Archive of Our Own

The kitchen was quiet. Something was bubbling on the burners and it smelled good, but Daryl couldn’t say what they were going to eat tonight. He’d just grabbed the first two cans he’d found, thrown them in a pot, and turned on the heat. Then he’d leaned back against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Rick. 

Rick, who was fiddling with his wedding ring and had been staring at nothing for almost a quarter of an hour now. Daryl was slowly starting to get worried.

“You should stir that,” Rick suddenly said, startling Daryl out of his thoughts.

He narrowed his eyes at Rick but complied.

“I don’t fancy burned… whatever you’re making for dinner.”

“Too late,” Daryl grumbled as he scraped the bottom of the pot. “And we’re getting beef stew with… green beans. I think.”

What the fuck had he grabbed from the cupboards? Next time Daryl was making dinner, he’d make a note to actually look at what he was choosing instead of just pouring two random cans into a pot. 

Rick snorted behind him and Daryl shot him a quick glare before turning back to his… culinary experiment. 

“You think?” Rick asked as he got up to join Daryl at the counter. 

He put an arm around Daryl’s shoulders, who tensed up, before forcing his muscles to relax. It was Rick. Rick was safe, he wouldn’t hurt him. And, in the privacy of his own mind, Daryl had to concede that he didn’t hate it when they touched. That explained why he didn’t shrug Rick’s arm off… and why he leaned slightly into the touch.

Ignoring the heat creeping into his ears, Daryl sneaked a look at Rick. He was wearing a disgruntled expression, staring in dismay at the pot and the green beans floating in the stew.

“How did you even come up with this?” Rick asked. A few chuckles escaped him and Daryl pinched him in retaliation. 

“Stop that,” Rick laughed, catching Daryl’s hand in his free one. 

“Then stop being an asshat,” Daryl grumbled, secretly relieved he’d managed to drag Rick out of his funk - even if it was at his own expense. 

With a shit-eating grin, Rick pointed at the cupboards they’d filled with far too many cans of food in anticipation of the outbreak that never happened. Daryl figured the two of them could eat for a whole year out of those cans. 

“I think we’ve got the largest collection of canned food in the state, and you still managed to come up with something so… unexpected. A good old can of beef ravioli would’ve been fine!” 

“Well, next time you can cook,” Daryl grumbled in answer. 

He was blushing, and the way Rick brushed the knuckles of his trapped hand with the pad of his thumb wasn’t helping. Daryl nudged Rick’s shoulder with his head and nodded toward the table.

“Go make yourself useful and set the table instead of criticizing my choices.”

Rick huffed another laugh, but he soon lost his good mood when he looked at the table and caught sight of the papers still lying on it. Daryl could have kicked himself. Here Rick was, trying to cling to a little bit of good humor, and Daryl just had to remind him of the divorce papers Lori had sent him.

“Hey,” Daryl whispered, gently tugging his hand free and wrapping it around Rick’s. He waited for Rick to look at him, then squeezed his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Rick said, his voice tight and very obviously not fine.

“It’s not. And it’s alright for you not to be alright,” Daryl said. 

They were looking into each other’s eyes and Daryl wanted so badly to erase the sorrow he could see there. He didn’t know what came over him - he just wanted to make up for his blunder, to comfort Rick, to show him that he was here and gave a shit and wouldn’t disappear - and his brain decided that the best way to convey all of that was to slowly lift Rick’s hand and kiss his knuckles.

Rick’s eyes widened, and Daryl froze, holding Rick’s hand up, his lips tingling, still grazing Rick’s warm skin. Their gazes met, and they both blushed like schoolgirls. Daryl cleared his throat and released Rick’s hand, while his friend dropped his arm from Daryl’s shoulders and took a step back.

Daryl didn’t apologize, though. And Rick didn’t ask him to.

“I’ll… uh…just set the table then. Yeah. I’ll… Table. I’m taking care of it.”

And Rick turned his back to Daryl. He ran a hand over his face with a muttered Jesus, and Daryl turned back to the pot and started furiously scraping its burned bottom again. 

