out again, running his hand over the fabric, feeling the warmth radiate from it. The simple act sent a shiver of comfort down his spine, igniting a yearning for something he didn't quite understand. But the moment he spotted Rick coming from the kitchen, he jerked his hand back like he had been doing something wrong. If Rick noticed he didn't comment on it.

It was absurd how many times during the next few days his mind wandered back to the softness of that damn blanket. It was like a song - a siren's song - was stuck in his head, drawing him in, refusing to let go. And Daryl tried not to be weird about it, but it was just too damn difficult.

So when their work schedules lined up just the right way with Rick having a day shift and him having a free day, Daryl couldn't stop himself from doing what he had been thinking about for days.

He made sure all the blinds in the living room were shut first, before he sat on the couch, running his hand over the blanket over and over again. But this wasn't what he wanted, he wanted more…

After a moment of consideration, Daryl muttered a low "Fuck it," and started to hurriedly shrug out of his clothes. Once there was a messy pile of his shirt, jeans and underwear on the ground, he didn't hesitate even for a moment before he stretched himself on the couch, on top of that soft blanket.

He almost moaned at the exquisite feeling of the plushy fabric against his bare skin, a sensation that sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes, focusing on all the parts of his body that were being tantalized by the soft embrace of the blanket. But it just wasn't enough. He needed more.

He felt like a dog, rolling on the couch, trying to capture every inch of that delightful texture, craving the warmth and the comfort that enveloped him. Daryl wasn't quite sure how it happened, but he ended up on his front, half-hard from all the sensations rippling through his skin. He let out a soft groan, surrendering to the enticing pull of pleasure that coursed through him, rolling his hips into the blanket once, twice-… oh, fuck! It felt like pure ecstasy, the plushy blanket on his cock, so soft against him, as if it were designed specifically to ignite every nerve ending.

It felt so good, so damn perfect, but he just needed more of that intoxicating friction. It took all of Daryl's willpower to stop his hips and get up, his breathing hard and his chest heaving. He folded the blanket and then rolled it up, straddling it the moment he finished. The sensation was overwhelming, and he couldn't help but grind down against it, to drag his rock hard cock over the softness of it.

He was practically leaking precum as he rolled his hips over and over again, like a dog humping his toy. But how could he feel bad about that, when the sheer pleasure coursing through him was intoxicating? He dragged his cock over the blanket, making bigger and bigger mess, smearing his precum everywhere while soft moans and whines fell from his lips.

Daryl knew he was getting close, that telltale pressure was building fiercely in his gut, urging him to roll his hips harder, faster, to let himself go completely.

And that was when the front door fell shut with a small thud, making him freeze on the couch, his cock throbbing and twitching, begging him to continue, to chase his orgasm. Before he could make any move, Rick was already rounding the corner into the living room, his boots clomping loudly against the wooden floor.

"Hey, love. I was in the neighborhood and I thought-…" Now they were both frozen, Daryl still on the couch, and Rick in the doorway, trailing his eyes over Daryl, over his hard cock, over the rolled up blanket.

"It's not-" Daryl started, before he stopped himself. It wasn't what it looked like? Bullshit, even he wasn't that good of a liar. It was exactly what it looked like. He quickly tried to dismount the blanket, but it only made his cock drag over the sticky, wet spot again, the movement pulling a whine out of him.

"No," Rick said, his face suddenly hungry and intense as he took a few steps closer. "Don't stop. You'll finish what you were doing and I'll sit right here to enjoy the show." Rick sat down on the coffee table, cocking his head to one side as he nodded towards Daryl, urging him to go on, to hump the blanket as he had been doing before he was interrupted.

Daryl knew that he was crimson red, the blush probably spilling all the way down to his chest, but fuck, he would be lying if the knowledge that he was watched so closely didn't make his cock jump.

Slowly, he started to roll his hips again, his breath hitching at the sensation of the fabric against his skin, each thrust intensifying the heat pooling in his core. Rick's gaze was a burning weight on him, and with every movement, Daryl felt himself edging closer to a release, his thrusts speeding up as the sounds from his lips got louder and louder.

It took so little, just a couple of minutes before Daryl ground his cock down a couple more times and almost tipped over with the strenght of his orgasm, shooting his release onto the blanket. It was Rick's hands that wrapped around his sweaty shoulders, that kept him upright as he shook through his ecstasy, and each pulse sent waves of pleasure coursing through him, blurring the lines between awareness and bliss.

As he slowly came down from his high, Daryl leaned back into Rick's solid frame, not daring to really meet his eyes. "Fuck, love… You really do love that blanket, don't you?"

Daryl reached out, tracing the edge of a sleeve on one of Rick’s shirts. It was worn but well-kept, the fabric soft from use, the colors alive in a way that felt foreign to him. He glanced back at his own side, at the monochrome sea that had become his default. Black was easy. Black didn’t ask questions, didn’t draw attention. It was a shield, a way to slip through the world unnoticed, to avoid being picked apart.

