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It started shortly after Lori’s death. Her loss deeply affected Rick, both mentally and physically. Perhaps all he wanted was an escape from it—the morbid routine that couldn’t promise anyone a tomorrow. It happened as days passed, like a wound that bleeds out slowly, painfully, but at the same time it’s fast and slips through your fingers.
They never spoke of it, not once. It could have been described as their schedule, a secret that wasn’t even theirs. Nowadays, nothing belongs to anyone—thoughts included. No one was in a sane or privileged enough position to claim anything as their own.
The first time it happened, Daryl didn’t know why or whether it was to help Rick or himself. Maybe both. He also didn’t understand why he kept it secret, why he did it like a teenage mischief, sneaking away from his parents. In reality, it really was nothing. Daryl sat on the edge of Rick’s bed, after a long guard. The silence of the night deafening as he listened for Rick’s breath, just wanting to make sure he was still grounded in this world. Rick didn’t say a word, just stood for a while in silence, before sitting beside him, both of them quietly seeking some comfort. An hour later, maybe more, maybe less, Daryl headed towards his own cell.
Three nights later, after his shift, Daryl went straight to Rick’s cell and found him sitting there, staring despondently at the wall. His posture was defeated, his eyes lost in the stained white paint decorating the old facade.
“How you doin’ man?” Daryl asked, doubt in his voice. Rick’s answer came after a few breaths: “Alive.” Daryl sat on the bunk bed, repeating his previous movements carelessly. “Listen, you don’t—” He corrected himself. “You can’t endure everything by yourself. You gotta let somebody in before you finish rotting.”
He waited again. It felt like a game—one where the answer might or might not come, like gambling, with all his chips on the line. He wasn’t great with words, so he hoped that a few of them would get his point across.
“Carl told me to rest, but I can’t. I’ve got a lot to lose. Can’t let anybody in ‘cause they’ll rot with me.” Rick’s face showed his typical nervousness. Daryl shook his head slowly, biting his lip. He gently placed a hand on Rick’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. “We’re all already fucked. Might as well fight together before we turn to ashes.” He shrugged, trying to lighten up the atmosphere. Just as he was about to get up, Rick’s grip tightened on his shoulder.
“Don’t leave yet.”
Surprised, Daryl took a moment before meeting his gaze. Rick’s cheekbones were pronounced—signs of malnutrition. Daryl would rather cut his throat than admit just how important Rick was to him. Blue eyes that had once seemed so full of life now felt like an impenetrable wall. Or they had, until this moment. Rick’s gaze now paralyzed every thought Daryl had ever had. Vulnerable, exhausted eyes acknowledging a small defeat.
“Aight.” Daryl mumbled, then threw himself onto the mattress without saying much more, placing his hands behind his head and one leg flexed, leaning against the wall. Rick lay down shortly after. They didn’t make any contact beyond their legs brushing slightly, but Daryl could feel the warmth of the body beside him. Soon, they drifted off to sleep. It was the first time in a while that Rick had been able to sleep, listening to the rise and fall of Daryl’s breath.
It became a habit—witnessing death by day, appreciating life by night. Sometimes Daryl would go to Rick’s cell, sometimes Rick would come to his. Over time, they slept closer, silently communicative. The thrill of secrecy, of having an unspoken agreement in a world that kept shouting. Maggie, ever observant, caught glimpses of them a few times, but she never asked, deciding to turn a blind eye.
As time passed, Daryl craved that warmth. Rick did, too. A carnal desire grew slowly between them, an essential need their bodies ached for. It wasn’t a quick transition. Guilt gnawed at Daryl, and every night they shared, his stomach tightened with tension.
One sleepless night, Daryl said the words: “We should try it out once.” He tried to sound casual, but desperation slipped through. “Just because.” His face was relaxed, though his voice betrayed him. Rick furrowed his brows before settling back into his stoic, leader-like expression. After what felt like an eternity, his voice came again, like a melody in Daryl’s ears: “Just this once.”
So, it started—an unhealthy habit. If you had a bad night and wanted to take a walk around the prison, you sure as hell wouldn’t want to run into their cell. But by day, everything went on as usual. Their conversations revolved around security, supplies, and team matters. Until Alexandria, no one seemed to notice their growing intimacy—not one but Abraham, perhaps, who raised very subtle doubts to Glenn one evening: “How long have those two been screwing? Y’know, blue eyes and the archer.” Glenn’s world stopped. His gun slipped from his hands.
“Shut up. How would you, of all people, know? I’d bet anything they aren’t.” It’s all Glenn mutters, uninterested in senseless rumors without foundation.
“Asshole. Let’s start by betting that chocolate you keep under your pillow.” Abraham refutes, confident about his guess. The conversation was terminated there, but Glenn relayed the concern to Rick, who quickly denied everything and reassured him, easing his doubts.
Later, Daryl was walking through Alexandria when Rick intercepted him. “Abraham suspects something. Glenn might, too. We’ve been careless.” Rick said coldly, giving him that pitying look.
“We both knew it wouldn’t last” It’s all Daryl could answer, giving a disarmed grin paired with a tough gaze, followed by a sigh. He knew Rick could speak meaner, more direct, and he wanted to save him the trouble.
Rick asked Daryl for space then, and, even in a position where you could barely mourn the dead, Daryl was mourning someone who was alive and beside him, but never felt so far away as he felt now. He had no other choice but to suck it in, as it was a matter of time before the whole pseudo-city started doubting, particularly if Abraham was the one to talk. Maybe it’s weird he still thinks that, even after decomposing bodies are making this planet their own, the thoughts of his own father and brother still linger in his head. Two men shouldn’t be seen together. He knows Rick has to maintain certain status.