Maybe he ought to turn off the heat. 

He did. 

And then he was left fidgeting in front of the burners. Why did he do that? What had he been thinking? What kind of weirdo kissed their best friend’s fingers? And why hadn’t Rick pushed him away? 

He let out an annoyed growl and barely refrained from tearing his hair out ; only Rick’s presence made him hold back. Speaking of Rick… Daryl sneaked a glance he hoped was subtle over his shoulder and swore under his breath when he spotted him frozen, the divorce papers in hand, his gaze locked on the last page.  

He was probably staring at Lori’s signature and the date. The papers were signed the literal day after Shane showed up to take Lori and Carl away. She sure hadn’t wasted any time filing them, Daryl bitterly thought - not for the first time today. The fact that he couldn’t really fault her for it only made it more infuriating. 

What he could fault her for, though, was her demand for full custody of Carl, with no visitation rights whatsoever for Rick. And to add insult to injury, she wanted fucking alimony.

Despite knowing that a divorce was coming, Lori’s demands had hit Rick hard. 

And let’s not forget that she was asking for half the money Rick had gotten from selling their old house. She was entitled to it, Daryl knew, but that didn’t change the fact that Rick didn’t have the money anymore. It had been used as a down payment on the new house, and Lori asking for it meant that they would definitely have to sell and relocate. 

And then deal with the debt. 

Because, of fucking course, Lori didn’t want anything to do with the new house or the bank loan Rick had taken out to buy it. And if they sold the house and Lori took her share, they sure as hell wouldn’t be able to pay off the loan in full.

They were neck-deep in shit, and Daryl hadn’t the faintest idea how they were going to crawl out of it. 

He sighed and forced his shoulders to relax, to let go of his anger. Getting angry wouldn’t help right now. 

He set the spatula down on the counter and walked over to Rick. He gently laid a hand on his shoulder, felt him tense under his touch, and slowly trailed his fingers down his arm, along his hand, until he reached the papers. He pried Rick’s fingers open, took the damn papers and nudged him with his hip toward the pot.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, squeezing Rick’s bicep before heading into the living room.

Throwing the damn divorce papers in the fire was tempting, but he resisted. Barely. Mostly because it was summer, and he didn’t want to die of heatstroke if he lit the fireplace. He huffed and threw the papers away with one last disgusted look before heading back to the kitchen - and to Rick.

Back in the kitchen, Rick had set the table and was taking the pot off the burners. His eyes were red, but he still made an effort to smile at Daryl when he joined him. Daryl smiled back and took a seat at the table. 

Now that they were alone, they could have spread out, but they chose to sit close instead. Once their plates were filled, Daryl pressed his thigh against Rick’s and rested a hand on his knee. His face burned red again, but he refused to second-guess himself, especially not when Rick let out a small, relieved sigh, leaned into the touch and even bumped their shoulders together.

“Thanks,” Rick mumbled.

“For what?”

“For being here. Giving a shit. Trying to cheer me up.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that. I told you I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m here for the good and the bad. Always.”

“Still. Thank you. And you know… I’m kind of a mess right now, but I’m here for you too if you need me. It goes both ways.”

“I know,” Daryl said, squeezing Rick’s knee.

They finished their meal in silence, Daryl wiping the sauce off his plate with his finger while Rick watched with a fond smile on his face. He handed him a tissue once he was done, and Daryl wiped his fingers and his face before returning his hand to Rick’s knee.

“So. Beef stew and green beans,” Rick said, “You liked it?”

“Wasn’t so bad,” Daryl mumbled, leaning back in his seat with a contented little sigh. His belly was full, Rick was here and they were safe. He could be content for a little while, before the real world reminded them of itself.

“Yeah,” Rick agreed with a smirk. “I’m just glad you didn’t mix a can of pineapples into the stew.”

“Asshole,” Daryl grumbled good-naturedly. He got up all of a sudden, squeezed Rick’s shoulder in passing - catching him by surprise, which was always nice - and headed for a cupboard he knew held fruit cans. He rummaged through it until he found a can of pineapple slices and tossed it at Rick with a little smirk of his own.