But standing there, the stark contrast between their choices nagged at him. His black felt heavy, like a weight dragging him down. It wasn’t just about the clothes, not really. It was about everything he brought into this house, into Rick’s life. The shadows he carried, the memories he tried not to speak of, the scars that ran deeper than skin. Rick was light, color, warmth - everything good that Daryl had never thought he’d deserve.

And him? Daryl felt like a storm cloud, always hanging too close, ready to ruin a sunny day.

Rick’s voice broke the silence. “Hey. You all right?”

Daryl turned to find Rick leaning against the doorframe, his hair still damp from the shower, a towel slung over his shoulder. His brow furrowed slightly as he took in Daryl’s expression.

“Yeah,” Daryl mumbled, looking back at the closet. His fingers grazed one of his shirts before dropping to his side. “Was just… thinkin’.”

Rick stepped closer, his eyes following Daryl’s line of sight. “’Bout what?”

Daryl hesitated, swallowing hard. He didn’t know how to say it without sounding ridiculous, without exposing more than he meant to. But the words spilled out anyway. “You ever think… maybe I’m just too much of this?” He gestured vaguely to his side of the closet, the dark fabric almost seeming to suck in the light. “Too much black.”

Rick blinked, his expression softening as he realized Daryl wasn’t talking about clothes. He stepped closer, resting a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “What’re you tryin’ to say?”

Daryl shrugged, avoiding Rick’s gaze. “You got all this color, y’know? Feels like it fits you. Like you’re… brighter, better. And I’m just this - this black cloud hangin’ around. Draggin’ everything down.”

Rick didn’t answer right away, and the silence made Daryl’s chest tighten. He shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve kept it to himself, like always. But then Rick squeezed his shoulder, grounding him.

“Black’s your color,” Rick said firmly, his voice steady and sure.

Daryl frowned, finally looking up. “What?”

“Black’s your color,” Rick repeated, his lips curving into a small smile. “It’s strong. Solid. Reliable. It don’t hide who you are - it shows it. Every piece of it’s you, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about that.”

Daryl shook his head, but Rick didn’t let him look away.

“Listen to me,” Rick said, his tone softer now. “You ain’t draggin’ me down. You never have. You’ve been there for me, for Carl, for Judith, in ways no one else could be. You think I care what color your shirts are?” He chuckled, reaching out to tug lightly at Daryl’s sleeve. “Hell, this right here? This is home to me.”

Daryl’s throat felt tight, the weight of Rick’s words pressing against something he’d kept locked up for too long. He looked back at the closet, at the dark, muted side that felt so small compared to Rick’s vibrant warmth.

“It just feels like… you deserve better,” Daryl said quietly. “More’n what I got to give.”

Rick sighed, his hand sliding down to grip Daryl’s wrist. “Daryl, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t you see that? You don’t have to be anything but who you are. You don’t have to wear plaid or start likin’ pastel colors or whatever the hell you think would make me happy. You already do that. Every damn day.”

Daryl glanced at Rick, searching his face for any hint of doubt. But all he found was the same steady certainty that had always defined Rick - the thing that made him a leader, the thing that made him love so damn hard.

Finally, Daryl nodded, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit.

“C’mere,” Rick said, pulling him into a hug that was as warm and grounding as sunlight breaking through the clouds. Daryl let himself sink into it, his head resting against Rick’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the closet forgotten, the weight of Daryl’s thoughts easing as Rick held him.

“Black’s your color,” Rick murmured again, his voice low and soothing. “And it’s my favorite.”

Daryl didn’t have an answer for that, but he didn’t need one. Rick’s arms around him said enough.

But then, in the quiet moments between the chaos, Rick saw it.

It wasn’t a flash of lightning or some grand revelation. It wasn’t anything as dramatic as the world had once made love seem. It was slow, creeping in the way a storm gathers over the horizon, unnoticed at first. It came when they sat together around the fire, Daryl’s gruff voice blending with the wind, the crackle of the flames in the background. It came when they exchanged looks that lingered too long, unspoken words hanging in the air. It came when Daryl touched his shoulder in a way that felt too intimate for a world so stripped of tenderness.

And for the first time in ages, Rick wondered if there was something more. Something beyond the walls of survival, beyond just trying to get through the day.

One night, after a long day of work, Rick had found himself sitting by Daryl’s side as the others went to bed. It wasn’t intentional - he hadn’t meant to seek out Daryl’s company. It just happened that way. They didn’t speak much. There was a comfort in the silence, in the simple act of being near him.

Daryl looked up at him, his face tired but soft, and for a moment, it hit Rick like a freight train: this was what he had been missing all along. Not the survival. Not the endless fight. But this - being close to Daryl. Sharing the same space. No words needed.