Days go by and they grow more comfortable with Alexandria, and that’s when Deanna insists in a welcome party.
Daryl wasn’t about to see Rick from afar, knowing he is in no place to get closer, so he acquiesces insincerely to the invitation.
Even if his plans were rotting with his crossbow all night, Aaron and Eric receive him warmly at their home with a full plate of spaghetti that he can’t deny and carelessly devours, leaving behind that lackadaisical attitude he tried to maintain. A wine is opened for the occasion, so, he drank in behalf of his damned heart, so unwittingly frail that it let anyone in. Merle warned him before, he is condemned to be the foolish one when it comes to affection.
Lazy spoken words come out of his mouth, Aaron is quick to notice the tiredness in his voice and assumes it’s been a long day for everyone. They wrap things up early and Daryl stumbles out of the house after a brief farewell. He can hear the muffled music playing from the party, barely audible from the streets but just enough to make him walk clumsily there and knock. He is received by Deanna in a matter of seconds. “Daryl, I didn’t think you would come. Please do come in.” She speaks kindly and formally. Daryl nods, taking a step into the building.
He takes a peek at the party and spots the majority of the guests sitting by a big table, reuniting every member. A delicate tablecloth has been placed, pitifully messed up by food, but he found that miraculous, to be dirtied by aliment and not spilled blood. People were laughing, engaging in conversations and drinking as he walks towards the main table. He finds not a lot of his people assisted, maybe just the necessary. Absent-minded he pulls a chair, sits down and spreads his legs to make himself comfortable. He finally takes a look, and can recognize Michonne, Maggie… And his eyes stop on Rick, who was talking with a blond woman across from his seat.
"Daryl, you came," Rick said, catching his eyes, trying to hold back something Daryl couldn't quite read.
"Not a lot to do these days." Daryl replied, sitting straighter, meeting Rick’s gaze. The others seemed absorbed in their conversations, as well as Rick, that after the brief exchange keeps talking to the woman beside him, but Daryl trusts his mind is with him whenever a little look is given to him subconsciously by Rick.
As wine intertwines with his system, a terrible idea comes upon. “So, what’s the lady’s name?” Daryl asked, his voice sharp with drunk jealously. He smiled with the corner of his lips, slipping off his shoe and using a foot to caress Rick’s leg, just lightly at first. Rick flinched but didn’t react right away.
“Jessie, and you are… Daryl, am I right?” The woman asked with a tender smile, a beautiful one. Daryl starts going up, reaching the knee and applying some pressure before he grasps the thigh. A subtle sigh escapes Rick’s mouth and he has to divert attention quickly.
“Yeah, he is the well trusted archer of the team.” Rick’s words sound deliberated, Daryl recognizes he can maintain that bossy façade on pretty well. Annoyed by it, the archer leaves Rick with no other choice but to stand up when Daryl gets to a more intimate zone.
“I apologize, Jessie. Daryl, follow me.” As Jessie nods, the long haired man is quick to put on his shoe and stand too, not shrinking now. A few guests watch the scene unfold curiously, and Rosita is about to ask is something is wrong but it’s interrupted by them slipping away.
As they walk outside, out of sight, Daryl knew he fucked up big deal, so why don’t worsen things up.
“So it ain’t take much to make you open your legs.” He doesn’t mean it at all, still, a well known bitterness replaced jealously, drunken meaningless thoughts cascading uncontrollably.
“Motherfucker.” Rick mutters before grabbing dangerously tight the other’s neck, surprisingly bringing him up to clash their lips together, pushing him furiously against the wall so Daryl has no escape from him.
A great night if you ask any of them, who were not seen by the eyes of their worried colleagues, who thought a fight may have clashed between them.
A few days later, things had gone too far, and there was no stopping now. Rick, the one who proposed to stay away, is also the same who started the secret meetings. He’d come up with brilliant pretexts to see each other, and Daryl was remarkably good at being compliant to Rick’s presence. Might perchance be a short trip to obtain food, as well as a strategy meeting just between the two. He was once more trapped and had no intention to escape, as long as he can have the other’s body and soul for a minute in a ravaged car. It was breaking every fiber of will inside him, but he’d rather have him a minute a day that not having him at all.
They were coming home late at night from a simple excursion for supplies that Rick had used as an excuse, a cover for the real reason they'd been out. The mission had been nothing more than a pretext, a way to be alone together in the midst of a world that demanded secrecy. The roads had been empty, the air thick with the kind of tension only they understood. In the isolation of the woods, far from the others, they’d allowed themselves to forget the watchful eyes of their group and everything that had been building between them. There, amidst the trees and the creeping shadows, they had shared more than just space—they had shared time, their bodies, and the kind of quiet understanding that felt more real than anything else.
Daryl was being consumed. And —really— consumed. As the excuses were getting more ingenious and the encounters more frequent, he could feel his brain getting eaten ahead of time. He should end things now. This moment. However, Rick was good moving his lips and, honestly, what could happen for only one more time? Next time, maybe, he should stop this before it drives him mad.
They come back home that night, believing everything and everyone is asleep for today and forgetting everything around them, with their hearts racing and both tangled in a fierce kiss that was being exchanged as they walked inside, path in which Daryl may or may not have hit his back against the door frame, but neither of them paid it any mind.
Foolish of them, for being unaware of the curious and shocked eyes that observed them from the living room. So lost in the moment, they became unaware of the others they shared the space with.
Rick could only thank whatever being that is above them that Carl was sleeping upstairs, and Daryl caught a glimpse of Glenn handing Abraham his last piece of chocolate in defeat, a lost bet.