Rick laughed and the sound made warmth bloom in Daryl’s chest. He went back to the table, and Rick draped an arm around his chair, watching as Daryl strained to open the can. 

Once it was open, Daryl handed it to Rick first, and they ate the slices with their fingers, laughing at each other when syrup dribbled from their mouths.

“Fucking hell, I’m so sticky,” Rick grumbled once he was done. 

Daryl grinned and loudly slurped the leftover juice. 

“You heathen,” Rick laughed, settling his hand on Daryl’s knee. 

Daryl pointedly looked at the sticky hand currently leaving a stain on his jeans, and Rick snorted before carefully trailing it up Daryl’s leg and resting it on his thigh. 

“Asshole,” Daryl muttered, trying - and probably failing - not to blush when he felt Rick’s thumb brush his inner thigh. He squirmed and looked away, but didn’t remove Rick’s hand.

Instead, in another bout of daring, he set his hand atop Rick’s and linked their sticky fingers together, his trousers be damned. Rick jumped slightly and cleared his throat. To Daryl’s ears, his voice sounded a little higher than usual and he cocked his head, silently asking if he was alright. Rick nodded and turned his hand around to squeeze Daryl’s.

“Seriously, though, now that it’s just you and me, one of us is going to have to learn to cook.” 

“I can cook!” Daryl immediately defended himself.

“You can roast what you catch.” 

“Never heard you complain about my roasted squirrels before.” 

Rick shook his head with a smile and bumped their shoulders together. Daryl bumped him back and smirked, “I’ve never seen you cook though.”

“Hey! I can barbecue!” Rick retorted. 

“So we’ve got the choice between roasted meat or barbecued meat,” Daryl snorted. “Healthy diet. Can’t you barbecue vegetables?”

“Never tried it before,” Rick shrugged, “And you? Ever roasted vegetables over a fire?”

“Nah. Merle wouldn’t have let me. Too girly for him.”

A beat of silence.

“Since when are vegetables girly?”

“Don’t ask, man,” Daryl sighed tiredly, “A lot of stupid things were… are too girly for Merle. I stopped asking a long time ago.”

Rick stared at Daryl for a few seconds - probably pondering how Daryl had grown up. He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut about his childhood and early adulthood, it always brought awkward questions. Luckily, Rick didn't ask any. His eyes softened, though, and Daryl averted his gaze, unable to bear the scrutiny.

All the same, he couldn’t help thinking that Rick was right. They would need to learn to cook properly, with vegetables and spices and shit that actually made a meal taste good.

It was another task to add to their long long list of things to do.

They didn't remain seated for long, Rick tugging Daryl up and toward the sink. They did the dishes in companionable silence. Rick washed, Daryl dried, and their elbows bumped every now and then. Once they were done, Rick brewed an infusion, and they settled in the living room, where the damn divorce papers were taunting them again. Daryl should have thrown them outside earlier.

Daryl ushered Rick to the couch, then pushed the coffee table - and the papers - away until they were hidden out of view behind a potted plant. Rick smiled wryly but didn’t comment, so Daryl sat on the other side of the couch and, after a few seconds of consideration, let their legs meet in the middle. 

They had no TV - they had deemed it a waste when they'd been planning for the outbreak that never came - so instead, Rick picked up the book he’d been reading for the last few days, and Daryl got out the piece of wood he’d been whittling lately.

“Yes,” Daryl said preemptively. “I’ll vacuum tomorrow.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Rick said with a smile, pressing his right foot against Daryl’s knee.

“You didn’t need to,” Daryl grumbled and pressed back.

They read and worked in silence until Rick discarded his book with a huff and started fiddling with his wedding ring again. Daryl didn’t say anything yet ; he didn't want to push, but he sure as hell kept an eye on him. It took Rick a few minutes to put his thoughts in order and when he started speaking, his voice was low and rough, his eyes red-rimmed. 

Daryl sat up and put his hand on Rick’s foot, his thumb stroking the skin of his ankle in a silent show of support.