Maybe that was the beginning, Rick thought. Maybe the beginning wasn’t the grand moments that they had fought for in the past, but something quieter, simpler. It was a realization that there might be something here worth fighting for, even if it was small, even if it was fragile.

Daryl wasn’t a man of many words, but when he spoke, there was truth in his voice. He wasn’t the type to make promises or declarations. But Rick had learned that sometimes, that was exactly what made him so dependable. So real.

“Don’t go gettin’ any ideas,” Daryl had said quietly that night, his eyes meeting Rick’s for a beat longer than usual.

Rick chuckled, though it was a bit unsteady. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Daryl muttered, giving a small shake of his head, looking away as if he was trying to deny it to himself. “Don’t go thinkin’ that I’m some kinda…”

Rick didn’t let him finish. He didn’t need to. He just leaned in a little closer, his shoulder brushing Daryl’s, feeling that electric pull between them. A soft touch, a moment of connection in a world that never stopped spinning.

And then it happened, as naturally as breathing - Rick closed the gap between them, his lips pressing against Daryl’s in a kiss that felt like both an answer and a question. It was slow, hesitant at first, as if neither of them could quite believe it was real. Daryl didn’t pull away, though. His lips softened under Rick’s, his breath warm against Rick’s cheek.

The world outside the quiet night seemed to fall away. There was nothing in that moment but them - just the press of their bodies together, the shared breath, the feeling that something had shifted between them.

When they pulled back, neither of them said a word. They didn’t need to. Rick could feel Daryl’s heart pounding, could see the vulnerability in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t fear - it was just the weight of something they had never dared let themselves acknowledge.

For a moment, they just sat there, side by side, their shoulders touching. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was peaceful, a quiet understanding hanging in the air between them.

Rick glanced at Daryl, who was staring out into the dark, his jaw clenched as if he was trying to keep his emotions in check. But Rick had seen that look before, and he knew what it meant. Daryl wasn’t going to run. Not this time.

There were no fireworks. No grand speeches. But maybe that was what they both needed - something grounded. Something real. Something that wasn’t built on promises of tomorrow, but on what they had right now.

Rick didn’t need to hear the words. He didn’t need Daryl to tell him anything. He could feel it in the way their bodies were in sync, in the way Daryl’s presence had become so natural to him, like breathing. He knew that, for once, maybe they could let the beginning happen in its own time.

Because that was all they could afford. And it was enough.

And then there were the other things - things that stayed unsaid, little mysteries for Daryl to puzzle out. He had found early on that while Rick would never ask for it, his face would always light up with a brilliant smile whenever Daryl would bring him a bunch of wildflowers from the field behind their house, each blooming a different shade of color. Or how Rick sometimes made up some imaginary problem with his car just so he could stand by and watch Daryl work on it, leaning against the bumper with that familiar gleam in his eyes that meant Daryl would get lucky later on.

And then there was this.

Rick loved it when Daryl begged. Not in a cruel way, not in a way that made Daryl feel small, but in a way that set Rick’s blood on fire, that made his blue eyes darken and his hands tremble with restraint. It wasn’t something Daryl did often - hell, he wasn’t good at putting himself out there like that. But when he did… Rick always let loose, gave him everything he wanted, everything he needed.

It had been a while since the last time, though, and tonight, Daryl felt it - the kind of need that twisted low in his gut, made his skin itch with the desire to be touched, to be consumed. Rick had been busy lately, caught up in long hours at work, coming home tired but trying to make time for them anyway. Daryl didn’t blame him for it; life was life, and they both had to deal with its demands. But the distance between them felt heavier tonight, the ache of wanting something more gnawing at Daryl until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Rick was in the living room, sprawled on the couch with his feet up, a book in one hand and a beer in the other. The sight of him, all relaxed and handsome as hell, made Daryl’s throat tighten.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, hesitating. He could turn around, shove the feeling down like he usually did, pretend he didn’t need this so badly. But no. Not tonight.

“Rick.”

Rick looked up, his brow arching in question. “What’s up, babe?”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped into the room, his boots quiet against the floorboards. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, but his eyes were locked on Rick, steady and sure despite the nerves fluttering in his chest.

Rick sat up a little straighter, the book forgotten on the arm of the couch. “Everything okay?”

Daryl swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.” He paused, then added, “Just… need somethin’.”

Rick’s gaze sharpened, his attention fully on Daryl now. “What do you need?”

Daryl took another step closer, then another, until he was standing right in front of Rick. Slowly, he sank to his knees, his palms resting on Rick’s thighs, his fingers curling into the worn denim of his jeans.

Rick sucked in a sharp breath, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach out but was holding himself back.

“Daryl,” he said softly, his voice thick with something that made Daryl’s chest tighten. "Tell me." All the softness was gone from Rick's tone, replaced by a fierce urgency that sent a shiver down Daryl's spine. 

