Work Text:
Well, this is new.
Rick has spent the last several minutes politely interested in the conversation taking place around the fire, but he’s clearly in the process of drifting off. Well, he had been; next to Daryl, the warmth along his right side, more comforting than the flames three feet away. But somewhere in those several minutes, Daryl slumps over into his personal space, fast asleep. Rick wouldn't mind except that Daryl’s head is in his lap.
This could get awkward really fast. He glances up to see if anyone else has noticed and immediately pretends he didn't catch Glenn’s smirk. Daryl is snoring softly, a sound that can barely be heard over the murmur of the others' voices. Rick watches him twitch with the sort of morbid fascination with which one would watch two cars colliding head-on.
One word crosses his mind, unbidden: beautiful. And Rick is worried by how natural and decidedly right it is. He isn't shocked by the revelation, staring at the shadows thrown across Daryl’s face. Because it isn't a revelation, it’s an inevitability-the one point in the universe that Rick feels absolutely sure of. Even though the world around them is rotting; Even though it’s difficult to find anything but dread in the yellowing of leaves and the paleness of the sky, some things stay beautiful.
I must be half-mad to be thinking like this. But he doesn’t even believe that.
Rick’s barely aware of what he’s doing until the stubble of Daryl’s chin prickles the tips of his fingers.
Daryl wakes up immediately. Oh no. He blinks up at Rick and lazily bats his hand away.
“What’re you still doing up?” He mumbles, which is definitely not what Rick has been preparing himself for.
Expected a punch at least. “Uh….”
Daryl sighs. He sounds extremely put-upon and sits up.
And then pushes Rick onto his back. “Go to sleep, Rick.” Daryl flops down next to him, silently refusing any argument.
What is happening?? One muscular arm wraps around Rick’s midsection and there’s that line of comforting warmth pressing into his right side again.
“What’re you-"
“Shuddup,” Daryl grumbles into his shirt, already more than half asleep.
Rick lifts his head slightly to glare at Michonne, who isn’t even trying to conceal her laughter, and Carl, whose face is screwed up in a pained grimace. He lets his head fall back on the threadbare quilt and cards his fingers through Daryl’s hair. Rick listens to him gently exhale and thinks, some things stay beautiful.