“I don’t know why I’m so torn up about all this. A divorce was inevitable,” Rick mumbled, letting his head fall back on the couch’s armrest. “We all knew it. Hell, I’ve known a separation was coming since I woke up.”

“Yeah, but knowing a divorce is coming and living through it are two different things,” Daryl said. “And, well, I don’t think you envisioned things going quite this way.”

“No kidding,” Rick snorted. “There were more walkers in my vision. Less paperwork and lawyers. No talk of money or custody. And some sort of… understanding on both our parts.”

“Nice dream.”

“A pipe dream, more like. Way too peaceful for a world post-outbreak.”

Way too peaceful for any world, Daryl thought, but kindly didn’t voice it. From what he’d seen of Rick and Lori’s relationship, before and after their… awakening, he couldn’t imagine any separation between them ever being peaceful. Though he hadn't imagined she would go as far as trying to forbid Rick from ever seeing his son again. They sure were regretting their rash behaviour now. 

Instead of kidnapping Lori and Carl, they should have shown some patience, set up their safe house first, and planned to come back for them later, when she would have followed them without a fuss. Or better yet, they should have waited for the outbreak, scouted out their safe house, and made a plan to take it by force once the world went to shit.  

And well, with the outbreak not happening, it would have saved them more than one headache. Whatever. What-ifs, should-haves, if-onlys, Daryl didn’t see any use in mulling over things that never came to pass. This way lay madness, and Daryl had enough problems as it was.

Still, it was a sad day indeed when Daryl thought that things would have been easier if the outbreak had happened.

“Anyway,” Rick said, suddenly sitting up, “I don’t think I’ll need this anymore.”

And Daryl watched as Rick took off his wedding ring. He played with it for a few seconds, maybe still a bit reluctant to part with it, before tossing it into the unlit hearth with a huff. Then he sagged back against the couch cushions, his arm thrown over his eyes, and Daryl squeezed his ankle again, letting him know that he was here for him if he needed him.

He kept a hold of Rick’s foot until his friend decided to get up and announced that he was heading to bed. Daryl nodded, but he wasn’t tired yet, so he stayed put and watched Rick putter around. He brought their empty mugs back to the kitchen, closed the still open windows, and came by the couch again to throw a blanket over Daryl’s legs.

The thoughtful gesture made Daryl blush, and he berated himself for it. Rick had just made sure he wouldn’t get cold, there was no need for Daryl to make it weird. When he looked up, he found Rick smiling down at him.

“What?” Daryl scowled.

“Nothing,” Rick said and squeezed his shoulder. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too,” Daryl answered and watched Rick head upstairs toward the bedrooms. He listened to Rick brush his teeth and change his clothes, then went back to his whittling once he heard him climb into bed. The blanket was warm over his legs and he didn’t really need it, but still, Daryl decided not to push it away.

He whittled until his eyes drooped and he inadvertently fell asleep on the couch. The next time he woke up, it was dark outside, the light was still on, and Rick was shouting. Daryl sprang to his feet without a moment's hesitation, snatched the crossbow lying in the hallway, and ran up the stairs two at a time.

He didn’t bother knocking and just barged into Rick’s room, the crossbow up and loaded. His blood was pulsing, adrenaline running high, but he was breathing steadily as he scanned the room for a threat. He didn’t find one. 

When he finally looked at Rick, he found him sitting up in bed, his shirt soaked in sweat, eyes wide and breathing ragged. Nightmares, Daryl thought, and lowered the crossbow with a weary sigh.

“Hey,” Daryl whispered, “Rick, you alright?”

Rick didn’t answer. He kept breathing heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching in the bedding, and Daryl wondered what he was seeing. They were no strangers to nightmares, the both of them, but with a few notable exceptions, they usually snapped out of it pretty fast. It seemed like they were dealing with a rough one tonight.

Daryl propped the crossbow against the wall and walked up to the bed. Despite his breathing still running wild, Rick followed him with his eyes, which Daryl took as a good sign - he wasn't completely out of it, then. Daryl sat down without a word and pried one of Rick's hands free of the bedding. He turned it over in his own hands and started drawing shapes on Rick’s palm with his fingertips. 