“I need you,” Daryl said, the words raw and honest in a way that made his cheeks burn. "So much." Daryl nuzzled his face against Rick's knee, looking up at his boyfriend with wide, pleading eyes that held a mixture of vulnerability and determination.

Rick's expression was pure want, his eyes more intense than ever, burning with a desire that felt electric in the air between them. And Daryl took it as an invitation to nuzzle his way higher and higher along the seam of Rick's jeans until he could press his face against the bulge of Rick's arousal, feeling the heat radiate through the fabric. 

But when his hands moved to Rick's belt, they were slapped away. 

"Tell. Me." Daryl knew exactly what Rick wanted, and he was helpless to stop the shiver that ran through him at the gravelly tone of his boyfriend's voice.

"Please... Please let me taste you. Fill my mouth. Fuck my face. Please, Rick ." The plea hung in the air, thick with urgency and need, as Daryl searched Rick's gaze for any hint of permission. It surprised even Daryl how desperate he sounded, how none of it was just for show.

Rick's eyes darkened with desire, a slow smirk forming on his lips as he took in Daryl's pleading expression. "You know what to do," he commanded, his voice steady, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through Daryl.

It took just a couple of practiced moves before Rick's jeans were open and his cock was freed, the weight of it heavy and enticing. Daryl swallowed hard, ready to dive in and lick up that delicious drop of precum that had gathered at the tip, longing to taste him deeply. But Rick's fingers gripped Daryl's hair, keeping him securely where he was.

"Rick..." he whined, "let me have a taste," he pleaded, his desire palpable. "Please, I need to feel you in my mouth." Daryl's voice was rough with need, his breath hot against Rick's skin as he looked up, eyes filled with hunger. 

Rick's gaze locked onto Daryl's, the fire in his eyes reflecting the primal need coursing through them both. "You want it?" he growled, tugging Daryl's hair slightly, urging him closer as a smirk curled at the corners of his lips.

Daryl nodded vigorously, his mouth watering at the thought, desperate to satisfy the longing that consumed him. 

"Please, Rick. Please..."

That did the trick, and suddenly Daryl was pressed down onto Rick's cock, gagging slightly at the sudden invasion, but he quickly adjusted, taking it deeper, relishing the rawness of the moment. Rick kept his fingers fisted in Daryl's hair, pulling him in even closer as he thrust his hips forward, urging him to take every inch. 

It was everything Daryl wanted and more. All he could taste, smell, feel and hear was Rick, and it sent him spiraling into a blissful haze as he moaned around Rick's cock.

It could've taken minutes or hours, Daryl wasn't sure, too lost in all the sensations, before suddenly Rick pressed him down harder, forcing Daryl to hold still and swallow every last drop of what Rick had to give. Breathless and trembling, when Rick's fingers loosened, Daryl finally pulled back, his lips puffy and glistening as he looked up at Rick with a mix of awe and desire. 

Rick's gaze burned into him, filled with an intensity that made Daryl's heart race even faster. "You're incredible," Rick murmured, brushing his thumb against Daryl's cheek. Daryl leaned into the touch, feeling a surge of warmth spread through him at the simple affection. Yeah, maybe he should do this more often - get on his knees and beg.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Daryl needed to know how much Rick cared about him. How much he meant to him, even if he couldn’t always express it in ways that Daryl found comfortable.

After all the months together, after everything they’d been through, Rick could feel it in his bones - Daryl was his person. And yet, it felt like there were so many things Rick still didn’t know how to show him.

That’s when he got the idea.

It wasn’t much. Just something small. But Rick had been walking out by the edge of their garden when he spotted it - a beetle. It was nothing too extravagant, but something about it caught Rick’s attention. Its shell shimmered, blue and black, almost like it had been dipped in ink. He’d never seen anything like it. He was sure Daryl would appreciate it. It was odd. It was different. And, above all, it was something Rick could give him without a single word.

But damn it, was he uncomfortable with it. Rick didn’t exactly have a history of fondness for bugs. Never had been, not after his brother had thrown one behind his collar when they had been little, making him fall down the porch steps as he had flailed to get rid of the bug. But this beetle was... interesting. It wasn’t just some random bug. It was a tiny creature that had a story to tell, a quiet, simple thing that might make Daryl look at him differently.

So, Rick did it. He carefully caught the beetle, cringing when it crawled across his palm, and brought it back inside. He didn’t know how he was going to present it, but he figured he’d work that out once he got back to the house.

When he walked through the door, Daryl was sitting at the table, sharpening a knife. It wasn’t unusual; Daryl was always working on something. Rick hesitated just long enough to see the knife in Daryl’s hands, the tension in his posture, before he cleared his throat.

“I found something,” Rick said, his voice sounding way too loud to his own ears.

Daryl looked up, his brow furrowing at Rick’s tone. “What?”

Rick held out his hand, carefully cupping the beetle in his palm. “A beetle.”

Daryl blinked. His expression was hard to read, but Rick knew that look. It was the one that said, "What the hell is this?"

