Daryl doesn't understand what everyone says about love.

Sure, he's loved. He loves hunting and he loves his family, no matter how frustrating they can be, no matter how much he misses some of them and how much that hurts him to think about. He loves the feeling of being useful, the feeling of getting that shot in right through the head and he loves the wind against his hair as he rides his bike.

Daryl is in love, too, which is where the problem lies.

His love isn't like the one he sees when he looks at Rick and Michonne, who love and support each other through thick and thin, and it isn't like Enid's and Carl's growing puppy love either. He doesn't see a love like his when he thinks of Maggie's and Glenn's, or Eric's and Aaron's, both who he always looked up to and envied. Who loved each other more than anything.

No, his feelings are ugly.

It's not the warmth of waking up near the person you love nor the confidence when you kiss them that you've found the one for you. It's not shy smiles and sneaking out to be with each other, and it's not trusting you're right for them - that you both are right for each other.

No.

It's nothing like his friends have.

It's twisted, it's selfish, it's feeling ashamed but not being able to stop the butterflies inside of him. It's hating him for smiling so warm at Daryl when he does at other people, too, and it's hating him for his selflessness and strength which allowed him to stay himself during war, to do the right thing and save so many of the Saviours who now live inside their still recovering communities.

It's hating him because he can't hate him, no matter how much Daryl tries to, because he loves him too much for that.

And Daryl tries.

But each time he's harsh or short, Jesus has a way to turn things around. He'll give him that look, one eyebrow raised at his dry comment as if challenging it, and reply with one of his own which will always either fluster Daryl or make him chuckle, either way breaking through the wall he tries so hard to put up between them.

Like now, as they sit around in the middle of the woods trying to warm themselves up. Even with the war over and Negan dead and gone, there are still rogue Saviours waiting in the dark as they're too used to their old lifestyle to give in and join with the others— Saviours who think Negan's way was right and the only way for things to be. Saviours who can't and don't deserve to be saved. And so they went hunting, Jesus and him, after the small group that managed to get away.

He tried to get someone else to go with him, but the scout insisted and Daryl couldn't press more— the least attention he called to the reason why he didn't want Jesus with him, the better.

Rick was already starting to give him teasing looks as it is.

"How long will you just stand there?" Jesus asks from where he's sitting on top of a sleeping bag, and Daryl didn't jump at the sound of his voice, thank you very much. He just wasn't expecting it; the chatterbox had been quiet the whole trip. "You're freezing."

"I got this," Daryl bites, a bit more defensive than intended. "I got first watch, just warm up and rest. I'll wake you up in two hours."

"You can keep watch and warm up, you know? No shame in that, the blanket has space for two."

"I said I got this. Christ, it's just a little cold, nothing I can't handle."

Jesus shakes his head, not buying it for a second. "Daryl, you're shaking. I can see it from here. Our winter is nothing like the one you're used to in Georgia, so stop being stubborn and just come here already. We can share this."

Daryl doesn't answer, ignoring the request and staring deep into the woods as if there was something there more important than this conversation. He tries to not think about the insinuations of sharing the blanket with the other.

"What, you won't talk to me anymore now?"

The hunter snorts. "Maybe I just got tired of your shit."

"Or maybe the big bad Dixon is scared of a little cuddling. I swear I'll keep my hands to myself," Jesus promises teasing, "or are you afraid you won't resist me? Is that it?"

"Fuck off."

"Daryl, I mean it. It's snowing. Stop being a baby and come here, I swear I won't tell anyone or whatever it is that got you worried. Please? I won't be able to rest if I'm worried about you freezing to death."

Daryl complains under his breath about annoying assholes who never shut up, but he still does as the other says and sits down next to him so Jesus can throw the blanket around both of them. "Happy?"

"Now that I don't have to hear your teeth chattering? Yeah, I am."

Whatever the hunter was going to say next— complain, deny the cold he undeniably felt? Maybe thank the other for the blanket— was completely forgotten the second he turned to look at Jesus. He looks… cozy, with his beanie pulled down to cover his ears and nose red from the cold, looking so adorable that Daryl can't help but feel his heart being pulled at the sight. He wants to hug him, to kiss him stupid until they're both too hot for their clothes.

But Jesus isn't his, and that bitter reminder takes away all the pleasure of their current position.

"Don't think your Saviour boyfriend will like that, you all cuddled up with me," Daryl comments in a small voice, as if he wasn't sure yet if he wanted the other to hear or not. "Might get the wrong idea."

Jesus turns to him so fast that Daryl fears a whiplash. "What?"

Something about Jesus' voice tells him that he hit a nerve, even though it was as calm as it can be, and maybe that was it— the calm before the storm. Maybe Daryl should've taken that as a sign to just shrug and move on, pretend he never said anything. But for some reason, the petty and jealous side of him won and so he repeats.

"I'm just saying, don't think your—"

"I heard what you said, yes, 'my Saviour boyfriend'," Jesus says, and this time Daryl is sure he pissed the other off if only for the spiteful emphasis he puts in the words. "But what the hell are you talking about?"

"That 'Al' prick. The one that said goodbye to you at the gate."

If glares could kill a man, Daryl's sure his would've killed the Saviour where he stood when he delayed them from leaving to talk with Jesus. In private, the man told as he eyed Daryl up and down, before the whispers started. And Daryl knew the self-loathing he felt was right, then, because instead of being happy Jesus found someone to care for, instead of accepting it, he wanted to shoot the other in his pretty little head and keep him away from the scout.

Jesus deserves someone better than him.

He deserves a Rick, a Glenn. Someone good, with the right kind of love, who can give him everything he deserves and more. And Daryl isn't that someone.

But he knows that 'Al' guy ain't either, that's for sure.

"Him? What made you think that?"

His tone makes Daryl feel stupid, as if he'd made a fool of himself somehow, but keeps his head up anyway. "I've seen ya two. He's always around, and you don't exactly seem to mind."

Jesus scoffs. "Of course, he's the one who made the first Saviours surrender, I have to talk to him - that doesn't make him any less of a dick. I'm keeping my eyes on that one, there's something off about him that I don't trust."

"But— today?"

"He wanted to offer his services, show me he's different than the Saviours we're after and that he can be useful." The scout rolls his eyes. "He thinks he's smart, clinging to me. Thinks it gives him advantage. We'll see about that. As long as he keeps in line though I won't do anything about it, no matter how annoying."

"Oh."

Punching the Saviour seems like an even better idea, now that he knows the other is trying to use Jesus. Surely he wouldn't mind if Daryl had a go at the asshole if he's feeling tempted himself.

"Yeah, 'oh'."

"Why would even care if I'm with him or not?"

Daryl looks away, face burning at being caught. "I don't. Was just saying, 's all."

He can feel Jesus staring at him, calculating, trying to find something. Daryl keeps his head down and counts to ten, trying to calm his heart. He knows what the other will see on his face. It's too late to hide.

"Ok."

The simple answer throws Daryl off. "Ok?"

"Yeah," Jesus tells him, a small smile on his face before he drops his head on Daryl's shoulder, getting comfortable. "I'll believe you, for now."

Daryl sits there, eyes on their surroundings but paying attention to every change in Jesus' breathing, to his warmth against Daryl and to every little movement the scout makes, until he's almost sure the other has fallen asleep. Heart heavy with feelings he doesn't want to understand, trying to save every little detail in head for later. It's when Daryl finally allows himself to relax that he hears:

"I'm glad it's you here with me."

And he smiles.

Maybe there's beauty in his feelings, too.