“You're alright,” Daryl reassured him, trying to emulate the soft tone Rick had used a few weeks ago to bring him out of a nightmare. “The house is secure. We're safe, Rick.”

“You sure?” Rick gasped.

“Certain. I checked.”

And that was enough for Rick, who closed his eyes and slumped back, tightening his hold on Daryl’s hand. It would never cease to amaze Daryl, the way they trusted each other - implicitly, unconditionally, unabashedly - as he watched Rick cling to him and calm himself down on his word.

“Fuck,” Rick said once he wasn’t heaving anymore. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Daryl grumbled. He averted his gaze, knowing from experience that being stared at during - or in the aftermath of - a panic attack could be uncomfortable.

“Waking you up. Scaring you. Forcing you to take care of me. Pick one.”

“You didn’t wake me up,” Daryl contradicted him.

Rick laughed, a short, wet burst of sound that made Daryl shake his head.

“Clearly you didn’t see your bed hair,” Rick replied dryly.

“Yeah, well…,” Daryl grumbled and fell silent, unable to come up with something to say. He patted his hair with his free hand and scowled when he saw Rick grinning. “Alright, fine, yes. You woke me up. Happy? But you didn't scare me…”

A pointed look at the crossbow leaning against the wall had Daryl poking Rick in the ribs.

“... And like I already told you, you're not forcing me to do shit. Also, it's nothing you haven't done for me before.”

“So basically, you’re saying I should be thanking you instead of apologizing.”

“Need no thanks neither,” Daryl muttered. Finally, he raised his head and took a long look at Rick. He was still looking shaky, but color had come back to his cheeks, and it didn't look like he was going to faint in the next few seconds anymore. “Want to talk about it?” he asked gruffly.

Rick seemed to think about it for a few seconds before shaking his head. Daryl nodded and didn't push. Between the two of them, they had enough nightmare fodder to last them two or three lifetimes, and he didn't need to poke at Rick's thoughts to understand what he was going through. God knew Daryl himself didn't like to talk about his nightmares.

“Not really,” Rick said anyway. “It was all just a jumbled mess.”

“Get ya.”

“Yeah, you’re probably the only one who can,” Rick said, catching Daryl’s eye and staring straight at him.

It was said without mockery. Rick was painfully earnest in his acknowledgment of their shared trauma, and it made an uncomfortable warmth bloom in Daryl’s chest. He wanted to look away - to escape those big warm eyes that seemed to see straight into his soul. Instead, he stayed put and gazed into Rick’s eyes like an idiot. It made two of them, though, Daryl thought, because Rick wasn’t breaking their stare either. So maybe he wasn’t such an idiot after all. 

Once again, things were getting awkward, and Daryl wasn’t sure he was ready to look too closely at the feelings starting to stir inside him. So instead of thinking about it too hard, he broke the silence.

“Think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?”

“Dunno,” Rick answered and then smiled mischievously. “I hope so, for your sake, otherwise you’re going to have to deal with my crankiness tomorrow.”

Daryl rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the small, fond laugh that escaped him.

“God forbid. I already have to deal with your smartassery on a daily basis - it’s more than enough.”

“Don’t lie, you like my smartassery.”

“I tolerate it.”

“Sure,” Rick said, clearly not believing a word Daryl had said. 

They fell silent again, their gazes drawn to their hands. They still hadn’t let go. Now that Rick was steady again, Daryl should get up and leave. And he would - if Rick wasn’t still holding his hand. He didn’t seem in any hurry to let go. And Daryl didn’t want to snatch his hand away either. 

It seemed they were stuck. 

Daryl cleared his throat and nodded toward the door.

“I should… uh. Leave you to it then. And… you know… get to my own bed.”

“Don’t sleep on the couch.”

“I won’t.”

“You came up from downstairs.”

“Yeah, I accidentally fell asleep. It happens, you worrywart.”

Rick hummed, but he didn’t let go of Daryl’s hand. Daryl tried to pull it back with a few small tugs, and Rick gentled his hold, but he didn’t release him. Instead, he brought his other hand into the fray and trapped Daryl’s hand between his own. 