Rick held the beetle closer, just enough for Daryl to see the shimmering blue and black patterns on its shell. “It’s... interesting,” Rick said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He didn’t want to give up, not now. “I thought you might like it.”

Daryl stared at the beetle for a long moment, his gaze darting from Rick’s face to the little creature in his hand. His lips pressed into a thin line, clearly unsure of how to respond. “You want me to take it?”

Rick nodded, his hand still outstretched; he couldn’t wait to be rid of it, forcing himself not to shiver from the feeling of those little legs scuttling across his palm. “Yeah. Just... keep it for a while. I thought... I don’t know, maybe it’s something you’d find cool. I figured it might be better than me just telling you what I feel all the damn time.”

Daryl seemed to hesitate for a beat longer. He looked at the beetle again, then back at Rick, then at the beetle once more. He seemed almost reluctant to touch it.

Rick’s gut twisted. Maybe he’d misjudged it. Maybe Daryl thought it was just another weird thing Rick had gotten himself into, trying to do something nice. He saw Daryl’s lips curl in that half-smile, the one that usually meant “this is strange as hell.”

“You’re real fuckin’ weird, you know that?” Daryl said, his voice soft but heavy with disbelief.

Rick shrugged. “Maybe.” He tried to keep his expression neutral, but inside, he was already preparing for the rejection. He wasn’t sure why, but a part of him felt like he might never be able to do enough to show Daryl how much he meant to him.

But then Daryl reached out, tentative at first, and gently took the beetle from his hand. His fingers brushed against Rick’s, and for a split second, Rick felt a spark. It was a small, fleeting moment, but it was something. Daryl’s hand stayed on the beetle for just a second too long before pulling back. “Guess I’ll keep it for a while,” Daryl muttered, turning his attention to the beetle in his palm.

Rick watched him, a feeling of relief washing over him when Daryl didn’t immediately throw it out the window. “Good. I knew you’d like it.”

Daryl didn’t say anything else, just nodded, his gaze focused on the beetle like it was the most important thing in the world. Rick turned away, walking to the kitchen, feeling his heart race a little faster than it should’ve. He hadn’t expected this to be so hard. He hadn’t expected Daryl to look at the beetle with that expression of quiet understanding.

Later that evening, as Rick was cleaning up, he found Daryl sitting on the floor of the living room, building a small enclosure from an old ice-cream container that he was filling with leaves, dirt and twigs. He was methodical about it, shaping the small space like he was making a home for the beetle.

Rick felt a smile tug at his lips, even as he watched Daryl carefully place the beetle inside the makeshift box.

It wasn’t exactly the warm, mushy gesture that Rick had wanted. It wasn’t a declaration of love or some grand gesture. It was just a small, quiet thing - a beetle in a box - and yet, it felt like the most intimate thing they’d done in a while.

Rick stood there for a moment longer, watching Daryl in silence. He could see the way Daryl’s brow furrowed in concentration, the way he was focused entirely on the little creature, and Rick realized something. Daryl didn’t need grand gestures. He didn’t need flowery words. All he needed was something simple, something quiet, something real.

And Rick could do that.

Anything for Daryl. Even if it meant having a damn big beetle in their house.

At least the traffic wasn't bad thanks to the later hour, cutting the drive home almost to half of the usual time. It was dark when Daryl finally parked his bike in the garage, their house bathed in the warm glow of the porch lights. He let out a sigh of relief, eager to escape the chill of the evening and step into the comfort of home. To Rick.

"I'm home," he hollered as he dropped his keys onto the table near the door while toeing off his boots. It wasn't unusual to not get any answer. Sometimes his husband was too engrossed in a book to notice his arrival. Daryl hoped that today it was exactly that case, because that meant he could sneak up to Rick, see him with those dorky glasses on, the small wrinkle between his brows as he focused on the pages, and maybe surprise him with a kiss before he even knew he was there.

But first, a shower. He was sweaty and his hands were covered in grease. The last thing he wanted was the repeat of last month's debacle when he had accidentally left a smudge on Rick’s favorite shirt. And on his book. And on the couch.

After showering, dressed only in his underwear and old t-shirt with a hole in the armpit, Daryl went to the living room, fully expecting Rick to be stretched on the couch in some impossible position, face stuck in a book. But the living room was eerily quiet, and the couch was empty. Scrunching his face for a moment in confusion, Daryl made a quick stop to peek into the kitchen, finding it equally empty before he went upstairs.

Was Rick already in bed? Perhaps he wasn't feeling well. 

The bedroom door was opened just a crack and Daryl poked his head inside quietly just in case Rick really was feeling under the weather and went to sleep early. But what he saw made him freeze in the doorway.