His fingertips danced over Daryl’s skin, tracing shapes across his palm and the back of his hand and raising goosebumps along Daryl’s arms. It almost felt like Rick wanted him to stay.

No, that was ridiculous, Daryl thought, shaking his head - and yet… It was a niggling thought, a highly preposterous one, but it still brought heat to his cheeks. 

The status quo held for another long minute, during which Daryl started gnawing on his lower lip and a blush slowly crept up Rick’s face. It made Daryl want to snatch his hand away and lean into the contact at the same time. It was awkward and perplexing and - dare he say it? - intimate, and still, Daryl was loath to let go. So he didn’t.

Instead, he gathered every bit of courage he had left and cupped his free hand around Rick’s right one. It stilled Rick’s movements, and they looked at each other for a brief moment before averting their eyes. Rick looked down, and Daryl found himself staring at his collarbone. He willed himself to break the silence, otherwise he feared they were going to be stuck like this all night. So Daryl took a deep breath, ignored the way his ears were burning, and made the most ludicrous proposal imaginable.

“Want me to stay?”

He closed his eyes and steeled himself. He was ready for anything. For Rick to laugh and make fun of him. For Rick to shove him away with a disgusted growl. Or maybe even for Rick to punch him. 

When no answer was forthcoming, Daryl opened one slitted eye and peered at Rick.

He looked just as embarrassed as Daryl felt. Rick was ducking his head, but it didn't hide the fact that he'd gone from a slight flush to a full-on crimson face. At least, Daryl wasn't alone in his awkwardness. 

He couldn’t help but notice that the two of them had been blushing and holding hands an awful lot lately. Probably more than was necessary for two grown-ass men. It was just another thing Daryl wasn’t comfortable examining too closely. Especially after the offer he’d just made.

“Rick?” he asked quietly, running a finger over his friend’s knuckles.

“Yeah.”

Daryl didn’t know what he wanted. Did he want Rick to let him go? To accept his proposal? Or refuse it? Did he want to stay? To flee? He had no idea, so he stammered.

“You… Uh… What…”

“Yes,” Rick suddenly said, loud and clear. He lifted his head and, despite the fierce blush still adorning his cheeks, looked straight into Daryl's eyes.

“Yes, what?” Daryl asked, half scared, half hopeful.

“Yes. I think I'd like you to stay. Only if you want to, though. Obviously.”

“I offered, didn't I?” Daryl grumbled.

“Yeah, you did,” Rick replied, his tone softening and his eyes conveying the care he held for Daryl.

Alright, so they were actually going to do this. Apparently. Fuck. Daryl didn’t know what to do now. Their faces showed no sign of returning to their usual color, and Daryl felt like he was going to combust if he didn’t do something soon. He was also afraid of losing his nerve and disappointing Rick - and possibly himself - in the process.

“Alright,” Daryl said and abruptly got up, ripping his hands away from Rick. He hadn’t expected the hurt look that crossed Rick’s face, nor the pang it elicited in his chest. He didn’t think, and before Rick could pull away, Daryl put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Daryl?”

“I’m not running away,” Daryl assured him. “I just need to switch off the lights and grab my sleeping clothes and… you know… make a quick pit stop in the bathroom.”

Rick’s lips quirked up into a small grin, and a chuckle escaped him. He patted Daryl’s hand and nodded.

“Course,” he said, glancing down at his soaked shirt. “Think I’ll need to freshen up myself.”

Daryl snorted. When he was sure Rick wouldn’t close himself off again, he took a step back and turned toward the door. He eyed his crossbow still leaning against the wall and wondered if Rick would mind if he left it there for the night. He’d gotten into the habit of sleeping with it close by - a remnant of the outbreak, for sure - and he wasn’t feeling quite comfortable enough to part with it.

“Leave it,” Rick suddenly said. He’d gotten up while Daryl was lost in his thoughts and started stripping the bed of its sheets.

“Really?”

“The Python is in there,” Rick said with a bittersweet smile, nodding toward his bedside table.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. You’re not alone, Daryl. I get you.”

The reminder made heat bloom in Daryl’s chest, and he ducked his head, letting his hair hide his face as he beat a hasty retreat. He toured the house, switched off the lights, checked the windows and the locks one more time - yes, he was aware he was being paranoid, sue him, he’d earned the right to paranoia - and took the time to try to get his annoying case of blushing under control.

It… was more complicated than expected. One second he would be fine, and then he’d think about Rick and the bed they were going to be sharing tonight, and the blush would be back. He couldn't help but wonder why Rick had agreed to his proposal and what he expected to happen. Did he want to cuddle? Or would he prefer they both stayed on their own side of the bed? Would the sharing lead to something more? More importantly, did he want it to lead to something more?

Daryl didn’t exactly know what more would entail, but he was sure he wasn’t ready for it.

By the time he went back upstairs, Daryl had worked himself into a tizzy. He slowly put on his sleeping clothes, trying to buy himself some time, and then hopped into the bathroom. 

He cursed when he caught sight of his reflection. The blush had receded, but his ears were still red, his hair was a mess, and he was scowling so fiercely he thought Rick might run away the second he saw him.

He tried to school his features into something more pleasant - it had been his idea after all, and he had no one to blame but himself - but he always ended up grimacing, so he gave up. After a while, not wanting Rick to have to come looking for him, Daryl abandoned his attempts and headed for the bedroom anyway.

Rick was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head hanging low, but he looked up when he heard Daryl come in. He’d changed shirts and splashed water on his face, though he still seemed nervous. His hands were shaking slightly, and he hadn’t completely lost his blush either, but still, he turned the sheets back and shuffled until he was settled on his back on the far side of the bed.

Silently, Daryl joined him. He toed off his shoes, switched off the bedside lamp, and slipped into bed without a word, making sure to keep some distance between them. It was awkward - painfully so - and Daryl wondered if either of them would be able to catch any sleep, uneasy as they were. He didn’t think so.

“This isn’t working,” Daryl said after a long minute of painful silence spent awkwardly staring at the ceiling.

Rick hummed, a low, considering sound that made Daryl’s heart skip a beat. What was he going to come up with now? Daryl didn’t think Rick could come up with something more awkward or embarrassing than what they were currently experiencing, but one never knew…

“I’ve got an idea. You trust me?”

The answer came naturally.

“Yeah.”

“Turn around?”

That was definitely worse. Daryl was mortified, but he still listened to Rick and turned over so they were face to face. Rick looked just as embarrassed as Daryl, and a small, amused snort escaped him. 

“Your other side, dummy,” Rick chuckled and poked Daryl’s chest with a finger.

Daryl closed his eyes and barely held back the whimper that almost escaped him. He was mortified and ready to combust on the spot. Right now, the earth opening up and swallowing him whole felt like it would be a blessing. He fervently prayed for it. And was denied. There was a reason he wasn’t religious, Daryl thought, and opened his eyes to face the music - or rather, a still grinning Rick.

“Come on,” Rick said, interrupting his inner lament. He was looking a bit red in the face too, but nowhere near as horrified as Daryl. “Turn around.”

“Yeah, fine,” Daryl mumbled and complied.

He turned around, giving his back to Rick, and clutched the sheets while he waited for Rick to… He didn't know what. He listened to Rick tossing about behind him, felt the sheets being tugged up and then flinched when, without warning, Rick made contact. He'd been half-expecting, half-dreading Rick spooning up behind him, but instead he felt the hard plane of Rick's back press against his own. He relaxed.

“This alright?” Rick whispered in the dark.

“Yeah,” he murmured back, “Yeah, it is.”

The position they found themselves in reminded him of before, back when they were on runs during the outbreak and he’d had to hunker down with Rick - or someone else from their makeshift family - and they would press together in a tight corner, back to back, and wait for the dead chasing them to pass them by. 

It might be fucked up, but the feel of someone’s back against his own was familiar, comforting, grounding. He felt his eyes droop and heard Rick’s breathing slow down. His limbs grew heavy, and he let sleep take him.