His husband was indeed in their bed, but he definitely wasn't ill. No, he had his face and shoulders pressed into the mattress, his ass high up in the air, one hand gripping his ass cheek, pulling it apart for better access for the fingers of his other hand to press in and out of his hole. And the fucking sounds he was making - little whines and mewls, that were almost muffled by the comforter. Almost.

Even Daryl's stupid, horny brain knew that this wasn't any accident, him walking in on his husband fingering his own ass. He stood frozen at the doorway, a rush of heat coursing through him as he watched the scene unfold. It was an invitation, one that stirred a primal desire deep within him, making it impossible to look away.

"You should wait for me like this every day," Daryl said as he finally made his legs move, stopping in front of the bed. He let his eyes drift over Rick's naked body, how he was covered in a light sheen of sweat, how he was arching his back and plunging his fingers hard inside his hole. How his rim was all puffy from the delicious abuse.

There wasn't a straight thought in his brain, just the need to feel and touch and taste. He reached out, running his fingers over that swollen rim, around Rick's fingers that only seemed to pick up the pace, his hips rocking in rhythm with each thrust. 

"Only two fingers? That can't be right. That can't be enough for you, darling." That was the only warning Rick got before Daryl slipped one of his fingers alongside his husband's, pressing inside with a slow, deliberate motion that made Rick gasp.

He felt so fucking good - hot and smooth and tight and slippery with lube. But Daryl still leaned down and spat over Rick's hole, spreading his saliva with his thumb over the rim. 

"You're close, aren'tcha? I can feel it. You're fucking shaking for it. How long have you been waiting for me like this?"

"Too long," Rick gasped out, his voice raw and desperate. It sent a wave of desire over Daryl as he reveled in the sight of Rick so undone, so eager for him. 

"Then let me make you come." With a tug on his wrist, he made Rick withdraw his own fingers, pulling out a pitiful whine out of him, but he wasn't doing it torture him further. In less than a second, he had three of his fingers deep in Rick's ass, going straight for his prostate. His husband's thighs and knees shook under the onslaught, the breathless moans spilling from his lips echoed through the room like a siren's call. Daryl relished every sound, every quiver, knowing he was the one Rick had waited for, that he was the one bringing Rick to the edge. 

Suddenly, Rick froze, and a loud gasp escaped him, his body tensing up as waves of pleasure crashed over him. Daryl's fingers worked tirelessly, fucking Rick through his orgasm, drawing out every intense shudder and moan until he couldn't take anything more and pulled away from Daryl's fingers, collapsing into a heap of bliss. 

Daryl didn't hesitate even for a moment, draping himself over Rick's, hot, sweaty back, being rocked by his heaving breaths. He kissed the nape of Rick's neck softly, whispering sweet nothings as Rick's body gradually settled.

"That. Was. Fucking. Hot." Daryl murmured the words between the kisses. "I hope you're not too tired, though. It would be a shame to not fuck that pretty little hole of yours when you stretched yourself so well for me."

“Here,” Daryl muttered, setting a mug of tea down on the small metal table next to Rick's bed. He could see Rick’s hand twitch like he wanted to reach for it, but his arm was too weak. Daryl could see it in the way Rick’s body slumped, like gravity had a stronger hold on him than usual. He hated that too.

Rick’s eyes were half-closed, his face flushed with fever, but when he saw Daryl set the mug down, he tried to sit up a little, though it was a pathetic attempt.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Rick rasped, his voice rough, the words slipping through chapped lips. “I don’t want you gettin’ sick too.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Daryl muttered, his hands steady as he helped Rick sit up a little more. He gave Rick the mug of tea, watching him sip it weakly. He had spent the better part of his morning dragging himself through the thickest part of the forest, looking for the specific plant, hoping that he remembered correctly that it would help with the fever. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “I’m not gonna leave you alone.”

Rick’s gaze flickered toward him, eyes bleary but focused enough to lock on Daryl’s face. The look in them made Daryl pause for a moment - something vulnerable, something raw, almost as if Rick could see past the hard edges Daryl had spent so long building.

“Daryl, I look like shit,” Rick said quietly, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “You shouldn’t be lookin’ at me like that. You shouldn’t be near me.”

Daryl’s chest tightened. It was a familiar line. Rick had always been so damn concerned about other people, about being a burden to them. But Daryl wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how much Rick pushed him away.

“Don’t talk like that,” Daryl muttered. He reached out, taking Rick’s hand without thinking, holding it gently but firmly. The coldness of Rick’s fingers sent a jolt through him. He rubbed his thumb over Rick’s knuckles. “You don’t look like shit. You look… you look like you’re fuckin’ fightin’ to stay here.”

Rick tried to pull his hand away, his face contorting in that stubborn way it always did when he was in pain or embarrassed. “You don’t have to lie, Daryl,” he rasped.

But Daryl wasn’t lying.

Daryl had seen a lot of things over the years. A lot of people, both good and bad, had come and gone. He had watched the world fall apart in real time. But Rick - Rick had this thing, this way of holding it all together, even when he was falling apart himself. Rick was someone who had given everything for this group, for their survival, and Daryl could never bring himself to look at him like he was anything less than beautiful, even when he was sick as hell.

Rick’s hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, his face pinched from fever, but Daryl thought it was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. Even when he was broken down, exhausted, lost in a fevered haze, Rick had something that made Daryl’s heart race.

Rick was beautiful. He always had been.

“You’re beautiful,” Daryl said softly, almost without thinking. The words hung in the air, heavy between them, more of a truth than Daryl had ever said out loud. It wasn’t a confession, not exactly. It was just... a fact. He couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Rick’s eyes blinked lazily, and for a moment Daryl thought maybe Rick hadn’t heard him. But then Rick gave a small, tired smile, one that barely reached his eyes but still held that warmth, that familiar kindness.

“You’re crazy,” Rick whispered, his lips curling at the corners.

“Maybe,” Daryl muttered, his grip tightening on Rick’s hand. He leaned forward, brushing his thumb over Rick’s wrist. “But I can’t keep my damn eyes off you.”

Rick’s smile faded, his brow furrowing slightly, like he didn’t quite understand. “Daryl- ”

“Shut up,” Daryl interrupted, his voice quieter now, more serious. “You don’t get it, do you?” He swallowed hard. “Even when you’re like this - sick, pale, all fuckin’ weak - you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Rick didn’t say anything for a long moment. Daryl’s chest felt tight, and his throat burned like it was about to close up. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was a weight that Daryl didn’t know how to handle. He never did well with silence when it came to his feelings, especially not with Rick.

Finally, Rick’s fingers curled around Daryl’s hand, his grip weak but steady. He looked up at Daryl, his eyes soft, a little glassy, but filled with something that made Daryl’s heart race all over again.

“Don’t think you’re gonna get rid of me that easy,” Rick said hoarsely, his voice rough, but his words laced with the same kind of affection Daryl had come to cherish.

Daryl nodded, almost too quickly, like he was afraid that if he didn’t, Rick would disappear into the feverish haze. “Good,” Daryl muttered, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “'Cause I’m not goin’ anywhere either.”

For a while, they didn’t say anything else. Daryl just sat there, holding Rick’s hand, watching as the man’s breathing slowed, the fever starting to ebb. He didn’t care that Rick was sick, didn’t care that he looked pale and tired. He didn’t care about anything except being there, making sure Rick was okay.

It was an unusually cold winter for Georgia, but none of the extra layers Daryl had on could shield him from the temperature in the basement. Above, there were just remnants of some hunting cabin, now long rotten and gone. But the basement, clearly built to supplement a fridge, or maybe even a freezer, was intact, the trapdoor almost invisible in the debris.

Daryl felt the cold seeping through his jacket, through the layers of shirts and pants he wore. The chill from the stone floor crept up through his boots, leaving him feeling exposed. His teeth clenched as his body involuntarily shivered - from the cold, from the exhaustion, from the fear.

He shifted slightly, the floor beneath him hard and unforgiving. His muscles were stiff from sitting so still for so long, the cramped space making his legs tingle with discomfort. The sound of his breath was too loud in the silence, but he didn’t dare move. Not yet. Not until the horde had passed.

Rick sat beside him, just close enough to share some warmth but not so close that their bodies would touch too much. They’d been huddled like this for hours now, listening to the muffled groans and shuffling feet above them, the world outside their cramped, cold prison unaware of their existence.

It wasn’t safe. It was never safe. But it was all they had, and the darkness kept them hidden. That’s what mattered.

Daryl glanced over at Rick, the outline of his face barely visible in the faint sliver of light filtering through a small crack around the trapdoor above them. Rick’s eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in concentration or exhaustion - Daryl wasn’t sure. He couldn’t afford to think about it. Not now.

Rick shifted beside him, his shoulder brushing against Daryl’s. It was brief, but enough to remind Daryl of how close they were, how they could feel each other’s heat, how their bodies could be a refuge from the cold. He gritted his teeth, clenching his fists in his lap to keep himself still. His chest tightened, an unfamiliar sense of discomfort rising in his throat.

He couldn’t make it more than what it was. He couldn’t let it be anything more.

The last thing he needed was to get soft now. To let his guard down. He couldn’t afford to think about how much he wanted to lean into Rick’s warmth, to bury his face in his shoulder and pretend for a few minutes that the world outside didn’t exist. That there was something safe, something real, something that wasn’t full of blood and death and fear.

But no.

This wasn’t that. This wasn’t a moment for softness or tenderness. This was survival. This was two men huddled in the cold, doing what they had to do to keep from freezing, to keep from letting the fear and the hunger and the endless fucking horde swallow them whole.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, mentally telling himself to stay the hell focused. He couldn’t think about anything else. Not Rick’s shoulder brushing against his, not the way his breath quickened when Rick shifted, trying to get even closer.

Rick’s hand brushed Daryl’s, just a casual touch as he shifted again, closer, and it almost felt like something else. Almost. The way his fingers lingered for a second, the way Rick’s hand didn’t pull back immediately. But that was the thing with moments like this - they were fleeting, quiet. There was no room for anything more than survival. Not now.

And it was probably better that way. Daryl was too much of a mess, too much of a fucking wreck to risk it. His feelings had been a problem long before this apocalypse. Now, with the world in pieces, they were just another thing to ignore. He couldn’t afford to let himself want more. He couldn’t afford to need something he could never have.

Rick’s breath was steady beside him, but Daryl could feel the slight tremor in his body, just like his own. They were both tired, both scared, both trying to hold on.

They didn’t speak. Daryl couldn’t find the words for it anyway. Instead, he just let himself rest a little deeper into the cold stone wall, his shoulder now pressed into Rick’s. The world outside felt far away, but the warmth between them - however fleeting, however fleetingly dangerous it felt - was real.

That was enough. For now.

The place had been quiet when he first arrived, barely a handful of patrons scattered among the tables and barstools. But as the evening wore on, it filled up - voices getting louder, bodies pressing closer. Daryl clenched his jaw, irritation creeping in as he drained the rest of his whiskey and pushed back his chair. If he had known this bar to be a popular place, he would’ve gone to a different one.

The bathroom was cramped, and it felt like the smell of bleach was barely masking something worse. He splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. The lines on his face looked deeper tonight, his eyes more hollow than usual. Shaking his head, he dried his hands on his jeans and made his way back to his table, motioning for his glass to be refilled.

Except the table wasn’t empty anymore.

A man sat there, lean and clean-cut, his fingers loosely drumming on the edge of the table as he nursed a beer. He looked up as Daryl approached, his startling blue eyes meeting Daryl’s with a calm, unbothered expression.

“Sorry,” the man said, his voice low and steady. Clearly born and raised in Georgia, judging by his drawl. “Place filled up, and there’s no other tables. You mind if we share?”

Daryl’s first instinct was to tell him to move. He didn’t want company, didn’t need it. But there was something about the guy’s tone - polite, not pushy - that made him hesitate. Or maybe it was the way the man’s eyes lit up when they landed on Daryl, how he smiled so openly and honestly at him. With a shrug, Daryl dropped back into his chair, his fingers wrapping around the fresh glass the waitress had just left.

“Don’t care,” Daryl muttered, looking anywhere but at the man.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Daryl kept his eyes on his drink, the stranger occasionally glancing around the room or taking a long sip from his beer. But Daryl could feel him there, could sense the weight of his gaze shifting every so often, not just swiping over the room, but also lingering just a little too long on Daryl.

But Daryl wasn’t subtle either. He let his eyes flick over the man’s hands - long, elegant, fingers wrapped loosely around the bottle. He noticed the faint scruff on his jaw, the way his shirt pulled tight across his chest when he leaned back slightly in his chair, the way his hair curled at his nape, the silver strands that ran through it here and there.

One more whiskey later, Daryl motioned to the waitress to bring his tab, and to his surprise the man followed suit, pulling his wallet from his pocket. With Daryl leaving, the man could’ve had the table just for himself, so it didn’t make quite sense to be leaving now as well.

“You don’t have to pay for mine,” Daryl said gruffly, his voice carrying a hint of suspicion.

The man raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smirk. “Didn’t plan on it.”

Daryl snorted softly, watching as the man settled his bill and then stood, shrugging on his jacket. The man moved toward the door, pausing just briefly to glance over his shoulder at Daryl, his head cocked to one side. There was no question in the look he gave - just a calm expectation, a quiet challenge.

Daryl didn’t think twice. He nodded once, grabbed his jacket, and followed the man out into the cool night air.

They didn’t talk as they walked, the streets quiet except for the sound of their boots on the pavement. When they reached the stranger’s apartment, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for Daryl to follow.

It was dark and a little sparse, but Daryl didn’t care. It was still better than his own place. The second the door clicked shut behind them, the man turned, his hands finding Daryl’s waist, pulling him close. Their mouths met, urgent and searching, and Daryl lost himself in the heat and weight of it all.

Hours later, they lay tangled in the sheets, the room silent except for the sound of their breathing slowly evening out. Daryl stared up at the ceiling, his body warm and relaxed in a way it hadn’t been in months. Beside him, the man shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at him.

“Rick,” he said simply, his voice soft but steady.

Daryl turned his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

“That’s my name. Rick,” the man clarified, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Daryl blinked at him for a moment, then let out a low, breathy chuckle. “Daryl.”

Rick’s smile widened just slightly, his fingers brushing against Daryl’s arm in a gesture that felt too tender for what they were supposed to be. But Daryl didn’t pull away.

“Nice to meet you, Daryl,” Rick said, his voice carrying a hint of humor.